Archive of Our Own

⸻

If there’s one thing you should know about Louis Tomlinson, it’s that he has always liked his neighbors.

When he first moved to Camelot Crossings four years ago, he was...quite lonely. It was his first place without annoying, loud, and messy roommates. The very first place he could call his own.

He could wake up late if he wanted to, could have people over without having to consider anyone else’s preference, he could walk around naked and no one would say a damn thing.

He felt like he had completed the next step of adulthood. He had a new job, his own house, and most importantly, no roommates.

Except, that also meant he didn’t know a single person. Well, unless you counted his labradoodle, Clifford.

While it may have been peaceful at first, he got bored rather quickly (within three hours of unpacking).

He was so desperate for any type of entertainment that he resorted to repainting his mailbox, because apparently, that’s a thing.

When that unfortunately only took an hour away from his boredom, he took it upon himself to get involved.

He joined the neighborhood Facebook group (because he had to stay on top of the gossip, obviously), he went on walks with Cliff, and he waved to everyone he passed. Hell, he even joined the fucking HOA.

Granted, that lasted only a week (who knew you could talk the topic of speed bumps to death?), but God damn it, he was involved and more importantly, he wasn’t bored.

His newfound interest in everything Camelot Crossings inevitably drew him to his neighbors (and drew his neighbors to him). Louis isn’t arrogant, he truly isn’t, but he knew they would love him...and probably Clifford, because that little thief could cuddle his way into anyone’s heart (and treat basket).

The Wagner’s (“Oh, call us Liz and Betsy, dear”) showed up on his front doorstep with a baked pecan pie approximately three weeks after he settled into his new home. They were an older couple with bright smiles and welcoming eyes; they immediately embraced him once he opened his front door. He couldn’t help but grin as he let them into his home so they could get to know one another.

The couple had been living in the neighborhood for a little over five years, moving in once their children had ventured off to college to start their own lives.

“We only have enough room for them to stay one at a time,” Liz joked, eliciting a chuckle out of Louis.

It wasn’t until Louis started telling them more about his own life that he realized it was not only nice to have friendly neighbors, but oddly comforting. He learned that shortly after Betsy told him she used to be an English teacher at the local high school before deciding to retire.

They bonded over the job, Betsy sharing tips that she had learned over the years and Louis telling her the few stories he had from just starting his own teaching career.

It led to conversations about their families and soon, into neighborhood gossip—which Louis was dying to catch up on with somebody.

A friendship started to blossom quickly between the three of them, cups of tea and laugher shared more often than not. Their get-togethers only grew more frequent as their conversations grew longer.

Soon, Louis loved them like family.

But, there was one other thing he loved about the Wagner’s alongside their company, and that was their backyard.

It was lovely—no, it was fucking pristine.

Their grass was not only a luscious green, but it was trimmed to perfection. There wasn’t a single blade out of line. Roses and tulips bloomed around the edges of their patio, providing pops of pink, red, and orange throughout the entire garden. Wooden furniture with blood orange cushions was laid out near a fire pit, encircling the area with different types of seats and couches; it was all covered by a beige shade sail connected to their house.

Louis could practically see a cookout happening in their yard—could envision neighbors and friends surrounding the fire pit as they made s’mores in the moonlight. He could picture Liz grilling on the patio under the shade as music blended seamlessly into the chatter of their guests.

Their yard was simple, but it was perfect. It would make Louis’ heart swell if it didn’t make it drop straight out of his ass.

His own back lawn was...in a state when he first moved in (to say the absolute fucking least).

With no fence separating their houses, they stood next to each other with little to no space in between (mostly because Louis’ weeds were peeking into their yard).

That single thought made Louis cringe, because his lawn looked like shit in comparison.

There were weeds growing out of every crevice of his patio, moss covering the stone so it was barely recognizable. The surrounding grass was so overgrown he could barely see the top of Clifford’s paws as he frolicked around in the afternoons.

Don’t even get him started on the standing water every time it so much as drizzled.

He lived in an apartment complex before this. The closest thing he’d had to a yard was a collection of fake plants on his balcony. He didn’t have much of a green thumb, but he wasn’t hopeless either. He was sure he could figure out something so his yard didn’t look like, well, that.

He just needed to know where to start, was all.

His first thought was the Wagner’s.

If you were to ask Louis, he’d say he waited an entire year before asking Betsy and Liz to help him with his yard. He’d say, “Obviously I tried to fix it on my own at first, but there are some things that must be left to an expert, yeah?”

If you were to ask Clifford, he lasted a total of seven hours before he knocked on their door and begged.

And of course, because his neighbors were absolute gems, Betsy had decided to help Louis, who as much as he’d like to deny it, was a lost cause when it came to landscaping.

“I was waiting for you to put your pride away and come ask me,” Betsy had smirked, grabbing some tools from her garage and instructing Louis to do the same. “I saw you eyeing my tulips when we were having tea.”

“I—” Louis stopped himself before he could make up an excuse. “It’s really nice,” he concluded sheepishly, grabbing a shovel and some garden shears.

“It was all her!” Liz called from inside the house, her voice slightly muffled through the closed door.

Betsy merely chuckled, a light blush covering her cheeks as she beckoned Louis out of her garage and back into his own yard.

“Okay. Where do we start?” she clapped her hands together before positioning her hat further down on her head to guard herself against the sunlight.

Louis blinked, looking around at the weeds, mushrooms, and random branches littering the mixture of clay and grass he called his yard. “I was hoping you knew?”

“No offense love, but we really can start anywhere. There’s much to do,” she tutted, gesturing at the entire area.

She had a point.

“Uhm,” he mumbled, shifting on his feet as he took another look around. He shrugged hopelessly and played with his fringe, a nervous habit he picked up when put under the spot. It only led Betsy to smile endearingly at his confusion.

“Go grab the lawnmower, we’ll start there.”

And so began what became known as Mission Impossible: Shear Chaos.

As Louis mowed the lawn, Betsy went to home improvement stores across town for supplies. From flowers and mulch to furniture, she did not hold back once she got a hold of Louis’ credit card.

He’d have to look at his statement once his yard was in better condition.

He pulled up weeds until his biceps ached and snipped mushrooms until his fingers had blisters. Sweat dripped down his neck and back, mixing with the dirt that undoubtedly covered every inch of his exposed skin. His white tank top was already sticking uncomfortably to his torso.

“Who the hell lived here before me?” he groaned as he pulled up a handful of weeds, a quick succession of snaps were heard as they lifted from the dirt.

“Oh, this grumpy old businessman,” Betsy groped, wrinkling her nose at the thought of her old neighbor. “Moved out once his divorce was finalized.”

“Sounds like a catch,” Louis mumbled before tugging again at the shrubbery and stuffing it into a trash bag.

Betsy laughed at his comment, pouring fertilizer throughout the area until there were two empty canisters in his recycling bin. She hummed along to Elton John as she worked, and slowly had Louis matching her harmonies.

Even between the two of them, they weren’t making much progress. There was so much shit in his yard that even Liz came out to help them.

“Clearly my expertise is needed.” she commented breezily, giving their progress a one-over.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself there,” Betsy sang over her shoulder. “Grab a shovel, dove.”

Liz only blew a kiss to her wife in response, grabbing a nearby shovel and starting on the flowers. She shoveled into the dirt like she’d done it for years (which she probably had, thanks to Betsy), planting daisies and daffodils below the bushes that lined Louis’ house.

They worked hard and went through more lemonade than Louis thought was possible. He was fairly convinced his bloodstream was now part citrus.

Slowly but surely however, his yard started to come together.

Brittle branches that were scattered had been replaced by vibrant flowers, which brought a new brightness to his previously dull lawn.

The patio had been scrubbed free of moss and replaced with Louis’ grill and a Rattan furniture set with light green cushions.

It had even come with a coffee table.

And to top it all off, there wasn’t a single damn mushroom or weed in sight.

It took the entire weekend and Clifford escaping twice from his leash before they finished, but once they were done, Louis couldn’t help but pop a bottle of champagne as they overlooked their work.

Together, their yards looked stunning.

They both were trimmed neatly and ready for a cookout. The self-consciousness Louis used to feel when he looked at his yard was replaced with a sense of pride and gratitude for his neighbors.

He almost wished the HOA did a backyard of the month, because he was sure he and Betsy would win every time.

He thanked her and Liz for their help profusely, but they barely batted an eye. “We live for this, love. It was nice to be able to teach again.” she winked, patting his cheek as they sat on his new furniture.

Louis did not blush. He did not.

It was then that he knew their friendship was going to be something he’d cherish for years to come. He knew he could count on the Wagner’s for anything and they could do the same—over the last four years that’s constantly been proven.

It was a type of relationship you could only have with neighbors—one where when you needed help, you could call them with no hesitation and they'd show up at your door within minutes.

He valued it a lot.

So, when they told him last month that they were selling their house and moving back to the West Coast to be closer to their kids, well, Louis tried not to be upset.

He did. Truly.

Except now, on the night before their move and coincidentally, the fourth anniversary of Louis’ start in Camelot Crossings, they’re celebrating with a joint barbecue filled with friends and neighbors; and Louis...well, he won’t say he’s getting emotional.

He doesn’t get emotional when he sees the U-Haul out of the corner of his eye, filled with cardboard boxes and furniture that will make the trek cross-country. He does not get misty-eyed when guest after guest leaves, bidding their goodbyes to his neighbors and sending them their best wishes.

He doesn’t so much as sniffle when Clifford buds his head against their legs as they clean up, whining for attention, and probably (most likely) a biscuit.

He doesn’t. Promise.

That is of course, until they slowly approach him with soft smiles. The sun had fully set an hour ago, only leaving the bright glow of the patio light for Louis to see what’s left of the yard. He focuses his attention on the sticky surfaces in front of him as he wipes down their remaining furniture, avoiding the gaze he feels prominently on his back.

He hums quietly, focusing on the crickets chirping into the night as the soft crunch of the grass gets louder, signaling their inevitable approach. He reminds himself he can’t show anything other than happiness and support for his neighbors and close friends. They deserve this, they deserve to be close to their kids. Louis’ just being dramatic.

“Lou, honey?” Betsy asks softly. From the sound of her voice, she’s right behind him.

“Yeah, love?” he replies, slightly strained. He sprays Windex at the glass tabletop, still not meeting their eyes. Why was wine so sticky?

“Come sit with us, let’s have one more chat for old times sake,” she hums, patting Louis’ shoulder.

Slowly, he stops his arms circular motions on the table, the squeaking of the newly cleaned glass fading out. With a sigh he turns around to face them both, his slightly glassy eyes landing on similarly sympathetic ones.

“Sure,” he clears his throat and throws her a tight smile, placing the Windex bottle on the table. They make their way over to the couch and Louis’ shoulders slump at the sight of the blood orange cushions he’s grown so accustomed to. In a few days, they’ll be replaced with God knows what.

“So,” Liz starts, patting her knees as she takes a seat. “Care to tell us what’s causing that pout on your face?”

Louis blinks, eyeing the two women in front of him. They stare back with the same intent, patiently waiting to see what he’ll say (more like what excuse he’ll create).

“I’m not pouting,” he mumbles, shifting deeper into the cushions with crossed arms. He consciously makes an effort to remove the purse from his lips, instead tugging his bottom lip in between his teeth.

“Really?” Liz deadpans raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not!” he repeats, forcing his mouth into a wide grin. “See?”

“Louis.”

“Betsy,” he says in the same tone, raising his eyebrows. She exchanges a glance with Liz, and they have an entirely silent conversation right in front of his eyes.

He hates when they do that.

When they turn back, Betsy gets up from her seat to sit next to him. He looks at her expectantly and she sighs. “Are you okay?”

Louis sniffs and tilting his head up slightly, “Of course, I’m okay.”

“You sure,” she hums, resting her chin on her hand.

He throws them both an unimpressed look, but in reality, he hopes his sadness isn’t that obvious. “I’m just going to miss you two, alright?”

“And we’re going to miss you as well, honey,” Betsy smiles, waiting for him to continue. They know he has more to say, which Louis is...reluctant to admit.

He purses his lips, shrugging his shoulders. “You two were the first people I met here that I truly actually liked, yeah? You welcomed me into the neighborhood with open arms.” He sighs. “And pie.”

“It was a good pie, wasn’t it?” Betsy ponders.

Louis breathes out wistfully, nodding in agreement as he thinks about it. It was pretty damn good. “But more than that, you barely even knew me and you helped me with my yard,” he continues. “And that yard was...a mess.”

“We were doing ourselves a favor,” Liz smirks teasingly. “Consider it self-preservation.”

“Ha ha,” Louis deadpans, a smile threatening to quirk on his lips. “My point is, you didn’t have to help me that weekend or any time after that. Hell, you two didn't have to speak to me to begin with. Yet you did and I care a lot about both of you.” He takes a deep breath. “So yes, I am going to miss you, and it sucks that you’re leaving.”

“Louis—”

“But! That doesn’t mean I’m not absolutely ecstatic for you as well,” he continues, pointing a finger. “Because I am, I’m so fucking happy you get to be closer to Jayme and Nova. And of course we’ll keep in touch. I’ll be a bit insufferable, but that’s not any different than what you’re used to.”

“As long as you put Cliff on the phone from time to time,” Betsy says.

“Of course,” he replies with a raised eyebrow, affronted at the thought of anything otherwise. Clifford’s accompanying bark seals the deal.

“But, yes, if that’s what’s making me ‘pouty’,” he puts air quotes around the word. “Then so be it. I’m going to miss you both. You’re two of my favorite people, and also...my relationship goals but that’s besides the point,” he mumbles the end, cheeks flushing red.

“Ha! Knew it,” Liz chuckles, nudging her wife. “Told you darling, those gagging sounds he always made were an act. A façade!”

“I’m not surprised,” Betsy hums, looking pleased.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Don’t let it get to your heads,” he grins, before shrugging one shoulder. “I suppose I’m just upset by the change. Four years with you two, and now I’m getting some random stranger? What if they’re annoying? What if they’re an asshole? Who even are they?”

“We never met them, they came during the open house,” Liz explains before turning to Betsy with her eyebrows furrowed. “But I think they’re young, around his age?”

“Perfect, so they’re probably a fool.”

“So you’re implying you’re also—”

“What if they fuck up your yard?” he continues with his hands raised, voice getting raspy as his rambling gets more passionate. “You worked hard on that yard!”

“Oh, love,” Betsy chuckles, bringing Louis into an embrace. He huffs at the contact, but eventually smiles. His squished cheek makes his entire face scrunch up. “I’m sure they’ll be lovely. Don’t be so hard on them, yeah?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, offended.

She shrugs sheepishly. “You can come off a bit—”

“Critical,” Liz finishes, raising an eyebrow. Louis' mouth falls open slightly.

“Excuse you,” he scoffs. “I’m a fucking delight.”

“At times.”

He rolls his eyes before wrapping his other arm around her shoulder. “I’ll be nice, as long as they aren’t an asshole,” he repeats, grumbling a bit.

“And you better keep your yard in top shape,” Betsy says sternly, ignoring his final comment. She pulls away to point her finger. “I don’t want to see a single weed in that yard when we come visit.”

“Okay.”

“I mean it, Louis.”

“I’ll try to keep up with it,” he promises, but it comes out a bit hesitant. At her narrowed eyes, he raises his hands up in innocence, flexing his jaw to keep the smile off his face. Betsy scowls.

“Louis,” she warns.

“I’ll keep up with it, alright?” he repeats through a laugh. “Mow the grass and water the plants and all that. You know I keep it simple.”

“Yeah, we won’t expect to see you in Better Homes and Gardens anytime soon,” Liz smiles, patting his shoulder.

“Oi!”

⸻

When the first day of school arrives the following Monday, Louis’ excited.

He loves teaching, and ever since he started at Johnson Magnet four years ago, he especially loves teaching high school seniors.

There’s a certain pride he feels when he helps one of his students understand a lesson; a burst of emotion when that light shines in their eyes at understanding a new concept.

Specifically with his seniors, he can’t help but feel overwhelming joy when they come back a few months after graduation and tell him how much they love college, or that they landed their dream internship with his letter of recommendation.

All of these little things are the reason he studied education, it’s the reason he’s an educator.

That doesn’t mean it comes without its challenges, and he feels that by the end of third period.

“They don’t try Liam, they don’t even fucking try,” he groans, storming into the teacher’s lounge. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Niall with his legs propped on the table. He’s dozing off.

“Louis, I’m sure they’re trying their best—”

“No, no they aren’t,” he says abruptly, maybe a bit hysterical. He grabs the pot of lukewarm coffee from the counter, immediately pouring it into his travel mug. He tries not to roll his eyes at Liam’s bemused expression. “They’re not! If they were, I’d be able to work with something. Do you know we just sat in silence the last fifteen minutes of class? In every. Fucking. Class. Complete silence. You know that saying, 'can hear a pin drop,' or some shit? Well, it was quieter than that. In fact, you could probably hear multiple pins drop!”

