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Louis Tomlinson is perfectly terrible at doing dishes.
Like, no. That’s not right. When he does do dishes they come out very clean and shiny and able to be eaten off of, which is the whole point of doing dishes of course.
But he’s just not good at remembering to do them! Out of sight, out of mind and all that; put a dish in the sink and then a few days later there’s suddenly fifty dishes in the sink and they’re a little scary but if he turns the corner into the hallway suddenly poof they’re gone from his mind.
So he does dishes, like, once a week. Or two. And the kitchen smells a little bad at all times but there’s mostly not many gnats. It’s fine. He’s just gone and accepted that he’s perfectly terrible at doing dishes. There are more important things in life.
—
But then, but then.
Louis Tomlinson gets a boyfriend.
Harry Styles is wonderful. He’s tall and pretty and his hair smells like cucumber, but not in a weird way. He smiles crooked and his ears stick out a little and he’s got big hands. His voice is deep and he says things that make no sense but in a way that compels Louis to listen and laugh and work all day to have his attention.
Everything is perfect.
Everything is perfect right up until they move in together.
Harry’s lease is up and Louis’ flat is a little bigger, anyway, so it only makes sense. When Harry moves in, it’s over the course of a week and Louis watches in awe as he brings in tote bags full of books and clothes and knick-knacks, unloads them around the flat, and takes the tote bags back to fill up again. He’s so organized. It’s incredible. Louis’ chair with his pile of mostly-clean clothes looks a little shabby in comparison to Harry’s drawers with individual organisers in them.
He follows Harry around like he’s observing an animal in the wild. A cute animal. Like a duckling. Or a skunk.
After Harry successfully moves himself in, things all neatly tucked away and new cat (Eggs Benedict, or Eggsy for short) taking up residence under their bed, that’s when Louis starts to notice the change.
The change is that whenever he goes to put a dish in the sink, the sink is empty.
Sometimes the drying rack will have a plate or cup in it. More often, though, that’s empty too.
He considers the possibility that Harry is throwing out his dishes. But when he checks the cupboards, they’re all there.
So. Harry is doing dishes.
Harry is doing Louis’ dishes.
That’s when Louis starts getting paranoid.
Why is Harry doing his dishes?
He must be mad at Louis. He must be absolutely livid at the way Louis is living his life as a slob.
Louis resolves not to confront Harry on this issue. He resolves to do his dishes. He doesn’t want this to ruin their relationship, not so soon after they’ve moved in together. With his luck Harry’s going to stew in resentment until he snaps and murders Louis in his sleep and then blames it on Eggsy.
He realises quickly how difficult that resolution is, though, when he leaves his prep bowls for no more than ten minutes (just long enough to eat dinner!) only to find them already clean when he comes back.
He cannot leave any dish for any amount of time in the sink.
Also, he realises with horror, the twelve water cups next to their bed? They’re gone too. Harry’s taken them to the kitchen and washed them and put them away and he probably hates Louis now.
He starts frantically washing everything. As soon as it’s done. Except pans, because he’s learnt the hard way that those warp if they’re too hot, so of course Harry manages to wash those, which is terrible but Louis can only do so much! He’s stressed out about dishes all the time now.
And even more so when he realises that Harry is putting away the dishes Louis is leaving in the drying rack.
It’s at this point that Louis starts to wallow. Surely Harry is going to leave him. He’s likely looking for a place right now. They’re incompatible. Louis’ way too much of a slob for them to be able to live together, and he’s going to be the reason that Harry asks in the future with his perfect future boyfriends whether they do their dishes before he moves in. He’s going to be that ex-boyfriend.
The final straw comes the Saturday after that horrifying realisation.
The one reason Louis is pretty sure he’s not dating a robot is that Harry’s true weakness is sleeping late on a Saturday. It’s the best day of the week in general, but especially because Harry is an octopus-like bundle of cuddly limbs until at least noon every Saturday. It’s heaven.
When Louis eventually gets up to shower on this particular Saturday, Harry is still in bed, sleep rumpled smile on his face and curls a mess on the pillow. When Louis gets out of the shower, however, Harry is gone from the bedroom.
(This isn’t abnormal, of course; everyone has to get up at some point and Louis accepts that).
Making his way into the living room, however, Louis finds Harry, to his horror, with a broom in his hand sweeping the floor.
