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Chapter Text

When I met Louis, I drew for a living.

It wasn't much of a living, but I enjoyed the work, and I was good at it. I could make bodies look on paper as they looked in real life, and that was a talent in demand at that time. I was hired mostly by advertisers to do fashion illustrations, but occasionally I was called on by medical or professional types who needed realistic illustrations for textbooks or documents of sorts.

That was the very reason that Louis Tomlinson appeared at my door in London five years ago.
I was pottering around the loft (the large attic of my friend Ben and his wives home) when there was a knock at the door. I moved across the room and opened the small oak door, not sure what kind of model I was to expect on the other side.

"Mr Tomlinson?" I asked squinting into the dark stairwell.

"Yeah, but me name's Louis'' his strong northern accent was almost jarring after 4 years surrounded by Londoners.

"I see. I'm Mr Marcel. Come on in," I watched as he entered, walking smoothly across the wooden floor in a pair of battered trainers. He was kitted out in a full Adidas tracksuit and walked as though he owned the place.

"I thought you were a med student?" I asked, unable to hide my scepticism, sparked mainly by his five o'clock shadow and the scruffy light brown hair that swopped into a fringe (making him look more boyband member than budding doctor).

"I am" he responded and smiled a smile that was more charming than I could have ever prepared for.

I shut the door and walked further into the gloomy loft; I could feel his eyes on my back. He stayed where he was and went on. 'Cowell, the art professor at UAL advertised. I were picked."

I turned to look at him and he shrugged.

"We'll be working over here," I said from my drawing corner. It was sectioned off from the gloom and dust of the rest of the loft. The only bright spot, next to a large modern window that led to a small balcony. Bright for only a few precious hours of the day when the sun shone at just the right angle.  Cramped would be an understatement for the working conditions in the loft, but I didn't really need much room, and with the astronomical cost of renting actual flats in London, I couldn't really complain at my free residency within Ben's family home.

Louis moved over to me, "do I strip now?"

I met his eyes and immediately felt the breath being ripped from my lungs. They were the most piercing blue I had ever seen, with an indescribable glimmer that made them absolutely captivating. I had to force myself to look away from the fear I would drown in their unearthly beauty. I had been drawing nudes for a couple of years by that time and had always felt very professional around any models I worked with. Louis was the first model who made me feel nervous.

"Haven't you done this before?" I asked

"What took me clothes off for a good-looking lad?" He flashed me a sly smile. Somehow simultaneously mischievous yet flirty and engaging. It could have meant nothing, or perhaps everything.

"Actually, the more interesting question is, have you taken your clothes off for a 'lad' that you don't consider to be good-looking."

He grinned "Can't say I have"

Despite my efforts not to, I smiled, "Anyway Mr Tomlinson, what I was meaning to ask, is have you modelled for a drawing before?"

"Me name's Louis"

"I know"

"What's your name?"

"Still Mr. Marcel"

"I know but what's your actual name?"

"Mr Marcel. Take a seat."

"Is that what your girlfriend calls you?"

"That's none of your-" his gentle yet mocking smile stopped me in my tracks. "Take your clothes off. Let's get started"

"Okay"

"There's a screen over there," I pointed to the far corner. "You can get undressed behind it"

"Why you're gonna see all of me anyway, in't yah?"

"Well, yeah...do what you like as long as you're comfortable"

"Oh, I am" he perched on the stool to pull his trainers off.

I walked over towards the little makeshift Ikea kitchen, "tea?"

"Never say no to a brew, me. Ready whenever you are."

I nodded as I filled the kettle and flicked the switch. I pulled my only two mugs out of the cupboard and added teabags before pouring in some milk. The kettle switch flicked off as the water boiled. I poured in the water and popped the teabags in the bin then turned around to let my guest know his drink was ready. I was slightly taken aback to see he wasn't where I had left him. I glanced around the loft. Louis was naked, wandering boldly around the room, lifting up random possessions before putting them back very carefully as though misplacing them would be catastrophic.

"Who are they?" he asked pointing to a picture taped to the wall by my plasterboard bathroom.

I walked over, "my kids" I smiled.

"Kids?"

"An art group I work with in school holidays. It's for underprivileged teenagers" The picture showed a small group of teenagers smiling, covered in spray paint from the summer.

"What did youse do here?"

"We made art around the city, like on the sides of buildings. Murals and the like."

"You teach them?"

"They teach me more than I could ever teach them"

I turned to look at him and was taken aback by the fact he was smiling like a little boy, it instantly reminded me of a play I had seen in Manchester, as a child, of Peter Pan.

"Could you paint me?"

"My job is to draw you"

"Maybe next time then, yeah?"

"Why don't you take a seat? I'll get the tea."

I turned back to the steaming cups and picked them up, placing Louis' mug on a small side table next to the stool he was perched on, and lacing mine by my easel.

"Are these your girlfriends or yours?" I looked up to find him pointing to cardboard model planes and space shuttles that were hanging from wooden ceiling beams.

"Mine"

"I'd love to fly a plane, and go to space" he looked up at the models with a longing in his eyes that reminded me so suddenly of being a child staring up at the sky, daydreaming of being up in the air or being free and soaring like birds. and of distant places, other planets. It made me feel as though my throat were swelling shut and I had to choke out my next sentence. 

"Anyway I'll be drawing your torso and hips mainly"

"Okay"

I looked at his body properly for first time. He was shorter than I was but held much more grace and confidence. Thick thighs and a solid-looking rear, yet his waist was tiny, smaller than my own, his stomach thin yet sculpted. He was nothing short of beautiful.

"To answer your question, no"

"Sorry?"

"I en't modelled before. I've just started med school"

"And you need money"

"Well....who doesn't" he shrugged

"All right," I said. "Listen don't talk. Please move only when I tell you. Unless you need a quick drink."

He nodded.

"Can you turn to your left?" He moved.

"What's this?" I moved across to him

"Is it a problem?"

"A tattoo...?"

He looked down at it then up at me, smiling proudly.

"It's living art, innit"

"Right." I laughed. I inspected it, intrigued. "It's not a problem but why a stag? If you don't mind me asking"

"I dunno, don't laugh but it's meant to represent peace and strength. I got it when I left home."

"It's really beautiful"

"Thanks. My friend did it. He were really talented"

I noticed the use of the word was, but didn't feel it was my place to probe further. We both stood staring down at the tattoo on his upper arm. I had grasped him by the elbow turning his arm to better see the design, my eyes met the stags and I was immediately taken aback by the emotion portrayed within them. When I looked up Louis was watching me intently, our faces so close that I could feel his warm breath dancing across the tip of my nose. I stepped back.

"Bend your leg with your foot on the edge of the stool. Yeah like that," I went over to my easel "twist so I can see more of your back...there! Perfect."

I started to trace the outer angles of his body with my charcoal pencil. By the time I had started on the placement of his abs, it felt almost as though my pencil were running over Louis' actual body as opposed to the paper. It was as though I could feel him quivering in response to my touch, although I did wonder if it was purely my own imagination.

-----

After two and a half hours of work, the door to the loft suddenly opened. Both myself and Louis turned immediately to see who was on the other side of the doorframe. 

"Hello"

"Excuse me, I thought you'd be done" Camille stood, arms crossed, staring over at Louis with wide eyes. Louis had not moved to look at the new person in the room, however, I could tell by his expression that he was somewhat amused by his being naked in front of my girlfriend.

"uhh...right yea... Louis...Mr Tomlinson. You can get dressed"

Louis didn't move "you sure you're done? I can stay if you need me to." He looked directly at me, unembarrassed by his current state of undress.

"Thanks but no, these sketches will be enough. I'm done."

"I can go?" Camille offered

"No"

"Can I see your sketches?" Louis asked, pulling his body into a stretch before standing and walking towards me.

Camille remained in the doorway, the door still open.

"No" I said snatching up my work before Louis could see it. "I'd rather you don't, please get dressed"

I relaxed a little when he shrugged and reached for his tracksuit bottoms. Camille and I waited whilst he dressed in the middle of the room. I watched Camille, and Camille stared at the floor with a pink blush spread across her pale face. The moment was quiet and painfully long.

"Thanks, 'Mr Marcel'," Louis said as I saw him out

"No, thank you. You did great"

He grinned and winked "be seeing yah then"

I closed the door, my hand lingering against the wood at the same height as Louis chest.

"Mr Marcel?"

"Name of the day" I answered Camille, my hand still on the door, a strange urge to follow Louis spreading through every atom of my body.

"He seems like a nice enough guy"

"He's just a model. Same as the rest"

"Sorry, I interrupted...I thought..."

I turned from the door. Camille was standing near the end of the folded sofa bed that was haphazardly dumped in the middle of the room, red and very well-used. She looked small, diminished and vulnerable. I felt a stab of pity cross my chest and I walked over to embrace her.

"How could you think you interrupted? You live here." I kissed her forehead, something I knew always made her smile.

"I love you" she gave a shy smile.

"I love you too". 

Chapter Text

A phone had been ringing through my dreams for what seemed like hours when I finally gave up trying to remain asleep. I thrust my arm out of the duvet and grabbed it, swiping up to answer the call.

"Yeah?" I snapped

"Mr Marcel?" A man asked through the speaker.

"What time is it?" I squinted over at the shafts of sunlight bursting through the gaps in my blind.

"Uh, let me check.." he said, "sorry I ent got me watch on."

I groaned and looked over at the clock 9.30 a.m

"Mr Marcel?" the voice said again.

"What are you selling" I demanded, stuffing my face back into my pillow, phone still clutched at my ear.

I heard laughter and was about to hang up when I realised that Mr Marcel had been the fake name from the day before. Was this the medical student? I sat upright in bed, scanning the room for any trace of Camille.

"Is this Mr Tomlinson?" I asked

"Please call me Louis"

"Did you forget something?"

"Only to ask you for your first name or should I keep calling you Mr Marcel?"

I remained silent, unsure how to respond. Why was he calling me?

"Mr Marcel?" he repeated

"Listen, I haven't even had a coffee yet..."

"Well then, I'm buying. Meet me? Please"

I sighed considering. He was over-eager which seemed like a bad sign. He was also an exceptionally attractive medical student with a tattoo, cheeky smile and eyes that could only have been created by God himself. All really bad signs.

"Mr Marcel? Tell me where I'll be there"

I sighed, "Harry. My name is Harry. I'll text you a place."

-----

It took me three minutes to get ready. I threw on some black jeans and a beige sweater over an oversized tee, then stuffed a hat over my recently cut and very messy hair. I had told Louis to meet me in a secondhand bookstore that had a coffee shop in the front. It was in Hampstead, most likely a good distance from wherever he lived, however, he didn't question the location.

He arrived before I did. I paused at the door of the shop to study him before he could notice me. He was sitting at a little wooden table by the window sipping from a mug of tea and reading something on his phone. He looked a little rumpled in blue jeans and a white tee, the deer tattoo peeking out from beneath his right sleeve. The autumn sunshine grazed over the side of his body, illuminating him.

Across from him sat an empty chair and a mug of something covered with the saucer to keep it warm. There was an intensity in his eyes as he read, a determination that betrayed his intelligence. He looked up, immediately spotted me and smiled, his whole demeanour snapping from serious and intelligent to somehow innocent, and cute. I walked quickly across the room feeling strangely nervous.

"Sorry if I'm late," I said as I slid into the chair across from him.

"You're not. I came here to see yah. I'd have waited all day."

"Is this mine?" I asked pointing to the covered mug, trying to distract him from the blush that was surely spreading across my cheeks.

"Urm...yea but I didn't know your order...it's a latte wi' oat milk"

"Just what I need." I smiled and uncovered the mug, reaching for a sweetener.

"How did you know I use oat milk?" I looked over to meet his eyes, even more blue with the sun hitting them than I had thought possible. I looked away, scared I could get lost in them.

"Only a guess. Oat milk suits you. Next time I'll know" he smiled almost shyly. It was a strange sight on someone so forward and confident.

I sipped through my own smile. I didn't know if it was his presence or the caffeine but something was making my heart pound in my chest. We looked at each other: me from underneath the visor of my baker boy cap and him whilst bathing in sunlight, giving him an almost angelic appearance. I looked away again, a strange feeling brewing within my stomach.

"What you doing today?"

"Having coffee with you."

"And later?"

I shrugged "I'll see when later comes"

"I wish I had that kinda freedom."

"Freedom is just a pretty word for unemployment"

We laughed. This was followed by a small silence then he said, "I like your laugh."

"I...well..urm" I stammered, cheeks definitely flushing red this time.

"I didn't mean to embarrass yah"

"Not at all I just...aren't you supposed to be at university?" I asked, quickly changing the subject.

"I'm supposed to be having coffee wi' you"

"So you so do have some freedoms...?"

He laughed, "Well freedom is just a pretty word for skipping lectures," we laughed again.

"What made you decide you wanted to become a doctor?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"Dya want the med school interview answer? Or the real answer?"

"What do you think"

"Okay. Blood and guts"

I laughed, "Are you a serial killer? Are you trying to make me your next victim?" I feigned a look of shock which made him chuckle. "What's the real answer?"

He shrugged, "Me mum's a midwife, so I've always wanted to help people I guess."

I smiled. My coffee was finished already and I was on the fence about getting another, as much as I knew I shouldn't be there, I was actually enjoying speaking to Louis and wasn't sure that I wanted to leave just yet. As if he read my mind, Louis got up and walked over to the counter, coming back a moment later with another oat milk latte.

"You remembered my coffee order," I joked, "Thank you."

"Anytime" he grinned, a twinkle in his eye.

After a few moments of silence, I spoke again "what's the real meaning?" I gestured vaguely towards his arm.

"What?"

"The tattoo? The stag?"

He scrapped his chair across the warped wooden floor so that he could sit by my side of the table and then pulled his t-shirt up, bunching it around his shoulder, showing off tattoos and sculpted arm muscles. I bent over to stare at it a little closer.

"So what does it mean?"

"Mean? I told you yesterday. Anyway, it's art...it doesn't actually have to mean nowt"

"Well," I said, "yes but it's permanent art, I thought maybe..."

"Permanent?" He laughed "It's as permanent as I am, that's all"

Our gazes held for what seemed like a long time, our faces terrifyingly close.

"Your eyes are green. I hadn't noticed," he said finally he reached out, letting his fingers run down my forearm.

His touch did not solve my blushing problem. Instead, it sent a quick tantalising shiver from my arm and up into my chest. I pulled away, clearing my throat.

"I'd better go"

"That program wi' the kids? How'd you get it started?"

"Do you actually want to know or are you just trying to get me to stay?"

He smiled. It worked.

"Well, I saw some kids doing graffiti in the street and it just dawned on me. So I asked if they would want to learn how to paint murals. Then I started going out looking for more of them."

"Strangers?"

"Yes"

"You've got guts, Harry"

"Not really. They were just kids. Yeah, some of them swore at me, and a few threatened to knife me, but there were ones who were genuinely interested. So I got permission from the council and we've done it every summer since."

"Why'd you do it?"

"I just wanted to help them, I guess"

"Did yah? Help them?"

"I don't know. I hope so"

He drank his tea and examined me. I glanced away wondering what was actually going on inside of his head.

"Are you drawing today?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Curiosity"

"Oh."

"I'm curious bout us too...about where this could go. Hopeful too." I choked on my coffee, taken aback by how upfront and bold he was.

My face had started to burn again and I stood so abruptly I almost knocked the table over.

"I really do have to go."

"Leaving won't stop me from hoping..."

"Goodbye"

"I hope not"

I walked down the street in a direction that was simply away, begging myself not to look back. He scared me. He was so intense, so open. He hadn't even asked if I were gay or bisexual, he just assumed that I would be interested in him. Was it narcissism? Or was I really that easy to read? The thing that frightened me the most was that I wanted to kiss him almost as much as he clearly had wanted to kiss me. I wanted him to have followed me down the street, shouting my name. I wanted him to grab me and press his body into me. I turned, frozen in the middle of the road. I was alone. I was confused. I sighed and headed for home.

-----

That afternoon I tried drawing, reading, and even yoga but I couldn't concentrate on any of it. I went back to the bookshop, a small part of me wondering, hoping, that he would still be there as I browsed the shelves, thumbing over battered books that I couldn't believe anyone had wanted to read the first time. '10000 tricks for your parakeet', 'tie die for dummies', '1200 tips for the modern housewife', 'skywriting for novices'.

I pulled the last book off the shelf flipping through the discoloured pages and thinking back to Louis dreaming about the sky and space in my loft. It was only £1.50 so I bought it hoping it would somehow help to keep my mind off him. I walked into the Heath and sat down on a park bench, a beam of late afternoon sun shining into my eyes.  When I finally closed the book it was dusk and the sun was gone, the only light coming from a lamppost next to the bench.

In that moment, I very spontaneously decided that I was going to learn to fly, just as I had dreamed of as a kid.

-----

"Isn't skywriting illegal?" Camille frowned, peering up at me from her work laptop with an expression that told me she thought I had been on mushrooms.

"It was, but they're reviewing the law in a few months time."

"But you want to be a lawyer?"

"This is more fun"

"Fun isn't important, Harry"

"What is?"

"Long-term stability? A good future? You can't raise children in a loft"

I sighed and put my new book down on the kitchen counter.

"Aren't you going to start dinner? It's after 8."

"Is that all you have to say about skywriting?" I knew I was pouting but I didn't care.

She looked up again, her expression softening a little bit, "It would make a good hobby? Expensive though." She stood up and moved across the loft, "what would you like for dinner? I'll make it."

She stopped in front of me and held my chin, gazing at me sympathetically. It made me feel like a little boy, "I love you, Harry. I hope you know that I only want what's best for you. For us...for our future kids?"

I almost laughed. I almost cried.

I made dinner that night by picking up the phone and ordering Thai food. I was still stuck on Louis, imagining where in the city he lived. What his flat looked like. What did he eat for dinner? Did he like Thai food? What would he say if I told him about the skywriting?
Camille and I ate under the duvet on our sofa bed watching a documentary on her laptop. Our tongues were still hot with spice when we began kissing. Camille dumped the rubbish on the floor beside the bed and straddled me. Afterwards, as she slept, I pretended to skywrite in the darkness with one of my paper planes.

Chapter Text

For the weeks following my meeting Louis, I tried to put him out of my mind, concentrating on living with Camille.

We had started dating when I was fresh out of university and she had just moved over to London from France. We had art in common and had met at a local gallery showing. She had looked incredible in a crimson dress and I had immediately fallen in lust.

We were opposites in most ways. Her petite and blonde, me tall and dark haired. She was mature, gentle and practical. I was unpredictable, anxious and indecisive. I had been attracted to her loyalty and delicate charm, and drawn to how she spoke about the future.

She moved into the loft after a year, her idea, so that we could save for said future. She wanted it all, the house with picket fences outside of London but close enough to commute, a wedding at her parents art gallery and 2-3 kids.

I'd never been entirely certain, it wasn't as though there was anything wrong with Camille or our relationship...it's just that I was 23 years old, I couldn't afford a flat nevermind a house, I still couldn't decide between being an artist, a lawyer or learning how to draw in the sky. I didn't know how I was expected to be certain about marriage and kids that young.

Not to mention that despite my constant efforts not to, I thought about Louis often in the weeks after our coffee meeting. He had become a complete fantasy, a pulsating urge in the chest anytime the phone rang. But I didn't contact him, and he didn't call.

-----

I was riding the bus the next time I saw Louis.

It was lunchtime and there he was outside a small cafe. His foot was up on the seat of a white wrought iron chair, he was laughing heartily at something a broad, muscular man was saying , his hand on Louis' shoulder.
I looked away.

-----

One evening, a few days later, I waited for Camille in our loft at the small kitchen table, my elbows resting on the bedsheet I was using as a tablecloth. I was staring, hypnotised by the small fire flickering from a Yankee candle in the middle of the table.

I had spent most of the day jumping between grocery stores in Hampstead looking for ingredients and wine to match. Every corner I turned I found myself scanning for Louis. Scalding myself every time. I had decided that morning that it was time to grow up, and I was cooking for the occasion.

Camille arrived home at 7pm having spent the day at university before a study session in the library then a quick swim at the local pool.

"Hello," she smiled as she shut the loft door.

I sat up and looked over as she decanted her bag and folders onto the sofabed.

"Hi baby," I smiled, getting to my feet

Camille smiled and gave me a peck on the cheek "Tu es superbe!" She brushed a hand down my black shirt that had been paired with pink dress trousers.

"I cooked dinner..." I smiled gesturing to the kitchen.

"You're incredible"

"Sit down, I'll get the food"

She smiled wider, leaving hungry kisses across my jaw, "I'm starving for something else, mon beau chef"

I laughed "let's eat first, cherie"

She nodded and shrugged off her blazer, throwing it on top of her bag. I pulled two side plates out of the cupboard, their chipped edges ruining my attempt at romance. I threw on an oven glove and opened the oven, dragging out a tray holding two mini casserole dishes. I carefully placed them on the plates.

"Ta-da!" I said

"soupe a l'oignon gratinée! Wow!"

Camille broke into the cheese on top of the soup and took a slurp of the golden liquid. I poured wine into her glass.

"It's good"

I lifted my glass of merlot in a toast, "here's to the future, the art dealer and the lawyer"

Camille raised her eyebrows in shock and then grinned, "so no skywriting?"

"No skywriting"

When we finished dinner, Camille stood and leant over to kiss me, "I love you. Thank you for dinner."

She hovered with an expectant look on her face. I stared looking confused, she must have read my expression, as her shoulders immediately deflated.

I realised too late that she had saw my romantic evening not as a celebration of my decision to finally start acting like an adult, but as the setting of a proposal. A proposal I was far from ready to make. I opened my mouth to explain myself but she sulked off to get ready for bed.

That night Camille had fallen asleep with her back turned to me, her body stiff.
She may have fallen asleep but I couldn't. I lay in bed eating left over cake with pouring cream, and I thought of Louis, wondering what he was doing and where we was. Wondering when I would next see him. If ever.

Chapter Text

It had been 7 weeks since I first met Louis, and I hadn't seen or heard from him again. 

I was finding that the busier I kept myself the less I thought about him, and I didn't want to think about him. It was ridiculous to be so hung up on someone I'd only met twice.

In the name of keeping my mind off my handsome stranger, I had started waking up at 6 a.m. to join Camille in her morning yoga. I gave up advertising my commissioned sketches and applied for every law job I could find, unenthusiastic about having to start at the bottom. 

A firm in the centre of London called three days after I applied to offer the job of Junior Administrator. The pay was terrible, but the hours weren't. I accepted. After the office shut for the evening, I would meet Camille outside her swimming pool and use the gym for an hour. Even in such a short space of time, I could feel myself getting fitter.

On Saturday evenings I taught a drawing class at Hackney Community College. This was something that I had just started the week before, and I was surprised at how much I loved it.

"Hi James," I said as I walked into the classroom at 7.30 pm. James was one of my students, he was a funny guy in his late 30s who couldn't draw to save himself.

"Hi, Harry" he smiled, "what are we doing tonight?"

I shrugged, "I'll check in a sec." I pulled off my jacket and then grabbed the assignment list out of the desk. I had already lost my own copy. "Tuesday, October 5: Human Form, Live Model."

I was in the process of filling the catering kettle with water for teas and coffee when the students started assembling, talking amongst themselves as they waited.

"Harry Styles?"

"Yes?" I looked up and my heart jumped into my throat.

"Hmmm, well it's nice to meet yah...Harry Styles" Louis extended his hand.

I stood, startled, and robotically took his hand. It was supposed to be a handshake, but neither of us moved our arms. I gawped at him, wondering if he could tell how nervous he made me.

"I'm the model...for the class" he smiled as I freed my hand from his, my palms sweaty, "You look good" he lowered his eyes to my white floral dress trousers.

"So do you" I mumbled, my face burning, "what are you...why are you modelling here?"

"What, you thought I were UAL exclusive?"

"I... hadn't thought about it?"

"Should I strip here, or?" He gave his mischievous smirk, the one I had fought to get out of my head.

"Urm..well"

He grabbed my hand "I've missed you" he whispered.

I pulled my arm away from him, "Not now, Louis" he had been so full on for two days, had made me feel so confused, and then had disappeared for six weeks. It wasn't fair for him to be pulling this now.

"Later then?" he asked. When I didn't respond, he added "Harry, I wanna see yah again. Properly"

I looked at him, he had a pleading look in his eyes that made me smile despite myself. "Strip in there" I gestured to the supply cupboard.

Strange was not an accurate word to describe how I felt about Louis's modelling for my class. Bizarre and surreal were closer. This man had swept into my life so briefly, yet somehow he, or I suppose my incredible desire for him, had changed everything. Now here he was, perched naked in front of my students. I had to talk myself down throughout the entire class, 'this is not fate, Harry. It's a coincidence. It's just a coincidence.'

Finally, it was 9 p.m. and the class ended. The students gathered their things, thanking me as they left. I hid behind my desk, trying desperately to keep my eyes away from Louis as he stood up from the wooden stool to stretch.

"You should probably switch that off"

"Switch what off?"

"The kettle. Could catch fire"

"Oh. Yeah, thanks" I moved to flick the off switch.

"Should I get dressed?"

My eyes fixed on his, and I was suddenly, painfully aware of his nakedness, "Yes please."

"As you wish" he pulled on his underwear then a pair of black jeans. There was a hole in the right knee and he caught his foot causing him to hop on the spot, trying not to lose his balance.

"Maybe you should sit down" I laughed

"No ta, this is how I get me exercise"

I pulled on my jacket, "I need to get off"

"I could help you wi that" he gave a joking wink, zipping up his jeans and fastening the button.