“Well, that would mean it’d be louder, yeah?” Liam questions with a head tilt. “Sort of contradictory to your point.” He holds out his mug for Louis to pour in some coffee.

Louis ignores his logic, but tilts the pot anyway. “Do you know how many classes I teach, Liam? Wanna know how many?”

“You’re going to tell me anyway.”

“Three out of the four periods!” he nearly screams as he shakes the sugar packets in his hand. “That’s what? Ninety students? Ninety students taking AP fucking Literature, and not one of them spoke? Not one of them could say a single thing, because they didn’t fucking do the assignment?”

“Maybe next time don’t give them shit to do over break?”

“It’s essential that they have the proper materials to prepare for their impending, proctored, AP exam!”

“In May,” Liam groans, rubbing his temples. “The exam is in May, Louis. It’s August!”

“So?”

“Every year,” he says flatly. “We have this conversation every. Year.”

“We do not—”

Niall's head pops up at the shrill sound of Louis’ protest, a hand flying up to cover his yawn. “Christ. It’s the first day, what is he on about?” he groans, rubbing his eyes.

“They didn’t do the summer readings,” Liam states, taking a seat at Niall’s table.

Niall’s eyes widen as he whips his head to Louis, who stirs his coffee and stares back with a blank expression. “They didn’t do the summer readings?”

“They didn’t do the fucking summer readings,” he grumbles, plopping down into the last empty seat. “Asked one question about In Country and they all went silent.”

“Well how hard was the question?”

“I asked them their thoughts on Sam Hughes.”

“Maybe he’s a complex character? Hard nut to crack?”

“She’s the main character, Niall.”

He blinks at Louis before shrugging. “Lou, I teach P.E. We did the pacer test and walked laps around the gym for ninety minutes.”

“Yeah, well the only thing they tested today was my patience,” he groans, laying his head down on the table.

“He knows that’s not the same thing, right?” he hears Niall whisper to Liam.

“What do you think?” Liam deadpans.

“He’s an English teacher.”

Louis moans into his arms, wishing that the day would just end. He doesn’t want to have his planning period, because that meant rearranging the entire damn schedule since he gave his students another week to read the book.

They all seemed a bit guilty under his gaze, knowing full well that he knew they didn’t read. That alone was enough for his steely expression to weaken.

It’s their senior year, and he knows how it can get at times. How close you feel to the rest of your life—the home stretch.

He’s also very familiar with the Senioritis that comes with it.

So yeah, he’ll cut them some slack. He rather have them read and have thoughtful conversations about the content than hit them with an exam that they’d fail miserably.

Even if that meant rearranging a few things and not being able to go home early like he planned.

His complaints behind closed doors are just that though; behind closed doors. To the students; he’s easygoing, he’s nice, and he knows how to startle a laugh out of the shyest of them. By all accounts, he’s the cool teacher (even if the self-proclaimed title elicits an eye roll from Niall and a refusal from Liam).

He’s always trying to make lessons fun, helping whenever he can during their practice essays in class. He even makes it a habit to combine his lessons with whatever Liam may be teaching during his AP U.S. History classes. Together, they’ve been able to keep the students engaged, and in return, their students have had some pretty impressive AP scores.

Enrollment for their classes has never been higher since they took over the English and History departments; they can make quite the team when they want to. Even if Liam tends to disagree with that from time to time.

Now if only his students would do. Their fucking. Readings.

“Drinks at the end of the week? Please?” he mumbles into the crook of his elbow, only raising his head up when he hears the affirming hums from his friends.

“It’s gonna be a long semester, isn’t it?” Niall chuckles, patting Louis on the shoulder as he makes his way out of the teacher’s lounge.

“For some of us,” Liam replies cheekily, causing Louis to scowl. He snickers, only shutting up when Louis effectively hits him straight in the face with an abandoned sugar packet.

⸻

The rest of the day goes by as smoothly as Louis predicted it would—which means not at all.

His planning period was rather peaceful, despite the stress and panic he felt as he tried to rearrange the schedule. He ended up staying long after the last bell rang for the day, hearing the loud chatter in the hallways as the students made their way to the buses, cars, and their afternoon activities.

At least he got to keep all the books in the curriculum, even if it meant taking away a few practice essays.

The drive back home is much less relaxing. He hits rush hour traffic, which wouldn’t have been a problem if his gas light wasn’t on—taunting him as he sat at a standstill with a gas station only a quarter of a mile away.

He eventually made it, but he cut it close.

It isn’t until he pulls into his driveway that he breathes out a sigh of relief. The tension that’s been building in his shoulders throughout the day dissipates when he puts his car in park. He slumps forward in his seat immediately, knocking his head against his steering wheel.

Friday cannot come soon enough.

He grabs his bag out of the passenger's seat before heading toward his front door, and smiles when he hears Clifford’s barks from inside. The pup always senses Louis’ arrival.

It’s when he’s plucking out the key for his front door that he spots the large container next door.

In Betsy and Liz’s driveway.

Well, what used to be their driveway.

He places the key into the lock as he looks over and sees a large U-Haul facing the garage.

So they’re here then.

He unlocks his door and pushes it open, Clifford immediately squeezing through the small crack and jumping on him, tail wagging wildly as he nudges his head into Louis’ chest and neck.

“Hey boyo, miss me?” Louis coos, scratching the labradoodle behind his ears. He grimaces when Clifford licks his face, trying to turn away as best as he can from his affectionate attack. “Go on love, go do your business.”

Because Clifford is well trained (and the best fucking dog in this damn neighborhood), he goes out into the yard with no trouble, giving Louis the perfect opportunity to further scope out his new neighbor’s...things.

He wouldn’t call it snooping, no, he’s simply curious.

He sets his stuff down right inside, leaving the door cracked open in case Clifford decides to head back, before making his way down the driveway. He can be nonchalant, completely casual. Absolutely.

Keeping an eye on his labradoodle, Louis takes a few steps toward the road. He whistles as he strolls down the asphalt, pretending to examine his own house while he takes sneaky glances at his neighbor’s. His hands are shoved in his pockets, teeth tugging on his bottom lip as he steps closer and closer to his neighbor's driveway.

He hears the gravel crunch beneath his feet as he walks, always keeping close enough so that he can see Clifford. It’s not until he’s right in front of their house that he loses all sense of elusiveness and cranes his neck to get a better look.

The garage is closed.

The lights are off.

There is no neighbor.

He hmphs at the sight (or lack thereof), disappointed that he won’t get to at least catch a glimpse of the individual who he’ll be living next to.

As he goes to turn around, he’s met with another one of his neighbors, who’s a bit too close for comfort.

“Christ, Mr. Swimmer,” Louis gasps, clutching his chest. He takes a step back from his middle-aged neighbor—who cackles at Louis’ reaction, shoulders shaking with his bellowing laugh while his chihuahua yelps at Louis from the ground.

Mr. Swimmer is, by all accounts, a nice enough guy. He always seems to be in the right place at the right time—meaning he has all the gossip you can possibly have in the suburbs.

That also means he’s at every corner, just waiting to pounce on anyone who’s milling around aimlessly. Such as Louis at this given moment.

While Louis loves his fair share of drama (ranging from posts stating 'whose cat is in my yard right now?’ to ‘if you’re the golden Subaru that just sped down McCanister Drive, I have your license plate’ on the Facebook page), some may say Mr. Swimmer is a bit of a...busybody.

“Looking for the residents of 937 Lockwood Lane, are you?” he chirps, leaning to the side to look over Louis’ shoulder.

Louis brushes his fringe out of his eyes, his heart still recovering from the near cardiac arrest the accountant from down the street almost gave him. “Uhm, yeah. Saw the move-in container, doesn’t look like he’s home though.”

Mr. Swimmer lets out a pleasant hum before nodding. “You just missed him, left for work a little bit ago.”

Louis nods. Makes sense. “Guess I’ll just have to try again tomorrow.”

“As you should,” Mr. Swimmer replies, picking up his chihuahua from the ground. “Bit quiet, but he’s polite. Seems like a nice enough fella, he’s around your age.”

Louis presses his lips into a tight smile. “So I’ve been told.”

“I also heard he’s single,” Mr. Swimmer says with an exaggerated wink.

Louis blinks, almost missing the meaning of his neighbor's words before the realization dawns on him. Dear God.

It’s enough that his mother, siblings, Liam, Niall, and the Wagner’s (is he missing anyone?) were far more invested in his love life than he was, but he draws the line at fucking Mr. Swimmer.

“Good to know, but that won’t be concerning me,” he replies politely, and if his tone comes out a bit clipped, his neighbor doesn’t comment on it.

“Suit yourself, but if you need a wingman,” Mr. Swimmer nudges his arm, and Louis has to use all his willpower to hold back an eye roll and groan.

“Thank you,” he grits out, a tight smile stretching so far over his face he feels his lips crack a bit.

Without another word, Mr. Swimmer starts to walk away, leaving Louis right between both houses. “Be nice, Mr. Tomlinson. Give him a warm welcome!” he calls out, waving a hand above his head as he heads down the street.

Louis can only pray he imagined the other wink Mr. Swimmer threw over his shoulder.

“Will do!” he calls back out, turning around to grab Clifford and make his way inside. He waits until he can no longer see Mr. Swimmer to roll his eyes, huffing a bit when Clifford comes up to him panting. Throwing his bag onto his couch, Louis crouches down to pet his dog, earning him another series of licks around his face and neck.

“Maybe one day everyone will stop pestering me about my love life, hm Cliff?” he tuts, scratching the labradoodle behind his ears. “We’re chilling, completely unbothered as the kids these days say. Don't need anyone.”

Clifford licks his ear in response, causing Louis to scrunch up his face at the uncomfortable feeling of it.

He ponders a bit as he plays with his labradoodle, contemplating who exactly his neighbor could be. He’s clearly made an impression on Mr. Swimmer, even if that impression led to him attempting to play matchmaker.

Though that option was off the table (Louis would not allow his neighbors to dictate his love life, thanks), he’s quite curious to know who his next-door neighbor could be.

Perhaps, he’s even a bit excited. If they’re anything like the Wagner’s, they’ll get along seamlessly, which is Louis’ best case scenario here.

When he goes to bed that night, he can’t help but feel a thrum of excitement at the prospect of introducing himself to his neighbor the next day.

It’ll be nice, he’s sure of it.

⸻

Louis doesn’t meet his neighbor for another two weeks.

And when he does, it is not in fact, “nice.”

He’s been trying to get a glimpse of the mysterious neighbor, who always seems to be MIA, but falls short every time. Louis can’t tell if he’s only ever home when he’s not around or if he hasn’t officially moved in yet.

It’s a week after his encounter with Mr. Swimmer, that the U-Haul finally moves out of the driveway and is replaced by a CR-V—which Louis sees on his way to work that morning and every morning that follows. By the time he gets back home at five in the afternoon however, it’s gone; only to reappear during his nightly walk with Cliff, and by that time it’s far too late to introduce himself.

So he watches as the cycle repeats, day in and day out. He doesn’t hear a single noise come from the house, and if it weren’t for his neighbors speaking of just how lovely his new neighbor is, he would think he’s a figment of his imagination.

It’s fine really, Louis understands not reaching out. Hell, it took him so long to meet Betsy and Liz when he first moved in. So, he doesn’t fault his neighbor.

Well, he doesn’t fault him on that front.

There may be another tiny—really, minuscule—reason as to why Louis has been trying to catch his neighbor these past few weeks.

His backyard.

If he can even call it that anymore.

Another reason why Louis is almost certain that his neighbor does go out while he’s at work, is because each day he comes back and there’s something...different about what used to be Betsy’s garden.

In the few weeks following the Wagner's move, the grass had grown a bit uneven and the patio had gotten mossy. It was a slight change from the usually kept yard that they had for years, but Louis didn’t really have much to worry about in that regard.

Until now.

The changes were small at first, barely noticeable. A random flower pot here and there, some window boxes filled with a variety of flowers (Louis is no expert, but he’s pretty sure he spotted some sunflowers in the bunch).

But then there were suddenly more trees. And shrubs. Also, a makeshift pond from a small indent of land that Betsy had previously covered with flowers.

And dried, rotten fruit in little containers littered across the yard.

Then the random pots turned into rows of beautiful flowers, which Louis didn’t mind. Until it started mixing with vines, weeds, and patches of open soil.

Suddenly, his neighbor’s once classy garden is now...

Well, he doesn't know exactly what it is. It doesn't look bad per se, but it doesn't look great either.

However, Louis isn’t unreasonable. Of course he isn’t. It isn’t his yard, it isn’t his property. What his neighbor chooses to do is just that. What he chooses to do.

Except, the fertilized grass was now growing exceptionally tall. Like, tall enough to cover the white spots of fur on Clifford’s paws, which hasn’t happened since his own yard was like that.

And the previously mentioned vines are now weaving their way into his yard.

There are also bees.

There are a lot of fucking bees.

As Louis looks out his screen door, he can see the wind blowing leaves and sticks into his yard, the rustling of the branches makes him wince. He doesn’t want to think about how it may get when Autumn hits.

It is not his yard, it is not his yard.

None of his business. It’s none of his business.

Except, if it’s affecting his yard, then it kinda is. Right?

He hears an excited bark come from behind him, followed by the clicks and clacks of nails hitting his hardwood floor. When he feels a wet snout press into his calf, he takes his eyes away from the yard, vision meeting with a very excited, panting labradoodle.

Louis raises an eyebrow, waiting for any indication of what he may want. When Clifford just looks between him and the screened door, he sighs.

“You’re not going out there.”

His dog whines, scratching at the screen door with his paw.

Louis rolls his eyes, “We just went out for a walk, bud.”

Clifford blinks up at him, as if to say, ‘what's your point?’

“You just want to eat the fruit,” Louis accuses, scrunching up his nose when he thinks about the rotten peaches and strawberries probably out there. “Trust me, you don’t want it.”

Clifford huffs out a breath through his nose, butting his head against Louis’ leg before seemingly giving up. Without another glance at his owner, he lugs himself over to his bed, circling it before plopping down dead center on the cushion.

“Love you too,” Louis mutters, turning his attention back out the window. When he does, he nearly drops the cup of tea in his hand.

There’s a fox.

An actual fucking fox in his yard.

Actually, in his neighbor’s.

But still, it’s close to his yard, and that’s enough for him.

“Fucking hell,” he whispers, squinting to get a better look at the mammal sniffing around their properties.

It doesn’t surprise him when it goes straight for the fruit placed near the dip that separates the two yards.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, knowing just how late it’s getting. Surely, he can wait till morning to say something about it. It’s not like his neighbor is home anyway, probably at work or something.

But then again, there’s a fucking fox in his yard. Louis knows there are animals around his neighborhood, a large patch of woods is less than a mile away, so they’re sure to get some woodland creatures from time to time.

He has yet though, in his four years in this neighborhood, to see a fox in his own yard.

Do they come out at night? Probably, but Louis lives blissfully unaware of that fact. He prefers to live in ignorance, in that regard.

The sun is setting right now though, it isn’t dark yet. He is no longer ignorant.

With his lip tucked between his teeth, he looks at the small creature moving about their yards. It can very well be harmless, but Louis didn’t like the idea of it potentially crossing paths with Clifford.

Naturally, he calls the only person he thinks can help in this situation.

“Hello?” Liam mumbles

“There’s a fox in my yard.” Louis cuts to the chase, a bit frantic. “There’s a fucking fox in my yard and it’s because of my neighbor.”

There’s a low hum through the phone, and Louis has to look at the screen to make sure Liam didn’t hang up on him.

“Okay…” Liam replies slowly. “Isn’t that like, normal though?”

“They have never gone in my yard before,” Louis argues, keeping his eyes locked on the animal sniffing through Harry’s containers of fruit. “Until fucking now.”

“It’s just a fox, Louis. They roam.”

“What if Clifford hurts it?” he pauses and then lets out a small gasp. “What if it hurts Clifford?”

“Clifford could hurt me if he wanted to,” Liam deadpans. “He’s huge, a little fox isn’t gonna do any damage.”

“What if it has rabies?” Louis continues. “What about then, hm?”

He hears Liam sigh, and he can almost picture his friend rubbing a hand across his forehead. “Louis, if it’s this much of a problem just talk to your neighbor about it.”

“But—”

“You think it’s because of his fruit, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then talk to him. I can’t do anything over the phone.”

“You can—”

“Lou,” Liam interrupts. “Go talk to him.”

“What happened to being able to call you with whatever I needed, huh?” Louis sputters, raising his arm up at the dismissal. “What happened to, ‘I’ll come in a second, Lou. Just say the word,’” he repeats, imitating Liam’s voice.

“First of all, I don’t talk like that,” Liam states. “Second of all, I told you that four years ago when you first started teaching.”

Louis blinks. “Your point?”

“Let me know how it goes. Bye Lou.”

“But—”

He’s met with the dial tone before he can finish his sentence.