All of Eggsy’s cat toys are piled on the furniture and the coffee table has been moved out of the way. This isn’t just a “I spilled a bag of crisps” sweep, this is a “clean the house” sweep.
Louis doesn’t even own a broom like this. He owns a little hand broom and dustpan. Harry must have brought this with him.
“Uh,” says Louis, causing Harry to startle and take his headphones out.
“Hey!” he says. “Want breakfast? I was thinking of making a full english, bought the stuff yesterday.”
“I mean yes, of course,” Louis says. “But uh. Are you… sweeping?”
Harry nods. “I’m almost done, don’t worry,” he says. “I’ve already swept around the sofa, so feel free to sit down.”
“No, it’s just—” Louis clears his throat. “I mean, I’ve got a vacuum? You don’t have to… I can vacuum?”
Harry smiles, albeit a little… shyly? It’s small. “I was going to vacuum after I swept,” he says. “Keeps the floor cleaner, I think.”
“Okay,” Louis draws out with a frown. He vacuums like… once a month, maybe. Or once every other month. “Um, do you want me to…?”
Shaking his head vigorously, Harry leans the broom against the back of the sofa. “Absolutely not,” he says. “I swear, this’ll take me like ten minutes and then I can make us breakfast. Seriously! Sit down.”
Louis looks at him rather hopelessly. “Are you mad at me?” he asks.
Harry’s face crumples in a way Louis is not prepared for. “No,” he rushes, sounding pathetic. “I swear I’m not. Please don’t feel like that.”
“But the dishes… ?” Louis tries. “Do you need me to, like, do more? I’m sorry, I know I’m bad at doing dishes but I’m trying, I swear.”
“No, oh my god,” Harry says, running his hands over his face. “Please, like, don’t take this the wrong way,” he says. “But I swear, it’s not about you. It’s me.”
“That is exactly what someone says when it is about you. Or, about me. About the other person!” Louis accuses. “You are mad at me!”
“I’m not,” Harry moans into his hands. “I just— I started doing dishes in university whenever I was stressed! And I lived with all these roommates so I started doing their dishes when I was stressed, and then I realised that I’m just so much happier when things are clean, and I like cleaning.” He looks pleadingly at Louis.
“I—” Louis starts, and then stops. “Why do you look like a kicked puppy?”
“Because people never believe me,” Harry says. “I just like having a clean house!”
“But we both live here,” Louis reasons. “And we both make messes. So I should be doing my fair share of the cleaning.”
“But you don’t like cleaning,” Harry points out.
“You don’t know that,” Louis argues.
Harry gives him a look.
“Alright, I don’t like cleaning,” he admits. “But I don’t want you to be doing all this extra work here, that’s not fair.”
“Don’t think of it like that,” argues Harry. “Like, there’s stuff I don’t like to do either.”
“What stuff?”
Harry pauses for a minute. “I hate mowing,” he says.
“We live in a flat on the third floor,” Louis says. “We don’t mow.”
“Yeah, I know…” Harry frowns. “I really hate spiders,” he says.
“So you want me to kill spiders?” Louis asks. “I can do that.”
Harry nods enthusiastically. “Yes please,” he says.
“That’s not an equal division of labor yet, though.”
“Well maybe we don’t need an equal division,” Harry says. “If we’re both happy with it? Maybe it equals out, because cleaning isn’t hard, like, mentally for me. I’ve got the spoons for it.”
“I guess…” Louis hedges.
Harry comes over and kisses him. Louis kisses back, but it’s a deceitful kiss. It’s a kiss that says, I’m going to figure out something else you need help with and do it, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.
Harry vacuums and makes a delicious full english breakfast first, though.
—
Harry continues to do the dishes, and clean the house, and, upon further inspection, do all chores associated with Eggsy. Which makes sense, since he’s Harry’s cat, but Louis still makes a note of it. Maybe he should be feeding Eggsy.
Louis kills a few spiders, but there’s honestly just not enough to go around.
Waking up every day to a full cupboard and an empty sink is like, really nice, though. Louis feels guilty taking advantage of it, but it makes him so happy. Maybe Harry has a point about liking a clean home.
They’re on the sofa one evening, watching GoggleBox and consuming Pizza Hut, when a thought occurs to Louis.
“What about sex stuff?” he asks.
Harry chokes on his pizza. “What about sex stuff?”
“I mean, blowjobs? Would you like blowjobs in exchange for how much you do the dishes?”
“Oh my god,” Harry says. “Cleaning the house isn’t a sex thing!”