"What is it you want from me?"

"An hour? Just an hour"

"Why?"

"To be wi yah"

"I have a girlfriend, I-"

"I know that" he interrupted "That dont mean we can't have a pint?"

I hesitated, but only for a moment.

We went to an old man's pub in Hackney, near the college. It was dim with sticky carpets.

"A bottle of Peroni please" I asked the barman

"Same here, ta lad"

Louis insisted on paying. We grabbed our beers and headed for an empty table.

"Do you get bored when you're modelling?" I asked breaking the silence after a few moments.

"Not really"

"What do you think about?"

He paused, then laughed, brushing his fringe out of his eyes, "Well, if I'm honest... tonight, and the day at your loft, I were concentrating on not getting a boner."

I choked on my beer, "you're kidding!"

"I'm not"

"Can we change the subject"

"I've made yah uncomfortable"

I shook my head, "I don't have any problem with the human body" It wasn't entirely a lie, I was completely comfortable around naked bodies, I'd drawn many a naked person. Louis' naked body however was a whole other story.

It was quiet again. I found it almost bizarre how comfortable I felt with the silence like we had known each other for years.

"I'll get more beer" Louis stood, leaving me with my thoughts and the last few sips of my Peroni.

When he returned, he placed 4 bottles on the table. I raised my eyebrows with a laugh and picked one up.

"You intrigue me"

"You don't know enough about me to be intrigued"

He leant over the table with a smirk. I concentrated on his eyes, too scared to look at his lips.

"I've thought of a game, if you're up for it"

"Sure"

"Okay. I bet I know more about you than you do me"

"That's unfair"

"Then I bet I know less about you than you know about me"

"You'll lose? You've been in my loft"

"Is it a bet?"

"No let's make it fair. I bet you don't know twice as much about me as I do you"

"Fine. The winner gets to ask the loser 10 questions and they have to answer"

"You're on"

"Okay, you start, beautiful Harry" he smirked.

"Distracting the opposition is cheating"

He laughed into his beer

"Okay. Your name is Louis Tomlinson, you're a first-year med student...are you keeping count?"

"Yea"

"Your mum's a midwife. You have a good memory. You're from Yorkshire"

"That one were just a lucky guess!"

"You have an accent. It counts"

"Five points"

"You have a tattoo of a stag, done by an old friend. You want to go to space. You're an exhibitionist"

"Eight"

"Urm...you're smart?"

"Sounds like you're done, love. That's just flattery"

"It's true!"

"Fine. Nine. D'ya wanna keep embarrassing me or are yah done?" He smiled

"There's one! You don't get embarrassed"

"Course I do"

"I don't believe you"

"No arguments. Nine's your final score. Okay. Your name's Harry Styles. You use fake names to maintain distance wi' strangers, mainly in professional settings"

"That was a guess."

"Yah live wi' a woman, but you're unsure about the future wi' her."

"That's too personal," I could feel my ears burning red.

"We can stop if you like?"

"No, I can take it"

"Okay, you're a good teacher. You care about helping people and being kind. Yah like brunettes"

"My girlfriend's blonde"

He smirked, running a hand through his hair. I pulled a face and let him have the point.

"You like sleeping in. You drink oat milk lattes wi' two sweeteners. You like planes and care about how yah look" he gestured to my trousers, "you recently cut your hair and you're not sure if yah like it. You're thinking about changing careers"

"The last two were guesses! You couldn't possibly know that!"

"So I were right then" he laughed, "I saw a picture in your loft of your long hair, and the last one were a guess. Let's see. Yah like working wi' kids. You live in a rich guys attic. Which means you're skint. You dont care about having money, it's not what brings yah happiness, and last one. You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen."

I blushed, "that's an opinion. You don't get a point for that"

"Fine. Yah like beer, but it's not your usual drink"

"Another guess. But you win."

He grinned, placing his hands on the table, clasped together. He looked deep in thought, putting together the questions he was now free to ask me as his prize for winning the game.

"D'ya wanna kiss me?" He stared into my eyes with a look so intense it made me choke on my beer.

"Do I have to answer that?"

"That's the bet, but yah don't have to do nowt you dont want to."

"Y..yes, I want to kiss you."

"Why en't yah?"

"I don't know you."

"Do yah want to know me?"

I sighed, raising a hand to drag it through my hair, a habit left over from before I had my shoulder-length curls cut short.

"Are all the questions going to be like this?" He shrugged a dimple trying its best not to reveal itself on the right side of his face. "Yes, I do. I think"

"Have you thought about me since we last saw each other?"

I paused, he was looking at me unflinchingly "Yes."

"What have you thought about?"

"You're good at this aren't you?" I looked down at my hands forcing myself to give him the answer "I've thought about...who you are I guess?"

"I've thought about you too"

"You have?"

"A lot. What else have yah thought about?"

"I...I've thought about... feeling your hands on me" I could feel my body tingling with a sudden excitement as I spoke.

"I've thought about that too" he reached out, placing his hand on mine. My breath hitched

"Louis.."

"Tell me what yah want me to do to you," he said quietly, leaning towards me.

I was very abruptly brought back to reality and pulled my hand away from his.

"I think about drawing you" he whispered

"Drawing me?"

"Running me fingers across your gorgeous body-"

I cut him off, my breath shaky "I have to go" I threw my jacket back on and made for the door. Louis followed me.

The cold air attacked my flushed face as soon as I stepped into the street. Louis grabbed my shoulder, turning me to face him.

"Harry, I'm sorry" his expression was sincere, hopeful with a hint of worry.

Impulsively, before I had any time to talk myself out of it, I stepped forward and kissed him. His lips skimmed lightly across my own, surprisingly soft. He cradled the back of my head as he pulled me down to his height, his other hand on the small of my back. I brought my own hands up to clasp either side of his face. My entire body was exploding with butterflies, it was the single most earth-stopping kiss I'd ever had. I felt desperate for it to continue, he had cast his spell.

After a moment that felt like a lifetime, he pulled back, looking up at me with an eye-crinkling grin.

"I-oh shit I shouldn't have done that" I backed away from him "I have to go."

"Stop pretending, Harry."

"I'm going."

"Can I phone?"

"No!-yes. During the day."

He nodded, and then we stood, staring at each other from two feet apart. I knew that if I reached out to touch him again I would never leave. I wasn't ready for that so I turned on my heel and walked, as quickly as I could, towards the subway stop. My mind was still reeling from beer and from Louis as I stood waiting for the train home. I couldn't help but think up what excuse I would give Camille for being home so late. I got drinks with friends, I should have text but there was no signal. She was busy with work, I wanted to give her some peace.

Practising the lines for my first lie. I felt awful. I wasn't that kind of person. I hated cheaters. I'd always said I'd never be that person, my mother raised me better than that. But now, thanks to the drink and my wandering hands, I had become that person.

Chapter Text

It was the following Wednesday. I had spent the last few days trying desperately to avoid Camille (well, as much as I could considering we shared a bed). On Tuesday evening I phoned my mum, planning on asking for advice on what I had done, but quickly chickening out, instead spending the half hour listening to her updates on the cats and my older sister, Gemma.

On Wednesday morning my phone rang as I was stepping out of the Warren Street tube station heading for work. I stopped in my tracks the moment I saw the caller id. Louis. I took a deep breath, trying desperately to still my heart as it attempted to burst its way out of my rib cage.

"Louis..."

"Morning Harold!"

"It's nice to hear your voice" I blurted out before I could stop myself, chuckling like a teenager at the nickname.

"Meet me for lunch?" I could practically hear his grin from over the phone.

"I'm at work," I swore under my breath, remembering I was supposed to be at the office by now. I started walking again.

"Where are yah working today?"

"Harper Jones Law, it's near Warren Street Station," I turned the corner walking as fast as I could manage without sounding out of breath over the phones mic.

"That's my station, I'm at UCL today. It's fate."

I smiled, "ok, you've convinced me. But I can't be longer than half an hour."

"That's all I need. Pret on Warren Street, 1pm?"

"I'll be there." I hung up and dived into the green door of Harper Jones.

***

I spent the morning trying my best to keep my mind on my work as butterflies fluttered their way around my stomach, growing more active the closer it got to lunchtime. At 5 to 1 I threw on my coat and snuck out, knowing my boss would be too busy on conference calls to notice. I crossed the street at a jog then walked towards the Pret a Manger. 

It was busy as always. I stood in line for a coffee and some soup then dove for a table as a couple stood to leave. 

Louis arrived at ten past one looking the most flustered I'd ever seen him. He was wearing a polo shirt and black jeans, his hair messy and a black jacket flung over his forearm.

He smiled as soon as he saw me, relief flashing across his face before he very quickly composed himself and moved over to the table. 

"Harry, you look incredible love"

"You look good too " I blushed, unsure if I should stand to embrace him or remain in my seat. He reached forward and cupped my cheek in his hand for a moment before dumping his things and heading to order a coffee.

I watched him as he gave the barista some banter whilst ordering. She was giggling like a school girl, the blush on her cheeks reminding me of my first few encounters with him. I envied his natural charm. He seemed to be confident and bold in ways I could never have hoped to be.

"I'm sorry I'm late, me lecture ran over" he explained as he sat down with his coffee. I smiled and asked what his lesson had been about.

"Yah don't wanna hear about that, boring. Tell me what you're doing in a law firm. A mural? Painting a bunch of lawyers in the buff?"

"No, I ugh... I've actually stopped doing commissions. I studied law in uni so I'm working there... Junior Administrator."

Louis looked up from his sandwich with raised brows, he swallowed then asked "have you always wanted to be a lawyer then?"

I shrugged "I'm not sure really, it seemed more sensible than art, and Camille wants to settle down, get a house. Being a struggling artist doesn't really match up with her ideas for our future."

Louis frowned, placing his sandwich down on his plate and slouching in his seat. 
"Can I ask yah summit?" I nodded, my mouth suddenly dry, I cursed myself for bringing up Camille. "Are you pushing me away cause of Camille?"

I sighed, a tight feeling spreading across my chest, "I live with her. We've dated for a while now."

"Is that ever gonna change?"

"I don't know. It's not as easy as that, I still love her. I think. And I still don't really know you."

"You can have me, you can have all of me. If yah want me. I'm here." He stretched his hand across the table. I took it in my own hand cautiously, as though it could explode at any minute.

We talked for another few moments, about Louis' school, my job, music we both liked.
Before I knew it, it was 1.25pm and I was well on my way to being late back for work.

"I have to get back."

"Leave her Harry, I know it's a huge leap of faith but we could make it. I really believe that.

"So you're not seeing other people then?

He laughed, "Nah, I can't get yah outta me head long enough to even try."

I blushed and stood up to put my jacket back on. I turned to face him. Our lips touched, a kiss that was soft and sweet, and that sealed my body, and my fate to him. There was no turning back now, I knew it.

"I know I have to leave her, I just need time"

"I'll wait as long as yah need"

Chapter Text

I spent the next few days filled full of both dread and anticipation as I tried desperately to gather enough strength to speak to Camille about our relationship.

I finally mustered the courage on Friday evening. I had once again skipped joining Camille at the gym and had instead gone straight to the loft from the office. By the time she arrived home I was down two glasses of red wine. I had sent Louis a text letting him know I was ending things that night. He hadn't responded.

"Hello my love, tu te sens bien?" She closed the loft door, popping her bags down and moving to sit next to me at the table. She picked up the bottle of red with a raised brow, before refilling my glass and taking a sip.

"We need to talk," I was embarrassed to realise that my voice was shaking.

"Oh? What about?"

"Us."

She smiled softly and took my hand, "I knew this was coming, Harry."

"You did?"

"Bien sûr! You've been acting different, nervous. You are not as hard to read as you think, my darling."

I frowned and grabbed the glass back, talking a large gulp.

"Harry, I do not need the frills and romance, you know this. If you are so nervous to ask then I can do it. I am not as old fashioned as you think."

I looked up at her confused, what did she think I wanted to talk to her about? Camille stood up, and walked across the room to my art corner. She rummaged in one of the drawers and pulled out a grey box containing my grandmothers engagement ring. I had been left it in her will, and had stored it in my supplies months ago in hopes it would go undetected.

My heart dropped into my stomach.

Camille walked across the room and handed me the box, sitting back down across from me, "Veux-tu m'épouser...will you marry me?" She looked eager, her eyes welling up slightly.

"Well?" She smiled after a moment's silence.

I opened my mouth, suddenly as dry as sand paper, my eyes fixed on my grandmother's square diamond. "I...well.."

Her smiled faltered, "you weren't going to ask, were you?"

"I...marriage is a big step, Camille"

"We've lived together for a while now. We speak about the future all of the time. We're ready, Harry. We are good together."

I looked up her and nodded slowly, a numbness settling over my entire body. In that moment, as Camille stared at me with pleading eyes, all I could think about was Louis. His beautiful blue eyes, the way his dimples appeared when he smiled, the crinkles round his eyes when he laughed. How much I wanted him to touch me. How much I wanted to be the only person in his life. In his bed. I didn't want to hurt Camille. A part of me truly wanted to be in love with her, but the thought of marrying her and having to never kiss Louis again made me feel nauseous. A tear of indecision and tension escaped my eye and trickled down my cheek.

"Why are you crying?" She looked scared.

"This is too much."

"I...I'm sorry if you feel I'm pressuring you. I thought this was what you wanted. You have a ring."

"I need to think." I got up and walked out of the loft, hoping she didn't spot the betrayal written across my face. I felt like a coward.

***

I had sat in Ben's front garden for almost an hour, staring at the moon, clear and radiant in the sky. Once I couldn't take the cold any longer, I stood and started walking, and then jogging. Before I knew it I was running.

I stopped at the tube station and called Louis, my hands stiff and sore from the cold.

"Harry?"

"What's your address?"

"Are yah okay, you sound upset?"

"I need to see you. Text me your address."

***

I rang Louis' bell, my face stained with tears. He buzzed me into the building without a word.

The stairwell leading up to his flat was dark and quiet. It was a beautiful old building with high ceilings. I couldn't help wonder how Louis could afford the rent on such a nice place.

Louis was stood in his doorway waiting for me with grey sweats and no t-shirt, his hair pulled back from his face. He looked concerned as I crossed the landing. I threw myself into his arms, immediately nuzzling my face down into his warm neck. He carefully lead us backwards into the flat, kicking the door shut behind us with his bare foot.

"Tears?" He asked, his voice soft and soothing.

"I missed you" I said, still holding onto him for dear life.

"I missed you too, H. What's happened?" He pulled himself away from me so that he could look into my eyes.

"Camille. I tried to end it, she thought I was trying to propose. So she asked me."

"She asked you? To marry her?" He looked shocked for a moment before composing himself.

I nodded, staring at the floor as more tears fell. Louis grabbed my hand, leading me over to a dark green couch that sat in the far corner of his livingroom/kitchen.

Once we sat, he pulled me back into his arms "what are yah gonna do?"

I let out a sob, "I don't want to marry her."

He laughed and placed a hand on my cheek, "it's not me you need to tell."

I nodded sadly, feeling suddenly embarrassed that I had shown up to the house of a man I'd only met a handful of times to cry about my relationship. "I'm sorry, it's getting late. I shouldn't have come here."

"Harry, you can always come here. Always."

He kissed me, careful to keep it soft and sweet, pushing his desire to the side in order to comfort me. When he pulled away I leant forward and placed my forehead on his naked chest. He was so warm, I never wanted to move. "I have to go back. Don't I?"

"Yeah, darlin', you do" he kissed my hair.

***

Camille was awake in bed when I got back. Her eyes puffy and red. I stood in the doorway for a moment watching her before I moved across the room and sat on the edge of the bed.

"I love you" I said softly, staring at my hands.

"I love you too." She sat up, rubbing her eyes.

I could feel the blood pounding through my aching head, blurring the words in my mind. It was a struggle but somehow I managed to blurt out, "I can't marry you."

She froze, her jaw clenched and eyes glistening over. I took a deep breath; my own tears beginning to fall, "I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt you. You're so kind, and you'll make such a good wife, and an amazing mother...just...I can't be the husband in your story Camille."

I looked up, swallowing my tears, trying to replace them with courage. She was suddenly sobbing, asking why, what had she done wrong, what could she do. She was begging, asking how to fix things. I moved across the bed and held her. I couldn't bear her thinking that she had done anything wrong when this was all my own doing. I said it in practically a whisper, my voice shaking, "I've fallen in love with someone else."

Her withdrawal from my arms was abrupt, her shock radically apparent on her face, "w-what?!"

"I'm sorry. I tried to stop it."

"When? Who?"

"It's recent. I was trying to tell you earlier."

She stood, pacing infront of the sofa bed before turning and squatting infront of me, her hands on my knees.

"I know how you can be, Harry. It's just an infatuation. You're worried about growing up, you've got a proper job now, if we get married and get a house it's responsibility. This isn't about this...this woman. You're just scared, mon amour!" She reached out for me with shaking hands.

"No..."

"This is a life together. Stability. Future. She's just a fling, you must see that."

I shook my head, pulling away from her.

"Who is it?"

"It's not important."

"It is to me."

"Why?"

"Because I love you! Stupide" she sobbed.

"I don't know if it could work out between him and me, but that doesn't matter. My feelings for him have made me realise that being with you, it's not working. We're not right for eachother. I'm not happy."

"Him?" She stood up, recoiling from me, "you're destroying our future to have a sexual identity crisis?"

I shook my head, "there is no crisis, I've always been bi. I told you that when we met."

She shook her head "no!" She turned on me again her face twisted in grief "you'll regret this, and I won't be here to pick up the pieces when this...man...hurts you!" She picked up the ring box from the table and threw it at my head before grabbing a duffle bag. I sat in silent tears of self hatred as she threw clothes into the bag and marched out into the night.

Chapter Text

It took Camille three weeks to move out of the loft. It was difficult on us both, and lonely. After updating Ben on the situation , he had offered to let me sleep in a guest room in the main house. It was nice to be down in the main house during the day, playing with my Goddaughter Ruby as she desperately attempted to learn how to walk. It helped make the time a little less stressful.

It seems incredible thinking back, but it took another two weeks after Camille left, and I was back in the loft, before Louis and I saw eachother in person again. We text often but between his end of year exams and my doing literally anything to avoid regretting turning my life upside down, there wasn't much time to call, nevermind meet up.

The day we reunited I was curled up on the sofa pretending to read a book when my phone rang.

"Louis?" I sounded more desperate than I had intended.

"Yeah, darlin', I'm here"

"I've missed your voice."

"You wouldn't believe the shit I've been through. Between exams and not seeing you-"

I cut him off, "can I see you today?"

"I'd love that, babe. I want to see yah. I want to see all of yah."

My heart raced, mind going back to the night he had mentioned running his hands over my body in the pub, "okay, now?"

"I'll be right over," he hung up.

I looked around the loft, empty and messy since Camille left, she had taken units, books, art, the little dining table bought at a flee market. It looked sad and unwelcoming. I dove off the sofa in a frenzy, tidying up as quickly as I could. I was barely finished stuffing my art supplies away when there was a knock at the door.

My heart skipped a beat as I raced across the room, hauling open the door with a flushed grin. There was Louis, standing in the hallway, looking beyond beautiful in a white tee and a pair of mustard yellow tracksuit bottoms bearing black and white stripes down either side. His puffy black north face coat was already off and hanging over his arm. He smiled his cheeky half smile, all for me.

I threw myself at him and we clutched eachother in the doorway, stepping out of time, kissing like two lovesick puppies. Louis giggled into my mouth after moments that felt like several lifetimes and pushed us inside the loft.

"God, it's so good to see yah" he said into my lips. I kissed him with more hunger. I dragged him over to the sofabed, hands grabbing at him in desperation. It had been just over three months since I first laid eyes on him. I had waited too long to be this close to his body.

The thought of him seeing me naked sent shivers of excitement down my spine. I grabbed his cheeks in my hands, forcing his lips open with my tongue. He moaned and pulled my grey hooded sweater over my head. Once it was off he leant forward and kissed my neck, causing me to gasp out loud as he left a bruise.

"Your hairs getting curly. It's so beautiful" he whispered into my collar bone, causing my skin to tingle.

I bit my lip and pulled off my white t-shirt, my breath quickening as I sat half dressed in front of him. I didn't move. Louis watched me silently for a moment before he reached forward and pulled open the button to my jeans, "is this okay?." I nodded, my eyes pleading with him to continue.

Louis pulled his own t-shirt over his head and I immediately moved forward, dragging my lips across his chest. He tangled his fingers in my hair and pulled my head up, bruising my lips with his kiss. I dragged off my jeans before sliding a hand into the waistband of his trousers. He bit softly into my lip with a moan.

"Harry" he groaned, pulling back.

"Louis?"

"Have yah slept wi' men before?"

I nodded, pulling him closer to me, "Louis, fuck me, please" I stared into his eyes with more certainty and confidence than I'd had in a long time.

***

At some point in the late evening, after hours spent lounging, bathed in afterglow, cuddled in each others arms, talking about everything and anything, Louis sat upright.

"Come for a ride?" He stood and started to dress

"A ride?"

Louis smirked, "yea, on me bike," he threw me my hoodie.

"Bike? As in motorbike?" I raised an eyebrow.

He nodded, "wanna?"

I shrugged, getting up and pulling on my clothes. We made for the door, grinning silently as we snuck out of the main house to where his bike was parked. He grabbed a black helmet from the pannier and handed it to me.

"Where's yours?"

"That's it."

"Oh. Here, you wear it" I held it out to him.

He shook his head "I'm not taking yah anywhere if you en't wearing it."

I put the helmet on reluctantly, making a mental note to buy my own as soon as I had the chance. Louis climbed onto the bike and patted the back of the seat. I climbed on behind him, holding onto his chest, enjoying the feeling of him between my legs. He kicked away the stand and started the engine.

It felt like we were flying, the wind throwing my open jacket along behind me as we went. I could feel Louis' heart beating excitedly beneath my hands. It was somehow exhilarating yet simultaneously peaceful.

We stopped at the entrance to Hampstead Heath and Louis climbed off the bike, reaching out to unclip the helmet and pulling it softly off my head.

"Walk?"

I smiled and climbed off the bike, taking his hand as he entered the park. We walked in silence for a little while, listening to the sounds of birds and small animals moving around us.

After a while Louis stopped, pointing up at a dark building above us, "have yah been in there before?"

I squinted in the dark trying to make it out. The hill garden and pergola, "no. I've heard it's beautiful."

"Come on," to my surprise Louis lifted his foot up onto a small brick wall, and hauled himself up and over the iron fence.

"What are you doing?!"

I could hear him laughing from the other side of the fence, "Live a little, H! I'm pretty sure there's no cameras."

I bit my lip, trying desperately to talk myself out of following him even as I pulled myself over the fence and landed on the red gravel next to him with zero grace.

"If we get arrested I'm telling them you kidnapped me," I joked, taking his hand again.

We walked up a wide set of stone steps, not pausing until we came to a beautiful balcony, stone columns covered in vines, rose bushes stretching up to the wooden canopy of the pergola. It must have an incredible sight during the day, with a view of the heath and London behind it. It was like stepping into a romance novel.

Louis turned to me, taking my cheek in his hand and kissing my neck. I gasped at the sensation of his cold lips brushing over my skin. I leant down, connecting our mouths, my hand traveling down to his trousers. He pulled back with a raised brow before reaching for my own trousers, unbuttoning then unzipping them.

If there were cameras, we had more to worry about than being caught trespassing.

Chapter Text

It had been two weeks of being with Louis.

We met for lunch at Pret every day that he was at the university hospital. After work he would meet me on his motorbike -that we had named Midnight after our early morning law breaking- then we would have dinner together at either his flat or my loft.

The first time we ate dinner together Louis had cooked. Chicken wrapped in Parma ham. After that night I did all the cooking. Louis had a lot of talents. Cooking wasn't one of them.

I had met some of Louis's friends, but overall we had tried to keep a low profile, enjoying learning about eachother without prying eyes.

Louis was a hopeless romantic despite his tough looking exterior. He had suggested spending the following week in a hotel up north, pizza and no clothes in bed. When I asked the occasion he had grinned, "three week anniversary." I had pointed out that we could eat pizza in bed at home and save money. He had laughed and called me a spoilt sport. 

My mum called me the same afternoon to check if I was coming home for Gemma's birthday, the following weekend, the same weekend Louis has suggested we go up north. I cursed myself for forgetting and invited Louis to come home with me instead. He accepted with enthusiasm.

***

It was early afternoon on Gemma's birthday when we arrived in Holmes Chapel on the back of Midnight. The late autumn had sucked the moisture and color from the foliage, leaving behind curled brown skeletons rustling in the brisk wind, a wind that painted our cheeks a bright, cool pink above our smiles.

I strained to look through Louis' eyes at that plain, untrimmed front garden, the little house, its wood window frames in need of fresh paint, the house where Gemma, my mum and I had lived since my parents divorce. The house where almost everything that mattered in my life until now had happened. That house held history for me, but what I saw through suddenly critical eyes was a random sloppiness. I watched as Louis got off his bike, beaming at the house. What he saw was a home.

"Mum, Robin we're here!" I called from just inside the front door.

"He's here! They're here!" my mum shouted from the kitchen.

"Come on," I said, leading the way to the kitchen. 

I noticed Louis looking around, and it made me shrink a little, reminding me of high school days, when friends from the wealthier part of the village would come over to visit, the way they would tease the size of my bedroom or the fact I worked in the bakery to pay for most of my clothes. I hoped Louis thought it was all good enough.