With a pout, he shuts off his phone and shoves it in his pocket. Liam is no help.

And he can no longer see the fox.

Fuck.

He weighs his options, wondering how he can go about this. The fox was only one problem out of a pool of many caused by his neighbor.

It would give Louis an opportunity to address all of them though, if he were to go speak to him.

If he’s even home.

He turns away from the back door and paces in front of Clifford. The labradoodle just looks up at him with those large, puppy eyes that make Louis want to squeeze him tightly and never let go. Maybe later, after he figures out this backyard fiasco.

“Okay Cliff, if his car is in the driveway, I’ll go over,” he mumbles, pointing a thumb in the direction of his neighbor’s house. “If he isn’t, I’ll wait a few days. Maybe he’s just busy with work, yeah?”

Clifford blinks before turning his attention to his paw, licking it as if it’s more interesting than Louis’ current crisis.

Louis sighs, bending down to scratch between his ears. Clifford pants happily at the action. “Nice chat.”

When Louis reaches his front door, it takes one glance toward the house in question to see that the CR-V is in the driveway, and his neighbor is in fact, home.

“Just be nice,” he mutters to himself as he makes his way down his driveway. His hands are in the pockets of his jeans, the light breeze causing goosebumps to rise on his arms. He probably should have changed into his hoodie, but to be fair, he does look rather nice in this polo. Professional, chic, if you will.

It’s when he reaches the start of the next driveway that he stops, a twinge of reluctance finally filling him. It’s a bit too late to turn back now, besides, he definitely won’t be taking Cliff out again until that fox is gone.

This may be one of his only chances to get to know his neighbor, and also, to salvage what’s left of their yards.

Nodding to himself, he goes up the front porch. Before he can think against it, he rings the doorbell.

He waits for a few moments before allowing himself to glance at his surroundings, he spots mini garden gnomes sticking out of flower pots that are splayed out on the wooden deck. They’re filled with daisies. His neighbor also has some baskets hanging from the roof of his porch, filled with more flowers organized neatly into the clay pots.

Maybe saying he likes to garden is an understatement.

Louis can admit it does smell quite lovely though, even just the flowers on the porch fill him with bliss. If only the backyard made him feel this way as well.

He doesn’t know how much longer he waits until finally, he hears the door click open. He takes a deep breath, a bit jittery at the conversation that’s about to take place. This may or may not make his neighbor hate him, but it’s a risk he’s willing to take. He knows deep in his gut that this wasn’t going to work out, he knew all of his doubts about who was going to move in after Betsy and Liz were valid, and now he's going to tell his neighbor as nicely as he possibly can that he can’t just waltz into the neighborhood and have a complete disregard for—

“Hi, can I help you?”

Louis blinks. Then he blinks again.

Oh.

Every single argument, rebuttal, and counterargument he had planned to use against his neighbor is suddenly wiped away, gone in an instant.

Actually, that’s not entirely true. They most certainly matter and he is most certainly still upset and looking for an argument, however given a new unforeseen circumstance, he’s not sure where exactly his speech is supposed to start.

Because his neighbor is not exactly who Louis was expecting.

At all.

He’s fit, is the thing. Which, it’s not like that should be a surprise. It’s just that...well, it is one.

But, he’s not just fit. He’s pretty. Like a doll, like someone Louis can just sit and admire for days—which is certainly looking like a better plan at the moment than whatever he originally came over for.

Of course, that doesn’t matter for the task at hand, of course it doesn’t, but Louis isn’t blind. His neighbor is lean, long legs accentuated by the high-waisted jeans he’s sporting and the tucked in beige sweater covering his torso. He’s leaning against the door frame, a hip cocked to the side with his arms crossed as he studies Louis curiously.

Louis doesn’t let his eyes linger too long on the tattoos peeking from his wrists, crossed over one another across his chest.

There’s a green apron as well, wrapped loosely around his body with the words ‘Stay Sharp!’ next to a cartoon cactus. Patches of dirt are stained into the fabric and it’s a bit worn. That shouldn’t make Louis’ heart swell, and if anyone were to ask, it doesn’t.

(It does.)

The next thing he notices is the curls. God, how could he not notice them? They’re a bit ruffled, whether it be from running his hands through it or the bandana wrapped around his forehead. The brown locks are peeking around the nape of his neck, curling around the sides of his ears. Louis has to physically hold himself back from wanting to reach out and tuck a loose ringlet that has fallen in front of his face behind his ear.

It accentuates his jawline. His slightly pale complexion almost glowing in the dimming light of day. It accentuates the dark tint of his lips, and fucking hell, Louis doesn’t want to think about how full they are, how naturally red they seem to be.

And those eyes. They’re emerald. No, not emerald. Not like the gem, they’re almost as green as the grass in Louis’ yard, the leaves on the rose bush near his front porch. They’re so fucking green that even as the sun sets, Louis can see the specks of gold within them. Can see how they dance around his pupils, disappearing every now and then when he blinks slowly back at him.

“Are you alright?” he speaks again, his deep voice humming the words. The slight tilt in his tone creates a flutter in Louis’ stomach. His voice instantly reminds him of peppermint—strong yet refreshing.

His neighbor clears his throat, and the noise finally takes Louis away from his perusal. “Seriously, are you good?”

Louis blinks, taking in the concerned yet curious look on his face. “Uhm,” he fumbles, shifting his body weight from one ankle to another. He purses his lips as he tries to come up with a response, making sure his brain is actually processing the person in front of him.

To put it simply, Louis’ neighbor is attractive.

And he has forgotten why he came over here in the first place.

“You live next door, right?” his neighbor asks, pointing a finger over to his house. Louis looks over, nodding dumbly at the question before turning back. “Okay...” he draws out, eyeing Louis’ quiet demeanor.

Jesus fuck, he came over here for a reason didn’t he?

“I’m Louis,” he’s finally able to get out, clearing his throat. His hand shoots out, almost too eagerly. “Louis Tomlinson.”

Not what you had planned, idiot.

His neighbor raises an eyebrow at the gesture, lips quirking upward slightly.

“I’m Harry,” he replies, grasping Louis’ hand. It’s calloused and slightly cold, and for some reason, despite all of that, Louis thinks it fits perfectly in his own. “Harry Styles. Can I help you with something?”

And this is it, isn’t it? This is Louis' chance to give his neighbor a piece of his mind. Tell him that he can’t move over here, onto his street, and take over both of their yards with his fucking jungle.

He couldn’t just let his trees grow over into his yard, let the weeds of his plants grow ridiculously long without any consideration for others.

So, why is he having so much trouble repeating that?

“I saw a fox in your yard,” he ends up responding with, a brief silence following the statement.

Harry raises an eyebrow at the abruptness of his words, trying (and failing) to hide an amused smirk.

“A fox?” he questions with a head tilt. His eyebrows furrow slightly, confused at Louis’ words.

To be fair, he had intended on being clearer from the get-go. But there’s been an unforeseen circumstance that he’s still trying to recover from, alright?

“Yes,” he confirms, “in your yard.”

“Huh,” Harry hums, looking back into his house and most likely, in the direction of his back door. “Cool,” he grins, a pleasant tilt in his voice.

Louis' mouth slightly parts, but he snaps it shut almost immediately. He pushes back the memory of his reaction to the animal, which was seemingly very different from his neighbor’s.

“Uhm, right,” he stammers, fixing his fringe when it threatens to fall over his eyes. “Yeah, cool.”

There’s a lull in the conversation, and the two men stare at each other wordlessly.

When Louis bounces on the balls of his feet, Harry puffs out his cheeks and produces a small smile. “Well, if that’s all—”

“Also your yard,” Louis blurts out, wincing at how quickly he interrupted him.

Harry freezes, one foot backed toward the inside of the house, posed as if he was about to reenter. Slowly, he straightens up again. “My yard?”

Louis nods and Harry scratches the back of his head. “What about it?”

“Why are there so many…” he stumbles a bit, trying to look for the correct words, but it’s difficult with the innocent look on Harry’s face, his eyes staring right into Louis’ fucking soul. He looks like a baby deer caught in headlights and damn it, if it didn’t make Louis slightly weak at the knees.

“So many…?”

Jesus Christ.

“Trees?” he finally blurts out, but the high tilt to his voice forms it as a question.

Harry blinks. “Trees.”

“And— and flowers and bushes,” he continues, listing off each thing on his fingers. “Like, a lot of them? And so much fucking fertilizer...and you made a pond?”

“I did.”

“Yeah...why?” he questions, curiously. Harry goes to open his mouth, but he continues, shaking his head to stop him. “And there’s rotten fruit everywhere, which like, you know this neighborhood has deer, right? And foxes. Like, the little red one in your yard. And bunnies, they’re everywhere, so you shouldn’t just leave—”

“It’s a pollinator garden.”

“—all that fruit because you’re going to—what?” Louis stops, his finger freezing right before it lists another problem.

“A pollinator garden,” Harry repeats with a sheepish shrug.

Louis nods slowly, holding a steady gaze. “Right...what is that?”

Harry’s face drops, a slight pout forming on his lips. “You don’t know what a pollinator garden is?”

“...No?”

“Oh,” he replies, pulling his eyebrows together. “It’s a garden that helps pollinators stay in the area for crops and floral production.”

Louis remains silent, slowly tilting his head to the side as Harry goes on about how he became interested in gardening after watching a documentary on the declining pollinator population. He explains the process of crop production and how essential it is that these...pollinators are able to supply said pollen and nectar.

At the end of his spiel, he raises an eyebrow at Louis with a goofy grin on his face. Frankly, Louis still isn’t sure how he’s supposed to respond to that.

(If it’s because he was focused on the deep dimple that formed on Harry’s right cheek as he spoke, no one has to know.)

“So like,” he starts, biting his bottom lip. “It’s for bees?”

“Can be,” Harry agrees with a nod. “Also butterflies, wasps, birds, etcetera.”

"Doesn't this usually happen in the spring? Like, when all that yellow shit is on our cars?"

"Pollen production actually goes until the first frost, usually." 

“Oh,” Louis responds thoughtfully, even though he doesn't know what means, “nice.”

In theory, it actually seems quite cool. He does briefly remember more butterflies than usual circling his yard, along with the bees. That being said—

“Do you think maybe you can tone it down a bit though?” he asks casually, shrugging.

The thoughtful look falls off Harry's face. “What?”

“Just a bit,” Louis mends quickly, raising his hands. “It’s just that—”

“You know it’s my yard, right?” Harry clips, crossing his arms over his chest.

Louis sees his shoulders tense, the once goofy smile on his face replaced with a hard expression.

At least his original mission still had the expected outcome.

“I recognize that, yes,” he says slowly. “Which is why I haven’t stopped by earlier, it wasn’t a problem until—”

“Oh, so this isn’t a welcome visit?” Harry ponders sarcastically. He snaps his fingers, “I had my suspicions when I didn’t see any pie.”

“I—” Louis fish mouths a bit, not expecting to be met with, well, this. He was supposed to be in and out.

“As I was saying,” he finally gets out, ignoring the heat he feels on his cheeks. “It wasn’t a problem until your leaves and flowers and…vines? Weeds? Started growing into my yard.”

Harry shrugs. “I can’t control what direction my plants go in.”

Louis blinks, his eyes darting to the side before training back on Harry’s face. “You sort of can, they’re fucking plants.”

“What do you expect me to do? Tell them not to grow toward your yard?”

“Or you can just plant them so they aren’t near it in the first place,” Louis says with faux sweetness, a tight smile growing on his face. “Snip them, perhaps?”

“That would kill them.”

“And what a travesty that would be,” Louis retorts breezily, patience wearing thin.

Harry scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Why does it bother you so much? It’s a garden.”

“And it’s going into my yard!”

“Then get a damn fence!” Harry snaps back, clearly growing more agitated with Louis’ comments.

“Why don’t you get a damn fence?!”

“Because I’m not the one who’s complaining about fucking plants!”

“Yeah well I—” Louis licks his lips, trying to think of a valid comeback. He pauses for a minute, and Harry looks at him expectantly, tilting his head in a way that says try me.

Louis takes everything back. His curls are stupid. He wants to cut that loose strand of hair so it grows awkwardly. His apron is not cute. His eyes aren’t even that green.

“I moved here first,” he says with finality, crossing his arms over his chest. He raises his eyebrows, challenging Harry to say something back.

Harry shoots him an unimpressed look before leaning forward, leaving only a tiny gap between them. Louis bites the inside of his cheek to keep his face void of emotion.

“Then get the fence first,” Harry whispers, lips a mere inch or two away from Louis’.

Louis hates him. It’s been decided.

Before he can even think of a comeback, Harry takes a step back and turns to go back inside. “Nice to meet you, Louis,” he says, going to close the door. He stops midway, peeking his head between the crack. “Actually? It wasn’t. Clearly, we’re past fake pleasantries.”

Louis narrows his eyes, immediately going to respond, but before he can, the door shuts in his face.

Curly-haired bastard.

With a clenched jaw, he turns around and heads back to his own house. He makes a point to walk (stomp) through his yard, barely missing the flowers around Harry’s walkway. Just because he can.

“Fucking asshole,” he mutters under his breath, storming up his porch and swinging his door open. He’s immediately met with Clifford jumping onto him, balancing on his hind legs.

He sighs, some of his anger subsiding at the hands of his dog; he scratches behind his ears, veering away as best he can from the licks that Clifford is trying to plant in the middle of his face.

“That did not go as expected,” he tells him. “Maybe you should’ve come along, soften the blow a bit.”

Clifford barks back happily, making Louis smile. Oblivious one, he is.

“We don’t like him, alright? Enemy number one, by all standards,” he continues, maneuvering the labradoodle’s paws off of his chest and back to the floor.

He makes his way through the living room, bypassing the back door and heading to his kitchen. No more time is going to go into thinking about his yard, his neighbor’s yard, or his neighbor for that matter. All he needs is more tea. He really, really needs more tea.

And fuck. He needs to grade papers too.

“And we are not getting a fence, do you hear me? We will not succumb to his demands, absolutely not,” he continues, grabbing a mug from the cupboard. Clifford sits next to him, looking up with wide eyes and a tilted head as Louis goes on. When green eyes and dimples invade his memory, he closes the cupboard a bit harder than intended. “Nor are we to fraternize with the enemy.”

Clifford barks at the sudden slam and Louis lets out a frustrated sigh; whether it’s at his labradoodle’s response or his own words, has yet to be decided.

“No matter how cute he may or may not be.”

⸻

By the end of next week, Louis is enlisting Liam and Niall to help with a fence.

“I thought you weren’t going to give in?” Niall asks, hopping onto one of the desks. He leans back, left arm holding his body up as he throws crumpled-up assignments into the nearby trash can.

Liam scowls at him. “You better recycle those after you're done.”

Niall makes a face before shooting another. It lands on the floor.

“I’m not ‘giving in,’” Louis grumbles, tongue slightly sticking out of his mouth as he concentrates on his white-board drawing. He ignores the deadly glares Liam’s throwing at him and occasionally dodges Niall’s horrible aim.

“Really?”

Well.

In the week since meeting Harry, the rest of their encounters haven’t been...the best.

Or pleasant, for that matter.

It started the next morning on Louis’ way out.

He was already running late and had forgotten to set his alarm the night before. It didn't help that he had run out of milk for his coffee and had forgotten to put his clothes in the dryer.

He really hated Mondays.

And his first encounter with Harry may have bothered him more than he would have liked.

But that morning, he hadn’t even thought of his rude, curly-haired neighbor who resembled his younger sister’s cabbage patch kid. Honestly, he hadn’t. Because he was fucking late and he didn’t need his students to have more of a reason to call him out when he marked them tardy.

His thoughts were filled with laundry, coffee, more laundry, and no coffee.

He would deal with Harry at a later date.

Or so he thought, until he went to take Clifford out.

There he was, the infamous Harry Styles, up bright and early—planting more flowers and putting out more rotten fruit in the dip that separated his and Louis’ yards.

“You’ve got to be joking,” Louis deadpanned once he slid the back door open. Clifford paid no mind to his dad, immediately sprinting over to Harry with his tail wagging feverishly behind him.

That traitor.

“Hello puppy,” Harry gasped, setting down his shovel so he could scratch Clifford behind both of his ears. Louis watched in horror as his dog—his pride and joy—ran in circles around his neighbor, licking his face and jumping around excitedly at a new friend.

They were not supposed to be fraternizing with the enemy.

Harry watched Clifford with a goofy grin on his face, not even minding as the labradoodle kicked dirt up around them. When he had finally calmed down and turned over so Harry could rub his stomach, Harry turned his attention to Louis with a pleasant smile.

“Morning, neighbor.”

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Ensuring my garden is pollinated,” Harry answered simply. “What are you doing?”

Louis clicked his tongue, sighing. “Trying to take out Cliff.”

“Is that your name then?” Harry turned to Clifford, a small smile on his face as the dog panted happily at the attention. “What a lovely name for you. It’s fitting.”