“But it’s still a way I could pay you back,” Louis points out. “It’s something I’m good at.”
“That’s not the point!” Harry argues. “Our relationship isn’t, like, a group project. It’s a partnership where we each give what we’re able. I’m able to do this!”
“But it’s just too nice!” Louis flounders. “Do you know how nice it is to always have the salad bowl clean? I can just always have salad now!”
“Yeah, I do!” Harry says. “Because I also benefit from it! There’s no downsides, I’m not losing anything here!”
Louis tangles their feet together, at a loss for something better. “Do you want the last slice?” he asks.
“I mean yes, of course,” Harry grumbles, grabbing it and taking a bite.
—
Zayn says that there’s nothing wrong with their relationship. He says some sort of psychology thing about oldest children and youngest children and large families and small families, and it all goes in one ear and out the other and Louis doesn’t absorb a bit of it, but he takes the reassurance.
Niall says maybe Harry should pay less rent, but Louis can’t let that happen because he can’t afford more rent himself.
Liam says something about love languages, and acts of service, which does make it sound sort of like a sex thing but he swears it isn’t.
Then Harry arrives at the table with everyone’s drinks and the conversation changes to mocking Harry’s choice of gin and tonic compared to everyone else’s pints.
Louis does google love languages later on in the night, though, because he’s a little drunk and a lot desperate for some way to repay Harry. He reads through the options and stops on physical touch.
Harry loves physical touch.
Louis leans over just a little and runs his fingers through Harry’s curls, short and springy and wild. Harry immediately leans toward him, closing his eyes.
Okay.
—
It doesn’t feel like a perfect solution because what Harry’s doing is actual work, but what Louis is doing benefits both of them, because Harry never turns down getting his hair played with or holding hands or cuddling, and Louis gets the benefit of feeling Harry melt with happiness at the slightest touch.
But then again, if Harry really does not mind the dishes, then maybe that’s… the same?
Maybe Louis’ lost the plot and these are in no way similar, but whatever.
Then it’s Saturday morning again, and they’re spooning, in the lazy morning light, both awake enough to be on their phones but not awake enough to want to actually move. Louis’ pretty sure Harry’s watching a Twitch stream, his volume on low. Louis’ got his phone balanced on Harry’s shoulder, his own earbuds in, watching TikToks.
Most of the TikToks he watches are cat videos at this point, because there was a cat that looked like Eggsy and he liked it and his algorithm’s been screwed ever since.
But the one he swipes to now is not a cat. It’s a man.
“Men,” he says. “When you’re spooning your woman—”
Heterosexual and incorrect, Louis thinks, and he almost swipes past it, but hey he is spooning right now.
“I’m going to tell you how to make her life better. What you’re going to want to do is stick your leg between hers. Women have hips, you see, and they need to have, like, a pillow between their legs or they’ll get hip pain. I swear, it makes them so happy—”
Louis swipes away. The next video is a cat carrying a large leaf.
But he pauses the video. He thinks.
Harry isn’t a woman, but he does have a lot of back pain. Louis knows, because he does yoga to try to help.
Louis reaches down, grabs Harry’s leg, and slides one of his between them.
He hears a disturbing crack.
“Oh my god,” squeaks Harry.
“Did I break you?” Louis practically yells, pulling his leg back.
“No, oh my go put it back,” Harry says, craning his arm around to grab Louis’ thigh. “That was the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“How fucked up is your back?” Louis mutters, sliding his leg back between Harry’s.
“So fucked up,” Harry says. “Oh my god the pain is just gone.”
“You were in pain?”
“I’m always sort of achey,” Harry says. “It’s not a big deal, I’m used to it.”
Louis tugs on one of his curls. “That’s not a great response, actually,” he says. “I’m going to make you see a chiropractor.”
“I already do,” Harry says. “Hence the yoga.”
Louis pouts. “I don’t want you to be broken,” he argues.
“Well then keep your leg there,” says Harry. “Because at this moment this feels like the best day of my life.”
They stay in bed well past noon that day.
—
Louis Tomlinson is perfectly terrible at doing dishes.
But maybe that’s okay.
Because he gives very good massages and he’s got a lot of books from the library about relieving back pain and his boyfriend apparently has the bones of an eighty year old man, but he can help with that.
Maybe a relationship isn’t about equal work, but about giving what you can until you both meet somewhere in the middle, a little happier and a little more full of love.