"Hi, Mum," I said as we entered the kitchen. It was steamy, and smelled of things delicious and familiar, making nothing else matter. My feeling of security and affection at seeing mum at the stove, just like a thousand memories of her, with her brown hair escaping from its clasp and her blouse invariably stained from cooking, brought tears to my eyes. I hugged before she had a chance to put down her spoon.

"Oh, sweetheart" she cooed. "We've missed you. It's been months."

"I know. Sorry." I released her and took Louis by the hand.

"This is Louis, Mum. Lou, my mum, Anne."

"Hello, Louis, love," Mum said, placing her spoon on the stove and wiping her hand down her apron.

"It's lovely to meet yah, Anne," Louis said, extending his hand.

She took his hand and held it between both of hers, looked into his eyes, and pulled him into a hug. When she released him, they stood for a moment, studying each other, and then she turned back to the stove, picking up her spoon, stirring with a smile. 

"Mum teaches English at the secondary school" I said, picking at the skin on my hand nervously.

"Did yah teach Harry?" Louis asked.

'No," Mum said with a laugh. "Thank God, he was a bit cheeky in school."

"Mum!"

"Really?" Louis asked with a raised brow and a grin.

"I'm only teasing, baby," Mum added, "he was very smart and well behaved" she gave a playful wink.

"Thanks, Mum," I rolled my eyes.

"Hey," Gemma grinned joining us and giving me a tight hug, I wished her happy birthday and gave her a kiss on the cheek. 

"Who is your friend?" She asked, peeking over my shoulder to give Louis a look that made me immediately aware that she knew he was more than a friend.

"This is Louis. Lou, my beautiful big sister, Gemma."

"Awh you suck up" Gemma teased, "nice to meet you, Louis."

"You too Gemma,' Louis smiled, "I've heard loads about yah."

"Hmm that's funny, Harry hasn't mentioned you," she turned on me, accusingly. 

I shrugged, blushing slightly, "want to play some football?"

"We're eating in forty-five minutes, Harry,' Mum said.

"Okay. Come on, Louis."

"What about me?" Gemma frowned.

"Like you've gotta be invited" I said with a laugh.

Louis winked at me and we followed Gemma outside. We still had our coats and scarves on.

We kicked the football around for a few minutes before Gemma spoke again, the football trapped under her shoe.

"So when did this happen?" She gestured between the two of us.

"Urm... 6 weeks ago, I guess... although officially 3 weeks ago."

She gasped "Oh Harry! That's why Camille moved out?!" 

I grimaced, "please don't tell mum. She'd be so mad at me."

"Harry, I'm not impressed, I never took you for a cheat." She sighed, "I won't tell her." She looked over at Louis who was staring down at the grass looking every bit as ashamed and awkward and I felt. She gave him a kind, sympathetic smile and kicked the ball at him, "let's play."

***

Soon we were all over the garden, charging through heaps of leaves piled on the grass. I had the ball and was running for my life as Louis tried to get it from me. I had no idea he was so good at football, or that he was so competitive.

My foot slipped on a pile of wet leaves sending me tumbling to the ground, Louis fell over my legs. We lay there for a moment in a heap, weak with laughter.

"Oh, shit," I gasped, face red with laughing, "you're crushing me. Get up please!"

The weight lifted and I was free. I rolled onto my back and looked up for the trees. Instead I saw Louis, standing over me, his head framed by the brilliant blue sky, his smile just an outline in shadows. I felt a wave of love wash over my chest.

"Here," he said, holding his hand out to help me up.

I took it and got up, laughing. He picked the leaves from my hair, Gemma checked the time and we all turned to walk toward the house. I felt a tug at the back of my coat and when I turned to look Gemma started to talk to me in our silent sibling sign-language.

'you love him'

'stop'

'so cute'

'shh stop!'

"Wash up, kids, your hands are filthy" Mum fussed when she saw us. 

I led Louis up the stairs. It was dark and familiar in the stairway, I stopped on the landing and leant against the wall, dragging Louis into a kiss, our lips confirming what our hearts already knew: we were falling hard, and fast for eachother.

When we went back downstairs, my family were already perched around the table, my stepdad Robin was sat at the head of the table, and my dad was standing beside his chair, waiting for us. 

"Dad" I said, shocked to see him in mum's house. He captured me in a tight hug. He smelled of Old Spice, the only aftershave he'd ever used.

"You're thin," dad said, releasing me and looking down, "that girls broken your heart."

"I'm fine," I responded with a grimace. "This is Louis, Dad. This is my Dad, Desmond, and this is my stepdad Robin. Robin, Louis."

"Hi," Louis said. He held his hand out to Dad who shook it and told him to call him Des. Louis then moved to shake Robin's hand, but in typical Robin fashion he pulled him into a hug, which seemed to take Louis by surprise.

"Welcome to our home," Robin grinned. "Please, sit down."

"Thank you" Louis replied, and we sat. 

I saw my Dad inspecting Louis from the edge of his vision, summing him up. It made me nervous. I wondered if they had all guessed already.

"Would you like to carve the chicken, Louis?" Robin asked.

"Course" Louis rose from his chair.

"What do you do for work, Louis?" Robin asked.

"I'm a student, medical school" Louis answered, eyes focused on the chicken.

"Medical student?" Dad asked, a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, I'm in me first year," Louis answered.

"Good grades?"

"Dad..." I groaned.

Louis smiled, "so far," he handed a plate of chicken to mum.

"Thank you. Do you think you learned to carve so well from school?" Mum joked.

"Gross, Mum" Gemma said.

"Do you actually get to carve up dead bodies?" Robin asked in surprise.

"We're a little more careful than this in lab, but yeah" Louis said.

"So, you're planning on being a surgeon, then?" Dad asked.

"That's me goal."

"There's a lot of training in that, I hear," Dad said. "Years of education. Not much time for anything else."

Louis was nodding, still passing around plates of chicken. 

"How do you handle working nights?" Mum asked.

"It's pretty hard during training, but it gets better. I wanna be on staff at a hospital, where I can share the work."

'"Will you have time for a family? Most doctors wives are terribly lonely," Dad asked.

"Dad, leave him be."

"It's okay, Harry" Louis smiled "it's a valid question. That's one reason I don't wanna be in a private practice, on call at any hour, so I can put me family first."

"It sounds like Louis has a good plan, Des. Let's leave him alone," Mum said, warning.

Dad shrugged, "it sounds like the plan won't begin until sometime in the next century," Dad said.

"He's right," Louis said. "Any man willing to marry me will have to be patient, and I'll have to make compromises." I noticed mum and dad share a look at the revelation that Louis was gay. 

"Sounds fair," Dad said.

We were silent for a moment. We had been passing the other dishes while we talked: green beans topped with fried onions, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy. Only Louis' plate was empty.

"Please, start," he said. "I'll help meself."

Louis sat and we began to eat as he served himself.

"Is your father a surgeon?" Dad asked.

"He's a builder. Has his own company now. But I think he'd have been a doctor if he could have."

"Why didn't he have the chance?" Mum asked.

"Me grandparents were working class, they had to struggle to make things work, university weren't an option so me dad got an apprenticeship wi' one of his dad's mates."

We continued eating, a comfortable silence filling the room.

Finally, Dad said, looking at my mum, "We've been blessed with healthy and happy children. Now all of them are grown up. Thank you for letting me come today."

"We did good, Des" Mum said with a kind smile, her hand on top of Robin's in an almost subconscious display of dominance.

And then on it went, a circle of chatting, laughing, interrupting, a family together, finishing each other's sentences, anticipating each other's thoughts and giving a good tease whilst we were at it.

I looked over at Louis, is face bewildered, eyes jumping from one speaker to the next, as if following a bouncing ball. We all spoke, but it was as if we were one entity, and that's when I realised all families aren't like mine, didn't get on like mine did. It hadn't always been like that for us, but things were so much better and happier now.

I dropped out of the conversation, something no one noticed, and watched with Louis as the rest of them kept eating and talking. I was used to this kind of family exchange, but seeing it as if for the first time, with Louis made me feel giddy, proud of them and excited by the prospect Louis might someday be part of this.

Gradually the chatting subsided, and we began to lean back in our chairs.

"Dessert?" Mum asked.

We were all full, but we nodded, and everyone rose to clear the table.

"Louis, Harry, sit down," Mum insisted. "We'll take care of this."

"Oye, it's my birthday!" Gemma laughed, continuing to grab dirty plates from the table.

I stuck my tongue out at her and she rolled her eyes with a smile, "mummy's boy!"

We were alone in the room when Louis said, "They're all amazing. You have a good family Haz."

I nodded, "what about your family, what are they like?"

"I should help wi' the dishes."

"Mum will just shoo you away."

"Here we are!" Robin declared as he led the way from the kitchen holding an apple pie. Dad followed with a gravy boat full of custard. Gemma tailed behind with bowls and forks.

Everyone had barely sat down when mum came strutting into the room dramatically carrying a massive cake with candles and sparklers. We all joined in on her rendition of happy birthday as she placed the cake infront of a blushing but smiling Gem.

By the time it was all over, I couldn't move.

I swore I'd never eat again. I don't know how Louis did it, but he got up, followed Mum and Robin to the kitchen, and began doing the dishes with them, despite mums protests. Dad stood and started to clear the table.

I groaned at the thought of standing. Gemma and I dragged our feet and we moved into the livingroom and lay sprawled out on the rug. 

It reminded me of so many times after big dinners when we were little. We'd lie with the tops of our heads touching and would talk and laugh, whilst watching the ceiling.

Sometimes we would play a game, as we did now, making up sections of stories, bit by bit, each embellishing, enhancing, adding our own brand to the tale. It was different now that we were grown up.

When Louis, Mum, Robin and Dad came into the room, I tried to get up, but before I could, Louis lay down beside me. My parents sat on the sofas watching on.

When it was Louis turn to join in the story, he began to spin a fascinating tale of romance, too interesting for our simple game. Several times he tried to hand it back over to us, but we made him continue, and eventually we sat up in on the rug, staring at him, mesmerised.

Even the parents were listening intently. Once he finished mum clapped her hands together and announced that the evening deserved prosecco.

***

It was dark and starting to rain when dad left, giving the kids a hug, my mum an awkward pet on the cheek, and Robin a handshake before he went. 

Robin went to bed first, followed closely by myself and Louis. As much as I adored mum and Gem I wanted Louis to myself for a bit.

"You're a lucky lad" he said as I shut the door to my childhood bedroom, still kitted out exactly as it had been when I was 16.

"I'm lucky to have them."

"There's so much love and warmth there...it's really beautiful to watch."

I looked at him and could see he meant it, I sat down on my bed and held out my hand with a smile.

"If you think I'm shagging yah in your mam's house, you're sadly mistaken," he teased and he leant down to kiss me. I groaned, disappointed, and hauled him onto the bed.

Chapter Text

It was two weeks after Gemma's birthday. I was in my corner of the loft sketching charcoal portraits, my idea of Christmas presents, when Louis unlocked the door, using the spare key I had given him. Before he had even pulled of his jacket he had asked me to spend Christmas with him. 

"It'll be great," he grinned, "We can get a little tree, wi' ornaments, you can make them if yah want? and we can bake gingerbread?"

"On our own?" I asked, eyebrow raised.

"Why not?"

"What about our families?"

"I'd rather be wi' you" the beauty of his face, still pink from the cold wind and painted with childlike excitement, made my chest tighten.

"Are you not going back to Doncaster to see your family?"

He walked toward the window and looked out, his back to me, resting his palms on the sill, his forehead on the frozen pane, and sighed. The moment was broken, fractured by something unknown to me.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Nowt. You're right. We should spend Christmas wi' our families."

"Lou," I walked toward him, embracing him from behind, fingers still black with charcoal dust, "I want to spend Christmas with you," I whispered into his ear, "more than anything."

He turned to face me, his smile sudden, and took my face in his hands, kissing it all over.

"I've never spent Christmas away from my family," I said.

"So we'll spend it wi' them. I like them."

"But what about your parents?"

"I'd rather be wi' you."

"Why don't I go to Doncaster with you?"

Again, he turned away, escaping from our embrace and walking to my easel. He picked up a sketch and pretended to inspect it.

"What's the issue, Louis?" I asked. "You hardly ever talk about your parents, you never call them when I'm around, and now you don't want to take me home? Are you still in the closet? Or are you ashamed of me?"

His head whipped around and his stare was one of astonishment, bordering on anger, "Of course not! I couldn't be more proud of yah!"

"Then why won't you take me home?"

"Why can't we stay here?"

"We can, but that doesn't answer the question."

He didn't walk away this time. He put the sketch down gently and sat down on the bed motioning for me to sit next to him. I did.

"Me family's complicated," he said.

"All families are."

"Not like mine."

"You saw mine, Lou. We're weird."

"Loving."

"And yours isn't?"

He paused. "Not like yours is."

"But you said your dad helps with your tuition."

"Yeah, he's helped me out, and in some ways he's like you, fighting like crazy for what he believes in. He built his business from scratch" He stood and began to pace. There wasn't much room, and his turns were quick; he didn't look at me, but at the rug, his socks, something imaginary.

He went on. "There was lots of times me dad didn't get what he wanted, what he deserved. He has a strong Donny accent, stronger than mine, and he's working class. He were skint. But over time people started to recognise that underneath all that he were intelligent and determined."

"What happened?"

"He wouldn't give up, no matter what. He went door to door, talking to people, getting to know them, hoping the relationships would help build the business and it worked."

"That's a good story." I sat still, unsure where this was going.

"But that's not the story."

"Oh?"

"He were almost beaten to death by a gang when I were two. They didn't like him trying to take business away from one of the cowboy builders that lived on the estate."

"Oh God!"

"He were out of the hospital and back to it in less than a month."

"He went back to the same estate?"

"He has a lot of pride, and to be fair we were too skint to move house." He laughed dryly.

"It sounds like he's really brave"

"He is. Loads of folk back home really admire him. He has compassion, too. He knows what it's like to be the underdog."

"I don't get what this has to do with Christmas. Is there a problem with your mum?"

"Nah" He began to pace again. "Me Mams great, might as well be best friends."

"I really wanna meet them, Lou."

"Me old man is brilliant, successful, and now a proper wealthy guy..."

"And?"

"He has high expectations, like any man like him would-he didn't work that hard for nothing."

"Meaning, he wouldn't like me?"

"No!" He turned and stared at me. "No, not at all. He has high expectations for his bairns."

"Obviously you live up to them."

It startled me to see sudden tears in his eyes; he blinked urgently, resumed pacing. "He's a hard man to impress," he said.

"But you're in one of the best med schools in London?"

"You think that's enough?" he asked, turning and looking directly at me, almost accusingly.

"Yes," I said, "it's enough. Besides, that's not what makes you impressive."

"What does, Harry?"

I jumped up and moved over to Louis, put my hand on his cheek, looked into his eyes and then pulled him close. "You, Louis," I said. "Just you, exactly as you are."

We remained that way for several minutes, silent, both clinging to something that reached beyond Christmas, family, memories, traditions. When I looked up, I expected to see him crying, but instead, he bore a faraway look, one that spoke of troubles he wasn't ready to tell me. I didn't press him.

Finally, he said, "Come home wi' me for Christmas."

"It's okay-"

"I want you to know I'm not ashamed of yah."

"Louis-"

"No, we'll go to Doncaster for Christmas and you'll meet him. He'll love yah, probably more than he loves me." He smiled, like it was a joke, although I could tell it wasn't. It was fear cloaked in humour-which was why I had to go, to prove him wrong.

Chapter Text

We were on the train, headed for Doncaster on Christmas Eve. It was crowded; shopping bags brimming with presents wrapped in silver, gold, red, and green easily outnumbered the passengers. 

I had framed a charcoal sketch of Louis, copied from a photo I had taken of him perched at the diningtable in his flat. He was looking at me with his head slightly tilted to the side, smiling fondly with a sparkle in his eyes. Part of me had wanted to keep it for myself but I hoped his parents would appreciate it as a Christmas gift.

I was excited about the trip, but Louis was uncharacteristically quiet, making me wonder if we were doing the right thing, making me nervous. We sat at one of the tables. An enormous man -he could have easily been 7 foot tall- occupied the aisle seat on one side of the table, the window seat brimming with bags of presents wrapped in superhero paper.

"I hope they like the present I-"

"They will." Louis was staring out the window and made no attempt to face me.

"We don't have to go, you know," I said. I could feel the man glance toward me and shift in his seat, reminding me we weren't alone.

"Don't you wanna go?" Louis asked, looking at me.

"I think so."

"You'll be fine, Haz." He kissed me on the wrist.

"But will you?"

"Sure."

The train started to back up out of the station and it was suddenly too late to back out, "Here we go," I whispered, and Louis smiled, taking my hand in his.

About twenty minutes of silence passed between us before I asked, "What does your dad think of your tattoo?"

Louis looked at me, surprised. "I dunno" he said.

"He didn't tell you his opinion?"

"We never talked about it."

"You don't seem to talk about a lot of things"

He didn't look uncomfortable or sad, just distant. "I know" he finally said.

"You don't have to tell me," I said, squeezing his hand.

He turned to face me and said, "But I want to, Harry"

I waited.

He said, "When I were little, dad boasted about me to his mates. He'd tell them about me good grades, about how I were a miniature him." He looked at me and smiled the faintest of smiles, then went on, his demeanor growing somber. "He lost interest in me when Lottie were born." He'd spoken briefly about his sisters before.

"I don't believe that-"

"It's true. He stopped liking me."

"That can't be true."

"It is. And when I were 18, I left home to go to uni. I've hardly seen him since."

"Did you ever ask him what was going on?"

"I know what it was, but he refused to talk about it, and eventually I stopped trying. I didn't even tell him about Thomas, the lad who gave me the stag. He were my first boyfriend."

"So, you never took him home?"

He shook his head sadly, it made me want to climb into his lap and hold him. Just then the drink cart came. Louis bought a beer for himself, I asked for a cup of tea.

After the trolley left, the man across from us said, "Merry Christmas," and raised his plastic glass in the air whilst placing two small bottles of gin and a bottle of tonic infront of us.

"Sorry?" I said, turning to look at the man, for the first time properly noticing him, his face, his eyes, something beyond his height.

"Merry Christmas," Louis responded, raising his beer in return. "Tah for the drink."

I looked between them, unsure, when the man said, "Sounded like you could use it."

Louis laughed. He was a stranger, an eavesdropper, but a friendly one. "Merry Christmas," I murmured shyly as I twisted the top off the tiny bottle.

***

We took a taxi from the train station, courtesy of Louis' dad.

The Tomlinson house was in a suburb of Doncaster, not the small terraced building Louis had grown up in, but a large new build purchased whilst he was in high school when the business was at its peak.
 
We thanked the taxi driver and climbed out. The air was dry, cold, still and quiet. It was starting to grow dark on the street and Christmas lights twinkled pale blue out of the downstairs windows.

"Here we are," Louis said, taking my face between his hands and kissing me before looking deep into my eyes, "Harry, I love you."

It was the first time he had said it to me. I kissed him back greedily, wanting to stay frozen in that moment for a few more moments. When I pulled back, anxious to respond, he turned away from me.

"Mum," he said, waving with a genuine grin.

Mrs. Tomlinson was at the door, framed by light, an emerald green wrap dress tied at her thin yet curvy waist, her long brown hair had been pulled away from her face with a large clip. Her features were so similar to Louis, I couldn't help but instantly warm to her. 

She waved back at us with a grin and called, "Come in! It's cold."

"Mum, this is Harry," Louis said as we approached the house. "Harry, this is me mum, Johannah"

We shook hands. Her fingernails were manicured the same green as her dress.

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Tomlinson," I said.

"Oh, call me Jay!" she responded pulling me into a hug "How are you, Louis?" She pronounced his name Lewis which shocked me slightly having always heard it pronounced Louie.

"Fine tah, Mum"

"Good. I wish you'd phone more." They kissed each other's cheeks and we entered, with Jay closing the front door behind us. "Mark?" she called from the foyer as we shrugged off our coats.

Louis whispered, "that's me dad."

We waited.

"Phoebe, Daisy!" Louis exclaimed as two identical teenagers came bounding down the stairs.

"Louis!" they squealed, throwing themselves at him. They all hugged.

"Girls, this is Harry Styles, me boyfriend," Louis smiled. "Harry, this is me baby sisters, Phoebe & Daisy."

"Hi" they giggled in unison. I could have sworn one of them called me cute under her breath as her twin laughed behind her hand.

"Mark!" Jay called again. When there was no answer, she said, "girls, go find your dad" and they ran off.

"Now," Jay said, "let's get youse settled." She led the way up a flight of stairs; the carpet was light grey, wall-to-wall. Louis carried our suitcases.

"Louis, sweetheart" she said, "you're in your room." She switched on the light in a room as we were passing, illuminating a plain looking guest room. It contained a double bed covered by a green bedspread and one bedside table. There was a desk in the corner loaded with cardboard boxes and books, presumably the remnants of Louis childhood bedroom saved from their original family home.

"...And Harry," Jay said, continuing down the hall as we followed, "you'll be in here," She showed me into a guest room, white walls, silk sheets. It looked every bit a hotel room. 

"I hope you'll be comfortable in here."

"It's lovely, thank you" I said, and went in to get unpacked and washed up. Louis set my suitcase on the bed and left. His mother followed him back to his room and then continued down the stairs.

After a few minutes, Louis joined me.

"Welcome home," he said, closing the door and pinning me to the bed with his body. I giggled like a teenager.

"Your mum put us in separate rooms."

He lay on the bed and looked up. "Religious, what can you expect?"

"I didn't know you were religious."

"I'm not."

"Huh?"

"I was raised christian...anglican."

There was a knock on the door, loud, impatient. Louis jumped up and cleared his throat. "Come in," he said, opening the door.

"Harry Styles?" Mr. Tomlinson asked. He was taller than Louis with dark hair and thick glasses.

"Yes?" I answered.

"Mark Tomlinson," Mr. Tomlinson said, shaking my hand firmly.

He was wearing a blue pinstripe button down shirt and he smelled of aftershave mixed with tobacco, "Welcome to our home," he added, then nodded to his son, and we followed as he led the way to dinner.

The Tomlinson home did not look lived in; it was immaculately pale and neutral, with flawless country accents and tasteful holiday decor. It was difficult to imagine how Louis fit in here.

At dinner, Mr. Tomlinson sat at the head of the table, serving the food his wife cooked onto plates that were passed around to the rest of us. We ate fish, baked potatoes, asparagus, and a mixed green salad with a lemon dressing.

"Harry. You draw?" Mr. Tomlinson asked once he finished serving.

"Yeah, I do," I said..

"What is it you draw, love?" Jay asked.

I swallowed a mouthful of white wine. Why had I never thought how to phrase it? Naked bodies? Nudes? Surface anatomy?

"Uh... I draw people," I said.

"People," Mr. Tomlinson mused, pausing in his slicing a potato to look at me thoughtfully. "Well, that is quite interesting. We would love to see your work." He went back to slicing, with something between a smile and a grimace twitching on his face.

"Do you exhibit your art?" Mr. Tomlinson asked after a few moments of silence.

"No. I'm working in a law firm at the moment, I studied law in uni."

Mr. Tomlinson nodded. 

"Louis said you have your own business," I tried to change the subject.

"Yes, I built it meself, working me way up from nowt. I own a chain of shops too, selling supplies. Tomlinson Trades,' he said proudly.

I nodded. Louis sliced his fish and began to eat, remaining silent. 

"I worked hard," Mr. Tomlinson said. "That's what it's all about. Work, work, and more work. The key to success. That and sticking to your values." He paused to chew, to savor his wine, and I saw him looking at Louis, almost disdainfully, while Louis studied his plate.

We continued eating. The conversation turned to my drawing again, my family, the weather. Soon dinner was over and Jay began clearing.

"I'll help, mum." Louis volunteered.

"Sit down," Mr. Tomlinson said sharply.

"Let me," I offered.

"Oh, tah Harry," Jay said with a smile.

While we cleaned the kitchen, I chatted with Jay about the house and the art she had hung up on the walls and after that about Doncaster, the twins, Louis. When I mentioned Louis' other sisters Lottie and Felicite, she changed the subject, a sadness flashing across her face. 

We were finished in about half an hour, and I went to the living room, expecting to see Louis there, talking with his dad and sisters by the fire, but he wasn't. Mr. Tomlinson was alone, reading. He looked up when I entered.

"Where's Louis?" I asked, glancing at my watch.

"Upstairs, I believe. Come tell me how you became an artist?"

I sat down next to him and looked into the fire. He was drinking brandy or scotch, I couldn't tell which, and he periodically swirled his glass, causing the ice cubes to clink and glimmer in the firelight. We began to talk, and by the time I looked at my watch again, an hour had passed, with no sign of Louis.

"Well," I said, "I guess I'd better see if Lou-"

"Are you Christian, Harry?"

"No. I do live with a Jewish family though?"

"Will you accompany us to Midnight Mass?"

"When?"

He laughed. It was like a gift, generous and warm, adding a twinkle to his handsome maturity and forcing a nervous laugh out of me. 

"Tonight," he said. "Midnight Mass is tonight."

I nodded and stood.

"You'll learn" he said.

"Thank you," I mumbled, and turned toward the stairs, practically tripping over a lamp on the way.

Upstairs, I knocked on Louis' door and entered his room. He was lying belly-down on his bed, reading.

"Hi," I said.

"Hiya darlin'. Come in."

I sat next to him and he turned onto his back, pulling me to him and kissing my hair. "Dad corner yah?" he asked.

I nodded. "Where were you?"

"Right here."

"And the girls?"

"In their room, probably."

"This is your family being together for Christmas?"

"I told yah, we don't talk much."