Louis’ eyebrows furrowed at the comment, but he shook his head. He was still running late and Clifford had to do his business.

“Can you maybe leave him alone for a minute?” he asked, feigning politeness. Even if his face said otherwise.

Harry looked up with a sour expression. “Why?”

“Because he needs to use the bathroom and I’m running late,” he gritted out.

“I can watch him.”

Louis froze at the offer, waiting for the kick. Harry just stared back with a blank expression, his fingers scratching Clifford’s belly mindlessly.

“Really?”

He gestured to the garden. “I’m out here anyway, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, practically planting in my fucking yard,” Louis mumbled, shifting on his feet.

“Do you want me to watch him or not?”

Louis groaned, but nodded reluctantly. “That would actually help a lot, so yes.”

Harry nodded. “Alright then, I’ll be here.”

Louis returned the gesture before turning around, but stopped before entering his house. “Thank you,” he called out over his shoulder.

“Mhm,” Harry hummed, standing up so Clifford would roll back over. “I’m still not getting a fence.”

Louis tried his hardest to hold back an agitated groan. He failed.

Two days later, he saw three foxes out and about in Harry’s yard and then in his yard.

He hadn’t seen Harry since he helped him out that morning, but any hospitality or truce they may have come had long been forgotten.

There were fucking foxes in Louis’ yard because of the fucking fruit and Clifford was going ballistic over it.

He was barking relentlessly, jumping around the windows that faced the backyard as the foxes sniffed aimlessly around. Louis had tried to close the blinds, had locked the doors, and even turned off the fucking lights, but Clifford was a dog on a mission.

And Louis was annoyed.

He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots as he set down his red pen. He was ten assignments deep, his students had just finished their first timed in-class essay.

While they were all intelligent, no one did well on the first prompt. Ever.

So, Clifford’s incessant barking did not help his current grading situation.

“Cliff, come on,” he groaned, slumping into his chair and watching his dog sprint back and forth. At the sound of his nails hitting the floor, Louis closed his eyes—he definitely felt a headache coming on.

That wouldn’t do.

So he stormed over to Harry’s and hoped Clifford wouldn’t break through the back door.

“Hi Louis,” Harry had answered with an irritated sigh.

At least they were on the same page then. “Hi. Do you know there are foxes in your yard?”

“I do.”

“And mine?”

“I figured,” Harry replied dryly, leaning on his door frame. He tugs on a hangnail and glances up at Louis with disinterest. “Are you going to come tell me every time you see an animal?”

“I will when it’s your fault they’re there in the first place.”

“If we’re going to be technical, they were here first. Deforestation was and continues to be a problem, Louis.”

Louis rolls his eyes, “Can you just stop putting out your fucking fruit?”

“No. They’re going to come anyway.”

“It wasn’t a problem before you started fucking doing it! They would never come out this early!”

“But they still come out, don’t they?” Harry asked breezily, running a hand through his curls. Louis had more difficulty taking his eyes away from the silky locks than he’d like to admit.

“Get a fence.”

“I have no need. You, on the other hand...” Harry trails off, raising his eyebrows.

Louis doesn’t say another word, he simply storms back over to his house without saying goodbye to his neighbor.

What he did do, however, was take Clifford on a long walk after the pup had eaten his food. What a shame it was that all the poop stations near his street were full, and he had to carry the bags home.

Thankfully he had a neighbor who already had things rotting in his yard.

He’d come to deny it later, especially when Harry showed up at his door at nine p.m. that night huffing and puffing (“You put shit in my yard!” “You’ve always had shit in your yard Harold, I thought that was the whole point?”).

But then the worst of it happened.

Following the fox incident on Wednesday, the rest of the week went by relatively peacefully. They’d pass each other on Louis’ way into his house from the school and Harry’s way out to his job, glaring at one another and maybe nodding in acknowledgment from time to time.

But it had been...calm.

Or at least, Harry hadn’t retaliated.

There were still an obscene amount of weeds and plants growing into Louis’ yard and there were still foxes and other animals creeping around during the day, but he refused to give in. He would not be spending money on a damn fence for his neighbor’s activities.

Louis wasn’t a prideful person, he truly wasn’t. Though, some people may bring out the most stubborn side of him.

He had a change of heart this morning when he walked out his front door and came face to face with some unexpected decor.

Right in the middle of his yard were the obnoxious signs that people get for special occasions. He had seen them around his neighborhood the last couple of months as they grew in popularity, but he certainly had not expected to see a ‘Happy Birthday, Jeff!’ in large, pink glittery letters picketed into his grass.

“Who the fuck is Jeff?” he asked loudly into the empty morning air, raising his arms up before having them flop against his sides. He cringes at the cardboard, not because of the color or even because of the fucking name (seriously, who is Jeff?), but because it had a certain curly-haired neighbor all over it. It was an act so innocent that it could have been mistaken as an act of kindness, but he knew better.

That had Louis reeling.

And then he saw his driveway.

More specifically, he saw what was on his driveway.

“Didja know I sometimes dog-sit for Mr. Swimmer?” he heard Harry chirp from behind him.

Louis didn’t turn to him, just clenched his fists and stared at the small green bags lined at the end of his driveway, blocking his car in almost as effectively as nails would.

“Do you?” he replied evenly, jutting his jaw out.

He heard footsteps coming near him and then the warm presence of a body to his left. “I do,” Harry sighed happily. “Cute dog. Unfortunately, the stations around the neighborhood were all full again.”

“Tragic, that,” Louis gritted out, scratching the scruff on his chain just to keep his hands away from enclosing around Harry's neck.

The current state of Louis’ front yard made him lose all the guilt he may have felt for not picking up Clifford’s business, for not giving Harry the benefit of the doubt.

“And what’s that then?” he seethed, nodding over to the huge signs.

“Oh! Thought I’d surprise you,” Harry chuckled. “Isn’t it lovely?”

“Who the fuck is Jeff and why isn’t this in his yard?” Louis snapped, pointing fiercely at the signs.

Harry furrowed his eyebrows and frowned, bottom lip sticking out slightly.

“Are you telling me it’s not your birthday?” he asked innocently, cocking his head to the side.

That’s when Louis turned to him, almost taking a step back at how close they actually were. Harry was in a soft, purple robe with a cup of tea in his hand. The mug had a rainbow on it, which would have been endearing if Louis hadn’t been fucking fuming.

“It’s not,” he said slowly, trying his hardest not to let his irritation show. His jaw was clenched as he took in his yard and driveway, wondering how the hell he was going to get his car out of this mess.

“Oh,” Harry said lightly, taking a sip from his mug to hide his smirk. “My mistake. Happy early birthday, then?”

Louis makes a point to throw a glare at the ‘Jeff’ sign before storming to his car, ignoring Harry’s giggling as he backed out of his driveway and started his drive to work.

He tried not to visibly cringe as he ran over the bags of dog shit at the end of his driveway.

“Who’s Jeff?” Niall asks once Louis finishes retelling anecdotes from his own personal hell.

He blinks. “Does that matter?”

Niall shrugs, throwing a piece of paper in the air before catching it. “I guess not. Since you’re giving in anyway.”

Louis barely has time to glare at him before a piece of paper hits the side of his head. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I’m simply taking preventative action before the situation becomes more hostile.”

Liam snorts. “I think over the phone you phrased it as, ‘succumbing to his dema—”

Louis presses the dry-erase marker so hard into the board it squeaks. He slowly turns to his friends with his arms crossed. “Are you guys going to help me or not?”

Niall shrugs and scores a three-pointer. “Don’t have anything better to do after cross country practice. Sure.”

“As long as you pay for food and beer,” Liam adds, tapping his pen on the edge of his keyboard. His voice is distant as he focuses on his computer’s screen, most likely choosing prompts for the next APUSH exam. His glasses are perched on his nose and he’s barely paying attention to Louis.

Louis takes that as a win.

“Perfect,” he smirks, drawing a final line on the board, completing his artwork. The streak makes a high-pitched noise, and he emphasizes it by adding a final dot. That catches Liam’s attention—who almost knocks over his entire monitor at Louis’ (NSFW) drawing.

“You better erase that right fucking now.”

⸻

Louis should’ve expected Harry would be out in his yard when he, Niall, and Liam arrived later that afternoon.

He also should’ve expected that it would make his own personal hell that much hotter.

Figuratively, and literally.

“I see you’ve decided to take your own advice,” Harry says as a form of greeting, laying down his gardening tools near the center of his yard. The height of the grass immediately hides them from Louis’ vision, and he holds back a groan (rather poorly) when he hears Harry make his way over to them.

“If by that you mean I’m being the bigger person here, then yes,” Louis says, even if it’s a bit petulant. He’s in the middle of drilling a board of the fence to what they’ve done so far, on his knees while he makes sure it’s evenly placed at the bottom. Only the sound of Harry’s voice tells him he's nearby. “Clearly you aren’t willing to have a civil conversation about the state of our yards.”

“Says the person who put dog shit in mine,” Harry retorts with a humorless laugh.

“Yeah, well says the person who put dog shit in my driveway,” Louis replies back childishly, finally standing up to face his neighbor.

His resolve falters a bit when he’s met with Harry, hand on his cocked hip as he casually examines Louis’ yard (which to be fair, is a bit of a mess right now).

Harry is dressed in a loose tank top and sweatpants, putting all of the tattoos on his upper body on display.

He has...a lot of them, Louis notes.

He’s also wearing a brim braided sun hat, which is laid on top of his curls and connected to a thin string hanging below his chin. Gardening gloves are sticking out of his pants pocket.

Louis swallows, eyes flickering quickly to the wet patches near the center of his tank, probably sweat from the late August heat.

It is a bit humid.

He forces his gaze away from Harry’s body to lock eyes with him instead, but Harry has an unreadable expression on his face as he takes in Louis’ appearance as well, his eyes lingering on Louis’ chest before meeting his eyes with a neutral expression.

They stare at each other for a moment, neither of them speaking. Louis doesn’t know what exactly just happened, but he’s not going to bring light to it.

All he knows is that he does not appreciate Harry looking as good as he does in that fucking hat. No one should look good in that hat.

“I’m Niall,” he suddenly hears in the silence. Harry doesn’t take his eyes off of Louis right away, but then he turns to his friends with a slight cough, clearing his throat.

“And I’m Liam,” Liam chirps from beside him, adding a two-finger wave to his own greeting.

Louis forgot they were here.

“I’m Harry,” his neighbor replies kindly, waving. A particularly strong gust of wind blows and he grabs his hat cautiously, a small “oop!” escaping his lips as it flops onto his back. “But I’m sure you two already knew that.”

“Bold to assume I speak of you,” Louis says flatly, examining his nails.

Liam’s eyes flicker to him unimpressed before turning back to Harry. “He does.”

Louis hates him.

Niall cackles.

Louis hates him too.

“I figured,” Harry says cheerfully, backing up from the group in the direction of his yard. “Well, I’ll just be over there, gardening away.”

“How many more fucking sunflowers can one person plant?” Louis asks, dumbfounded and shaking his head.

“Depends how many it’ll take for you to stop complaining about them!”

Niall chuckles, “Trust me, mate. You don’t have enough space for that.”

Louis shoves his elbow into his friend’s side, causing him to let out an agonizing groan.

He throws him a tight smile, earning a glare. “The fuck did ya do that for?” Niall hisses, clutching his ribs.

Louis rolls his eyes before turning back to Harry with a fake smile. “I hope a bunny eats them.”

“Mature,” Liam mumbles. Louis uses his other elbow to jab him in the side. He’s met with a hand instead.

Curse Liam and his reflexes.

They’re supposed to be on his side, not fraternizing with the enemy.

Why was everyone fucking fraternizing with the enemy?

Harry watches the three of them interact, entertained as he continues his walk back over to his yard.

“Just keep on building up your fence, Louis,” he says as a farewell, glancing amusedly at the pillars of wood in the grass. He turns to Liam and Niall with his hands clasped behind his back, nodding at them. “It was nice meeting you two.”

“You as well, Harry,” Liam says with a wave, bidding Louis’ neighbor goodbye. Niall waves enthusiastically at Harry’s retreating figure as well, making Louis roll his eyes.

Every person in his life is a traitor.

Once Harry’s out of earshot, Louis goes back to nailing the fence. “I hate him.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Did you not see how douchey he was just then?!” he whispers harshly, pointing the drill in Harry’s direction.

He’s fairly certain he can hear him humming the lyrics of Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! from here.

“Like you were any better,” Liam mutters, lining the wood up on the other side.

Louis’ mouth falls open, affronted. “Who’s side are you on?”

“The side of hoping you two resolve your sexual tension before there’s nothing left to fence up,” Niall quips. Liam points to him in acknowledgment, resulting in Niall blowing him back a kiss.

“Where the fuck did you two get that from?” Louis nearly shrieks, dropping his drill onto the grass. “You call any of that fucking attraction?”

“I do when you both did it while undressing each other with your eyes,” Liam adds. He shrugs at Louis’ shocked expression. “You aren’t subtle. Neither is he.”

“Can read ‘em like a book,” Niall adds, it comes out softly against the sound of his own drill.

Louis looks between the both of them horrified. “I wasn’t—”

“Harry was ogling your ass as he came over,” Niall states, turning off his tool to turn to him.

Louis pauses, raising his eyebrow slightly before taking a hesitant glance in the direction of his neighbor’s yard. “He was?”

“Yep,” Niall replies, popping out the p. “And you were just doing the same, don’t think I didn’t see your eyes move downward when he finally turned around.”

Louis doesn’t deny it and Niall chuckles softly before going back to work.

“I’m not blind you know,” he puts out there, not making eye contact with either of them. “He’s obviously attractive, his attitude ruins it though.”

“Right,” Liam replies half-heartedly.

Louis glares at him. ”It does.”

“Yes, because you’re such a delight to be around.”

“Ay!”

“He’s got a point,” Niall adds. “You were being an ass.”

“Only because—”

“If only you two would put your differences aside, kiss, and then make—”

“Do not finish that sentence,” Louis warns.

Niall smirks. “I was gonna say make up, but clearly you had other thoughts in mind.”

Louis really really needs new friends.

“We don’t get along,” he says instead, turning back toward the fence. “That isn’t going to change.”

“Not yet,” Liam retorts with a smirk, snatching the drill from Louis playfully.

Not ever. Louis rolls his eyes, choosing not to indulge his friends any longer.

“Some may say you’re de-fence-less against him,” Niall quips into the silence as seriously as he can before bursting into laughter. Liam follows shortly behind, chuckling.

Louis only stares back blankly, completely unamused at the turn their conversation took.

He just wants to put up his damn fence.

⸻

Louis’ day doesn’t start off on the best note, which naturally means the rest of it isn’t going to be any better.

He’s late for work, but this time it isn’t even his own fault. There just had to be construction happening on nearly every fucking street.

If he never sees another “road work ahead” sign, it’ll still be too soon.

Then he realizes he left his coffee in the car once first period starts, and frankly, it’s too early in the semester to trust that his students won’t discuss the prompts if he were to step out for a moment.

He may or may not have done that when he was in high school, so he isn’t taking any chances.

So he teaches their lesson on a caffeine-less brain, head pounding as he reads paragraphs from the next chapter of Emma and asks his students to analyze the emotions she may have felt toward Mr. Weston.

He ignores their snickers when he lays his head down on his cold desk as they start their timed essays.

The rest of his day goes by similarly, he’s eventually able to grab the shit coffee offered in the teacher’s lounge. It should hold him over for the rest of the day. Hopefully.

He originally plans to sit with Liam and Niall for a bit, but the second he hears the name ‘Harry’ muttered, he pivots and walks right out.

It’s simply not a good day.

It doesn’t get better when he arrives home.

Harry’s car isn’t in his driveway when Louis pulls into his, which he considers a small victory. He makes his way inside quickly, not wanting to accidentally catch him if he were to arrive home.

At this point, everything is better. His head no longer hurts, Clifford is butting his head against his leg in greeting, and he doesn’t have to do any grading until the weekend.

Rough start, but it’s fine. His day is fine.

Then he goes to let Clifford run around out back.

He spots the huge branch first, it’s towering over his yard from Harry’s tree. He doesn’t even know when that happened, because surely it wasn’t there this morning. Or yesterday.

Or maybe it was. He hasn’t been paying nearly as much attention as he had been before the fence.

But then he spots the leaves, the leaves that are wrapping around the top of his fence and in between the gaps of the wooden boards.

Those definitely weren’t there this morning. Meaning Harry fucking Styles had done something.

And Louis certainly isn’t in the mood for it.

With his shoulders tensed, he slowly makes his way over to the side of the fence that separates their yards. He can hear Clifford running about, burning off all his excess energy from being kept inside all day, but he keeps his eyes locked on the vines and that damn branch.

It’s when he peers over the side that he sees Harry had taken the liberty of not only adding vines to Louis’ fence, but also hanging up some flower boxes, nailing them on the side that faced his own house.

Lovely.

He rolls back his shoulders and takes a deep breath, closing his eyes so he doesn’t look at the scene in front of him.

(So he’s being a bit dramatic, sue him.)

It’s fine. It. Is. Fine.

He hears a squirrel scurry on the branch above him, and when he turns to look up, he’s met with a pinecone falling straight on his forehead.

That’s simply the last straw for him.

“Fuck this,” he mutters, storming back inside and right for his garage. He wastes no time in grabbing the larger pair of gardening shears Betsy had gotten him a few years back. There had been no use for them before, but he’s happy to note they're coming in handy now.

Because he’s had it.

On his way back out, he grabs the foot ladder he has stationed at the edge of the patio—never taking his eyes off of that damn branch.

In less than thirty seconds he’s stepping onto the incline, positioning himself so he can snip away at the branch with ease.

It’s a lot harder than it looks.

“Fucking hell,” he groans, opening and closing the shears so they’ll weaken the strength of the bark.

Louis’ barely made a dent. It’s going to take a while.

Ten minutes pass before some noticeable progress has been made, and Louis can feel his arms starting to ache from having to reach up to cut the branch.

But there’s no way in hell he’s going to let it stay up. No, and then he’s going to do something about those damn vines.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he hears someone say loudly.

Unfortunately, he knows exactly who this someone is.

“I should be asking you that,” he mutters back, but it comes out strangled as he continues his work.

He hears Harry stomp over to him from the other side, the grass creating a whooshing sound as he walks through it.

“You can’t just cut down part of my tree,” he snaps.

Louis glances down at him, unimpressed. There’s a stormy look in Harry’s eye and his eyebrows are furrowed, each narrowly slanted downwards.

If Louis weren’t so pissed he’d find it a bit attractive.

“And you can’t just put shit up on my fence,” he retorts, waving the shears around. “Therefore I’m going to do whatever the hell I want.”

“That side of the fence is in my yard,” Harry reasons petulantly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Louis laughs humorlessly, shaking his head as he continues cutting at the branch. “Yeah well, this part of your tree is in mine, so.”

“You can’t just cut—”

“It’ll grow back, and hopefully not in my fucking yard,” he interrupts sharply.

“You’re an asshole,” Harry states.

“Says the person who put up fucking vines on my fence to spite me.” He glares at Harry. “I know damn well they weren’t there yesterday.”

“I did no such thing. Besides, I think they look nice.”

“Make them look nice somewhere that isn’t on my fucking property.”

“Why the hell does any of this even bother you so much,” Harry asks incredulously. “Do you hate nature or something?”

Louis clenches his jaw and lowers the shears. “I don’t ‘hate nature’” he says, imitating Harry’s voice. Harry rolls his eyes at the impression. “It’s the principle of it all.”

“I don’t care about principles.”

Louis scoffs, lifting the shears again. “Clearly.”

“You need to lighten up.”

“Says. You,” he grunts, snipping the last threat the branch is hanging on. “Aha!”

He moves away from it happily, letting it go to watch it plop onto the grass and no longer cause him any more trouble.

But it was heavier than Louis thought it’d be, and it’s only when it falls against the top of the fence, flipping over so it gets caught on Harry’s boxes that the smile falls off his face.

Because it may have just gotten caught in it just right (or wrong, very very wrong) and taken the entire container along with it on its descent.

The flowers, which are now scattered across Harry’s grass in clumps of soil and pieces of wood, did not survive their own fall unfortunately.

Louis looks at the scene below him with wide eyes, mouth slightly parted as he takes in the rumpled flowers covered in dirt littered across that small portion of Harry’s yard.

When he looks up he’s met with a fuming Harry, looking back and forth between the mess and Louis, like he’s trying to decide which to project his anger onto.

So maybe Louis should have calculated better.

He gulps, eyes darting from Harry’s face to the ground. “Harry—”

“My mom got me that,” Harry states bluntly, blinking at the broken mess on the ground. “Was a moving gift.”

Fuck.

“It was an accident, I didn’t mean to—”

“You always have to try and one-up me, don’t you?” he laughs bitterly, shaking his head as he picks up stray pieces of the destroyed flower box.

“I’m sorry,” Louis tries again, ignoring his words. “I actually am—”

“Bullshit, Louis,” Harry snaps, glaring at him from his crouched position. Louis doesn’t like how much higher he is, so he steps off the ladder so he’s leaning over the fence instead.

“I am! I didn’t think it was going to hit the damn box. Shit,” he mumbles, making a move to head over to Harry’s side. “I can help, I’ll just go grab—”

“You’ve done plenty, actually,” Harry interrupts, mouth set in a hard line. “You can leave.”

Louis' shoulders slump at the sight of Harry picking up the broken box—the gift from his mother. He runs a hand through his curls in frustration, getting up quickly to grab something to hold all the stray pieces.

Guilt rises in the pit of Louis' stomach.

“Harry,” he tries again. “I really am sorry.”

“Just leave, Louis,” Harry sighs, exhausted.

He bites his lip, not liking how dejected Harry is at the given moment. “Look, I wouldn’t have done it if—”

“Jesus Christ, you can just never be in the wrong. Can you? Always have a fucking excuse ready,” Harry laughs scornfully, shaking his head. “First you cut down part of my tree and now you can’t even fucking take the blame for this? Or apologize?”

“I did apologize!” Louis nearly screams, the guilt surfacing far more quickly than before. “Literally just fucking now. I didn’t think it’d be a big deal and I certainly didn’t expect it to knock down—”

“So you had no ill intent with fucking with my garden? Because the sheer concept of that is so out of your character,” Harry says sarcastically, cocking his head.

Louis doesn’t reply and Harry studies him for a second before shaking his head. “Just go, please,” he mumbles, grabbing the rest of the broken flower box and some branches from the ground.

Louis stays there for another moment, watching him clean up quietly with his bottom lip in between his teeth. If Harry still senses his presence, he doesn’t acknowledge it.

So, Louis may have fucked up.

Reluctantly, he heads back inside without another word. He cringes at the sound of Harry’s trash bin slamming shut—it echoes so loud he thinks he sees a bird fly away at the sudden sound.

With his lips pursed, he slides his back door shut quietly. He doesn’t bother to lock it, and he doesn’t bother to look back to see if he can maybe see Harry over that stupid fence he put up.

He plops onto his couch with a sigh, slouching forward so he can rub his hands down his face in frustration.

Definitely should have been more careful with where that branch landed then.

And definitely shouldn’t have projected the anger he felt from a bad day onto Harry.

It’s not like he could have controlled the direction the branch was growing in.

“Fuck,” he groans, running a hand through his hair. When he looks up, he’s met with Clifford sitting in front of him silently.

“Not you too,” Louis mumbles, chin in his hand as he stares back at him. The labradoodle simply tilts his head in response.

“I said I was sorry,” he continues, eyes darting over to the window that shows his fence. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

Clifford doesn’t say anything back.

“You’re on his side aren’t you?”

The labradoodle barks, making Louis plop back onto the couch with a sigh.

“Surprisingly, I don’t blame you,” he states simply, patting the spot next to him so Clifford can jump up.

He needs a cuddle.

In response, his dog stalks away and leaves him to sit in silence by himself.

Worst day ever.

⸻

Harry doesn't speak to Louis for the next month.

It doesn’t bother him, no. If anything, he’s thankful for it.

There are no more surprises when he wakes up early for work and there are no more animals strolling around in his yard. Clifford’s free to run around as much as he’d like, and it’s peaceful.

When the two do see one another, they don’t speak. Harry doesn’t so much as look in Louis’ direction.

It’s fine, really. Genuinely.

Except, Louis has never liked the quiet. He likes being on bad terms with someone even less.

No matter how much he may dislike them.

So when he spots Harry out in his yard on a random afternoon, music playing softly as he pours fertilizer over his soil, he makes his way over.

Harry doesn’t look up when he reaches the fence and Louis grips the top to lean against it

“Hi,” he says lightly.

It seems like the safest way to greet his neighbor, not confrontational, and also not too comfortable. It’s simple and probably the easiest way to get Harry’s attention.

Except Harry doesn’t look up.

He clears his throat, eyes darting awkwardly to Harry’s speakers, which are blasting a Green Day song.

“Harry?” he calls out tentatively.

Nothing.

“Haaaarry,” he sings out, awkwardly drumming his fingers against the fence. “You there?”

“What?” Harry responds, not looking up from the soil.

Louis perks up and he tries not to come off as too excited, but Harry’s just spoken to him for the first time in a month.

So, a little excitement is warranted.

“How are you?”

“Fine.”

Alright. “How’s the garden?”

“Why? Want to ruin some more of it?” he replies, feigning nonchalance.

Louis knows better though.

He sighs. “You’re still upset about that?”

“You’re still oblivious to the fact that I’m still upset about it?” Harry retorts, looking up at Louis with a raised eyebrow.

Louis bites his lip. “I really am sorry about it, you know.”

“And I don’t accept your apology,” he shrugs. “Frankly, it crossed a line.”

“It wasn’t just me,” Louis mumbles, taking a step back from the fence.

“I know.”

He looks up at that, surprised that Harry was at least admitting some fault. There’s a moment where he thinks they can work it out, maybe start over, but then Harry speaks again.

“Bye, Louis.”

And then he’s gone, his back door sliding shut. When he even got over there, Louis doesn’t really recall.

But now he’s out here alone, and nothing is fixed.

Definitely fucked up then.

That night, he turns over restlessly in his bed, wondering how the hell he’s going to fix this.

If it isn’t already too late.

⸻

Clifford’s incessant barking is what wakes Louis up at seven in the morning a few days later.

More specifically, on a Saturday.

It’s rambunctious, startling, and damn annoying. With his bedroom door closed, Louis thinks it’d at least come out a bit muffled, but no. It’s loud and clear, telling him that Clifford is either panicking or needs to use the bathroom.

More than likely, it’s both.

He waits a moment, hoping and praying that the labradoodle will quiet down. Maybe he saw a squirrel.

Honestly, anything that’ll mean he doesn’t have to get out of bed at the crack of dawn.

On a Saturday.

Instead, he gets scratches at his door—high-pitched whines coming from his dog who is desperate for attention.

“Cliff,” he mumbles, eyes closed and face still mushed into his pillow.

The whimpers get louder.

“Little menace,” he groans, turning over so he’s lying on his back. He winces at the sound of more scratching, knowing full well that if he doesn’t get out of bed soon, there’ll be a permanent new design on his white door.

He’s so warm under the blankets though.

At a particularly loud bark (Louis thinks it comes out more like a growl), he finally musters up the energy to rip off the sheets. A chill goes down his spine at the cool air from his ceiling fan and he hisses as it hits his bare skin.

Clifford must hear him moving inside, because his scratching becomes more frantic, his barks follow a quicker succession. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” Louis calls out half-heartedly, shoving on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. He doesn’t bother to fix his hair or even look in the mirror, he’ll be heading back to fucking bed once Clifford has taken care of whatever labradoodles do at this time of day.

He barely has the door open before the dog is sprinting out of sight and toward the kitchen.

“Where are you going?” he whines, lugging his feet over one another to follow. A yawn sneaks up on him, causing him to stretch out his arms and shut his eyes momentarily.

It isn’t until he’s rubbing them back open that he spots Clifford near the back door, scratching it the same way he had done to Louis’ door a minute ago.

“Outside? It’s kind of early, Cliff,” he mumbles, stocking over to unlock the door. While the original intention of the fence wasn’t to have Clifford run freely, Louis thinks it’s safe to say it did have some unexpected perks.

The door barely cracks open before Clifford is squeezing his way through, sprinting toward the edge of the wooden fence.

Louis’ eyebrows shoot up into his hairline as he watches his dog absolutely go ballistic at the wooden planks that separate his house from Harry’s.

Clifford’s jumping high, is all. He’s jumping and scratching at the wood—all the while barking, whining, and calling out for Louis. He butts his head slightly at the fence, and Louis can’t help but wonder what has got his dog so riled up.

Did he hear something over there? It’d make sense if he wanted to investigate further.

As Louis makes his way over hesitantly, he listens for any sign of Harry. It’s far too early for him to be out, and he doesn’t hear the snips or shoveling in his gardening. His music isn’t even playing. He can only hear the birds chirping as the first rays of sunlight peek through the morning clouds.

“Everything alright, Cliff?” he asks softly, wincing as the morning dew on his grass seeps through his sandals and hits his bare toes.

Unsurprisingly, Clifford just barks again, jumping even higher so his head reaches above the height of the fence.

So he clearly saw something.

But he’s going to wake Harry, and Louis can only deal with so much complaining.

“Cliff,” he calls out, rubbing his forehead. “Get back here, love. Come on.”

He’s met with more barking.

“Cliff!” he tries again, but it’s no use. Rolling his eyes, he picks up speed to reach the labradoodle. “What has got you so worked up—”

It’s then that he sees Harry Styles sitting back on the other side of the fence, wheezing.

“What— Harry?” Louis sputters out, slightly frantic. His eyes are wide as he takes in the scene in front of him, pointedly ignoring Clifford knocking into him with his movements. The pup is on his hind legs now, attempting to balance himself next to his owner.

At the sound of Louis’ voice, Harry looks up. His eyes are glassy and his pale skin is covered in red blotches, hives traveling down to his neck.

Okay. So maybe Clifford’s freak out was warranted.

“Help,” Harry squeaks, head knocking back onto the fence and causing it to shake.

Louis eyes bulge out even further, never seeing Harry so...so...well.

Having a fucking allergic reaction to God knows what.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he mumbles as he sprints out the gate. He lets it swing back behind him, making his way over to Harry frantically and barely missing the flowers littered in his garden with his feet.

He swerves between the growing trees to make it to Harry, nearly impaling himself with the branches that are sticking out. “Shit, shit, shit,” he repeats frantically, heart pounding.

Harry’s eyes are barely open, his breathing still as shallow as before. He’s covered in hives and if Louis wasn’t panicking before, he sure as hell is now.

“Harry? Harry! Are you okay? What—stay awake for me!” he exclaims frantically, crouching down so he’s at eye-level. “Shit.”

Harry jumps at that. Well, he opens his eyes. Which is probably all he’s capable of doing at the moment anyway.

“What—uhm, what do I need to like— hey! Keep your eyes open!” Louis shrills, grabbing his shoulder to shake him awake again. His eyes open lazily, still glassy as he stares back at Louis disoriented. “What’s going on? Is this an allergic reaction?”

Harry’s eyes start closing again, only to shoot back open when Louis grabs his face. “Harry!”

He wheezes, wincing at the effort it takes for him to take a proper breath. Louis waits in agony, waits for Harry to try to form some type of word. He needs to know though, he needs to know what to do, how he can fix this. At this point, it really could mean life or death.

Shit.

His eyes are wide as he searches Harry’s face. He’s scratching the base of his neck—trying to clear his throat enough to get out the words Louis is in dire need to know.

“Fucking obviously,” he finally chokes out, head hitting the fence once again as he gasps.

Louis chooses to ignore the attitude, given the gravity of the situation. He will be saving that one for later, however.

“Do you have an EpiPen?”

He lets out a shallow breath. “Inside.”

“Where inside?” Louis prods urgently.

“Near the—” he coughs. "Near the sink. On the kitchen counter. Red bag.”

Louis doesn’t wait another second before he’s sprinting toward Harry’s house. Thankfully, its layout is similar to his, so it doesn’t take him long to make it to the kitchen.

He comes to an abrupt stop when he reaches the tiled floor, taking a few smaller steps as he tries to slow down in front of the counter. He grips the edge of it tightly while looking at the littered surface—different books and envelopes covering it.

Eventually, he finds the red bag that Harry mentioned in the back corner. He doesn’t think as he snatches it up and leaves Harry’s house almost as quickly as he entered.

“I got it, I got it,” he announces loudly as he jogs back over to Harry. He’s ripping the bag open and pulling out the EpiPen out so it’s ready for when he reaches Harry.

He takes off the safety cap with his mouth, crouching down so he’s leveled with a wheezing Harry whose wide eyes are darting between Louis and the pen frantically.

“Louis—”

“I got it, I got you,” he replies softly, grabbing a hold of his thigh so he can inject the pen properly.

It takes a moment, but eventually he musters up the courage to actually do it. He waits for the click, breathing a sigh of relief when it rings between them.

As they wait for the pen to take effect, Louis looks at Harry expectantly, waiting for him to show any sign that it’s actually working. His heart is caught in his throat as he watches him carefully, Harry gasping at the sudden pressure from the pen now sticking out of his leg—until suddenly a full breath of air comes out of his lungs.

He coughs into the crook of his elbow, gasping as he takes in as much air as he possibly can. Slowly, the color starts to come back to his cheeks and his breathing becomes more regular—less frantic.

“Oh thank God,” Louis breathes out, almost hysterically. He slumps down onto the grass and takes a similar position to Harry. They’re side by side now, and he no longer cares about getting his pants dirty.