"Your dad talked to me plenty."

"I knew he'd love you. Why wouldn't he?" He began kissing my neck.

I pulled away. "He's only interested in me because of you," I said.

"Did he bring up Midnight Mass?"

"Yeah."

"Did you tell him you'd go?"

"Not exactly, but you are going, aren't you?"

"Not a chance."

"Why not?"

"I told yah, H, I'm not religious."

"Me neither. I think?"

"So don't go."

"I think we should."

"I'm not going."

"We're visiting for Christmas. Shouldn't you make some compromises?"

"You think that'd help?"

"I don't know, but why not humor him?"

"Freedom of religion."

"God, Louis. You're so stubborn."

***

We left for mass at eleven. 

Louis stayed at the house, while the twins and I accompanied Mr. and Mrs. Tomlinson. I made small talk and forced a smile as Mr. Tomlinson drove the large blue Mercedes to the church. I felt off-balance, thrown sideways by Louis' behaviour. He knew how shy and nervous I could be around people I didn't know, yet he was happily leaving me alone with his family.

The church was beautiful. Tremendous stained-glass windows. Bundles of festive looking flowers looped by stiff red velvet ribbons were attached to the end of the pews. Candles flickered in front of the altar next to a large nativity scene. The enormous space was choked with parishioners. They bowed their heads slightly before making their way into the pews, some shaking hands with one another and sharing seasonal greetings.

I felt underdressed in a white woolen sweater and brown slacks - the most formal clothes I had packed. The congregation were dressed as though attending a festive wedding, a sea of crimson, emerald, and three piece suits. Even the 13 year old Tomlinson twins wore knees length dresses with Christmas clips in their hair.

When the caroling ceased, a priest with a bare, shining head and layers of white brocade robes began to speak. He uttered words startling in their simplicity yet depth, describing the birth of the son of God, celebrating his coming to save man from his sins, his timeless legacy of mercy, charity, and grace. But above all, the priest spoke of love, a love that by Jesus' life, death, and resurrection, he had bestowed upon humankind as its savior for all eternity, a love far beyond the reaches of human comprehension, a love worthy of every sacrifice.

The ride home was quiet. For me, silence was the product of fatigue, tinged with awe.

We reached the house, exchanged our 'good nights,' and our 'Merry Christmases,' and then climbed the stairs to bed. 

When I passed Louis room, the door was closed and it was dark; I didn't knock, still mad at and confused by his abandonment.

***

Louis came to me early christmas morning, before anyone else was up. He knelt by the side of my bed and kissed my hand, still limp with sleep.

"Merry Christmas love," he said when I opened my eyes.

"Merry Christmas, babe," I murmured.

"Are yah Anglican yet?" he asked with a cheeky grin.

I smiled. "Can they do that without my permission?"

"You'd be amazed at what they can do."

I propped myself up on an elbow and looked at him. "I wanted you with me last night," I said.

"You should've come into me room."

"I meant at Mass."

"Oh."

"It was so beautiful, Louis."

"The service?"

"Everything. But I just felt uncomfortable, and alone."

"I'm sorry" he put his hand on my cheek.

"Do you think you will try again with your parents?"

"About the church thing?"

"About everything. None of you are really trying to be a family."

"Maybe we're not capable of it."

"Maybe not, but I think you're capable of more than this. I can see how much they all love you."

"I love them, whether I show it or not. They know that."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

I sat up and took both of his hands in mine; they were warm and smooth. I turned them palm up and looked at them.

"Please," I whispered, "tell them?"

"That I love them?" He pulled away and stood up. I rose and held him.

"Louis, it's Christmas."

"Life isn't a hallmark movie, H. But... I'll think about it okay?"

We kissed and then walked downstairs, hand in hand. Louis made us coffee and we settled into the breakfast-nooks window seat to watch the sun rise. 

"D'ya want your present now?" Louis asked.

I nodded and he handed me an envelope, which I opened.

"Plane tickets?" I said.

"We leave tomorrow morning."

"Lou!" I grabbed him around the neck and kissed him. "This is amazing!"

He laughed and tickled me, making me snort. "France, darlin'. Skiing in Chamonix."

"But I don't have any equipment."

"We'll rent, it'll be fine."

"Won't your parents be disappointed that we're leaving so soon?"

"They've known all along we'd only be here for two days. I told yah we was staying longer to surprise yah."

"A whole week?"

"A whole week in France, just us. I've got the best life in the world."

"No, I do." I leaned forward, kissing him, he laced a hand into my hair, deepening the kiss.

"Good morning." We looked up; it was Jay. "Did you sleep well?" she asked.

"Yes, thank you," I said.

"Merry Christmas, Mum," Louis said, jumping up to give her a cuddle.

"Merry Christmas, baby. Could you go get your sisters?"

Louis nodded and headed for the stairs.

***

After breakfast, we gathered around the tree, coffee mugs held on our laps, sedately opening presents, the attention mainly on the twins. 

Louis parents gave me a pair of striped pyjamas, a wallet, and some blank canvases. Louis received new skis and boots, a ski jacket, and what was for him a lifetime supply of underwear and socks. Louis had bought his parents assorted bottles of alcohol and had given the twins surprisingly stylish clothes, which had been opened with joy and many cuddles. Finally, only the gift from me to Mr. and Mrs Tomlinson remained unopened. I handed it to Jay who smiled and thanked me. 

Jay opened it and gasped with immediately teary eyes, "oh Harry, it's so beautiful"

She handed the sketch to Mr Tomlinson who inspected it with a nod, "very good.' He placed the framed sketch on the floor near his chair and stood. Everyone was quiet. 

"I almost forgot my gift to Harry," he said, walking around to the far side of the tree. He reached under it, emerging with a rectangular package, obviously wrapped by a store, and handed it to me.

"Thank you," I said, accepting it and glancing at Louis, who smiled. 

I started to unwrap it carefully, preserving the silver bow, when we heard it, a sharp crack that could mean only one thing: broken glass. The sketch of Louis was shattered, stepped on by the rubber sole of a slipper. We all watched as Mr. Tomlinson stooped to pick it up.

"Oh dear," he said.

"It can be re-framed," I said quickly, my heart pounding.

"It's ripped," he said, handing it to me.

I took it gently, the wooden frame splintered, the glass in a starburst of shards, one clear stiletto slicing the drawing through Louis' upper chest.

"I'll draw another one," I said.

"Open your gift," Jay urged, trying to save the atmosphere of the morning.

I lay the ruined sketch by my side and opened the gift. Inside lay a leather case, home to a set of the quality drawing pencils.

I was speechless; they were much nicer than any art supplies I owned. I looked up at Mr. Tomlinson and we shared a smile. 

"A good artist needs good tools" he said. 

I reached for Louis' hand and turned to him. What I saw wiped the smile from my face; I had never seen him looking so sad.

***

It was early afternoon by the time Louis and I escaped to his room. We sat on the bed and he started kissing me, snaking his cool hand under my t-shirt, his lips moving down to my neck. I gently pushed him away.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Sure. Why?"

"It's been hard for you coming here, hasn't it?"

"It's okay."

"Stop being brave. I saw how you looked downstairs when we were opening presents."

"I got some good shit."

"Louis, stop it, please?"

He sighed. "What d'ya want, Harry?"

"The truth?"

He shrugged

"Why are you acting this way? Ever since we arrived here you've been avoiding real conversations with me. I feel so...I don't know, separate from you? Alone?"

"I'm sorry." He put his arm around me and pulled me close. "I didn't mean to do that."

"Why were you sad downstairs?"

"It don't matter."

"It does to me."

"I can't talk to him," he said, standing and beginning to pace. "I were thinking about what you said about us not acting like a family and I were trying. But it just doesn't work."

"I can help you," I said.

He stopped and looked at me, walked over to the bed and knelt before me, taking both my hands and kissing them. "You have, Harry," he said. "You mean so much to me. I love you."

"I love you too." Louis grinned, his eyes crinkled at hearing me say it for the first time. He kissed me again. After a few moments I pushed him back , "I mean I can help you with this, with them. You want him to like you, Louis. That's not unreasonable."

"He doesn't seem to like who I really am."

"Maybe that's because you haven't shown him the real you. Just be Louis. Be the Louis I love."

He looked skeptical.

I said, "I have an idea. After Christmas dinner, we'll sit in the living room and talk. We'll all be there so there won't be any pressure on just you two. Then, when you say good night, you can tell him."

"Tell him?"

"Like this: "Good night, Mum. Good night, Dad. I love you."

"Okay... if that's what you want?"

"I just want you to be happy. I want us to be a family." I knew it was an intense thing to say so soon into the relationship but it was true.

"So do I." He sat next to me and for many minutes we remained like that, side by side, silent.

***

Christmas dinner was delicious, and filling. The red wine made me talkative, fuzzy, hazing both my surroundings and the passage of time. Looking back, I realized Mr. Tomlinson and I did most of the talking.

After dinner, the twins suggested a game of Scrabble, which they played well. Apparently, they'd done it a lot. They laughed, they argued; through the front window they would

have looked like a normal, happy family. The game lasted two hours. Mr. Tomlinson won.

"That were great fun," Jay said as she and Daisy put the game away.

I glanced at Louis. He nodded and said, "Dad, you doing any fishing next year?"

His father looked at him, surprised. "I en't been fishing in five years."

"Oh."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Too much trouble for a fish you could just buy in a supermarket."

There was a pause, then Louis said, "I really think surgery will be the right fit for me."

"I would hope so, after all the effort I've made on your behalf," Mr. Tomlinson responded.

Phoebe got up from her chair. "Good night," she yawned, Daisy stood up too, clearly deciding being with her twin would be more fun than remaining downstairs.

"Good night," we all said. They headed for the stairs and disappeared. 

My heart pounded, my palms grew sticky, as Louis stood, ready to head for his bedroom for the night. "Good night, mum, dad."

"Good night, baby." Jay smiled

"Good night" Mark said.

"I love you," he said. I heard it, clear and even, three syllables representing a courage that brought tears to my eyes. Jay looked up with a smile and said, "I love you too."

Mr Tomlinson stared into his wine glass

"I love you, Dad," Louis said loud enough for anyone to hear. Mr. Tomlinson did not look up.

I watched as Louis left the room. I got up and followed, watching has he walked into the front hall closet and put on his jacket, and then walked out the front door. 

I dove into the closet, grabbing my own coat and followed him. He was walking slowly down the driveway, staring up at gray smudges of clouds against the dark sky.

"Lou," I said, catching up to him.

"That felt shit."

"I know." I bit my lip in an effort not to cry, but the tears ignored my will and began to fall "I love you," I said, embracing him. "I'm sorry I shouldn't have stuck my nose in."

"Let's walk," he responded.

"Okay."

The wind against our faces was biting and harsh, but it dried my tears.

"I'm sorry," I said.

He smiled and took my hand as we began to stroll along a silent pathway. "Don't be," he said. "I meant what I said. I do love him."

"He loves you too, Louis. I know he does. It's probably just hard for him to say it. Some people are like that."

"It's hard for him to show it, too."

"Maybe he shows it differently."

"He doesn't."

"The gifts they gave you...?"

"I let them give me gifts because mum insists and it makes her happy. Dad insisted on paying for school, but I don't let him give me money."

I nodded.

"I pay for holidays, my flat, everything, wi' money from work, and the art modelling. Pawning the gifts they get me."

''I was wrong to pressure you to come here," I said.

"I agreed to come."

"But you'd rather have stayed in London."

"They're me parents, Harry. It ent always easy, but I suppose I have to try." He turned to face me, cheeks red with the cold, "I weren't sure what you'd think of all this."

"I think it's amazing how much you love your dad."

"Really?"

"He's not exactly warm and affectionate." He stopped walking and I turned to face him. We stood staring at each other under the shifting silver-white moonlight.

"You're right," he said, "and he ent been for a long time. But I admire him. I didn't tell you before. Dad's not me real dad. I've not seen that man since I were little when he up and left me mam. She met Dad when I were still little, he took me as his own immediately."

I took his hand, rubbing the top of his hand soothingly.

"Back then he were more affectionate. When Lottie were born things changed a bit but it weren't til I were a teenager that...this started. I told you he has high expectations I just en't met them.'

"Why should you have to?"

"I wanna, Harry. Maybe you can't see it, but he's a compassionate guy. He knows what it's like to suffer, to inch your way up from the bottom. Every Christmas he donated money through the church to support shelters for the homeless, toys for poor kids, stuff like that. He donates more now, but he still did it when we had nowt. I grew up seeing his generosity."

He took both my hands in his and kissed them gently, avoiding meeting my eyes. Still, his shone with tears as we turned and headed back. 

I had known Louis for only a short time, attracted by his easy laugh, beautiful eyes and slim body, intrigued by his sensitive intelligence, his irresistible charm and radiance. But as we walked, I glimpsed a different part of him, a place where a sad, confused little boy lived, a little boy who felt true love for a parent that he could not reach.

***

I slept little that night. Louis and I had snuggled in his bed until early in the morning, when I had arisen quietly and left for my room, only to toss and turn, unable to get my brain to stop.

I waited until a reasonable hour, about six, before heading down to the kitchen for coffee. Mr. Tomlinson was already there, pouring a cup for himself, the newspaper under his arm. It was too late to back up; he had seen me.

"Good morning," I said with feigned cheer.

"Morning," he responded.

"Just getting a coffee"

"I see." He remained standing between me and the coffeemaker. Then he set his coffee mug and newspaper on the counter, crossed his arms, and said in a deep, level voice, "have you come from me son's bedroom?"

"Excuse me?"

"You were put in your own room for a reason. I hope you both respected me wife's rules."

"Uh... uh..." I could feel shame heat my face as he studied me. "... no, I would never..." I stammered.

"Good. God sees all lad," He picked up his cup and his newspaper and left for the living room.

I gasped for air and leaned against the counter, I didn't want to walk by Mr. Tomlinson to go upstairs, so I stayed in the breakfast nook until Jay arrived in the kitchen at seven. Then I excused myself and hurried away to plunge into a very long, very hot shower.

***

Louis and I left at ten-thirty, after breakfast, without much fanfare, just 'good-byes' and a few scattered 'thank yous.'

We took a taxi to the train station, relieved to be alone.  After a few minutes of silence, Louis asked, "So, what'd you think of me family?"

I nodded, not sure what else to say. He kissed me, easing the taste of apprehension and exhaustion from my lips. 

Chapter Text

Our hotel, Hôtel Mont-Blanc Chamonix was surrounded by snow covered mountains. It had a heated outdoor pool that could be used day or night, and the interior was decorated in a luxurious french style. It must've cost Louis a fortune.

"What did you sell to afford this?" I asked after placing my suitcase on the bed, moving to have a look around the fairly large suite.

Louis grinned "You like it?"

"I've never stayed in a place like this." I popped my head into the gap in the slightly ajar bathroom door to admire the claw foot tub.

"Well then, it's about time yah did, love." he lay back on the bed. "Shall we . . ." He winked cheekily.

"First, I have a present for you. I didn't want to give it to you in front of your parents. Here," I handed him a box.

He sat up, took the box, and opened it, smiling radiantly when he saw what it was. "Midnight!" he exclaimed. I had built a replica of his motorbike, a model that I had pieced together from several sets, his bike was so unique. 

"I love it," he said. "It's the best present ever. Thank you." I smiled. He kissed me, still holding the little Midnight "Life is great, in't it?"

I kissed him back and began slowly to unbutton his shirt. I didn't answer, but I didn't have to. We both knew: it was.

***

Louis was an amazing skier, miles above my level, but he stuck with me, grinning at my ill-matched secondhand ski clothes that were constantly covered with snow from the frequency of my tumbles. I wasn't terrible, but I still ended up on the ground most of the time.

We spent the mornings eating pastry in bed, then would ski until late afternoon. Lunch was enjoyed in the spa after a sauna. Every night we would have dinner in the hotel restaurant before sharing drinks in the heated pool. Our evenings were spent in bed wrapped up in eachother.

At the end of our last afternoon of skiing, we met at the bottom of the mountain.

"One last run?" he asked.

"Do we have time?"

"If we're quick, hurry."

We scurried to the lift just as they were pulling the rope across the line.

"Sorry, we're closed for the day," the lift operator said in a light French accent.

Louis looked at him with a sigh then smiled and nodded "no worries lad" but as we started to turn around, the guy beckoned us back and let us pass, "go on, but be quick."

"Thank you," Louis said with a grin as we got on the near-empty lift. The operator waved a gloved hand.

Halfway up the mountain, Louis turned to me and said, "I've always wanted to go flying," and then he jumped off the lift.

I almost screamed until I saw how close we were to the ground, about four feet, and that he had landed okay, laughing. Then, against all my better judgment, I joined him, briefly 'flying' and landing a short distance from him.

The exhilaration of the jump was almost worth the broken ankle.

Chapter Text

Louis dragged back the duvet on his bed and propped up his pillows as I hobbled across the room on my crutches. As I reached the bed he made to grab me, to help me down onto the mattress.

"Lou, please stop fussing, I can sit down by myself!"

He backed off slightly, looking wounded "I were just trying to help."

I smiled kindly, flopping onto the bed and propping the crutches against the wall, "and I'm grateful Lou, but I don't want to be trouble."

He moved forward and perched next to me on the bed, looking sad, "it's my fault."

"It's just a broken ankle, and you didn't force me to jump!" I placed a hand on his cheek and leant forward, kissing him tenderly.

Louis had turned into some sort of mother bear ever since France. The pain hadn't hit me at first and I had attempted to get to my feet, it wasn't until I fell back down into the snow that I felt a painful burning sensation. Louis had hauled off his ski's and stumbled across the snow to my side. By the time the paramedics had managed to reach us, I had blacked out from the pain - something I was extremely embarrassed about despite the doctor at Hopitaux Du Mont-Blanc insisting it was common.

"Do you need anything, H? I've got some food in...I think."

I shook my head and settled back on the bed.

The airport had been the worst part. We had missed our flight home and had to spend a fair few hours there before the next one. Louis had hovered over my plastered ankle like a bird of prey protecting its nest. Any groan of discomfort was met with panicked fussing - he wouldn't even let me pee in peace. In the taxi home he had insisted that I stay at his until I could walk without crutches, proclaiming my studio as a 'deathtrap'.

"Pizza and wine sounds good for dinner," I smiled, leaning my tired head against his pillow.

"You can't drink, you're on strong painkillers."

I raised an eyebrow, "and? You're telling me you've never had a drink on pills before?" I smirked.

He rolled his eyes, "you can have one glass. I'm not breaking your ankle and killing yah in the same week."

"Awh, you really do love me"

He smiled and leant forward, kissing my forehead, "of course I do, darlin', always."

I nuzzled into his kiss. It was not lost on me how crazy it was that we'd only just started saying I love you, and Louis was already promising forever. Or was it more crazy that I believed him?

***

His flat was covered in banners reading"happy new year" and "2018". Music was playing at a respectable volume from the TV, Tesco prosecco was flowing and I was trapped on the sofa with my plastered foot, surrounded by medical students and a group of lads from Doncaster.

Louis had insisted that he would cancel, but I had refused to let him. He deserved to have some fun with his friends.

I had been introduced to his high school friends, Oli the one he seemed closest to, seemed to have either taken it upon himself or been asked to babysit me whilst Louis mingled. I hadn't minded, Oli was sociable and chatty, which brought out my more chatty side. He spent most of the night going between sharing funny and sometimes embarrassing stories about teenage Louis and telling me how happy I made Louis, that he hadn't seen him this 'chuffed' in a long time.

By 11pm Louis was loud, giggly and clearly verging on drunk. He was a social butterfly, cuddling, chatting, laughing, dancing. I felt myself feeling weirdly appreciative of my broken ankle, glad of the experience of sitting on the sidelines watching him shine. It made me feel proud that I got to claim him as mine, even more so as he consistently fawned over me to all of his mates.

When the bells chimed in 2018 on the TV, Louis roared happy new year to the room before shoving himself through the crowd and kneeling infront of me.

"Happy new year, baby," he grinned, grabbing either side of my face and dragging me into a kiss that was verging on inappropriate in front of the guests. A few of the lads whistled and Lou stuck his middle finger up behind his head, causing laughter to erupt. He pulled back, "I'm so glad I met you. I love yah so much," he was slurring slightly but the sincerity was obvious. I melted, leaning forward to kiss him again. It was the beginning of our first full year together, and I couldn't wait to see what it would bring us.

Chapter Text

By June, Louis' first year of medical school was finished and my ankle was healed. I had started flying lessons, which stretched my budget no end, forcing me to increase my evenings teaching, on top of my job at the practice.

Meanwhile, Louis toiled in a surgery research lab at the university. On weekends we were let loose, spending as much time wrapped up in each others arms as we could.

The summer months that first year with Louis were characteristically warm, and we rarely spent our time together indoors. Sometimes we would sit, cross legged on the grass at Ben's house drinking cheap wine, or we would lay on a blanket in the heath, talking and laughing.

***

In August, we escaped for a week to Brighton, booking a small shabby room near the pier with a balcony. We would spend the late evenings sitting on our balcony listening to the live music coming from pub below with beer or wine and snacks. During the day we baked on the sand, sticky with salt from the sea and ourselves, slick together, with humidity curling our hair.

After dinner, before retreating to our balcony, we walked along the promenade, hands linked, our faces shiny and pink-hot from the day of sunshine. As I think of Louis now, I remember mostly those times, like our last days of childhood, before we had to enter the real world.

One evening, after playing video games at a little beach front pub, following a cheap chippy tea, we decided to go down to the nudist beach at the other end of the prom for a midnight swim.

It was cool in the water, darkly mysterious and quiet. Predictably, we ended up on the beach, in the posture of a million romantic movies, with sandpaper knees and elbows, and passion easing the grittiness of our efforts.

It wasn't until after we were finished that Louis saw him, the man in the water. Instinctively, I grabbed my jeans, dragging them on and just as instinctively, Louis ran, naked, to drag the man onto the sand. Louis started CPR; my heart bumped in my throat.

"Get help!" Louis shouted as he pumped on the man's chest.

I plucked my top from the sand and ran, pulling it on and stumbling along the way. I dived into the first bar I found, the barman called an ambulance as I bolted back to Louis.

He was still at it, alternately breathing into the man's mouth and heaving on his chest; the victim looked about eighteen.

"They're coming," I said. "Can I help?"

"Signal them," he said, "when they come," and I was off again, running back up to the prom.

When I returned with the paramedics tripping over the sand with their stretcher and supplies, I saw two silhouettes against the beach.

"Louis!" I yelled.

He waved, "Here!"

We approached and Louis stood, talking softly but quickly with the paramedics. As he did, I watched the young man lying on his side on the sand; I could hear his sputtering breath.

Then, abruptly, Louis took my hand and we left, just walked away, to gather the remainder of our clothes.

"That was dramatic," I commented, hands clammy and shaking, as we headed back along the prom toward our hotel.

"He's alive" Louis said.

"You saved his life, give yourself some credit."

"I don't want any."

We walked the rest of the way in silence, we reached the hotel, painted white and covered in fluttering pride flags. I sighed and we went inside, to sleep against rough hotel sheets.

***

The next morning started in the bar underneath our hotel, thin black coffee in white mugs, slimy eggs with fried sausages and toast, already buttered from the kitchen.

I was sunburned, so I stayed under an umbrella when we finally landed on the beach. There I read a fat paperback and watched as Louis played volleyball with an assortment of tanned, casually muscled teenagers.

When the game finished, Louis joined me on our towel, his skin glossy with sweat, combing his wet hair back from his face with his fingers.

"Hi, darlin'," he said, collapsing on his back and squinting skyward. "Look," He pointed.

I glanced up. The blue and white sky read 'I LOVE YOU' in puffy letters that threatened to dissolve before the last word was yet written, the name 'ZARA.'

"I wish I'd thought of that," Louis said with a cheeky grin.

"I've thought about it," I said.

"It's expensive though, in't it."

"I mean doing it. For a living."

"Now, that's a job!"

I scanned him for signs of sarcasm, but there were none. We studied the air above us, the first three letters already gone to the atmosphere. It seemed such a frivolous thing. 'I LOVE YOU' quickly dissipated, like so many things that should be permanent.

"It's kind of the opposite of a tattoo," I said.

"I dunno, I think it's like a tattoo," he said, "meaningful. If someone wrote to yah in the sky, don't you think you'd remember it?"

"Yeah."

"And if your name were in a tattoo..."

I laughed. "I'd remember it."

We looked up, shading our eyes with our hands, watching 'I LOVE YOU' disappear.

Although we never talked about it, every day after that I waited for the tattoo with my name, while Louis searched for his message in the sky.

***

The summer ended and Louis started his second year of medical school. A few months later I moved all of my things into his flat and we made it a shared home.

On the one year anniversary of meeting Louis, I took him flying. I had my pilot's license and a little confidence, so we blasted on his bike, heading for a small airport just outside of the city.

As I inspected the outside of the flight-schools rental plane, doing my preflight checks, Louis trailed me. Then he followed me inside the cockpit, where I went over my list, checking and rechecking, listening to static bits of language from the radio.

"Here's your headset," I said, handing it to him. "So we can talk. But don't press that button, that's to the tower."

"Yes, captain," he said putting the headset on and trying it out. "Hey, darlin'," came a metallic whisper into my ear.

"Hey," I answered.

Then I spoke to the tower and within minutes we were airborne, our stomachs lifting, the power of soaring held between my hands. The first time I had flown, with my instructor beside me, was like a sudden sucking, a visceral paradox of surging force and absence of solid earth, maneuvering along currents of air rather than road.

"Can I talk to yah now?" Louis asked.