Dew be damned.

They both take a moment to catch their breaths, their chests moving in sync as they sit in silence and listen to the birds singing in the trees.

In the quiet, Louis can’t help the giggle that escapes his lips—even if it comes out a bit hysterical. It slowly turns into full-blown cackles as he recovers from the events of the past ten minutes, Harry glances at him like he’s grown another head, but he doesn’t care.

Harry’s alive and is thankfully no longer fucking dying of anaphylactic shock.

When his laughter finally dies down, he shakes his head, pressing his lips tightly together to hold back his smile. He may still be half asleep, this all could have actually been a fever dream.

“How do you know how to use that?” Harry finally breathes out, being the first one to break the silence.

Louis looks over to him, only to find Harry already staring at him curiously. The hives are starting fading from his face and neck.

“I teach high schoolers,” he shrugs. “One of them is bound to forget to mention a peanut allergy.”

Harry lets out a startled laugh that makes the corners of Louis’ mouth quirk up. His tongue peeks out between his teeth, and there’s that damn dimple again.

“You know, you gave Clifford quite the scare there,” Louis says nonchalantly, focusing his attention on his lap.

He can practically hear the smirk on Harry. “Oh yeah? Just Cliff?”

“Yep.”

“I don’t know, Louis,” Harry breathes out wistfully, scooting up higher so his back is fully pressed against the fence. “You seemed quite concerned there for a minute.”

Louis looks up to see a lopsided grin on Harry’s face. He ignores his heart, which is still pounding quite loudly—probably from sprinting to Harry’s aid. Obviously. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I was simply lending a hand.”

“Right.”

“Putting my first aid training to use, if you will.”

“Well then, I’m glad I could help you.”

Louis shoves Harry’s shoulder lightly and chuckles, standing up carefully. He swats at his sweatpants for any blades of grass that may be lingering, ignoring the wet patches all over the backside of them. “I’m going to grab you some water. Don’t move.”

Harry threads a hand through his short hair before gesturing vaguely. “Where would I go?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Must you always have a rebuttal on hand? A simple thank you would suffice.”

“Must you always get defensive?”

“Excuse you,” he says with hostility. “I am far from defensive.”

“Right.”

He huffs before turning toward Harry’s back door. “I’m going,” he mutters.

“Hurry back, honey!” Harry calls out dryly.

Louis does not smile. He doesn’t.

Bastard.

Along with Harry’s glass of water, he grabs himself one—suddenly feeling quite parched and frankly, a bit exhausted from the frenzy they just went through.

“What exactly triggered that sort of reaction anyway?” he asks when he approaches the fence again. He holds out the glass toward Harry, who's now sitting crisscrossed. “Wasn’t exactly minor.”

Harry looks down at his lap, “It wasn’t that bad.”

“You could’ve died.”

“That's a bit—”

“You were on the brink of death.”

“Louis—”

“You couldn’t breathe.”

“It wasn’t—!” Harry shuts up when Louis fixes him with a sharp look. “Okay yeah, it was pretty bad.”

“You think?” Louis mumbles, raising an eyebrow as he takes a sip from his own water. Harry recoils slightly before shrugging.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, just don’t keep your EpiPen so far away if you have that severe of an allergy.”

Harry salutes him with a small smirk. “Yes, Mr. Tomlinson.”

Louis chokes on his water, causing Harry to jump. His neighbor watches him with wide eyes as he pounds on his chest, begging the water to go down properly.

Christ.

“Uhm, are you alright?” Harry asks quickly, eyebrows furrowed as he watches Louis have a coughing fit.

His eyes are watering when he looks up at Harry, coughing into the crook of his elbow as he tries to recover.

“I’m fine,” he croaks out, wincing at the soreness of his throat. Jesus Christ.

“Are you—”

“So what are you allergic to then?” he interrupts, wanting to take the attention away from... whatever just happened.

He won’t acknowledge it. Not in his brain, and certainly not with Harry. Nope.

Harry goes silent at the question, drawing symbols into the condensation on his glass to avoid Louis’ stare.

“Bees.”

Louis blinks. “Bees?”

“Yes.”

His mouth parts slightly and he furrows his eyebrows. “You’re allergic to fucking bees?”

“I did just say that, yes.”

“And you have a pollinator garden?”

Harry nods slowly, unfazed. “...Yes?”

Louis looks around the yard—to the overgrown grassy areas, the abundance of Sunflowers, Alden, and other flowers growing about. To the trees that most certainly are not only holding cocoons for butterflies, but fucking beehives.

He turns back to Harry with a dumbfounded expression. “You’re messing with me.”

Harry’s bottom lip sticks out. “What do you mean?”

“You are severely allergic to bees,” Louis states loudly, gesturing toward Harry’s splotchy neck. “And you have a pollinator garden?!”

“What’s the problem?”

“Do you have a death wish? Are you—do you have—”

“I’m careful about it!”

“The events of the last hour disprove that statement!” Louis nearly screams, a hysterical laugh escaping his lips at Harry’s puzzled expression.

“Well...at least it benefits the ecosystem!”

“And you won’t live to see said benefits if a bee decides to sting you,” Louis retorts, but he can’t help the smile growing on his face at Harry’s pout. “Again.”

Harry crosses his arms over his chest, fixing Louis with narrowed eyes. “Well thankfully you're next door, right?”

Louis’ chuckle dies a bit, but his smile doesn’t. When he meets Harry’s eyes again, he's expecting the same hard stare he's seen countless times before—but he's met with a softer look.

He even sees a hint of a smile.

“Yeah,” he says a bit curiously, but still lightly. “Thankfully I am.”

Harry's mouth twitches, the dimple on his right cheek threatening to deepen once again.

Louis has to look away at the sight, his lips pressing so hard together that they’re forming a small ‘v’ to mask the grin on his face.

He’ll unpack what that means later.

After another moment of sitting in silence (with the two of them hiding their smiles from one another), Louis makes a move to get up and holds out his hand for Harry.

“Careful,” he hums, placing his other hand on Harry’s shoulder gently. He stands slowly, gripping Louis’ hand tightly while the other braces himself up against the fence. He still seems a bit disoriented, but much better than he was when Louis first stumbled across him. “Y’alright?”

Harry nods slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose as he blinks to collect himself. “Yeah, yeah I’m good.”

“Are you sure?” Louis asks slowly, squeezing Harry’s hand to emphasize his question.

“Yeah, I don’t work till this afternoon anyway. I’ll be fine,” he replies with a reassuring smile. At Louis’ doubtful expression, it becomes amusing. “Seriously Lou, I’m fine.”

He hums contemplatively and narrows his eyes, making a point to dramatically look Harry up and down. A giggle escapes from Harry and he tries his hardest not to break his character. “If you say so.”

“I do.”

Reluctantly, he lets go of Harry’s hand and arm. Nodding thoughtfully as Harry heads faces toward the direction of his back door. “So…”

“So…?” Louis draws out, eyes darting curiously around the yard. Harry raises an eyebrow and that’s when it dawns on him. “Oh! Oh shit, yeah. Well, I guess that’s my cue,” he chuckles awkwardly, lightly tapping the side of his head. “Uhm, well call me if you need anything, yeah? Seriously.”

“Louis—”

“I don’t work this weekend so— well, obviously I don’t work this weekend since it’s a Saturday...school being closed and all,” he trails off, gesturing wildly into the open air. Harry raises an eyebrow at his flustered expression, and fucking hell, what has gotten into him?

Ignoring the sudden wave of humiliation coursing through him, Louis points a thumb toward his own yard. “Just let me know. I’ll be going now—”

“Lou?”

“Yes?”

Harry’s shoulders shake with silent laughter as Louis’ waits patiently, eyebrows raised into his hairline. With a slight smile on his face, he scratches the back of his neck sheepishly before pointing toward his own house.

“Wanna join me for breakfast?”

⸻

“You had breakfast,” Niall repeats slowly, holding three copies of Hamlet in his hand.

“Yep.”

“Together... in the same house?” Liam adds, wiping down the bookshelf haphazardly.

Louis swings his legs back and forth, watching his shoes hit the metal bar of the desk every so often. “That is what joining him for breakfast means, yes.”

Niall waves his hands around, cocking his head forward while staring at Louis. “Okay, and what happened?”

“Nothing, I was just letting you both know,” Louis says nonchalantly. “Since you two are just so invested.”

Liam stops wiping down the bookshelf. “We’re invested because this is the most action you’ve gotten in your love life in months.”

“We’re just friends.”

Niall smirks, grabbing another book from the cardboard box on the floor. “That’s a step up from ‘we’re just neighbors,’ isn’t it?”

It’s at this moment that Louis decides he will be spending the mornings before school starts somewhere else. His classroom is now off-limits. The open-door policy no longer applies to his best friends.

He'll actually be getting new ones. He knows Mrs. O’Brien loves when he comes and chats with her in the library. That’ll work.

“So are you going to tell us how this date went?”

“It was not a date,” he denies immediately, eyes growing comically wide.

“Right,” Niall draws out his reply with a smirk. “So how was it?”

“Our get together,” he pauses. “Our friendly get together was…”

He trails off, causing Liam and Niall to both lean toward him. “Was...?”

There’s a moment where he contemplates just how much he should spill on his time with Harry. Sure, he’s already told them the most dramatic part of the morning, starting with the moment Clifford nearly knocked down his bedroom door.

But Louis wouldn’t say that was the most eventful, per se.

He thinks it may be when they headed back inside and he sat at the island in Harry’s kitchen, watching him with a fond smile as he dramatically flipped pancakes on the stove and added seasoning to their bacon.

Or maybe when he nearly spit out his coffee at a story Harry recited to him about a client he had at the studio.

“You’re not being serious,” Louis had wheezed out, wiping his mouth with his napkin as he let out a chuckle.

“I am!” Harry grinned, raising his hands up in defense. He cleared his throat before fixing Louis with a pointed look. “The mom came in with like, thirty minutes left until closing, begging for a walk-in. Said something about wanting to get the family Christmas card done.”

“In September?!” Louis giggled out, sticking a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth.

“In fucking September, I know,” Harry had replied, goofy grin (and his cute bunny teeth) on full display as he retold the encounter with Louis. “So like, she explains that she needs to get her kids photographed, that it shouldn’t take long. And I’m not one to turn down a gig, especially one as simple as that, right?”

“Naturally.”

“So I agree, obviously,” he continued, speaking with his hands. Louis smiled as his hands moved around animatedly. “And I’m like okay, where are they? Because they weren’t with her.”

“With the dad?” he questioned.

“With the dad,” Harry confirmed, taking a sip of his coffee. “So she rushes out to grab them, and as I’m waiting I’m like setting up the camera and shit. I’m getting out some of the Christmas props the studio has lying around.”

“You guys are prepared for Christmas photoshoots this early?” Louis had asked with a raised eyebrow.

“We’re always prepared,” Harry grinned. “Why do you think they come to us?”

Louis rolled his eyes, but waved for Harry to continue. “Keep going, curly.”

“So I’m getting out some Santa hats, right? Some stacks of presents, and other stuff yeah? Thinking she may just want the traditional set we do for kids…” he stopped for a minute, and let out a breathy laugh which eventually turned into a fit of giggles.

Louis waited patiently, chewing on a piece of bacon as Harry collected himself. When he finally takes a deep breath and looks at Louis apologetically, he continued.

“She comes back with the kids…”

“Yes...”

“And their fucking Christmas tree. Like, from their house.”

That was the moment Louis had fallen into his own fit of hysterics.

He can’t help the small smile that grows on his face as he thinks back to their breakfast. They didn’t fight the entire morning. Sure, they bickered a bit, but there was no malice behind it. It was teasing, if anything.

Harry, by all accounts, actually turned out to be a great person to be around. So great, that when it came time for Louis to leave, he found himself actually upset at the fact. Even though he would only be a few yards away.

He has yet to unpack what that may mean.

But the moral of the story is, while that Saturday morning was far different than others, it may have just been one of his favorites.

With a thoughtful expression, he looks back up at Liam and Niall, the two of them waiting anxiously for his rundown.

“It was nice,” he settles with.

Both of their shoulders slump. “Just nice?” Liam deadpans.

“Okay, more than nice,” he shrugs, trying to keep his cool. “He’s an alright guy. I guess we did just get off on the wrong foot.”

“Just alright,” Niall repeats with a bemused look.

There’s a part of Louis that wants to elaborate, wants to unpack it all with his best friends right here and right now.

First period is starting soon, however.

“It was nice,” he repeats with finality, tapping his nails against the desk in a quick succession. “He’s nice.”

Liam rolls his eyes and goes back to wiping the dust off the shelf while Niall narrows his, clearly not buying Louis’ explanation.

He’ll hold off though, for now, Louis thinks. That’s confirmed when Niall goes back to stacking the copies of Hamlet onto a nearby desk.

“Never known you to be the one who doesn’t kiss and tell, Lou,” Niall says innocently, aligning the books into neat piles.

“Kissing would have to occur for that to apply, now wouldn’t it Ni?” he responds casually, fixing the sleeves on his long-sleeve shirt.

When he looks back up, Nialls grinning at him. Touché, he mouths.

“Anything else we should know?” Liam asks, raising an unimpressed eyebrow toward his sitting figure. Louis can’t decide if that’s due to the ambiguity surrounding his and Harry’s newfound friendship, or the fact that he hasn’t helped organize any of his books.

So this is why the open-door policy extends to them, he remembers.

“Oh, maybe one more thing,” he says off-handedly.

“Just one more?” Liam repeats sarcastically.

Louis flips him off, earning him a hard-cover version of Hamlet catapulting toward his face. He dodges it quickly, but barely. “Oi! You damage one of those you’re explaining it to Mrs. O’Brien.”

“Can you get on with it?” Niall groans, picking the book up and tapping him on the head with it.

Louis narrows his eyes before clearing his throat. He hops off the desk and heads over to his filing cabinet to grab the writing prompts for his next class. He feigns nonchalance while he counts how many copies he has.

“I may or may not be going back over after early-release on Friday.”

Liam raises a suspicious eyebrow. “For?”

If the shit-eating grin on Niall’s face is anything to go off of, their minds are very much veering off course. “Jesus Christ, not like that!” Louis responds quickly before scoffing. “Minds in the gutter, both of you.”

“Then please tell us, dear Louis,” Niall sings, wrapping an arm around his shoulder as he peers over the assignments. “Why are you heading over there on Friday?”

Louis purses his lips, sparing brief glances to his friends before turning his attention back to flipping through the papers. Clearing his throat, he says, “To help him plant some flowers.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off the stack in his hands as he moves away from Niall and toward his own desk. He taps the bottom edge of it against the surface to ensure they’re aligned neatly before paperclipping them together.

This happens in complete silence.

He glances up at Liam and Niall expectantly. The two of them stare at him with a mix of awe and confusion.

Then they burst into laughter.

Louis rolls his eyes before tossing the papers onto his desk. “Alright, out,” he instructs, shooing them toward the door. “Homeroom is starting any minute.”

“You’re going to garden! What a cute date!” Liam grins, walking backward as Louis pushes him back.

“It’s not a date.”

He may or may not be fighting a heat that’s rising to his cheeks.

“You’re blushing!”

“Shut up, it’s not a big deal,” he mumbles, corralling Niall toward the door as well.

“What a turn of events this is,” Niall giggles, earning a nod from Liam. “Wasn’t it only a week ago you were planning said garden’s demise?”

Louis needs to get rid of them. He also needs a lot more fucking caffeine. Maybe something stronger.

“That’s not important, it’s in the past,” he retorts. When the two of them plant their feet firmly into the ground, preventing him from moving them any further, he whines. “Can you guys please leave?”

“Admit it, you like him,” Liam sings with a cheeky smile.

Louis blinks before half-heartedly gesturing to the arrangement of desks behind him. “You know we teach the students, right?”

Niall wrinkles his face. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“It means stop acting like a couple of teenagers at lunch,” he says with faux sweetness, pushing against their chests once again, “and get to your classrooms.”

They move back more easily, but Liam stops again. He hums in satisfaction and points a finger to Louis.

“You didn’t deny it.”

“Out!”

Niall cackles as Louis pushes them through the door, the bell ringing almost exactly on cue. Liam heads off with a wave, making kissy faces at Louis, who has his middle finger up in a permanent position over his head.

Students aren’t walking the halls yet. He gets a pass.

It’s Niall who stays put, chuckling silently. When Louis turns to him unamused, his cheeks are flaming red and he’s biting his bottom lip.

“What?” Louis asks dryly.

Niall just shakes his head, a snort escaping.

“You so like him.”

Louis slams the door in his face.

⸻

When Louis goes over to Harry’s later that Friday, he doesn’t know exactly what to expect. All he knows is that he hasn’t stopped buzzing all day, genuine excitement coursing through him as he taught through each shortened class period, patiently waiting for the final bell to ring at noon.

He’s ready to plant some flowers, is all.

So when Harry opens the door for him with a bright smile on his face, ‘Stay Sharp!’ apron out on full display, his heart only flutters a little.

“Hi,” Harry greets.

Louis bites his bottom lip. “Hi.”

He motions for him to come through and Louis happily obliges, taking off his shoes at the door and carrying them through the house.

“I’m going to be completely honest with you,” he starts as they make their way over to the back door, “the last time I did this was with the previous owners of your place.”

“Okay—”

“Four years ago.”

Harry freezes as he puts on his own shoes, looking up at Louis with a raised eyebrow.

“Your yard isn’t terrible though.”

Louis looks at him wearily. “Thank you?”

Harry rolls his eyes, shrugging on his shoes and telling Louis to follow him out back. “I just mean, like, you keep up with it obviously.”

Louis tilts his head back and forth, murmuring in a half-hearted agreement. “I mow the lawn from time to time, that’s about it.”

Harry hums, grabbing a tool kit from his patio table. “Well luckily for you, we’re going to sharpen those skills today,” he jokes, pointing to the collection of shears in his kit.

He breaks into a fit of giggles while Louis looks at him unamused.

“Come on then,” Harry waves, nodding toward his garden.

His pollinator garden.

Where he almost died a few days earlier.

“I cannot believe you’re already back out here,” Louis mumbles, shaking his head incredulously.

Harry stops and turns to him with furrowed eyebrows. “This is my backyard?”

“Where you got stung. By a bee. Who was looking for pollen. In your pollinator garden.” Louis states, nodding his head closer to Harry with each sentence.

His lips quirk upwards as he takes in Louis’ attitude, “You worried about me, Lou?”

Louis falters, not expecting to be put on the spot like that. “Well,” he chokes out, swallowing. “One of us has to be.”

Harry bites his lip, “It’s cute.”

Louis doesn’t blush. He does not.

Clearing his throat, he lifts his chin up a bit. “Show me the flowers, Styles.”

“Happy to,” Harry chirps, leading them over to where they'll be working. It’s near the middle of his yard, in between a few taller bushes that he has placed in planters. There’s stone surrounding an area of soil, which Louis assumes is where their flowers will be going.

“Cute setup,” Louis smiles, taking a few steps forward so he can kneel down comfortably in the surrounding grass. Harry follows him silently and when Louis looks toward him, his lips are quirked upward.

“Oh, so now it’s cute, is it?”

Louis feels his shoulders slump a little, going back to maybe the last comment he made about Harry’s yard—and the reason these flowers are most likely being planted in the first place.

“I really am sorry for what happened that day, Harry,” he says softly. “And for everything really if we’re being honest, but especially that I suppose. I was already having a bad day and I guess the branch just...sent me over the edge as silly as it sounds,” he laughs self-deprecatingly, shaking his head as he focuses his attention on the soil. “I shouldn’t have taken it out on you though, or your yard.”

Harry stays quiet and when Louis looks up at him, he sees that his neighbor is searching Louis’ face for any hint of falsity.

Louis waits patiently, not bothering to push it anymore. If Harry doesn’t forgive him for it, he doesn’t blame him.

‘I’m sorry too.”

That, he was not expecting.

“You’re what?” he sputters, blinking up at Harry in surprise.

Harry shrugs, taking a seat next to Louis with his elbow settled on his knee, his chin in his hand. Dimples out.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. At Louis’ lost expression, he rolls his eyes playfully. “Look, we both did some pretty shitty things, I wasn’t exactly innocent in everything. Exhibit A, the signs and the bags of shit in your driveway.”

“Still wondering who the fuck Jeff is,” Louis says under his breath.

Harry lets out a giggle. “My point is, we weren’t exactly the nicest to one another, were we?”

Louis’ mouth twitches. “Well maybe if you hadn’t left fucking fruit outside for the omnivores…”

“And maybe if you asked me politely to throw it out…”

“I did!” Louis defends, sitting up straight. Harry raises an eyebrow and he slouches again. “Maybe I could’ve been nicer.”

“Mhm,” he smirks, organizing his tools so they’re splayed out in front of them. “So, I’m sorry too.”

Louis smiles, nudging Harry’s shoulder with his own. “So, does this mean we’re starting over?”

“I’m hoping that’s the case considering you know how to use my EpiPen almost as well as I do,” Harry chuckles.

Louis rolls his eyes, “You’re hopeless.”

Harry shrugs, reaching out to his left to drag over the small flowers he must have grabbed from the store earlier.

“Ready to plant some sunflowers?” he sings, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Oh, I was born ready,” Louis says dramatically, grabbing a pair of gloves Harry brought out for him.

Harry bites his lip to suppress a giggle, handing him over a small shovel and instructing him to start digging five-inch holes into the dirt.

Louis nods obediently, not wanting to fuck up Harry’s garden anymore (he’s done that plenty over the last few weeks, thank you), but he freezes when Harry places a hand on his shoulder.

“One more thing,” Harry starts, nose wrinkling slightly and his mouth twitching a bit. “You were right.”

Louis tilts his head to the side. “About?”

“The vines. I put them up after you left that morning to mess with you.”

“I fucking knew it.”

Harry lets out a loud cackle at Louis’ deadpanned reaction, clutching at his stomach as he leans back into the grass, laughter raking through his entire body. Louis shakes his head, fighting his own smile growing on his face.

For the rest of the afternoon, they plant the rest of the flowers and Harry teaches Louis everything he needs to know about the garden—and how exactly a pollinator garden even works.

He can’t say he understands everything completely, but it’s a start. Besides, he knows he’ll be able to ask Harry for clarification whenever he likes.

It’s just that he may get distracted at times. But it really isn’t his fault. Honestly.

It’s Harry and his damn...well, everything.

He tries to ignore the way his heart flutters every time Harry cackles ridiculously at one of his jokes, tries not to focus on that damn dimple, and the goofy smile that comes along with it.

He tries not to focus on how his cheeks heat up immensely whenever he goes to sneak a glance at Harry while they’re planting, only to catch him already looking up at Louis through his long eyelashes.

He tries not to dwell on the shit-eating grin that covers his face because of a parting hug that lasts a bit longer than any others he’s shared with his neighbors, his cheeks aching at the goodbye shared between them.

Clearly, he fails miserably.

⸻

“You like him.”

Louis ignores Liam’s prodding, instead focusing his attention on seasoning the hamburger patties in his kitchen. The music from outside plays softly, mixing in a bit with the chatter coming from people mingling about.

He’s trying to season the food as quickly as he can, wanting to fire up the grill within the next few minutes. If only Liam would let him get on with it.

It’s just that he’d prefer to be outside by the time Harry arrives.

“You can ignore my words all you want, but you can’t ignore my presence,” Liam continues, crouching a bit so his face is side by side with the plate of raw meat.

Louis rolls his eyes, grabbing the paprika from the counter. He considers pouring some into Liam’s eyes for a split second, but the moment passes. “I already told you I judged him too harshly, he’s a good guy. Of course I invited him.”

“Yes, but you like him.”

“Do I have to repeat the teenager analogy again?” he says emotionless, grabbing the plate off the counter and making his way outside. Liam follows closely behind, grabbing the bag of buns that Louis had left.

“I’m just saying, the sooner you admit it, the easier it’ll be to help you,” he says casually, placing the bag on the side table.

“Help me?” Louis repeats incredulously, a laugh bubbling up. He places the plate of patties next to the buns, wasting no time turning on the burner. A few people shout their hello’s to him, which he happily returns before turning back to Liam. “Why on Earth would I need your help?”

“To make sure you don’t screw things up,” Liam replies with a shrug before furrowing his brows. “Well, to make sure you don’t screw things up again.”

Louis narrows his eyes. “I didn’t—”

“Afternoon fellas,” Niall announces, clapping his hands together as he approaches the two of them at the grill. “What’d I miss?”

“Nothing.”

“Louis living a life of denial,” Liam says at the same time.

“So nothing new then,” Niall chirps with a bright smile, grabbing a beer from the cooler. He pops it open with his teeth, making Louis wince. “This about Harry?”

“What do you think?”

“The bottle opener is right here.”

Niall glances at the object in Louis’ hand before giving a half shrug and gulping down half his bottle. Louis turns to place the patties onto the hot surface, ignoring the two of them as best as he can.

He’s not doing too well at it so far.

“I’m not denying anything,” he defends, eyes focused on the grill.

“Right,” Niall says off-handedly, turning to Liam. “So he still won’t admit he’s got the hots for him?”

“Again. What do you think?”

Niall turns to him. “We can help, you know.”

Louis rolls his eyes so far back he swears he can see Clifford running around behind him.

“Why do you two think I need any help?” he huffs, shutting the grill cover as the hamburgers cook. He turns to his best friends with a glare. “I’m fine.”

“So you’re going to make a move then.”

Louis blinks. “Where did I say that in the sentence.”

“We can read between the lines.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head incredulously. “You two should worry about your own love lives.”

Liam perks up. “So you admit Harry falls into that category.”

Fuck. Louis keeps his face neutral, even though he wants to scream. “I’m not admitting anything.”

“You like him. You actually like him,” Liam chuckles, pointing his finger at Louis.

He juts his jaw out and lets out a breath before facing the two of them with a tight (almost painful) smile. “Pleading the fifth.”

“You know, I’m sure there were other ways to get his attention without making his first few months here a living hell,” Niall points out, crouching down to pet Clifford once the labradoodle approaches him, tail wagging feverishly.

Louis gawks. “I didn’t—”

“Life of denial,” Liam sings, drawing out the last syllable.

He points his spatula at them. “I’m not afraid to kick you out of my home.”

“Oh, relax,” Niall says cheerfully, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. Louis goes into his side unwillingly, grumbling as his friend cuddles him in. “What do the kids these days say?” he ponders for a minute before his eyes light up. “Ah! Yes, you need to shoot your shot.”

Louis stares at him unimpressed.

“Shoot your shot,” Niall repeats with an obvious tone. “You know…” he mimics shooting a basketball, followed by a ‘swoosh!’

“I know what it means, Niall.”

“So you’ll do it?”

“Can I grill in peace?”

“Depends. Are you going to—”

“Liam, if you two don’t walk away within the next ten seconds I’m going to tell Zayn you have the hots for him,” Louis interrupts, turning to him with a hard stare.

Liam freezes. “You wouldn’t.”

“His classroom is right next to mine.”

“You’re bluffing.”

Louis raises a single eyebrow in response.

Liam immediately grabs Niall’s arm to drag him away. Niall groans, but doesn't put up a fight.

“Both of you. Whipped,” Niall says flatly, looking between the two of them as he’s dragged away.

Louis hums in satisfaction, turning his attention back to the grill once his friends are gone and he’s left to cook in peace.

That lasts only about forty-five seconds before he hears the worst possible sentence come out of Niall’s mouth.

“Harry! Glad you could make it.”

His eyes widen and he turns around quickly, nearly getting whiplash at the speed his neck moves to spot Harry.

When he does, his mouth fights against his own will in trying to hide a smile—lips twitching as he watches his neighbor hug both of his friends in greeting.

“Nice to see you both again,” he hears Harry say smoothly, his familiar deep voice making Louis stomach flip. He watches on quietly, not wanting to draw attention to himself.

But hell, he’s fucking glad Harry came.

“Louis!” Mr. Swimmer yells urgently behind him. “The burgers!”

He locks eyes with Harry briefly, watching his eyes light up at the sight of him, before his neighbor’s words register.

“Shit,” he mumbles, eyes widening as he quickly shuts off the heat and takes the patties off the stove. “Niall!”

“Yes, darling?” he hears faintly.

“Grab me another plate!” Louis calls over his shoulder, stacking the burgers on top of one another until the piles get too tall.

A few minutes pass before he spots a plate being offered to him out of the corner of his eye.

“Thank—” he pauses when he stares into a pair of green eyes rather than blue. “Oh, hey.”

“Hi,” Harry replies, a lopsided grin on full display as he holds out an empty plate for Louis.

Dimples. Dimples. Dimples.

“You came,” Louis blurts out dumbly, his own smile on display.

Harry's face brightens. “I did,” he replies, still gripping the other side of the plate. “Couldn’t miss these ‘world-famous burgers,’ could I?”

Louis isn’t endeared. He isn’t.

“No, you couldn’t,” he assures, lightly tugging the plate away from Harry to put the rest of the patties on it. Harry lets go of it easily, but stays put.

It’s a pleasant surprise.

Louis sneaks a glance over to him as he transfers the burgers, Harry not saying a word. He seems completely content to just wait for Louis to be finished, eyes following Louis’ hands.

“How was your week?” Louis asks casually, ignoring how he can feel the thrum of his heart in his throat. He hands a full plate to Harry and gestures for him to follow. They make their way over to his patio table and try not to laugh at the conversations dying down in response to the food being ready.

“It was pretty good actually,” he says happily, placing his plate next to Louis'. “A couple of more families came in for their Christmas cards.”

“Oh, so that’s actually a thing then?” Louis chuckles, walking around the table to grab two drinks from the cooler. He holds up a beer for Harry, who nods happily.

“It is, I told you it was,” he teases, grabbing the bottle. Louis shrugs, moving a bit out of the way so his other guests can grab their food.

“Didn’t bring their own decor, did they?”

Harry giggles, shaking his head. He faces Louis, propping a hand up on the side of Louis’ house to balance himself. “Nope, thankfully mine worked perfectly fine for them.”

“Good,” Louis murmurs, smiling behind his bottle before taking a sip.

Harry bites his bottom lip, nodding in agreement before stepping abruptly to the side.

“Oop,” he mumbles, catching himself before falling over a suddenly present Clifford. He immediately beams at the labradoodle. “Cliff!”

“Here we go,” Louis sighs, smirking when Harry crouches down to properly greet his dog.

“Hello,” he says in a high-pitched voice, grabbing Clifford’s face to scratch behind his ears. “How are you?”

Harry coils back when Clifford leans in to lick his face, turning to Louis with a grimace. That’s when Louis lets out his own giggle, watching their interaction with aching cheeks.

“You’re a good boy, yes,” Harry continues, scratching the top of his head. “Is Lou treating you well?”

Louis scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “I always treat him well.”

“Treats?”

“Of course.”

“A lot of treats?”

“Can’t spoil him, can we?” Louis hums, tilting his head to the side with a smirk.

“You can’t, but I certainly can,” Harry states, standing back up. He looks down at Clifford, who starts to run circles around his feet. “Want a treat, Cliff? Hm?”

The little menace barks an agreement.

Harry turns to Louis beaming, rosy cheeks out on full display.

Louis rolls his eyes, but smiles anyway. “In the pantry. I’ll grab you a burger while you get them.”

Harry salutes before making a beeline to Louis’ kitchen, Clifford trotting behind him happily. “Ketchup and mayo, please!” he calls over his shoulder.

Louis shakes his head, biting down on his lip hard as he grabs two plates for his and Harry’s food.

So maybe Liam and Niall were right. Maybe, he’s interested in Harry. Maybe.

“How’s it going?”

“Jesus,” Louis gasps, jumping at the sound of Niall’s hushed voice near his ear. He looks at him with wide eyes, nearly dropping the plates he’s balancing on his right arm. “A simple hello would suffice, Niall.”

“Hello,” he replies monotonously before leaning in again. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” Louis nods, surveying his yard. “I think everyone’s enjoying the food. I know I saw Mr. Swimmer already come back for seconds.”

Niall stares at him for a moment before hitting him upside the head.

“Ow! What the fuck was that for?!” Louis snaps, clutching his head as he scowls at Niall.

“I meant with Harry, you idiot!” he explains in a whisper, gesturing toward the house. “I saw you two talking after I sent him over with the plate.”

Louis' face relaxes. “You did that?”

“Sure did.”

Louis decides he’ll keep Niall.

“It’s going well,” he says casually, squeezing some mayonnaise onto Harry’s burger in the shape of a smiley face.

“Just well?”

“Yes,” he draws out, repeating the action with the ketchup.

“So you haven’t, you know,” Louis looks up at him with a raised eyebrow and Niall pretends to shoot a basketball.

“Don’t exactly want an audience for that conversation, Niall,” he says breezily, picking up the plates and nodding over to a couple of empty seats on the other side of his yard.

“Right, of course,” Niall agrees quickly, nodding along with pursed lips as they make their way over.

Louis waits for him to continue. He knows Niall always continues.

“But,” he eventually says, causing Louis’ mouth to twitch. “You’ll like, tell us right?”

“Tell you…?”

“Louis.”

“Niall.”

“We’re very invested in this.”

“Really? I had no idea.”

“Don’t be an asshole,” he grumbles, plopping down on the lawn chair with a pout.

Louis chuckles, taking his seat next to him. “Relax relax, you’ll know depending on my mood Monday morning.”

Niall lifts his beer up with a wistful look in his eyes. “Here’s to hoping you don’t have a stick up your ass—”

“Oi!”

“Am I interrupting something?”