"Sure," I said.

"Look at the trees, H."

"I know," I looked out to my left and down: shades of green, orange, red, slick yellow. Louis loved summer, the sizzling heat forcing everything to the surface, but autumn was my favorite.

"Let's fly over Brighton," I said.

"Can we go that far?"

"We're in a plane."

"Right. Amazing."

Around twenty minutes later we flew over the beach. The air was cold, but the brilliant sun was giving enough heat that the promenade was still busy with people.

"We should come back here," Louis said.

"We will."

"I mean soon, next weekend."

"But it'll be cold."

He was silent.

"Okay," I said, smiling. "Next weekend."

I dipped the plane low, then up and around, back toward the city, going home. He threw up as we turned, into an sick bag.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

He choked out a yes, then drank deeply out of a bottle of water, before saying, "that had nowt to do wi' your flying."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Sorry."

"Don't be," he said. "I wouldn't have missed this for the world."

Chapter Text

"Are you sure this is the best weekend to go?" I asked on Friday afternoon, watching out the window as Louis finished packing for Brighton.

"Why not?"

"It's going to rain, we could go next weekend?"

"No, I wanna go today."

"Okay," I agreed, moving from the window to finish my own packing.

The traffic out of the city was thick, and the storm hit on the way, so we didn't arrive at our hotel until after dark. It was away from the promenade, forlorn and cheap. We were the only occupants.

The rain hadn't spoilt Louis mood; he had chattered continuously on the way and was wide awake when we got to our room. I flopped face down on the beds orange sheet, noting how loud the frame shrieked at the weight of my body. 

"Let's go a walk!" Louis said, throwing on a shellsuit jacket.

"What?" I peered up at him in disbelief.

"A walk. Come on." He put on a cap and waited for me to move.

"Lou, it's dark and cold outside."

"And?"

I hesitated, but he had that wonderful half-smile on his face, so I dragged myself up and stole his waterproof Adidas jacket.

"I love you," he said, running a hand through my hair.

"I love you," I smiled.

***

It was the kind of coastal rain that exerts pressure, making your head ache. And the noise; we could barely hear each other over the hammering liquid that surrounded us.

The beach was barely visible, its only illumination the faint glow from scattered streetlights. Still, Louis' laughter was infectious, lifting me out of physical discomfort and into absolute joy.

As we came to the pier, Louis dragged me down the stone flight of stairs towards the arcade we had gone to in the summer. The outdoor seating was stacked away and everything was drenched. Louis pulled me onto the beach despite my objections, and then he stopped walking, facing me with the beautiful pier lit up to our side.

Suddenly, Louis was kneeling before me, blinking his eyes against the rain, and he said something into the roar of wind and waves.

"Sorry?" I shouted, bending down to get closer to him.

"Will you marry me?" he yelled with the most childlike grin painted onto his dripping face.

"Marry?" I asked in shock.

"Yes!" he laughed.

"Yes," I said, softly at first, and then I started to cry. "Yes!" I shouted, dragging Louis to his feet to kiss him.

After we broke apart, Louis placed a hand on the back of my head and smiled his sunshine smile, "you have no idea how happy I am I met yah."

I smiled and kissed the cold tip of his nose. He pulled a silver ring out from his jacket pocket, it had the word "peace" engraved into the metal. 

"I hope you like it," Louis said, suddenly sounding unsure, "I just...you make me feel at peace wi' meself, sumit I've never really been before. You make me feel safe, and worth being loved. I know that's cheesy but..."

"It's not cheesy, Lou. It's perfect."

***

We celebrated with drinks in the arcade, unbothered by our drenched clothes. We were so happy nothing could have ruined our high.

It poured the rest of the weekend, solid walls of rain, blasting sideways with gusts of wind off the ocean.

We walked, ate, stayed in bed a lot. It was perfect.

I'm still convinced that the chest infection I had the following week was due to the rain, even if Louis had insisted being out in rain doesn't make people sick.

Chapter Text

It was Christmas Eve, I climbed out of a black cab in the late afternoon, thanking the driver as he helped haul my huge duffle bag (filled mainly with gifts) out of the boot and onto the frosty path. We were spending Christmas with my family in Holmes Chapel that year, and Louis had arrived before me.

I made my way carefully up the garden path, and unlocked the door.

"I'm here!" I yelled with a grin, slamming the door behind me and kicking off my white trainers.

"In the kitchen!" Mum called.

"Hi," I said, sliding over the linoleum in my socks like I did when I was a kid.

"Hi, sweetie," Mum answered. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas! Where's Louis?" I gave her a peck on the cheek.

"Downstairs with Robin."

I started down the stairs two at a time. I heard Robin and Louis talking before I rounded the corner to Robin's studio, where he did his numerous hobbies including photography and comic sketching.

"Robin, this is brilliant, the one wi' the egg,' Louis said.

"You like that?"

"Yeah. Look."

I peeked around the corner; their backs were to me and I watched as Louis drew something for Robin. It took him a few seconds, then they howled with laughter.

"Hello" I said, approaching. They turned.

"Darlin!" Louis' face lit up, making me smile.

I came forward, wedging myself between their shoulders, and looked. The table was scattered with their efforts, some mere scribbles, others more detailed.

"I didn't know you could draw, Louis" I said.

"You still don't," he responded with a laugh.

"He's not that bad," Robin said, standing and stretching. "I'd better get cleaned up for dinner," he gave me a one armed hug and smiled before disappearing up the stairs.

"Sit down?" Louis asked.

I sat in Robin's chair and Louis and I kissed, long and deep. When we paused to breathe, I looked down at the sketches they had made.

"I've never seen you draw," I said.

"Don't do it often, not got the patience."

"You're not bad, Lou. You could've been an artist, if you practiced," I said.

"Nah, me dad would never have allowed that."

"How could he have stopped you?"

"He would have disapproved. That woulda been enough."

We were quiet as I looked over the drawings, then Louis announced, "I'm thinking about becoming a plastic surgeon."

"What? Boob jobs?"

He laughed, cupping my chin in his strong, soft hand, "not cosmetic surgery," he clarified, "reconstructive. Like patching up burn victims and repairing damaged faces, things like that."

I nodded, "you'd be great, Lou."

He kissed me, his lips warm, and then we stood and walked upstairs hand in hand.

Christmas eve dinner was an early affair in my house, mum always insisted the earlier the meal, the earlier we can all be in bed for 'Santa'.

When we all found our places at the dinner table, I pulled off my checked jacket to show a t-shirt I had designed specifically for the occasion. It was the red outline of a heart with "Harry Styles" written inside. The Styles was scored out.

I hadn't even sat down before Gemma clocked the meaning, "is this an engagement announcement or have you two eloped?"

I laughed, "God, you're quick" I held out my right hand, showing the table my peace engagement ring, "we're engaged, it's been a little while now, but I wanted to tell you all in person."

I'm pretty sure my mum actually squealed with excitement as Louis and I were pulled into a huge hug.

***

Louis and I might have announced our engagement to my family at Christmas, but Gemma married first, on February 28th.

The wedding was black tie at a beautiful hotel in Manchester, and I was the 'man of honour'.

Gemma and I were siblings that day in the best sense of the word, wanting for the other what we ourselves had: happiness, joy, love, futures with brilliant careers and a pack of smiling, messy-faced children fathered by handsome, kind husbands.

Louis was invited to the wedding as my plus one, he looked ridiculously handsome in a slim fitting black suit with a white shirt and no tie. He watched me coming down the aisle, and his face glowed, as if I were the groom and he and I were alone in that vast, crowded hall.

It would be an hour before we could talk, kiss, or laugh, and in that hour my big sister became a wife.

Louis and I danced every dance that night, except when he took me by the hand and said, "Come on." I followed him through lobbies and hallways, up a metal staircase that looked out of bounds to hotel guests.

"Here," Louis said, reaching a hand back to help me over the lip of a fire exit door at the top of the stairs.

"Wow!" I exclaimed. We were on the roof.

We walked over tar paper and pebbles to the edge, bordered by a short wrought-iron fence. Below, darkness and distance had thrown a blanket over Manchester's big-city grime, leaving glitter, brass, and diamonds twinkling through.

"I can't believe how beautiful it looks," I grinned, snuggling myself into Louis side.

We made love on the exposed roughness of that roof, the stars dancing romantically above our heads. When we were done, we stood and started toward the door to the stairs, hand in hand.

Louis stopped and kissed me, "I love you so fucking much, H."

Chapter Text

I obtained my commercial flying license a few weeks after Gemma's wedding, I was screened, along with about one thousand other applicants, to see if I was a precise enough flyer to become a skywriter. It amazed me that I was, and my two-month apprenticeship began.

As it turned out, skywriting was taught by the oral tradition, handed down carefully, from one pilot to another, and even then, reluctantly. My instructor, Joey, wasn't much older than I was, but he'd been flying since his sixteenth birthday.

"This is the plane you'll be flying," he told me on my first day, pointing to a biplane with an open cockpit.

"This?" I asked, with a hint of shock in my voice. The machine was beautiful, but ancient.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"This thing's older than my gran."

"Then be good to her," he said, patting its side.

I nodded and listened as Joey explained about the light-weight oil that I would load into the tank in the plane, how it was fed into the exhaust, heated by the large radial engine to become vapor, vapor transformed into words, words into money.

We spent hours hovering over letters inscribed
into the dirt on the ground, rehearsing and timing the moves, using my body as the plane, pretending to soar a mile straight before turning sharply into a curve, timing it by counting the seconds, pulling hard against a drive that wanted to force me straight, always straight.

Joey took me up in the old plane and I practiced what I'd done on the ground, squeezing the trigger on my control stick to release the oil, seeing only smoke behind, the letters mere puffs of white by landing time.

Dave Richards, our boss, watched from the ground, later clucking about what a natural I was.

***

That spring in 2019, while I was whizzing around the sky spurting smoke and continuing to work in the law practice. Louis was finishing his second year studying medicine. It was hard work and a difficult time; we didn't see much of each other.

One breezy evening I treated Lou to dinner curtsey of the university hospital cafe, chicken mayo sandwiches with overly salty leek and potato soup, soft drinks and chocolate brownies. He was on call every third night -for his hospital placement- working until three or four in the morning.

"Hi Luke," I said, greeting the resident doctor Louis worked with as I entered the small staff room on Louis' ward.

"Hey, Harry."

"Want a brownie?"

"No thanks. Louis is in room 113. He should be out soon."

"I can wait here."

"Better go get him. He'll be in there forever if you don't, just give him a wave through the window," He left the room, walking down the hall, before disappearing into a patient's room.

I put the bag of food down on the table, wrote DO NOT EAT on a piece of paper and walked to room 113. The door was ajar and it was dim inside, lit only by a lamp.

In the bed was a young woman, made deep-eyed and delicately beautiful by frailty, and beside her was Louis, sitting in a chair; he was holding her hand.

"Thank you for being brave," she said. Her voice was raspy, hard to hear, I leaned closer to the doorway.

"No, thank you for showing me bravery," Louis answered in a low voice.

My brow wrinkled; I held my breath.

"I should be going now," she murmured.

"I'll be right here," he answered.

She closed her eyes, letting her head fall back onto the pillow. Louis bowed his own head, brought her skeletal hand to his lips, and held it there for several long seconds.

I backed up, the unexpected intimacy of the moment driving me away. In my haste I bumped into Luke.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed. His voice seemed too loud, destructive of some brittle tranquillity. "isn't he in there?" He pointed toward room 113.

I nodded and hurried down the hall.

It wasn't long before Louis and Luke joined me in the staff room, looking grim.

"I'll leave you two to your dinner," Luke said, patting Louis on the back.

"Thanks," Louis responded, and he reached out to hug me. "Hi, love" he said.

"Hi," I answered.

He released me and sat down, shielding his face with his hands. When he looked up, his eyes were bright, wet.

"A patient on the ward just died," he said.

I gasped. She had appeared so peaceful and looked about our age, "the woman in one, one, three?" I asked.

"You saw her?"

"I came to the door, but she was talking to you...about being brave."

He nodded, "she said I were brave to sit wi' her while she died. But she were the one who died."

"She was brave," I said softly, taking his hand.

He nodded and smiled, a smile full of sorrow. We watched each other for a moment.

"You wanna eat?" he finally asked.

I shook my head, "she's dead," I whispered feeling suddenly guilty for my own health.

"And we're not. We can eat babe, and if she could, she would."

I nodded slowly and we kissed. As we did, I couldn't help thinking about those who aid the dying, about how they must be constantly reminded of how fortunate they are for having life. Or maybe they build a thick veneer, assembling reasons why they are unlike those who die, holding death at a distance.

That evening, I had, for the first time, held my eye to the keyhole that is death, sensing what a fleeting, tenuous hold we have on life, and in the process, gained that first layer of veneer.

Chapter Text

In June of 2019, three months before our wedding date, we took a train to Doncaster to invite Lou's family. We had planned the wedding on a tight budget with a lot of help from friends, and had decided there was no need to wait. We hadn't been back to see Louis' parents since that first Christmas, its sting felt now faded and smooth, like drift-wood.

On the way, we avoided speaking of his family and instead Lou listened to music with his headphones on as I read a book.

It seemed too soon when we arrived, taking a taxi from the train station, this time in daylight, watching Louis' hometown through tinted windows. The city seemed bare and worn, cold, with dry gray and brown buildings. We held hands in the car, but didn't speak, saving our words, our thoughts, our strength.

When we arrived, we stood on the front porch, like we had almost two years before; we turned and looked at each other.

'I love you,' I said with a small smile.

'I love you, future husband,' he answered, squeezing my hand.

I smiled wider this time, and we walked to the door. It seemed odd that he had to ring the bell, that he didn't have a key. And it was disconcerting, standing there on the doorsteps with our dufflebags, listening to a few leaves rattling against the branches in the trees.

When it was obvious no one was home, Louis asked, "wanna go a walk?"

I nodded and we started toward the trees at the end of his parents street. Louis was never more beautiful than that day, his eyes radiant, his skin tinted with a very slight tan, pink swatches high on his cheeks and the tip of his nose from yesterday's walk in Hyde Park. Each detail of him was brilliantly outlined against the backdrop of the dazzling summer sky. I held his hand and squeezed, wanting to return all the love that he felt had been taken from him as a child.

When we got back to the house it was starting to grow chilly out and Mr. and Mrs. Tomlinson were home; our bags were gone from the front step. Louis rang the bell. His father came to the door.

'Hello, Dad,' Louis said apprehensively.

'Louis, Harry' Mark said, tipping his head toward each of us and holding the door open as we entered. 'Your mother has dinner prepared.'

'It's nice to see you again, Mr. Tomlinson,' I said.

'The pleasure is mine,' he answered, leading the way to the dining room.

Jay emerged from the kitchen, carrying a roast chicken.

'Hello, Lou, sweetie' she said, 'and Harry!'

'Hi, Mum.'

'Hello, Jay.'

'Sit down, kiddies. The food'll get cold.'

We sat. We ate. We talked about things that probably bored even the chicken. White wine flowed, washing away my nerves a little more with each mouthful.

Lou saved our news for dessert, Jay had bought profiteroles from the local bakery, I was halfway through biting into one when he blurted out, 'Harry and me are getting married in September. We'd like youse to come.'

I looked up, slightly shocked from the way he dropped the news, my lips covered in cream as I tried to quickly lick it away whilst popping the rest of my profiterole back into the bowl.

'Oh Louis!' Jay exclaimed, clapping her hands together with an excited squeak, 'this is wonderful news!'

'I thought that might be the reason for your visit,' Mark said dryly. 

Then there was silence, and nowhere to look. My mouth grew dry and I stared at my hands, unsure how to act.

Finally, Louis said, 'The wedding will be in London. Will youse come?"

Again, silence. Jay was staring pleadingly at her husband. Mark was staring at Louis, his expression unreadable. 'I understand this to mean you're not asking my permission,' he said.

'No,' Louis answered.

'He's not Anglican,' Mark commented and took a sip of his wine.

Jay glanced up from her plate and examined me, she looked sad. I swallowed back the feeling of dread rising up in my chest 

'Neither am I,' Louis pointed out.

Louis and Mark were locked in a gaze that must've been common back in the day. Jay seemed to shrink in her chair. 

'I'll convert,' I said suddenly, religion didn't matter to me or my family. I would do it for Louis, in a heartbeat.

'Good idea,' Mark said, just as Louis said, 'You won't!"

'I don't mind,' I said. 'We can get married in an Anglican church in London, and still have the reception how we've planned?'

'I en't a Christian,' Louis said in a measured tone.

'But Lou,' I protested, this time under my breath 'what does it matter?' I took his hand.

'Jesus Christ, Harry, I mean it!' he snapped loudly, ripping his hand away from mine.

Louis had never spoken to me in that way, his tone stern, aggressive. It left me stunned.

'W...won't you at least listen?'

'Won't you?'

'...Yes.'

'Then listen to this. As long as I live, I'll never set foot in a church again.'

'I guess that settles it,' Mark declared, and for the first time since Louis had broached the topic, I looked directly at Mark. He was smiling, but his expression was smug, not joyous.

We left that evening; our bags never made it up-stairs. Mark didn't object to our departure, simply saying good-bye in the front foyer when our taxi arrived, as if we had merely driven across England for chicken and a chat. Jay had started to cry at the table and ran upstairs after giving Louis a stifled 'sorry, love' and had therefore not seen us to the door.

There were no trains out that night, so we stayed at a cheap hotel in town. I was exhausted and disappointed; Louis was intent on shrugging off the evening, shedding it along with his clothes as we sat on the bed.

'What did Mark mean when he said "I guess that settles it?" I asked. 'Are they coming or not?'

'He means it's settled for him. No Anglican church, no wedding, and he sure as hell won't let me mam or the twins come either.'

'So they're not coming,' I sighed.

'From dad's point a view there's nout to come to.'

'Proving you're both equally stubborn.'

'I learned it from him.'

'I don't get it, Lou. Why are you so against a church wedding? If it means so much to him?'

He stood and walked to the window, studying the blackness beyond, stuttered with flickering city lights.

'I'll never be a hypocrite. Not for him, not even for you.'

I remained sitting on the bed, studying the weave of the carpet. After several minutes, I rose to my feet, walked up behind him, embraced him, and watched the night with my chin perched on his shoulder.

***

28th September 2019.

I woke up mid-morning in our flat, Louis asleep at my side, his arm dropped lazily over my stomach. The doorbell was ringing non-stop, so I dragged myself out of bed with a groan and shuffled into the livingroom to answer it.

Oli was on the other side, holding a cardboard tray of coffees, he barged in with a grin.

'Here for your soon to be husband! Is he still in bed?" He handed me a coffee and I smiled when I realised it was an oat milk latte. I thanked him and pointed towards the bedroom.

There was a loud commotion and a lot of swearing as Oli did his best man duty of dragging my sleepy boy out of his bed. Lou came tumbling out the room barely in a clean shirt as Oli shoved him from behind, "quick kiss from yer bride then we have to go mate, Harry would never forgive me if you were late for your own wedding, ain't that right H?"

I laughed and nodded, pulling Lou in for our last kiss as unmarried men. 

After Louis and Oli left, I sat cross legged on our bed and painted my nails cream, taking my time to ensure they were as neat as I could manage. Once they were dry I started on my face, moisturiser, small amounts of concealer under my eyes and on a spot that had materialised on my forehead. Finally, I took my pale pink lip liner and drew carefully around my lips. It was almost an identical colour to my actual lips, just more pink, more flattering. Finally a similar shade of pink lipstick to finish off the look. My mum and Gemma arrived soon after and helped to style my hair.

Mum looked stunning in a silvery grey wrap dress, and Gemma changed into a similar coloured bridesmaid gown. They poured prosecco and helped me dress in a silver sequin crop, loose tan slacks with black side stripes and a cream tailored jacket with black collar.

"Oh, H" Mum dabbed a tear away from the corner of her eye, "you look so handsome." I gave her a kiss then downed the last of my glass for luck.

***

With or without the Tomlinsons, our wedding would be at the Hampstead Pergola, it was free to have a ceremony there, with an encouraged donation. Louis had been the one to suggest it, seemingly finding something quite romantic (if not mildly scandalous) in the thought of getting married where we shared our first outdoor shag.

I walked behind Gemma, arm in arm with my mum. We climbed the steps, walking beneath the green vines, and pink blossoms until we reached our 30 guests, my closest family and friends and Louis' friends. They were sat on dining chairs (that had been sourced from a local skip and cleaned up for the occasion) between the large vine and lavender wrapped columns. Arrangements of autumnal coloured flowers, that mum had insisted on paying for, lined the edges of the steps leading up to the humanist celebrant. In front of him, on the second step, stood Louis. He looked breath taking in a black suit and black shirt, with a cream pocket square and shoes a very similar tan to my trousers. I stopped walking to give Gemma time to reach her seat as soft music was strummed on a guitar in the background. I stared at Louis, marveling at how well our outfits complimented eachother considering we had chosen them separately. 

As Gemma took her seat, mum placed a hand on my cheek and grinned back tears, "I'm so proud of you, baby." She turned and walked down the makeshift aisle to her own seat. I took a deep breath as the music changed and the celebrant asked the guests to stand for the groom. 

My walk to Louis was a blur of nerves and praying I didn't trip. As I reached the stairs, he finally turned to look at me, his breath immediately turning into a gasp and his eyes instantly brimming with tears. I stepped up the stairs, reaching out for him, our hands connecting. 

"You look so beautiful, H" he said, his voice shaking. 

The celebrant cleared his throat and began the ceremony, "Today marks a new beginning in Harry and Louis' lives together. It means a great deal to both of them that you, their family and friends, are here to witness their wedding vows and to celebrate in their love and in their marriage. Many of you have known Harry and Louis all their lives. You have watched them grow up,  you went to school with them, you have worked with them and all of you have shared life's ups and downs. All of you have been involved with these two people and witnessed their growing love for each other. So, it is fitting that you are the witnesses to their new life together as husbands. And I know that today will be a happy and memorable day for all of you."

I grinned at Louis as the celebrant recalled our meet cute and shared some stories from our two years together. He squeezed my hands tightly, tears still glistening on his cheeks in the mid-day sun. 

It seemed like a lifetime had passed by the time the celebrant held his mic towards Louis, declaring it time for his vows.

"Harry Edward Styles, I give you this ring as a sign of our love, and of our trust in that love. I promise to care for you above all others, to give you me life, me friendship and me complete support. I pledge me dedication to you for the rest of me life. To provide you with comfort, peace, happiness and strength. From the moment I met you, I just knew..." He paused to wipe away a tear, "I just knew you were the missing half of me. You made me complete, and I will never stop adoring you until the day I die."

He slide the ring onto my finger and the celebrant moved the mic over to me.

"Lou, I wish so badly to be able to explain how much I love you. Love is a word that is too vague and used far too freely to ever describe the fierce and infinite burning that I feel for you. You are a million dreams come true. You are kind. You are funny. You are intelligent. Your laugh is my favourite sound. You make me want to be a better person every day. I promise to take you now, tomorrow and for eternity, to be my husband. I vow to cherish you, respect you, support you, dream with you, and I promise to always love you unconditionally and wholeheartedly. I'm the luckiest person on Earth to call you mine."

I pushed Louis ring onto his finger with a sob that I didn't know I had been holding in. He grinned and threw his arms around my waist, pulling me in for a passionate kiss as the celebrant made a joke about us jumping the gun and declared we could kiss. When we finally parted, we were declared married, and our guests jumped to their feet, cheering and whistling. 

***

After the ceremony we retired to a small marquee that Ben had insisted we erect in his garden, the diningroom chairs from the ceremony had very comically been transported with the guests to sit on during a dinner of  BBQ food and rose wine. We spent the evening dancing, drinking, laughing, kissing. It was the best day of my life.

We knew that day that our love was invincible, and that made us think that we were too. We were wrong.

Chapter Text

After our wedding, we honeymooned on a tight budget in Cornwall for a week. A week spent wrapped up in each others arms, marveling at the fact we were actually husbands. We spent Christmas 2019 with my family, the rift between Louis and his dad as strong as ever. 

By January 2020, Louis had started a new, more intense, hospital placement on top of his lectures and study sessions. He was up at 5:00 a.m. and home past midnight most days. As for me, I didn't fly much in the winter, as I was making enough money spring through august to avoid the being in the air for a few months. I had given up my job in the law office and spent the evenings making commissions for my Etsy shop. I had time on my hands, and felt Louis absence like a lost limb that still tickles and aches.

It was a chilly February morning as I unlocked our flat and stepped inside, my lungs still burning from my sunrise jog. I pulled off my running jacket, hanging it up on the coat hook, and dumped my keys on the kitchen counter. I turned to the livingroom to find the shape of a man sitting on our green sofa, the blinds shutting out the light. I gasped, ready to back up and run, before realising it was Louis. 

'Oh, you scared me, darling' I said.

'Sorry,' he said, he sounded tired.

'Why are you home so early?" I asked, pulling open the blinds. 

He buried his face in his hands and slowly shook his head, his body shaking. A glass of whisky sat on the coffee table before him. 

'Louis! What happened? What is it?'

He looked up, his eyes were bloodshot and anguished, he looked scared, a totally different Louis.

I sat down beside him, placing a comforting hand on his knee. 'Did someone die?' I asked softly.

'No.'

'Louis, something's wrong, tell me please.'

'I stuck meself.'

'Stuck yourself?'

'Wi' an IV needle.'

'Okay...what does that mean?'

'I had to get tested.'

'Tested? For what?'

'The needle were from a patient with AIDS.'