Louis turns to his left to see Harry standing there with his mouth curved into a smile, watching his and Niall’s interaction.

“Not at all,” he replies cheerfully, gesturing toward the empty seat next to him. “Here’s your burger.”

“Ooh,” Harry says sweetly, grabbing the plate from Louis. “Thank you. I brought the treats.”

Louis looks toward the ground, where there is in fact, Clifford’s entire tub of treats.

“Are you trying to lure my pup away from me?”

“No,” Harry says innocently, drawing out the word. He tugs on his bottom lip casually, focusing his attention on his burger.

Louis rolls his eyes fondly, not choosing to pry any further.

“So Cliff loves him too,” Niall coos quietly into his ear, looking at Louis knowingly.

If Louis “accidentally” knocks over Niall’s third beer later that hour, sending Harry into a fit of giggles, no one is the wiser.

The three of them spend the rest of the afternoon in their corner in Louis’ yard, Liam eventually joining them as the afternoon progresses.

The cookout moves along smoothly, neighbors and coworkers coming and going while the four of them sit back and relax, watching and telling random stories about Louis’ time in the neighborhood and all of their time at the high school.

The conversation flows easily, Niall always demanding the attention of the group whenever he gets started on a very descriptive and very dramatic retelling of how his students seem to get sick just in time for the weekly mile.

Even as he tells a story though, and everyone else does as well, his eyes keep traveling back to Harry.

It’s not something he can control at this point.

Every time he bursts out into laughter, that ridiculous yet completely endearing cackle that he does when he throws his head back, Louis finds himself not needing to turn to him because he’s already looking. He notices how Harry’s eyes crinkle whenever Clifford butts his head against his knee, demanding a cuddle; how he’ll aimlessly tug at his bottom lip when he’s listening intently to a story.

The way he cuddles deeper into his cardigan when a particularly cool breeze blows by, trying to do it so nonchalantly as to not draw attention to himself.

Louis almost goes in three times to fetch him a blanket.

He just fits, is all. Harry fits in so well with them, teasing them like he’s been here and integrated in their group for years.

There was never an awkward phase between the four of them where the conversation would die down—it kept going. There was always a story Harry needed to be told, or information Louis wanted (needed) to know about him. It was nice, being able to have a laugh with all of them as the sun started to set and they were the last people in the yard.

Even if the laughing was sometimes at Louis’ expense.

“Maybe you should stop giving them summer readings, Lou,” Harry breathes out, wiping a stray tear at the corner of his eye from laughing so hard.

Louis finished off his beer before raising his arms up. “Then how else are they supposed to prepare—”

“—For their impending, proctored, AP exam,” the three of them recite back to him, bursting into laughter at the end. Louis pouts, grabbing the ball from Clifford.

“Assholes, all of you,” he mumbles, focusing his attention on his labradoodle. Clifford licks at his hand, making him wrinkle his nose.

“We just want next August to go by smoother,” Liam reasons with a giggle. “To postpone the ranting in the teacher’s lounge from happening so quickly into the year.”

Louis’ eyes narrow. “Again. Assholes, all of you.”

“Assholes with your best interest at heart,” Harry says in complete seriousness, it’s how red his face is turning from holding in his laughter that gives him away.

“Don’t make me snip at your tree again,” Louis warns, a small smile on his face.

Harry rolls his eyes, waving him off. “You wouldn’t, you learned your lesson.”

He sure as hell did.

Louis doesn’t respond to him, instead turning his attention to Niall once he sees him get up out of the corner of his eye.

“Well, it’s getting late,” he announces, clapping his hands together. “I should get going. Payno, want a ride?”

Liam perks up, eyes darting between Louis and Harry before turning back to Niall with a cheeky grin. “I would love a ride.”

Louis bites the inside of his cheek to keep his expression neutral.

Harry nudges his arm, making Louis lean toward him. “I can help you clean up? If you’d like.”

If Harry notices the shit-eating grin that covers Niall’s face, he doesn’t say anything.

“Uhm yeah, that’d be great,” Louis says quickly, nodding enthusiastically. Relax, Tomlinson. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Harry goes to stand up. “I can grab some trash bags from inside…?”

“Should be on the counter,” Louis answers the unspoken question with a smile.

Harry flashes him a thumbs up before bidding his goodbyes to Niall and Liam. He promises to catch up with them, and also promises to meet up with the three of them for drinks next Friday.

When he’s finally out of earshot, Louis turns to them. “You two aren’t slick.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Liam smirks. “Because he’s staying.”

Louis rolls his eyes, not even fighting the smile on his face. “Your point?”

“Do not fumble the ball,” Liam says sternly, grabbing his phone from the lawn chair. He points it at Louis, “I mean it. Don’t chicken out.”

“Yes mother,” Louis says sweetly, clasping Liam on the shoulder and pulling Niall into a side hug. “Thank you both for coming.”

“Thanks for inviting us, was fun like always,” Niall says, starting to back away and toward the gate, along with Liam. “Good luck. Don’t forget to—”

“Yes, yes I know,” Louis groans, mimicking shooting a basketball for Niall’s sake.

He hears him cackle. “Bye Tommo.”

Waving a final goodbye to the two of them, Louis tries his best to ignore the nerves bubbling in the pit of his stomach.

Because he’s finally alone with Harry.

Sure, he’s been alone with him before. But it feels different now, all things considered. They’re no longer at each other's throats, and no one’s gardening or suffering from severe allergic reactions either.

As Niall said, he can finally shoot his shot.

“Found the bags,” Harry sings, coming back out waving a roll of trash bags in his hand. He places them into Louis’ open hand before rubbing his own together. “Race to see who cleans up their side the fastest?”

Louis smirks. “You’re on.”

“I call the left side,” Harry says quickly, jogging away with a trash bag.

Louis squawks, looking at his side in comparison. “Ay, that’s not fucking fair! You barely have any furniture on your side!”

“You should’ve called it then!” Harry sings over his shoulder, turning his jog into a skip.

His neighbor is going to be the death of him, that much Louis is sure of.

They make quick work of cleaning the yard, sweeping plastic cups and plates into their respected bags frantically as they keep their competition going.

“No cheating!”

“How the hell would I cheat? You’re on the other fucking side!” Harry calls back, raising his arms up over his head in confusion before going back to picking up trash.

When he doesn’t think Louis is looking, he kicks a stray cup over to the right side.

Louis rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything about it.

It takes them about fifteen minutes to get the yard back to its regular state, which Louis admits does go by faster than if A, they hadn’t raced and B, if Harry hadn’t been here to help.

They finish at the same time, which is as good of a result as Louis thought it could be.

The sun is nearly gone by the time they decide to lean against Louis’ fence to watch the rest of the sunset, golden hues shining their last rays onto their skin.

“Yard looks nice,” Harry hums, shoulder holding his body up against the wooden pillars and his legs crossed casually over one another. He’s facing Louis with a small smile on his face. “You know what would make it better though?”

“If you say anything about rotten fruit, I’m grabbing the shears,” Louis threatens, moving his body so he’s facing him straight-on.

Harry chuckles, threading his fingers through his hair as he squints—the last rays from the sun shining directly in his eyes. It turns his green eyes slightly hazel.

“I was gonna say, you should get some things for Clifford,” Harry says. “Maybe like a net or something so he can kick some goals in.”

Louis' mouth twitches. “I think you’re overestimating how well Clifford can do in a pick-up game.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asks, affronted. “I think you’re underestimating him. Have you ever tried to teach him? Have you ever given him the chance?”

Louis giggles, brushing the fringe out of his eye as he smiles fondly. “Can’t say I have, Haz.”

“Well, maybe you should,” Harry says petulantly, lifting his chin slightly. “I’ll even teach him.”

“I saw you playing a game with Liam earlier, I think the goal is to have him doing it well.”

“Watch it,” Harry warns, but the threat is lost when he bursts into a fit at giggles.

Louis follows immediately, using the back of his hand to cover his own laughter bubbling up. When it dies down between the two of them, he takes a tentative step forward—arm brushing along the wooden pillars.

“I was actually thinking of not keeping the fence up much longer,” he says feigning nonchalance, looking up to gauge Harry’s reaction.

Harry stays silent, studying Louis’ face. His expression is unreadable.

Only for a moment though.

“You just put it up.”

Louis blinks. “Yeah, but—”

“Do you know how much this cost? Surely you do since you were the one who put it up.”

“I mean I can use the wood for something else, like some DIY projects around the house or—”

“You don’t need that much wood for that, what are you going to do with the rest of it?”

“Harry—”

“I mean, why are you going to get rid of it in the first place?” he rambles on, actually seeming offended at the idea.

“Because I don’t need it anymore?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Don’t be an idiot, Louis. There’s always a need for a fence.”

Louis narrows his eyes, “You did not just call me an idiot.”

“I did because you’re about to take down a perfectly good fence!” Harry yells, gesturing wildly to the border around Louis’ house.

“You won't even let me say why—”

“You went through all that trouble to put it up and now—”

“Jesus Christ, I don’t need to fucking keep it up, Harry. It’s my damn fence!”

“Why do you even want to take it down in the first place?!”

“Because maybe I don’t want our yards separated, damn it! Maybe because I want to be able to just walk across my yard and go to yours and for you to do the same? I want to fucking plant roses and those other pollinating flowers and—and I wanna make sure it isn’t difficult for me to get over there if your idiotic self leaves your fucking EpiPen inside again!” Louis screams, taking another step forward so he and Harry are only a few inches apart.

He’s breathing heavy at this point, his entire plan going south far quicker than he had anticipated with his budding annoyance.

At least he knows no matter how much he may like Harry, the idiot could still rile him up within three seconds.

There’s a silence after his outburst, and when he looks up at Harry, he has his eyebrows near his hairline and his lips are slightly parted. He’s staring at Louis in complete and utter surprise.

So, he may have overdone his answer.

“And uhm, I also don’t like fencing Clifford in either?” he adds awkwardly, swallowing a small lump in his throat. “You know, he’s a big dog. He deserves to run around freely, wherever his heart desires and all that.”

Harry remains silent, but his lips are now pressed into a thin line, rolling over one another. It makes his dimples pop out.

Fuck.

“But maybe I should keep it up,” Louis continues, laughing nervously. He goes to take a large step back. “That way—”

He freezes when he feels Harry’s hand circle around his bicep, not only to keep him from moving further away, but to pull him back in.

His mouth immediately shuts, and he takes a tentative step forward when Harry’s hand doesn’t leave his arm.

“You don’t want our yards separated, hm?” Harry asks softly, tilting his head to the side.

Louis swallows, “I think for safety reasons that may be best.”

“Just for safety reasons?”

“Yep.”

Harry takes a step forward so their chests are touching and Louis can feel the heat radiating off of his body.

He tries to keep his face neutral, but he’s pretty sure he looks like a deer caught in headlights.

“So no other reasons?” Harry continues.

“I did mention Clifford.” Louis half shrugs.

Harry smiles. “You did, you’re right,” he hums, squeezing Louis’ bicep gently.

Louis can’t help the way his eyes flutter at the gesture.

Clearing his throat, he locks eyes with Harry again. “Do you want me to keep it up?”

Harry’s mouth twitches. “Not particularly.”

“How come?”

“Because even though we got off to a rough start, I’m still hoping I can win over the cute neighbor that has it,” Harry says cooly, looking out at the sunset. “A border around his yard makes that a tad difficult.”

That’s pretty much all the confirmation Louis needs.

With a bit more confidence, he wraps his arms around Harry’s waist, leaning in slightly so their lips are only an inch apart. “Cute neighbor, hm?”

“Very cute neighbor, kind of a catch if I’m being honest.”

Louis bites down on his lip hard, cheeks reddening at his compliment. “Well, what would you say if the cute neighbor asked if he could kiss you?”

Harry’s red lips quirk up. "I would say..." his gaze darts down to Louis’ own lips before locking their eyes again. “Please.”

Louis wastes no time after the word leaves Harry’s mouth.

He closes the gap between them, immediately pressing his lips softly onto Harry’s full ones. His heart somersaults when Harry immediately kisses him back, the back of his neck growing hot.

They kiss feverishly, Harry gripping onto Louis’ other arm as they press their lips together time and time again. He tastes sweet, the slight twang of the lemonade he’d been sipping earlier still present as their mouths move against one another.

The kiss invades all of Louis’ senses, it overwhelms his system—the way Harry tightens his grip around him, the way he tastes, how he smells like fresh grass mixed with a hint of sweat from the heat.

Kissing Harry is like a Sunday morning spent gardening.

Louis nips at his bottom lip, producing a small whine as they continue exploring each other’s mouths. His skin is searing against Harry’s touch, pulse pounding hard against his ribcage.

“You seriously can’t take down the fence so soon,” Harry whispers, brushing his nose against Louis' cheek, his breath fans against Louis’ lips as they catch their breaths.

“Watch me,” Louis mumbles back, squeezing the flesh around his hips before connecting their lips once again.

Harry giggles into the kiss, teasing his tongue against Louis’ lips—making Louis curl his fingers around him tighter.

Leaning against his fence and kissing Harry like this, Louis thinks he’s always wanted it to end up this way.

Even when he was screaming his head off about how much he despised him.

He supposes Emily Dickinson was right. The heart wants what it wants.

Who would’ve thought.

It may take a few minutes (try twenty), but their kisses do die down in fervor, their lips moving slowly against one another the more accustomed they became to each other’s movements. Louis’ heart is pounding in his chest, and if it weren't for the support he’s getting from the fence, he’s pretty sure his knees would have buckled thirty seconds in and he’d be on the ground by now.

He can feel Harry’s chest rising quickly as well, he's smiling against his lips and brushing their noses together slightly.

If this is how their first kiss feels like, Louis can’t wait for the second. Or third. Or thirtieth.

“So,” Harry mumbles against his lips, pecking them quickly after the first word is spoken. “Does this mean you’ll stop terrorizing my garden?”

Louis backs away and lets out an abrupt laugh, hitting his chest lightly. “Seriously?”

“Mmm just wondering what I’m signing myself up for here,” he teases, a small smirk on his face as he leans in again. “And ensuring my lovely garden will live to see another day.”

Louis rolls his eyes, but the grin that covers his face makes the gesture softer. He pulls Harry back in by his waist, closing the space between them once again.

“Just shut up and kiss me.”

Harry doesn’t speak again after that.

⸻

Louis gets a call from Betsy a few months later.

“Louis, honey! How are you?” she greets cheerfully, the sound of her voice putting an immediate smile on his face.

“Hi love, I’m doing well. How are you and Liz? How are the kids?” he breathes out, plopping onto his patio’s couch. He’s breathing heavy, not expecting a pick-up game with Liam and Niall to turn out that intense.

But he feels good, and the cool March weather is definitely something he’s gonna take advantage of.

They talk for a few more minutes, Liz popping in every so often to give her input on how they’re settling into their new home and city.

After a few months, Louis’ happy to admit that the move worked out wonderfully for all of them.

In the distance, he hears Clifford bark excitedly. The sound of a car door shutting quickly after giving away the cause of his reaction.

A small smile grows on his face as he picks at his bottom lip, tuning back into his phone call.

“Well, it's lovely to hear from you Louis,” Betsy sighs happily. “We need to chat more often.”

“Definitely,” he says, hearing Liam, Niall, and Zayn shout out their greetings. He keeps his eyes on a loose hangnail on his thumb, trying not to pay them much mind.

Then he feels the cushion shift beside him, his lips immediately pressing together as he tries to show indifference at the new presence.

“Hi,” Harry whispered in his ear, lips grazing the skin.

He turns to his boyfriend with a small smirk, eyes lighting up when he spots the glass of lemonade in his hand.

Harry rolls his eyes, but passes the drink to him, scooting closer to Louis in the process. He pulls the sleeves of his lavender sweater further up his arms as the heat from the sun hits him. There’s a small smile on his face when he turns to face Louis, spotting the phone pressed against his other ear.

“Betsy?” Harry mouths.

He nods happily, Harry pressing a kiss to his cheek in response and settling on the couch. Louis throws an arm around his shoulder, pulling him into his side.

Harry goes easily, humming happily as he lays his head against Louis’ chest and crosses his arms over his own.

Liam and Zayn start fake gagging in the distance, prompting Louis to flip them off.

He can feel Harry chuckling against him, the sound making his heart beat a bit faster.

“Louis? You there, hun?” Betsy says over the phone.

“Yeah, I’m here” he replies lightly, free hand playing with Harry's, his fingers circling the rings on each of his digits.

“Oh, you never updated me on your new neighbor!” she gasps. “How is he? Everything work out well? You aren’t giving him too much trouble, I hope.”

Harry snuggles further into him—the two of them watching Clifford sprint in between both of their yards, chasing a ball Niall had thrown.

“Yeah, he’s great,” he replies, glancing down at Harry.

He’s met with Harry’s bright smile, dimples out on full display. He pokes one, following the action with a kiss to his forehead.

“I’d say it worked out pretty well.”