Suddenly, a lump of dread lodged stubbornly in my throat, "AIDS? But...it's 2020?"

'Harry...AIDS ain't gone, people still die from it...every year, lots of people.'

'and...you stuck yourself with an infected IV...what? What does that mean?'

'I'm HIV-positive.'

'You're what?"

'The virus that causes AIDS. I have it.'

I stopped breathing. 'No,' I said. There's obviously been some kind of mistake.'

'It's been confirmed, Harry. I'm positive.'

'But...but it's not the 80s anymore...there's medication! It's not a death sentence anymore,' my head was suddenly spinning, my hands shaking.

'It still can be. I've seen it, I've seen people die of it on the ward' Again, he hid his face in his hands before going on, 'and it's not from the patient last week. I've had it for a while.'

I reeled, feeling as if I were falling from a high place, as if the earth had been pulled out from beneath me, plunging me into an eternal freefall with no possibility of ever stopping. I slid off the sofa and squatted at Louis' feet, sobbing, trembling and small, hanging my head and clasping my hands behind my neck in a 'crash-landing' position.

'No!' I cried, over and over.

The whole time, Louis studied his hands, motionless in his lap. Finally, my sobs ran dry and after a long moment of silence I asked, 'Where did you get it?'

'I dunno' he said, and looked at me. 'I can only guess.'

'A man? Sex?'

'No. But...'

'What?'

'Remember my first boyfriend, I told you about him.'

'What are you saying?'

'I dunno how to say what I'm saying.'

I examined his face, finding no confusion or despair, only sincerity and regret. He said, 'We did heroin together.'

My eyes grew wide, 'You were a drug addict?'

'No, but he were. I can't explain why I did it wi' him, maybe to show him I loved him, but it were stupid, I were a stupid kid. I never did it again.'

'So you've known this whole time you were at risk?'

'No!' He stood and began to pace. 'No, I didn't know.'

'You're a medical student and you didn't-'

'We used a clean needle. He swore he didn't share before. I trusted him.'

'How do you know it was him?'

'H, he died of an overdose last year, and his autopsy confirmed he were infected.'

'He did?' I gasped, Louis nodded, still not meeting my eye. 'How do you know?'

'I called him when I found out about this, to see if he were infected, to see if that's where I got it. His mam answered, she told me.'

I raked my hand through my hair, I was not willing to comprehend. Louis sat down on the floor beside me and I watched him, realising that something had slipped irretrievably away from us.

'You need to get tested,' he said.

'Me? You mean . . . no...?'

'All me sexual partners need ta be tested, Harry.' His eyes filled with tears and he shook his head. 'Me life'll be over if I've infected you.'

'You don't think I...?'

'I dunno.' He took my hands in his, tears streaming down his pale cheeks.

'We've always used condoms, though,' I said.

'I know, but...'

We shared a look, holding everything that life could be in our gaze, knowing that a piece of it had chipped, was tumbling inexorably away. He began to cry harder, his body compulsing 'I love you,' he sobbed.

I was silent, weeping, clinging to Louis.

Night came unnoticed as we lay on the bed above the covers, fully clothed, fear and despair chasing away hunger, sleep, routine.

"What was it like?" I asked into the darkness above us, shades of gray and shadow, our eyes open against it.

'What?' he asked.

'Heroin.'

'It were like being held in your mam's arms, back when she loved yeh most, when she kept you safe." 

I nodded into the gloom, but didn't speak, yesterday we were blissful newlyweds, not yet married 6 months, today sickness loomed over us like storm clouds.

***

In the next five days, waiting for my own result, I shed a gallon of tears. I loved Louis -his infection hadn't changed that but competing emotions had clattered to the surface, leaving the love, the foundation and the core, waiting patiently beneath. Terror, like heat, shot up highest of all, and beat with a pulse just under my skin. 

The day came to go back to the doctor's and get my results. Clutching the little paper with my 'anonymous' number on it, four random digits between me and destiny, I left for the bus. It was mid-February, gray and cold, frozen. I got on the bus with the others, people whose hearts didn't hammer while tears threatened, who were headed for shopping or jobs. My mind rocked, stumbling from hope to despair. With all the passion Louis and I had shared, I knew that I could not have escaped. Fumbling, I sat alone, thinking of what it meant to be HIV-positive. It meant my future was a hazy mirage, always just ahead, untouchable; it meant life would depend on medicines and doctors, that what had been natural would become 'bodily fluids,' transformed into medical waste disposal problems; it meant sex had been stolen, turned dangerous.

Sooner than I wanted, I was off the bus and walking toward the clinic, to my sentence. I took a seat in a blue plastic chair in the waiting room after signing in, glancing around, wondering if anyone somehow sensed why I was there.

Eventually, my number was called and something in me gathered enough strength to stand  and follow a brown ponytail, held by a red rubber band, up a flight of stairs. We entered a small room where around us swarmed posters of men and men, men and women, anatomy, cartoon germs and breastfeeding babies.

The woman and I sat across from each other and she looked at me. I knew then that my life would be forever measured against the moment I was told, sorted into before and after.

'My name is Sandy,' she said.

'Okay,' I said.

'I'm here to give you your results from your HIV test.'

'Okay.'

'What's your risk factor?"

'My husband has it.'

'HIV?'

'Yes.'

'Do you understand what HIV is?"

'Yes.'

'Do you know what a positive result means?'

'AIDS.'

'Not exactly. It means you're infected with the virus that causes AIDS...I doesn't always turn into AIDS, especially nowadays.'

My world was silent after she said 'You're infected with the virus that causes AIDS.' I was HIV-positive. My life was over, declared so by a simple blood test, in a little room with a round-cheeked woman who wore a strong perfume.

'Do you understand?' she asked.

I stood up mechanically. "That's it?'" I said.

'Yes, but just because you're not infected doesn't mean you shouldn't-'

'Not?''

'You're not infected. Ive just told you that. Are you okay?"

'I'm negative? I'm negative."

'Yes. Look, here are your results.'

I stared into the manila folder she held open and onto a blue- and-white striped sheet. It said: 'HIV Antibody-Negative.' Suddenly everything was loud and twirling and too colorful. I closed my eyes briefly, bringing my hands together, my fingers pointing upward under my chin, and mumbled, 'Thank you, God.'

The woman looked at me, puzzled, then smiled, opening the door, thanking me for coming in. There were other patients waiting.

My elation carried me to the bus stop. There I bent to feel my bare hands, smiled at grumpy strangers, and let everyone board before me. Time was suddenly a gift; it made me feel generous. I wanted to sing, hug someone, dance, tell the world, especially Louis. Everything crashed. His name, brought gravity back to my world. I may have been safe but my Louis, the love of my life, he was not.

That week we found out Louis' T-cells were only around 200, that he had probably been infected for more than five years. I envisioned us traveling the world for better medication, or a new miracle cure, but Louis, being more realistic, decided to see an AIDS specialist in the city. He was prescribed 4 different medications that he would have to take on a daily basis, as well as pills that I would have to take if we were to have sex, not that we had even had a moment to think of that never mind engage in it.

Around this time, I became aware of community organisations that had been in existence since the epidemic began in the 80s. They offered support, information, services. But I tried to keep away from them, doing my own research, grasping for control over anything at all.

Louis continued to attend school. His HIV results had been reported to a special committee there, made up of medical experts, infection control personnel, hospital lawyers, and the medical school's headteacher. They decided that, with monitoring, Louis could proceed with his education without restrictions.

Besides Louis' previous sexual partners, we told no one about the HIV. We were reeling, recoiling from reality, fanning the spark of hope. Coping as best as we could manage. Sometimes, we could almost imagine nothing had changed.

Chapter Text

The first time I slept with Louis after his diagnosis was like jumping off a high dive with my eyes closed. I had become intimately involved with phrases like 'safer sex,' 'mutual masturbation,' and 'infectious potential.' We had to remember my pills every time we wanted to become intimate and even then Louis having an orgasm was hazardous without condoms. 

The first time, we were cuddled on the sofa and Louis was stroking my side, teasing me, making me squirm and giggle. I turned my head to face him, 'Let's make love.'

He didn't answer, so I opened my eyes and pulled him to me, kissing him with desperation. I pulled myself on top of his lap running my hands down his stomach, his erection stiff, tight, and waiting. I grabbed at the waistband of his tracksuit bottoms.

'No!' he said, shoving my hands away from him.

'Get a condom,' I said.

'No, love.'

'Yes, Louis. This is my life too.'

'That's right, it's your life.'

I reached into the coffee table drawer and retrieved a condom and the box of medication I had been prescribed for this very reason.

'Look,' I said, tearing the wrapper, 'I love you. I'm with you and I'm not leaving. I'm a grown man making my own decisions-'

'And I'm a grown man making me own decisions, and I'm not doing this. I'm not letting you-'

'You can't do that. I can't do this.' I pinched my lips between my teeth to keep from crying.

Louis sighed and took the condom from me, and through tears that pooled over my vision, I watched him put it on.

'Come on,' he said sadly. 

I popped a pill into my mouth and dry swallowed it, then sat on him. It felt better than I had remembered, maybe for what it represented between us, beyond sex, beyond pleasure; an unconditional commitment and undying love for one another. 

Through it I cried, while he fought the urge to protect me at all costs. 

Sex had become sad.

***

Gemma gave birth to a baby boy on May. She named him Darcy. He was beautiful: small, curled pink hands, brown hair spiked into a fluffy halo. He was absolutely perfect and we all instantly fell in love.

Louis was on pediatrics rotation that month, and when he was done with rounds, he knocked on Gemma's hospital room door.

'Come in,' Gem called. I was holding Darcy.

'Hi, love,' Lou said, kissing Gemma lightly on the cheek.

'Louis, look,' I said, holding Darcy out to him. He smiled, Gemma grinned, but although Louis came to stand beside me, he wouldn't take the baby. 

'Here, hold your nephew,' I said.

'No, thanks. He looks happy wi' you.'

"Come on, Louis,' Gemma urged. 'What's the worst that can happen? Spit-up?' She laughed. 

Again, Louis smiled politely, but refused.

I stood up, holding the baby out to him. 'Here,' I repeated.

He shook his head, backing up.

Gemma's brow creased, 'I thought you two wanted kids?'

Louis and I locked eyes over Darcy. I held him out before Louis.

'No.'

'Give him to me, H' Gemma said.

'He has to learn.'

'Not on my baby, he doesn't,' Gemma snapped.

'She's right, Harry. Give him back. He's beautiful, Gem. Congratulations,' Louis said, and he turned to leave. I handed Darcy back to his mother with a mumbled apology then followed my husband.

'Louis,' I said, 'you won't infect him by holding him, you know that,' I said as I caught up with him.

'It's too close to home, H.' He walked away, into the staff only stairwell. I followed him.

'I want to have children with you,' I said, 'I know we never really spoke about it but I always thought you wanted that too.'

'It can't happen.'

'Of course it can, we can use my sperm, or adopt?'

'I don't wanna bring kids into this Harry. I'm sick.'

'I want a life with you.'

'That can't include babies, it's not fair to them,' Louis pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. 

I sat down, crying and after a few moments Louis sat beside me, cradling me in his arms, 'you still have time, if you wanna leave, find someone who can give yah the life yah deserve...I'd understand.'

'I don't want a way out,' I said, tears flowing down my face. 'Together Forever, remember?'

He smiled sadly and nodded his head. 'I remember,' he said, kissing my hair.

We sat that way for a while, silent except for my sobs. Finally, we stood and left the hospital, walking home through the spring evening, our hands linked.

Chapter Text

At the end of spring, Louis applied for residencies for his fourth year of medical school. When he got back to the flat, Louis perched himself on top of the kitchen counter as I cooked, and said, 'I've been applying for placements in psychiatry.'

'You have?'

'It's perfect for me.'

'You're a born surgeon, Louis.'

'I know.'

I stared at him and he looked away.

'Psychiatry's good,' I said softly.

'It's interesting.'

I reached for his hand, held it, a graceful surgeon's hand, yet, a simple scalpel nick through a glove could turn that hand into dripping scarlet infection. He didn't want to risk his patients.

Louis' HIV had transformed our lives into a series of concessions and compromises. It was an invasive, intrusive, inculcating, in-your-face infection. We lived with it, and we bent. But when the next bend came, we weren't prepared for it.

The day where future interns and residents were assigned their program, Louis' phone rang, the head of his medical school asking him for a meeting in his office.  

He told Louis that there were no spots for him in psychiatric residencies within the NHS, nor had any private practices reached out. 'I'm sorry,' he had added.

'He's sorry?' I shrieked when Louis told me. 'Sorry?'

'I'll work something out,' Louis responded, staring at his feet. He had driven Midnight out to the airfield where I was just finishing up my lunch break, to tell me this.

'You're number one in the class, you scored higher on the boards than anybody, and there's no place for you?'

'These things happen. I'll-'

'These things don't just happen, Lou. Plus, you already made one compromise by applying for psychiatry instead of surgery.'

'I know, but it'll be okay.' He looked at me for a long moment, the usual sparkle of his eyes eclipsed by sadness, and that's when I realised: the HIV wasn't just making him ill, it was ruining his life.

I watched as he drove away, so willing to grit his teeth against one more hurdle, to take what was offered and not make a fuss.

'Harry!' It was Mr. Rig. I was late for take-off.

'Coming!' I answered, and hurried to the runway.

'You know where you're going?' he asked.

'Dover.'

'Here's your message.' He handed me the paper. It read YOU ARE TWO, POOH.

'Pooh?' I asked.

'It's for a kid's birthday. Make sure the h is on there!'

I nodded and set off for my plane.

***

'Isn't it supposed to be confidential?' I called to Louis from the living room several mornings later; he was still in bed, enjoying skipping his elective at the university building.

'What, darlin'?'

'Your HIV result.'

'Yes.'

'Who told then?'

Silence. I walked to the bedroom door. He was lying on his back, still, his eyes fixed and unblinking. 

'Lou?' I said, fighting panic. Silence. I moved closer. 'Louis!'

He blinked away his daydream 'Yeah, love?'

I closed my eyes against tears. He was alive. I went to him, to feel his warmth and breath, smell his hair, watch him move. He smiled as I climbed into bed with him.

'What is it, H?'

'Nothing.'

'You were asking about my test. What's up?'

'How did those programs know you were infected?'

'I'm not sure they did.'

'But you know that's why you didn't get a residency.'

'Easy to believe, hard to prove.'

'The head knew. He was on the committee that discussed your status after you got tested.'

'Yes.'

'So he told.'

'Maybe. What does it matter?'

'It's not right.'

'Like a lot of things.'

'I'm not going to leave it like this.'

'You want revenge?' he teased.

'No. Just what you're owed. You worked so hard.'

He smiled, kissing me and climbing out of bed, heading toward the bathroom.

'Hey,' I said, following him, 'if the head told those programs, he broke confidentiality. If they refused you entry based on your HIV infection, that's discrimination.'

He squinted, his face dripping from the water he had H just splashed on it, cold from the sink. 'Yeah,' he said, 'but how do you prove it?' 

I shrugged. He pulled on sweats over his boxers and then I trailed him to the kitchen.

'You want coffee?' he asked. 

I nodded. We sat at the kitchen table, its surface sticky from Chinese take-out the night before. As we sipped our coffee, he picked up the morning paper, then sighed, saying, 'I hear you, Haz, but think about it from their point of view. A lot of people don't want an HIV-positive doctor.'

I remained silent, staring at him. He added, 'Can't yah see that?'

'No. How can you see that?'

He didn't answer, but I knew what allowed him to see, to climb into another's skin. It's what had drawn his lips to that dying woman's hand, to murmur the words she most needed to hear: empathy. Its purity in him was so rare, its loss to humankind beyond measure.

***

'Ssshhh,' I whispered to the receptionist in the head of the university's office. She was blond, her lashes thick with clumpy mascara, and according to the sign on her desk, her name was Kate.

'Listen,' I said, glancing around, 'I've got a surprise for my uncle-'

'Your uncle?' she asked, wrinkling her nose.

I must not have looked worthy of him being my uncle; my hair was unwashed, my denim jacket frayed, but I persisted. 'Uncle... ' I glanced at his door. 'Uncle Dean Valois,' I said.

'That's Val-wah,' she responded, emphasizing the French silent S.

'Right,' I agreed, 'but up north we always
pronounce it Vah-loys.'

'Who are you?'

'Harry Valois, from Manchester.'

'What do you want? Actually, no, go on, get out.' She stood up, gesturing at me to leave. She had an imposing build.

'I need-'

'I'm busy. I don't have time fo-'

I started to cry. It was easy.

'Jeez,' she said. 'I didn't mean anything by it. Hey, it's okay.'

'No,' I sobbed.

She put a substantial arm around me, leading me to a chair. 'Here, sit,' she said. 'I'll get you a glass of water.' She left for the other end of the suite of offices, and instead of bursting into the heads office to confront him as I had planned, I sat and watched her hips sway, listened to her stockings sing where her inner thighs rubbed together. 

She returned with the water in a coffee mug that said 'Have a Healthy Day' on the side. I sipped at it, blinking tears from my lashes. She stood watching me.

'What's wrong?' she asked finally.

"Kate?" I said.

'That's me.'

'I'm Harry. Thanks for the water,' I said, standing up. I felt suddenly foolish for the uncle act and embarrassed that I'd come.

Just then the head of the medical school, Dean Charles Valois, came out of his office, and we both stared at him. He was tall and silver-haired, with a well-worn face.

'I'll be off now, Kate,' he said. 'I have my 3pm meeting.'

'Yes, Sir,' she said.

'Damn, I forgot my briefcase.' He turned and disappeared into his office for a moment.

Kate faced me. 'Go, now!' she whispered. 'Now's your chance to talk to him... your uncle.' She laughed as she said uncle.

I shook my head. In person, the head appeared powerful, respectable, and untarnished, not capable of what I suspected he had done. I backed toward the outer door. Kate followed.

'Harry, come on, now's-'

'See you, then,' the head said, and he sailed by us, out the door.

'Go after him,' she urged, turning me around and pushing at my back.

'Forget it.'

She seemed to deflate, as if whatever I needed that was so important that it was worth lying for had kept her upright.

'Oh, Harry,' she sighed, shaking her head. 'I don't know when he'll be back, and-'

'Thanks, Kate. Thanks for the water and your help. It means a lot to me.'

'You're welcome. What ... '

'It's too complicated to explain.'

'It's none of my business, anyway.'

Kate settled herself once more behind her desk and onto a chair on wheels, and as I watched her it struck me that my actions were probably the only thing that made her job interesting that day, providing her with a bit of gossip in an otherwise routine day.

'Bye,' I said, but instead of turning to leave, I hesitated and considered. Finally I pulled a chair and sat down, facing her. She shuffled some papers and looked at me. Her expression now serious.

'I am busy,' she said.

'I'm in trouble.'

'I'm sorry, but-'

'My husband is a medical student here.'

'Oh?' She brightened. 'Who is he? I know all of them.'

'Louis Tom-'

'Tomlinson!' she exclaimed. Then her face grew heavy, and she said, 'My, you are in trouble.'

She knew. My body must've sagged, because she reached over and grabbed my hand. 'I didn't mean it like that,' she said, 'I'm sorry.'

'You know?'

'Oh gosh, everybody does.'

'Everybody?'

'Well, just about.'

'How does everybody know? It's supposed to be confidential.'

She blushed deep crimson. 'I'm sorry,' she said. 'He's a great guy. I feel real bad for him. It wasn't right what they did.'

'They?'

'Uh... you know, whoever told.'

'Who told you?'

'Danny.'

'Danny?'

Danny Carvacchi. Him and Louis used to...date? Years ago, mind.' Again, she blushed.

'Oh,' I said. 'Who told the programs, Kate?'

'The programs?'

'The psychiatry programs Louis applied to.'

'I wouldn't know anything about that. That's real complicated and all.'

'The information must've leaked from here.'

'I don't know about any of it.' She let go of my hand, and of me.

'It isn't fair that he didn't get in,' I persisted. 'He's first in the class-'

'There's more to it than that. Mr Valois had to weigh-' She clapped her hand over her mouth, to plug her own leak, her eyes wide 'Please leave,' she said, standing.

'So it was the HIV that kept him out of the residencies?'

'Do you want me to call security?'

'I want you to tell me what you know!'

She came around to my side of the desk; I followed her with my eyes. 'Go,' she said, 'now. I didn't tell you anything.'

'Mr Valois told the programs, didn't he?' I said, remaining in my seat.

'I don't know what you're talking about.' She started to drag at my chair with me in it; it scraped a plush growl across the mauve carpet.

'You do know,' I said.

'I do not!' She stopped pulling the chair and started to tear up, 'please, you're going to get me in trouble,' she said.

'Please tell me,' I repeated.

We looked at one another, but despite my continued urging, she would say no more.

I left.

***

'Louis!' I called as I entered our flat, slamming the door behind me. 'I need the names of the programs you applied to!' I reached into the fridge for orange juice and an apple; I hadn't eaten all day. I drank greedily from the container; a cold trickle dripped down my neck to my chest, absorbed by my shirt.

'Lou?" I asked, walking into the bedroom. There was a note on the bed in Lou's writing: WENT TO THE HOSPITAL, CALL YOU LATER. I LOVE YOU.

The hospital. He must've decided to go to his elective this afternoon, I thought as I wandered back to the kitchen. I emptied a jar of peanut butter onto a hunk of bread and began munching, thinking.

Just then the phone rang, startling me.

'Hello?' I croaked. I cleared my throat before repeating, 'Hello?'

'Mr Tomlinson-Styles?' a man asked from the other end of the line.

'Yes, this is Harry,' I said.

'My name's Dr. Buchanan. Mr. Tomlinson asked me to call to-'

'Mr. Tomlinson?'

'Yes.'

'Mark Tomlinson?'

'Louis Tomlinson.'

'Oh, right, sorry. Why didn't he call himself, is he okay?'

'He's having a bronchoscopy  Didn't he tell you he was coming to the hospital? This is Harry Tomlinson-Styles, Louis Tomlinson's husband?'

'Yes, but I thought he was in the hospital for school today, not, not...a procedure.'

'He's okay, Mr. Tomlinson-Styles, really. The test is routine for his condition.'

'What does he have?' I asked.

'He hasn't told you?'

'I know about the HIV, if that's what you mean. But what is this test for...is he sick?'

He hesitated, then said, 'This is nothing serious. I'm sure everything will be okay.'

'It will?'

'Yes.'

I laughed dryly 'For how long?' I listened to a dull silence before mumbling, 'Thank you' and hanging up. Of course he didn't know. He was just a doctor.

I went to look for Louis at the hospital.

'Hi, love,' he said from a stretcher in the hallway outside the bronchoscopy suite, looking very much like a patient.

'What's going on?' I asked, leaning over to kiss him, trying not to cry.

'Nothin.'

'You're sick-'

'Who said that? Dave?'

'Dave?'

'Didn't he phone you?'

'A Dr. Buchanan called. He said-'

Eric laughed outright. 'Is that what he called himself? That arsehole.'

'What's going on? Tell me!' I frowned.

He struggled to sit up, then fell back and laughed again. 'Dave Buchanan's a uni friend of mine, a third-year involved in this research project. Didn't I tell you about it?'

'No.'

'Oh, sorry, I agreed to get a bronchoscopy every six months, to see if I'm infected wi' pneumocystis before I have symptoms. They pay me.'

'But you're on prophylaxis bactrim.'

'They wanna see how well it's working,' he smiled and sat up. He was wearing a hospital gown. 'Come here, babe' he said. I moved closer; we embraced. 'I love you,' he murmured into my hair.

'You're done, Louis' a young man wearing a short white coat said, walking up to the stretcher. I let go of Louis and took a step 
back.

'Thank you ever so much, Dr. Buchanan,' Louis said with a smirk.

'Is this Harry?' Dave asked, sizing me up.

'Yeah,' Louis said. 'H, this is Dave.'

'Hi,' I said.

'Sorry if I scared you on the phone.'

'Is he okay?" I asked. 'Does he have pneumocystis?'

'No,' Dave answered.

'Do you have my prescription?' Louis asked.

'Here.' Dave handed Louis a piece of paper and then said thank you and good-bye. He walked down the hall, headed toward a bright future, where Louis couldn't follow.

'I'll get dressed,' Louis said.

'Good.'

He disappeared into a toilet off the hall as I waited, with my thoughts, smacking up against time. It had suddenly picked up speed, and seemed to be gobbling itself up, making me feel suffocated.

Fifteen minutes later, Louis and I left the hospital arm in arm. 'What do you want to do?" he asked.

'What do you want to do?'

'How about coffee?'

'Okay.'

We stopped on the path in front of the hospital, and I reached up and ran my hands through his messy hair, remembering the time we had first met for coffee, the morning after we had met. Louis smiled that half-smile I loved so much. I smiled back. We started walking.

We didn't make it to get coffee. We got distracted along the way by a game of football, scraped together by a bunch of kids in a small grassy square. We sat on a bench and held hands.

'Are you scared?' I asked after a long while. 

'Sometimes.'

I blinked hard to keep from crying.

He went on. 'I could live just as long as you Harry, even wi' this. It can be managed. I know I said I've seen people die of AID's, but we caught this before it became that. I could be okay. That's what keeps me calm. But then I think of being away from you. Leaving you here alone and never seeing yah again, and I get scared.'

My tears began to flow. "Then we won't let that happen.'

He took my hand. 'Are you scared?' he asked.

'I'm trying not to be.'

'I won't ask yah to do anything you don't wanna do.'

'Like what? What do you mean?'

'Nothing. Forget it.'

'No, what did you mean?'

He shrugged and looked away.

'Louis, we're going to grow old and die together. Every thing will be okay. Promise me, please.'

He nodded, 'I promise,' but he didn't meet my gaze.

Chapter Text

We rode Midnight to my parents' house a few days later. Despite his medication, Louis was getting noticeably sick, therefore we had decided it would be best to tell them about the HIV.

When we arrived at the house, where everything appeared benignly the same, untouched, Louis placed a reassuring hand on the small of my back, and we entered the front doors.

It wasn't until dinner was on the table, and we were halfway through our spaghetti when I said, 'Um... I, uh, I have something to tell you,' I glanced at Louis; he met my gaze with a small nod. 'Uh... God, this is hard." I sighed, trying not to cry as I looked them over: Mum, Robin, Gemma and her husband Michal. They were expectant and eager, with a slice of worry in between.

'What is it, sweetie?' Mum asked, setting her fork down. 'Are you sick?'

'No, Mum. But... but...Louis is...' I saw the faces around me drop as I continued, 'Louis has HIV.'

My words were like the invisible whiff of an airborne infection, spreading rapidly from my lips and into the consciousness of the people I loved most in the world. I watched as it registered on their faces, reflected in stages of bewilderment and pain, each one different, and yet the same. I expected someone to speak; it didn't come. For the first time ever, my family could not think of an exaggeration to make it better, because they could not think of a single thing worse.

Then Lou said, 'Harry's not infected,' reassuring them that there's always something worse.

Robin stood and went to Louis, he knelt down beside his chair and held him, silently and softly weeping. Soon Mum did the same, and eventually the rest of us joined standing, hugging, and crying.

After dinner we sat in the living room and all the questions were asked and answered:

'How did you get it?'
'Is Harry at risk?'
'Is it still fatal?'
'There are medications now, aren't there?'
'What's an opportunistic infection?'

Above all, though, they wanted to help, and the first thing mum did was buy us a holiday. We had often spoke about wanting to go camping together, so mum booked us a plot at a site close to Southend on Sea.

I pretended not to think there was a chance this could be our final trip together, our first and last chance to go camping. Ever since that day at the hospital, it had become increasingly hard not to notice each moment, not to think of the end, or of Louis getting more sick. I knew the best thing I could do for him was to enjoy the time we had, to focus on keeping him healthy. I had to frequently remind myself that it wasn't the 90s anymore and that his chances of survival were significantly higher.

***

'What dya think of this as a camping hat?' Louis asked a fortnight later as we packed our rented car in preparation for the trip.

'A bucket hat?' I said, laughing at the black hat covered in red and orange flames, it looked like it had been taken right out of the 00s.

'All the young uns are wearing them' he winked.

'Good idea.' I smiled, looking him over, still muscular and sexy, still a head-turner. To all appearances, nothing wrong.

He looked me over as well. 'I got you a hat too,' he said, pulling something out of a bag. He hid it behind his back.

'What is that?" I asked, trying to grab his arm.

'Your hat, sir,' he said pulling a pink cowboy hat out from behind his back and putting it on my head with a flourish, adjusting it so that it lay at the proper angle.

Louis knew what he was doing; it was hard to be serious in those hats. We climbed into the car and drove away, outlines of recent smiles lingering on our faces. It had been at least five minutes since I had thought of the HIV; I was beginning to appreciate that.

It was late afternoon when we started out, and the motorway was jammed: gritty asphalt radiating heat, the odour of melting tar. But as the light grayed, we made it to open road, where the wind swirled warm through our windows. We laughed, joked, and sang, Louis' feet propped on the dashboard, me driving, each mile giving perspective to our world.

It was eight-thirty by the time we stopped for dinner at a small garage side diner along the way. Its sign read HAROLD'S GOOD FOOD in blinking red neon.

'It can't be too bad,' Louis commented as we got out the car. 'It's named after you, H.'

I laughed.

We ate greasy American style burgers and french fries, coleslaw. We had a couple beers too. The first swig took me back to the beginning with Louis, the pub, the game we had played, my worries about Camille. I shook my head, wanting to rid myself of those old memories, already crowding the present. I wanted to bring myself to now, to the new memories that we were making.

'Are you Harold?' Louis called across the room to the bartender when we were finished eating.

'Who?' he said.

'Harold, of Harold's Good Food.'

'Hell, no. That dick left years ago. Can't afford a new sign,' he said. Several customers at the bar snickered; they must've been regulars, sporting dingy baseball caps.

'Harold's my ex-husband,' the bartender went on, 'with a capital X.' Laughter twittered around the bar.

Louis got up for more beer as I watched football on a TV the far end of the bar. I think the guys in white were beating the guys in red, but I didn't care; I was tipsy in a way that makes everything seem friendly.

Louis came back. 'That's Jerry,' he said, cocking his head toward the bartender. 'Harold's ex-husband. He were a dick.'

Jerry came and took our plates, which were smeared with grease and ketchup. 'You kids enjoy it?' he asked.

'Yes,' we said in unison.

'Fine. That's fine,' Jerry responded. He wiped the table with a frayed dishtowel, then stepped back and looked at us.

'You newlyweds?' he asked.

We shook our heads, trying to stay suspended by humor.

'Well, you ought to be,' he declared. 'Fine-looking couple, you two.'

'Thanks,' we mumbled.

A guy from the bar chimed in without turning around, 'now that's saying a hell of a lot, Jer, you recommending marriage' This brought hoots from the others at the bar and from Jerry, a firm snap of the towel against the guy's behind. He yelped; the others laughed louder. What a life, I thought. Another beer and it all looked that much better.

We were drunk and unfit to drive, having remained at Harold's for hours, moving ourselves to the bar, Louis bucket hat and my pink cowboy hat distinguishing us from the others there.

The place closed at one; so we bade our farewells and left for the direction we had parked the car. The moon was full and bright, making Louis skin appear dead white, and I slipped his hat off, marveling again at the striking blueness of his eyes.

We smiled, stumbling into the night, whispering, and giggling, until we came upon the small woods behind our car: green leaves made midnight black, trees with heavy trunks and thick roots. We lay on the grass just before the trees, staring up for some minutes, the sky light in contrast to the leaves.

Sex that night in the dark, cool back seats of the rental car was intimate and satisfying, the definition of the phrase 'making love.' In the morning we woke up, cuddled together for warmth, with dry mouths and headaches made worse by dawn in our eyes.

With daylight and sobriety, the town's shabbiness was stark, and Harold's had been transformed into a grubby bar with rust stains on its once white sides. We sped away and stopped up the road for breakfast at a McDonald's in a service station: sausage mcmuffins, pancakes and a questionable amount of greasy hash browns.

'What dya wanna do today?' Louis asked as we drank a second polystyrene cup of coffee.

'I thought we were going to Southend on Sea,' I said. "Where are we anyway?"

'We're in love,' he said, laughing. I joined him.

'Wanna go exploring first?' he asked, taking my hands between both of his, turning them palm up and kissing them while peering up at me.

'Yeah.'

We made a plan to stop at any location we fancied, either because it was beautiful, exceedingly ugly, historically significant, or inexplicably interesting. This led to a lot of pauses, a picnic, and sex on a riverbank, with black and white cows as silent, chewing witnesses.

The ugliest place we beheld was a power station, a complex gray latticework of pipes and nozzles, tanks and smoking stacks. Yet, the muted light of dusk turned it into twinkling silver splendor, transforming it into urban art, surpassed in beauty only by an orange-purple sunset we saw, the sun sinking behind a hill, a white farmhouse glowing pink in the distance.

We pitched our tent on the third day travelling in the campsite mum had booked. The stars were glittering holes in the sky, peeping through from a distant universe. We stared up for hours, our necks stiff from the strain, and I wondered if heaven was there, on our side or the other, through the holes made by the stars. I hoped it was near.

That night, in the dim glow of the tent, I listened to Louis sleeping, his breath warm on my hand, then my cheek, my neck. I studied his lips, slightly parted and almost blue in that light, his face yet uncreased. I tried to imagine what he would look like at thirty-five, fifty, seventy, old in looks but still full of eager energy and compassion. I thought of waking him, but he was peaceful, and I was glad of it.

I wiggled out of our sleeping bag and crawled through the flap of the tent. Standing half naked in the cloud-sifted moonlight near the embers of our dying fire, I began to hum. It was low, simple vibration without tune, the sound carrying into the fields surrounding our campsite.

After half an hour or so, I crawled back into the tent, snuggling once again against Louis.

'I love you,' Louis said sleepily.

'I love you,' I answered.

He rolled over and looked at me 'Love is worth it, int it?' he asked.

'Yes.'

It began to rain and we fell asleep to the sound of it pattering against the fabric of the tent.

Chapter Text

I was walking home one evening after a day of flying, when I noticed a leaflet posted on a board in the subway. I stopped to take a quick look. It read: 'HIV/AIDS SUPPORT GROUP. Wednesdays 7:30 P.M., Marchmont Community Centre, 62 Marchmont Street!' I read it again, stared at it for a minute, then took a photo of it on my phone.

***

Wednesday night, 7:30 p.m. 62 Marchmont Street. Louis and I approached a navy building with flyers all over it's blurred out windows. 'Marchmont Community Centre' was painted on the front in a silver font. Laughter and passionate voices spilled out onto the street. 

I glanced at Louis; he smiled and whispered, 'Me name's Harry, and I'm a HIV survivor.'

I smiled slightly, squeezing his hand and we walked forward, up to the splintered wooden door that chimed when we pulled it open. 

We could see a collection of people talking, sipping at drinks in plastic cups, standing around the large, white room. 

'Go on,' Louis urged. I hesitated, and he reached around me, opening the door wider and guiding me ahead. A man noticed us and waved us inside as he walked over.

'Hello, welcome. Come right on in,' he said. His upper lip was obscured by a wiry blond moustache. 'I'm Gary, and I'm living with AIDS.'

'Hi,' I said, 'I'm Harry. I'm living with Louis,' I gestured to Lou.

'He can't be all that bad,' Gary said, and chuckled. Louis smiled widely.

'No, I mean, uhh, Louis-'

'I have HIV,' Lou interrupted.

'So do we,' Gary said, leading us deeper into the room. 

'Its a nice space...' I said awkwardly, small talk had never been my strong suit. 

Gary smiled sadly, 'Antonio, my partner, set up these meetings, managed to get us in here a few months before we lost him.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Me too,' A shadow passed over Gary's face, erasing small talk, forcing tears to his eyes. 'He was an amazing person,' he said, looking around. He pulled at his mustache.

'Hey, Gary, are we starting?' a man called from a cluster across the room.

Gary excused himself and I moved closer to Louis, who was examining photographs that had been put out on the table. We helped ourselves to water before joining the others around the table on white plastic chairs. 

'I guess we should start with introductions,' Gary said.

'You're on, Virgil.'

The man next to me, an African Brit with skin like midnight and a clean-shaven head, said, 'I'm Virgil, I'm a PWA-'

'That stands for Person with AIDS,' Gary interjected.

'Right,' Virgil said. 'I've had the virus since the nineties. I'm a survivor. I need laughter tonight. I need to cry. And I need love.'

There were nods and 'um-hmms' around the circle.

The man next to Virgil was small and delicate, with a thin voice. 'I'm Anthony,' he said. 'I'm HIV symptomatic. I'm a survivor, and I'm pissed.'

This brought nods from the group. Next to Anthony was Darryl. His cheeks were inverted, his face blotted with purple lesions. 'I'm Darryl,' he said. "I'm a survivor with full-blown AIDS. I need a cure, not these useless meds they claim help.'

'Let's chant for a real cure,' a woman, not yet introduced, said.

'Wait,' Gary said. 'We have new members.'

Louis squeezed my hand, then kissed it, rubbing it against his face, warmly familiar.

'My name's Cat,' the next man in the circle said. 'I'm not gay, now, so don't be getting the wrong idea.' The others rolled their eyes, a few shook their heads. 'But I've got the virus. I got it from a whore-'

'Welcome back, Cat,' Gary said. "What do you need tonight?'

'What I need is heroin. But don't get me wrong, now, I ain't been doin' the shit. I need friends who ain't on it, ya know?' He pulled at the heavy silver zipper on the front of his black leather jacket; it had an arching, hissing, red-and-white cat painted on it.

'We know, brother,' Virgil said.

Gary was next. 'I've got AIDS and I'm a survivor. Me and Antonio...'

'God rest his soul,' Anthony said.

'Amen,' Virgil chimed.

Gary went on, 'I started this group with Antonio seven years ago.'

'Amen.'

"This group is for us,' Gary said, 'for our survival.' He fell silent, suddenly saddened, and there was a momentary pause in the room, as if those gathered were considering this, scanning the past seven years.

Then Gary smiled and looked to the person next to him, grasping her hand briefly.

'I'm Kirsten, or Kristine, I haven't decided,' she said in an airy voice. She was thin, with pink lipstick surrounded by coarse black facial hair, a coordinated knit pantsuit, and pink patent leather pumps with matching purse. She said, 'I'm a survivor with HIV, no symptoms.'

'Amen,' Virgil said.

Kirsten/Kristine continued. Just call me K until I decide. I haven't decided about the, you know, the surgery, either, so KK's better anyway.'

'Thanks, K,' Gary said.

'You're welcome.'

'What do you need tonight?' Darryl asked KK.

'Hmmm... well, I guess I would like that surgery. But then, I haven't decided about it yet, and-'

'Thanks, K,' Gary repeated, and looked to the next person, to Louis' left.

'I'm Kiki, not KK, Ki-ki. I've got AIDS, and I'm a survivor. I need to scream.' Her voice was deep and she had short, slick black hair, bronze skin, and a wide face with a broad nose. She turned to Louis, as if to pass the baton, and glared. I thought she would scream right then, she looked so angry, but instead, he met her gaze, and she smiled.

'Louis Tomlinson,' Louis said. 'Glad to be here. I have HIV, no symptoms, low T-cells. I need...' He looked to me, and I suddenly realised I didn't know the answer. 'I needa make Harry happy,' he gripped my hand. A few eyebrows were raised; I noticed a sidelong glance. 

'I'm Harry,' I said, 'I'm HIV negative...I...I'm sorry.'

Silence ensued, followed by knee-slapping laughter, howling, gut-wrenching laughter that spread like a wave through the ranks of the circle, from Gary and Virgil, all around. 

Louis and I joined in, but not with gusto, just courtesy.

Amid this, Kiki screeched, "The only place in the fucking universe where anyone would be sorry to say that!'

It took a few minutes for the laughter to die down. Finally, Gary said, 'Okay, Harry. What do you need besides to rid yourself of survivor's guilt?'

Survivor's guilt...

'Harry?' Gary said.

'Oh... right. I need advice,' I answered.

'Okay,' Gary said. 'Let's start.'

Virgil began. 'I've seen so much death going down around me, so many of my friends died of this in the old days, I don't know what to do. Sometimes I cry, sometimes I try to laugh, but in the end, love was taken from me. There's no undoing that. I don't know why I stayed when they all had to leave.'

Anthony took Virgil's hand.

'How many friends have you lost, Gary?' Virgil asked.

'Too many, my friend.'

'Me too.'

'They tell us we'll live a normal life, they tell us take the meds and you'll be fine. They don't tell you there's still plenty dying of this shit,' Kiki said.

'If you Google how many people die of AIDs in the UK it doesn't give you a straight answer, it's like they're trying to cover it up,' Anthony added.

'797 deaths last year,' Gary answered, 'but that's only 0.7% of people living with HIV & AIDs so the government classes that as a success story, like all of those people didn't matter.' 

'Anybody heard about any new treatments?' Kiki asked.

Anthony answered, 'I heard about this fungus that grows-'

'Fungus!' KK said. 'Fungus is bad for you.'

'Not this kind,' Anthony said.

'Anyway,' Cat said, 'friends is more important to me than treatments.'

'Were all yer friends addicts?' Louis asked.

'Hell, yeah. Nobody else would hang with me.'

'You didn't want to hang with anybody else,' KK said. 'I remember when you first came here, you were still strung out-'

'All right, all right. Leave me alone,' Cat said, scowling at KK.

'I will not,' she said. 'Like it or not, you're my friend, Cat.' She smiled triumphantly; he grunted and shifted in his chair, looking away.

'What kind of advice do you need, Harry?' Gary asked.

'I want to sue the residency programs that discriminated against Louis.'

'You applying for citizenship, man?' Cat asked.

'No,' I said, confused, 'Louis in med school-'

'Congratulations.'

'More power to you.'

'Amen.'

'But,' I continued, 'even though he's the best in the class, the residencies wouldn't give him a spot, because-'

'They're assholes, that's why,' Kiki said.

'And,' I said, 'they must've found out about the HIV, and then they didn't accept him, and now we don't have enough money for a lawyer-'

'Welcome to the "HIV-Infected, We're Treated like the Scum of the Earth Club," Darryl said. 

'Ain't that the truth,' Virgil commented.

'But,' I began, 'it's not legal-'

'You a doctor, man?' Cat asked Louis.

'Not yet-'

'Like prescriptions and stuff?' Cat asked.

'Leave him alone,' KK admonished, reaching around Gary to hit Cat on the arm.

'I's just asking. Shit,' Cat said.

Louis said, 'We needa find a lawyer. Does anyone here know one?'

'How about the AIDS Project?' Darryl said. 'They have a legal department.'

'I volunteer there,' Anthony said. 'I can ask.'

'Great, thank you,' I said with a shy smile.

'What do you need, Gary?' Louis asked.

Gary smiled. 'I need to give.'

'You do, man. Every week,' Cat said.

'Amen.'

'Are you ready for the chant?' Gary asked. 

They all nodded and stood; Louis and I did the same, looking at each other, wondering. 

'Are you ready?' Gary asked again. The group nodded and everyone clasped hands. We watched as the rest of the group closed their eyes and began to chant 'AIDS cure now, AIDS cure now, AIDS cure now.' 

Then we joined in; I could hear Louis distinctive accent, I closed my eyes, began to chant with the others, to the rhythm of their words.

Chapter Text

The phone woke me at eight the following morning. It was Anthony, his voice thin and silvery. 

'Harry?' he asked.

'Yes, who's this?"

'Anthony, from the group.'

'Oh. Hi.'

'I'm at the AIDS Project. I've got a lawyer here. He wants to talk to you.'

I sat up with Louis still snoring beside me. 'Fantastic,' I said. There was a shuffling noise on the other line as the phone was passed over.

'Mr Tomlinson-Styles?' an Irish accent questioned.

'Yes, is this the lawyer?'

'My name is Niall Horan. I'm a legal consultant at the AIDS Project. Anthony tells me you have a discrimination suit.'

'Are you a real lawyer?' I asked.

'As real as they get,' he said with a laugh.

'I'll be there in twenty minutes.'

'I'll look forward to meeting you.'

"Thanks. Bye.' I hung up and ran for the shower.

I parked Midnight, sprinting up the steps and through the front door of the AIDS Project building. It was solid concrete and glass, rigid.

'I'm here to see a lawyer,' I told the receptionist, Niall somebody.'

'Horan. Down the hall to the left, down the next hall on the right, second door on the right.'

'Thanks,' I said, and hurried away, my scuffed black motorcycle helmet beneath my arm.

The door to Niall's office was slightly ajar. It had a sign on it that read LEGAL DEPARTMENT, and below that a round sticker, a little tilted, that someone had tried unsuccessfully to scrape off. It read: WE'LL SUE THE ASSHOLES!

I knocked.

'Come in, please,' a voice said.

I entered. A slim yet muscular white man with brunette hair sat behind a chipped brown desk. He reached over it to shake my hand. 'I'm Niall,' he said.

'Hi, I'm Harry Tomlinson-Styles.'

'Pleased to meet you, Mr Tomlinson-Styles. Have a seat.'

'Call me Harry, the surnames a mouthful,' I said with a shy smile as I sat.

'All right, Harry. And I'm Niall to you.'

'Thanks.'

'First, we need to get a few things straight. You can see I'm in a wheelchair. Most people don't mention it, trying to be polite I guess, but it's there, so let's get it out of the way right now. Ask me anything you want about it.'

'It's none of my business-'

'Ask.' He was firm, almost angry. He had a voice that rumbled; I could practically hear it in the courtroom, arguing Louis' case, forceful, convincing, intelligent.

'Okay,' I agreed. 'I... I... well, what...?' Niall stared at me as I stammered, his eyes direct, waiting behind black-rimmed glasses. 'What... what happened?'

'Got stabbed in the back... literally,' he laughed slightly.

'Stabbed?'

'Drunk lads fighting in a pub. I got in the way.'

'That's horrifying.'

'Yeah'

'I'm sorry."

He nodded, 'Now, tell me what's happening with ...' He looked down at a yellow legal pad on his desk. 'With Louis Tomlinson.'

'He's my husband. They've denied him a residency.'

'They?' Niall asked. I watched as he scribbled notes on the pad.

'The medical programs he applied to.'

'How do you know the rejections have to do with discrimination?'

'He's the best-'

'You're married to him.'

'Yes.' He stopped writing and looked at me over his glasses. I added, 'But he is the best.'

'Can you prove that?'

'Uh-huh. Board scores, grades, evaluations, class ranking-they're all in his file at school.'

'Louis is HIV-positive?'

'He tested positive after a needle stick injury at the hospital.'

'Was he tested at the hospital?'

'At Employee Health. They reported it to a special committee.'

'What committee?'

'A committee that decides if hospital personnel who test HIV-positive can keep working with patients.'

'And they concluded he could?'

'Yes.'

'Was someone on the committee in a position to tell the programs about Louis' HIV status?'

'The head of the medical school. He's in charge of the students' residency applications. He was the one who told Louis he didn't get a residency.'

'So you think he informed the programs.'

'Yes, especially after the way his assistant, Kate, acted.'

'And how was that?'

'She said it was complicated why Louis didn't get a residency, and that the head had to weigh...'

'Weigh what?'

'I don't know. After that she clammed up. Then she started crying.'

"Crying?'

'Uh-huh, it was weird. And before that she practically dragged me out of the office.'

'I see.'

'She knows something.'

'It would appear so. Go on.'

'I think the head didn't want to harm his reputation with those programs. He didn't want to send them a student with HIV because that would make them reluctant to take students from the school in the future.'

'Hmmm...' Off came the glasses; Niall rubbed the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger. 'Hmmm...' he repeated, his eyes closed, his head bowed.

'Can we sue the programs for discrimination?' I asked.

Niall opened his eyes, raised his head, replaced his glasses, and said, 'It won't be easy.'

'I know.'

'Does Louis realise that?'

'Yes, he does.'

'If this Kate? knows something, she'll be a key witness. Discrimination will be hard to prove unless we can show the programs knew about the HIV.'

'Right.' I waited, watching him, holding my breath, hoping.

Finally, he said, 'Get me a list of the residency programs, Louis' class ranking, board scores and evaluations, a release of medical records, and get the man himself in here-is he healthy enough?'

'Yes. Yes, he is. You're taking the case?'

'No, I'm winning the case.'

'Who are you?' I asked with a smile.

He laughed; it reverberated across the expanse of his desk. We shook hands.

'Thank you,' I said. 'I can't-'

'That's something else we have to get straight. No money and no thanks. My job is to fight the bad guys. You just keep bringing 'em to me.'

I smiled, nodded, and left.

***

Louis met with Niall that afternoon, while I was at work, and by the following week the lawyer had obtained Louis' records and was ready to file the suit. According to Niall cases like Louis' fell under the Equality Act 2010, which declared it illegal to discriminate based solely on HIV status.

I met Louis at a pub near our flat that evening, after I was through with work; he was there when I arrived. The sun had set, and he sat at our usual table by the window. Unseen, I stood in the doorway for several minutes, studying him like I had almost four years before, when we had first met up at a coffee shop. He was losing weight; although still handsome, he was thin. He coughed periodically, dry and raspy; I had noticed and ignored it over the past week. His intensity was the same, however, and the smile that broke it when he realised I was there was unchanged, revealing my Louis.

'Hi,' I said, kissing him and slipping into the chair across from him, where my wine waited.

Hi,' he answered. "That lawyer's really summit.'

'I know.' I touched my lips to my glass.

'He almost makes me wish I could be a lawyer.'

'Funny,' I said, 'he made me feel that way too.'

'You'd make a good one.'

'You too.'

We held hands across the table and I skimmed my fingers up his arm, beneath the short sleeve of his white T-shirt, over the stag tattoo. He felt clammy and looked tired. He was getting sick. We both knew it.

Chapter Text

The week before his graduation, Louis was admitted to hospital where we found out he had Pneumocystis pneumonia, or PCP, a fungal infection affecting the lungs as well as Mycobacterium avium-intracellulare infection. Both were treatable, one had a mortality rate of 20-40% and the other 25%.

I lay beside Louis on his hospital bed that first night, his eyes sunken and bright with fever, his cheekbones angular, still beautiful.

'I love you, H,' he said.

I answered 'I love you.'

He slept, crystal fluid dripping into a vein in his arm, his breathing rapid and shallow. I listened to him living, tried to hold it in my hand. Trying to convince myself he would be okay.

Some hours later, my neck sore, my mouth dry. I sat up and sighed, watching him. He slept the deep sleep of serious illness, no space for dreams, no need for nightmares. I kissed him, his lips dry and hot, an exaggerated pink-on-white.

When I stood, anguish ripped through the dark, hard against me. I stepped into the hallway to breathe, to worry. I slumped down on the floor outside Louis' room, and cried.

At around 3:00 A.M., I went back to Louis' bedside, stroking his cheek in his sleep. He awoke, his fever gone, and he held his arm out to me, beckoning me to cuddle into his side. 

***

On the third day we were told Louis' body had become resistant to his HIV medication, and that this had been missed in his previous check up. They had taken blood tests to assess the damage and discovered his HIV, which had already gone years untreated before being discovered, had now progressed to AIDs. That paired with two opportunistic infections were not a good sign. Our world collapsed.

*** 

Five days into Louis' hospitalisation and he was gaining weight, feeling better and better. I hadn't left his side during this time except to go home and change clothes or get something to eat from the cafe, and I had thought of nothing but his fever curve, lessening cough, life-saving IV treatments, and the prognosis the doctor had given.

'Good morning, love,' Louis whispered on that fifth morning, waking me immediately. It was unusual for him to waken before me. The sun was just rising, infusing the hospital room with a hopeful pink warmth.

'Good morning,' I answered, rising out of the armchair to go to him.

I kissed him, taking his hand in mine. 'How do you feel?' I asked.

'Okay.'

'Just okay?'

He glanced away, out the window. 'Look at the sunrise,' he said.

I followed his gaze. The sun lit the clouds with a copper rim of fire; it was heart wrenchingly beautiful. 'Um-hmm,' I said, then looked back at him. He continued to look out the window, his expression far off.

'What is it?' I asked.

'I almost got there,' he said.

'Where?'

'To graduation. I almost made it. Almost became a doctor.'

I gasped, twisting my head to see the calendar. It was June 13th 2020. How could I have forgotten? 'Louis...' I said. We locked eyes.

'I got damn close, H.'

'But you did finish. Graduation's only a ceremony.'
'You're right.' He glanced away again, tears filling his eyes, 'It's only a ceremony.'

We were silent for a few minutes. I didn't know how to make it better; my mind scrambled for words that could make a difference.

Finally, he said, 'When I found out about me HIV, I knew there might be a lot of things I'd never do.' I started to tear up. He continued. 'I accepted that, but at least I could do a placement. When that fell apart, I set me sights on just making it through med school, hanging on til graduation.'

'You did, Lou. And we'll get you a placement.'

He turned toward me, bringing my hand to his lips. 'I love you, that's what matters, H. As me strength keeps fading, you've been strong enough for both of us.'

I let out a single sob, 'Your strength isn't fading, you're better every day...'

'I'm dying, H. Not today, but they gave me what, two years tops?'

'No!' I stood. 'I'll find your doctor. You're going to your graduation.'

'It's quarter to six int morning.'

'I don't care. I'll wake them up.'

'I don't have the strength...'

'Then I'll walk through the procession with you.'

We stared at each other. Suddenly, something I had carelessly forgotten seemed vital to his survival. Yes, it was a ceremony, but more importantly it was a mark on a page of his life, a life with so few pages remaining, where the possibility for achievement was sputtering under the weight of illness. 

***

I had to go home to get clothes for Louis, and for me. I also had to shower.

'Harry!' a young girl was sitting on the outside steps to our flats. She stood and waved as I climbed off of Midnight. My breath caught. She was older than the last time I had seen her, one of the Tomlinson twins. Beside her stood a shorter blonde girl, her twin and another girl who was almost identical to the twins, yet older. They all looked like Louis. 

I had completely forgotten that we had reached out to all of Louis' sisters to invite them to his graduation. Lottie lived in Paris and was a make up artist, Fizzy had moved in with Lottie the moment she turned 18 and was studying fashion.

'Hi, Harry' Daisy said, approaching me as I took my helmet off.

'Daisy? Phoebe' I asked.

'In the flesh.'

'You both grew up,' I mumbled with a small smile. They were 16 now and looked different with long, darker brown hair and light make up.

'I'm Fizzy, and this is Lottie,' Fizzy said, extending her hand, 'Where the hell is Louis?'

They all stared at me, waiting.

'It is the thirteenth, right?' Lottie said. 'Did we muck up the date?'

'No,' I said. 'The graduation's today. I'm glad you're here. Let's go upstairs.'

They followed me into the apartment. It was stale, messy. Not it's usual beautiful self. The younger of the girls sat on the sofa, Lottie took the armchair.

'I have to shower,' I said. 'Do you want a drink?' I opened the fridge; a pungent blue-gray rim of mold had taken hold on its rubber seal. It was empty save for mustard, a desiccated hot dog, one beer. 'I have water,' I said.

'Water, that sounds good,' Phoebe said kindly, her eyes flickering around the room.

'I don't have ice,' I said.

'That's okay-'

'Where is he?' Fizzy asked impatiently.

I turned and faced her.

'Is he at a rehearsal or something?' Lottie asked, giving her sister a look I could not interpret.

'How long have you been waiting?'

'We got here an hour ago,' Daisy said. 'Lotts & Fizz were already here.'

'Sorry,' I said.

Fizzy stood. 'Did you break up? Cause if you did, that's okay, but I want to see me brother. I came a hell of a long way to watch him graduate.'

I sat at the kitchen island, studying my nails. A single tear dripped down the side of my face. I watched it splash on the countertop. 'You'll see him soon,' I said.

'What is it?' Lottie asked kindly, her face betraying worry.

I looked up at her, 'I told him to tell you before now.'

'What?'

'But he didn't want to. He was hoping you wouldn't need to know so soon, or maybe at all.'

'He's not graduating?' Fizzy asked. The twins stared, their brows wrinkling.

'I wish it were that.' I paused. 'He's sick.'

'Sick?' they all said, almost in unison.

'He's in hospital right now. He has AIDS.'

'AIDS?' Phoebe repeated, a look of horror crossing her face.

'HIV or AIDS?' Fizzy asked calmly.

Our eyes met. She looked so like her mother, delicate features, perfectly smooth, but her face was set with resolve, rebellion.

'AIDS,' I said.

'My God,' Fizzy gasped. 'Where'd he get it?'

'I'd rather he tell you,' I said. I sighed a shaky breath, sniffled. 'I have to get back to the hospital.'

'How bad is he?' Lottie asked.

'He has PCP. That's-'

'I know what it is,' Lottie said. 

'You do?'

'Yes. So he has PCP, that's treatable.'

'And an infection.'

'Where?'

'The bloodstream.'

'Is that treatable?'

'Yes, but...'

'It were the drugs that summer, wasn't it?' Lottie interrupted.

'When?' Daisy asked. 

'What drugs?' piped up Phoebe.

'You know?' I said, in surprise.

'We didn't have many secrets,' Lottie answered.

'He did drugs?' Daisy asked in almost a whisper.

'So it were that guy, its his fault. Louis only touched drugs to impress him,' Lottie said. A couple of tears edged out of her eyes. She quickly wiped them away. The twins stood and hugged her, holding her close. She was stiff for a few moments, then her shoulders slumped and she began to sob.

'He's me big brother!' she wailed. Then the twins sobs joined hers. Fizzy pulled all three of them into her arms, her tears silent. I watched them all rock each other, having arrived to celebrate with and to honour their older brother, and instead being met by terror and grief. Their sorrow brought my own to the surface and it spilled over for a moment until I choked it down.

'I have to shower, get dressed and go back,' I said, standing.

They looked at me, their sobs having slowed, tears mottling their faces red.

'Is he still graduating today?' Fizzy asked.

I nodded. 'I'll carry him if I have to.'

Fizzy walked toward me, placing a hand on my shoulder. 'And I'll carry you carrying him if I have to,' she said.

'We all would' Lottie chimed in.

I wept anew, this time with relief. We would carry each other.

***

Louis' sisters and I arrived at the hospital at eleven; Louis was having his IV capped with a Hep-lock in preparation for his shower; the graduation was at one.

When Lou saw his siblings, his face lit up like a hundred floodlights; his smile was wider than I had seen it in weeks.

'Girls!' he yelled. 'You made it!'

They all hugged, Louis' bare bum exposed by the gap in the back of his hospital gown.

'I guess Harry's told yah why I'm here,' Lou said, pulling away to sit on edge of the bed.

'Yeah,' Fizzy said, gulping back tears. 'You look good, though.'

'You too,' Louis answered. 'You kinda look like me.' Fizzy tried to smile.

'We know about the opportunistic infections,' Lottie said, 'and you're gonna fight it every inch of the way, okay. You sure you're okay to go to graduation?'

'Sure,' Louis said, taking my hand.

'It's only a ceremony,' Phoebe said.

'Yeah, don't push yerself for us,' Daisy agreed.

'Right,' Fizzy said. 'Your health is the most important thing. We can celebrate right here.'

'I know it's only a ceremony,' Louis said, looking up at me, 'but I want youse lot to see me graduate, to see that I did it.'

I smiled, trying not to cry again.

'Are Mum and Dad coming?' Lottie asked.

'Oh shit!' I said. 'Did I forget about them too?'

'No,' Louis said. 'No to both questions.'

'Good,' Fizzy answered.

'They couldn't make it,' Louis said in response to my questioning look. 'I guess it's just as well under the circumstances.'

'They don't know?' Fizzy asked.

'No,' Louis said.

'When are you gonna tell them?' Daisy asked.

Louis shrugged.

'Why couldn't they make it?' Phoebe asked, 'I didn't even think to mention it to them before we got the train.'

'Some business meeting Dad had,' Louis answered, standing, 'I guess I better get in the shower while I have the chance.'

'You need help?' I asked.

'No, thanks.' He kissed me, went into the bathroom, and closed the door.

'My God,' Lottie whispered, 'he's so skinny.' Her eyes filled with tears, she sat and began to cry, trying to hold it back. She covered her mouth with her hand, and Daisy sat beside her to place her head on her shoulder.

'He does look like shit,' Fizzy said, 'but don't tell him that.'

'We won't,' Phoebe said sadly.

'Let's try to stay hopeful and upbeat,' Fizzy said, 'it'll be better for him. It'll help him fight. AIDS isn't a death sentence anymore, once he gets rid of these infections he'll be okay.'

They all nodded. Lottie wiped her eyes.

'Its not that simple,' I said, staring at the closed bathroom door, 'his HIV went undiagnosed for years, and he's become resistant to the medication. That's how it progressed to AIDs. They're trying different meds but if they don't work...he could keep getting opportunistic infections. If that happens...' I bit my lip, closed my eyes and sighed, trying to repeat the words Louis' doctor had said, 'then he'll have about 1-2 years at most.'

The girls all froze, so shocked they didn't even cry. Just sat there in silence, my words hanging in the air like a toxic mist.

'Don't you think he should tell your parents that he's sick?' I asked after a few minutes.

'No,' Lottie said.

'But they can help,' Daisy protested.

'Help?' Fizzy said. 'Dad's fucked up everything so far, how could he help?'

'What do you mean?' I asked.

'I mean Dad's a shitty parent. Parents are supposed to protect their kids and support them, but mostly they're supposed to believe them.'

'They aren't perfect,' Phoebe said, blowing her nose, 'but they do love us.'

'No, mum loves us,' Fizzy said, 'as far as I'm concerned, dad stopped being a parent a long time ago.'

'Louis said your dad lost interest in him,' I said.

'That's putting it mildly.'

'You don't know what you're talking about, Fizzy,' Daisy said.

'You don't know what you're talking about,' she answered.

'What are we talking about?' I asked with a confused.

But before either one could answer, Louis emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, grinning. 'You want a show, stay,' he said. 'Otherwise, everybody except Harry scram while I get dressed.'

The girls all left. I sat and watched Louis. He put on a crisp white shirt and a black suit that once fit snug and now hung loosely.

Once he was dressed, I stood, and took his hand. We joined the sisters in the hall and walked out of the hospital, the six of us, together.

***

At the graduation, Louis' sisters and I sat close to the podium, just in case, and the others, my family and Louis' friends, sat high in the dress circle of the auditorium.

We watched Louis as he walked steadily to receive his degree from a smiling, graying patriarch. The crowd applauded, then provided a silent gap, for the following graduate. I don't suppose they noticed, their eyes on the next in line, how slowly Louis walked, and how delicately, as if his measured steps were balanced on the fragile surface of health, beneath which he dared not fall. We sweated; we held our breath; we tried to feel only pride, to shed only tears of simple joy.

When the ceremony was over, and we waited for Louis to join us, a man around my age brushed by me. He stopped and turned back, looking me up and down and then said, 'Harry?'

'Yes?' I asked, wondering if I had seen him before. He stepped toward me. He was beautiful, a few inches shorter than me with an angular and serious face, the sort of face you would expect to see on an underwear model.

'How are you?' he asked.

'Okay, sorry do I know you?'

'No...but I know who you are. Sorry, my name's Danny Carvacchi,' he paused, awkward, before saying, 'I used to date your husband. Sort of. If there's anything I can do... with the, you know...' he glanced around quickly, looking over his shoulder, and added, 'The illness, just ask.'

'Thank you,' I said, my eyes dropping to the floor before searching the crowd for Louis. He was chatting with some classmates, but I could see he was tired, wobbling a little. 'I have to go,' I said, 'Congratulations on graduating.'

'Are you sure you're okay?' Danny asked.

'As okay as possible.'

'You don't look sick.'

'I'm not infected, if that's what you mean.'

'You're not?'

'No.'

'But...I assumed...I mean, you stayed with him?'

'I stayed with him because I love him.'

'Oh, of course,' he said, embarrassed. 'I didn't mean-'

'There's Louis. I have to go.'

'Okay. It was nice meeting you.'

'Yeah, bye.'

'Goodbye, Harry.'

I walked away from him, toward Louis.

***

Later, in Louis' hospital room, we poured prosecco and toasted his success. But although he smiled, he was exhausted, and soon he was sleeping despite the small crowd of family around his bedside.

I sat by his side, sipping from a plastic wine glass, watching as he slept peacefully.

Chapter Text

When Louis was discharged from the hospital it was mid-July 2020.

We tried hard to act normal. I was frantically assisting Niall with research for the lawsuit, scrabbling to get Louis an internship, to grant him what I was desperately denying to myself was his last wish.

'I got the job,' Louis said at dinner one night while a tired fan pushed humid air around us.

'What's that?" I asked.

'That job teaching the surgical assistants, over at the uni.'

'That's nice.' I stabbed at a salad as I pored over a thick stack of photocopies, my day's research from the law library.

'I start tomorrow,' he said.

'Um-hmm.' I munched lettuce, a chunk of carrot.

'I need to work. Otherwise I'll go crazy.'

'Right.'

'I had to fuck three birds just to get the interview.'

'That's nice.'

'For fuck sake, Harry!'

I looked up. 'What?' I asked.

'What's happening here, H?' he looked angry, hurt.

'What do you mean?' I asked, standing and carrying my bowl to the kitchen, rinsing it methodically.

'I'm fucking dying and you won't even speak to me.'

I stared into the porcelain sink, and I began to cry, weak, quiet tears. I felt Louis' arms circle me from behind.

'Is it too hard just to live in the moment?' he asked.

I shook my head vigorously. He held me close, my back fitting too well against his chest. I couldn't make myself turn to meet his eyes, the truth like slow torture burrowing a hole through me.

'Dying changes you, H. Everything is so bright, so beautiful. I just want to appreciate all of it.'

I wanted to be with him, to look at the world through his eyes, but he was the brightest thing in my life, and he was fading.

'It makes you appreciate the smallest moments. Like sharing dinner with your husband, or getting a part-time job,' He turned me around and I was forced to meet his gaze. He smiled and kissed my eyes, tasting my tears. 'Please appreciate these moments Harry. They're all I have left to give this world.'

'No, they aren't,' I said, choking on the effort of speaking through my tears. 'I'm going to get you that internship if it kills me.'

I noticed what I had said too late to pull it back, he sighed and kissed me again, this time on the lips. We held each other for a long time at that sink, under humming fluorescent lights, and I tried my best to appreciate what I had, right there and then.

***

Louis and I drove a rental car to Doncaster in early September. It had been over a year since we had last seen his parents, since we had been there to invite them to our wedding. It was excruciatingly sad to think of those 15 months, of how much had changed in the latter 9 of them.

We drove in silence for most of the way. It wasn't until we are almost there that Louis spoke up.

'This could be the last time I come home,' he said.

'Don't say that,' I said, biting my lip, trying to keep my eyes on the road as tears started to sting at my eyes.

He took my hand. Silence fell over the car again, but not easy like before; grief had been given a voice.

'How are you going to tell them?' I finally asked.

'About the AIDS?'

'Yes.'

'I ent planning on it.'

'You aren't?'

'No.'

'Why not?'

'Why?'

'They're your parents.'

'Dad would be disappointed if he knew.'

'This isn't about letting anyone down, Louis. You have an illness. Actually no, It's not just an illness. It's AIDS. You have AIDS.'

The truth of that statement shut him up. We pulled into his parents' driveway; it made my heart race to see that house again, a home of such offhand neglect, secret heartache, and masked resentment.

I turned off the ignition and we got out. Jay didn't come out to greet us, and Mr Tomlinson wasn't home, but the front door was unlocked, so we carried our bags in and took them upstairs without being noticed.

'Come here,' Louis said, pulling me onto the bed and grabbing a pack of pills and a condom out of his pocket.

'No,' I said, 'your mum might come up,' I climbed back off the bed, glancing at the open door.

Louis lay there looking at me, his thin legs hanging over the side of the bed, his eyes smiling with the mischief of a little boy. I studied him for a minute and then smiled too. I pushed the bedroom door shut and stripped while he did the same, ripping open the condom wrapper with his mouth.

After we were done, we found Jay out sunning herself in the back garden. She had fallen asleep, a sweating glass of wine on the slab next to her sun lounder. The scent of coconut oil wafted from her, mixing with the smell of freshly cut grass from a neighbour's garden. Her eyes were shielded with gold-rimmed sunglasses.

Louis gently touched her arm. She swatted at him, like a fly, but he dodged. He touched her cheek next and her eyes popped open.

'Who? Wha'?' she gasped, yanking her glasses off and sitting up. As she sat up, her bikini top, the straps of which she had untied to tan her chest and shoulders evenly, slid down, very almost revealing her entire chest.

'Mum, it's me,' Lou said as she frantically grasped the bikini straps, tying them into a bow behind her neck.

'Oh, Louis. Thank goodness it's only you, dear. I wasn't expecting you!' She looked at him properly then and gasped, 'Oh, you're thin. Really thin.'

'Mum, Harry is here.' I stepped forward.

'Oh, hello Harry, love' she said, and stood, pulling a long cardigan on over her bikini.

'Hello, Jay,' I said with a soft smile.

'Let's go in, shall we?' she said, gathering her paperback, and wine glass. 'Just getting a little late-season sun.'

We smiled; we were as pale as two ghosts. We followed her into the kitchen.

'Lou,' she went on, 'What on earth has happened to you? I've never seen you this thin?'

'Well, I-'

'What would you like to eat, sweetheart? I have roast beef, turkey-'

'Nothing for me, Mum. Maybe Harry-'

'I'll make you both some ham-and-cheese sandwiches. Go sit in the dining room.'

'Okay,' Louis agreed, and he winked at me as he led the way out of the kitchen. We sat together at the dining room table.

'Here you are,' Jay said a few moments later, emerging from the kitchen carrying two plates piled high with thick sandwiches. She set them down in front of us and left, returning momentarily with two tall glasses of water. 'There,' she said, setting the glasses on the table with a warm smile.

'Thanks, Mum,' Louis said.

'Thank you,' I mumbled.

'You're welcome,' she responded, standing at the side of the table, watching Louis like a hawk as he took a bite. She nodded, satisfied. 'I'd better get dressed,' she said. She gazed at Louis for several moments more, forcing him to eat the sandwich.

***

Dinner with the Tomlinson's that night was just like every other dinner I had had with them. Most of the conversation was about what I was doing: flying, art, law; Louis talked a little about his teaching job. Me Tomlinson spoke a lot about himself and the business.

Although Mr. Tomlinson occasionally stared at his son quizzically, he never asked why he was so thin or why he wasn't doing an internship. When I brought up the subject of Lottie and Fizzy being in London, it was simply ignored by Louis' father, his mum staring sadly at her plate. All talk of how our wedding had gone, future plans or Louis' obviously changed appearance was avoided. In short, it was a pleasant enough evening. It ended again with Scrabble, and again, Mr. Tomlinson won.

The following day we went boating on Askern Boating Lake. As it was 19 degrees, Louis and I wore shorts. I watched Jay stifle a gasp as we entered the living room and she saw Louis' bare legs, so painfully thin. But Mr. Tomlinson didn't miss a beat, scolding us about being late and urging us out the front door.

I started to follow Louis and his dad, but before I could, Jay caught me by the shoulder, spinning me around, her eyes dark and sharp, probing. 'Harry, please tell me the truth about my Louis,' she said.

I stared at her, unsure how to respond.

'Is he... is he sick?' There it lay, the question asked. I hesitated, longing to say 'yes' and tell her about the virus. There was only so much time. Time to reaffirm love, start anew, heal.

'You have to ask him,' I said, practically pleading. Her expression changed, from apprehension to suspicion, disbelief and then sadness.

'Let's go. Mark hates to be late.'

We walked outside and toward the car, where Mr. Tomlinson sat behind the wheel drumming his fingers, and Louis lounged in the back, staring at his phone.

We went sailing, got sunburned, and left the next day.

Chapter Text

We skated on the surface of life, twirling when we could, speeding when we had to and falling when we had no choice. I was amazed that everything appeared to go on as usual in the world around us, as if the most important man in my universe was insignificant to everyone else.

In November 2020, Louis suffered his second bout of PCP and was sentenced to another two weeks in the hospital. He lost his job and filed for disability benefits; I cut back my hours to be with him.

We shared a lot of late nights in that hospital room, but this time he had no energy for much other than sleep. I watched him wither, with no appetite for food, no lust for living. I thought he would die then, but he proved my lack of faith wrong.

It was the night before Louis' discharge from the hospital. I was having difficulty imagining him being at home, so weak and frail.

'Are you sure you'll be able to manage when I'm at work?' I asked.

'Manage what?' he said.

'You know, being alone. Looking after yourself.'

'Don't worry. How much is there to do? Eat cereal? Switch ont TV?'

I sighed. 'I'm not working every day, I'll be home as much as I can be.'

He nodded and we sat in silence for several minutes before he said, 'Horan came to see me today.'

'He did?'

'Uh-huh, when you were down grabbing lunch.'

'Did he speak to you about your testimony?'

'Little bit, but he were here to do me will.'

'Oh.'

'And he asked again if you'd agreed to be me power of attorney.'

'But you don't need that, Lou. That's for people who are really bad off, who can't... it's for people who are dying.'

'If you ent noticed babe... we're pretty much there.'

'You have the advance directive.'

'That deals wi' resuscitation, but there are lots of other things that can happen.'

'You're leaving hospital tomorrow,' I said, standing, swallowing hard. 'Let's just concentrate on getting you well.'

'Okay.'

I looked at my watch; it was seven-fifteen. 'I'd better go if I'm gonna make it to the group,' I said. 'I'll see you later, love.' I lent forward and kissed him on the cheek, he smiled sofly.

I held my tears until I made it to the elevator. There I squatted, my back against the wall, and let sorrow ravage me; it felt better than thinking. Resuscitation, end-of-life issues, power of attorneys-I didn't want any of it! I didn't want to think about any of it.

Finally, the elevator came and I stood and entered, thankful to be alone. Once inside, the doors hesitated, so I banged my fist on the 'Close Door' button repeatedly, eventually rewarded by a stuttering, sluggish response.

I noticed as I hit it one last time that the 'Close Door' button's letters were worn invisible from so much use, while the 'Open Door' button remained unspoiled. Suddenly, it seemed crazy to me, being in a hurry, hoarding seconds, racing time. I was learning: time would do as it pleased.

I arrived late to the meetin. The usual members were already gathered, along with a new one, a spanish lady named Maria.

'Hi,' I said. 'Sorry I'm late.'

'It's no problem,' Gary said.

I sat next to Anthony; I squeezed his hand.

'This is Maria Hernandez, Harry. This is Harry Tomlinso-Styles, Maria,' Gary said.

'Hi,' I said, 'my husband, Louis, is in the hospital with PCP. He has AIDS. I'm negative.'

Maria answered, 'I have full-blown AIDS from a needle, and terminal breast cancer to top it all off. My three kids are negative.'

I tried not to gasp.

KK said, 'Maria needs baby-sitting during her doctor's appointments.'

'The AIDS Project might know how to help,' volunteered Anthony. 'I can talk to them.'

'Thank you,' Maria said.

Gary turned to me, 'What do you need tonight, Harry?"

They looked at me, their loving goodwill opened the floodgates on my tears. Anthony held me with one arm, and when I could, I said, 'I just want him to live. I just want there be a proper cure.'

'I want a fucking cure!' Kiki yelled. 'Let's chant.'

"Wait,' Anthony said, holding up a slender hand. 'I know it's not much, but there's a new herbal treatment I heard about that is supposed to increase T-cells.'

'Every time I hear about one of those snake oils it turns out to be bullshit,' Cat said.

Anthony responded, 'I know, but-'

'God, I'll try anything,' I said. 'God... maybe I should pray.'

'Let's chant instead.'

We rose and chanted; I can't explain why it helped, but it did. And later, before I left, Anthony pulled me aside and gave me the number of a herbalist in the city.

***

While Louis' discharge paperwork was being filled out the following morning, I went into the corridor to call and arrange an appointment with the herbalist. I booked us for the next day at a cost of two hundred quid, cash.

After I had delivered Louis home and tucked him into our bed, where he promptly fell asleep, I left for the pharmacy to pick up his prescriptions.

'May I help you?' the stout woman at the counter asked.

'Pickup for Tomlinson.'

'How many?'

'Ten-no, eleven. Eleven.'

'Eleven?' she repeated.

'Yes,' I answered.

'I see,' she said, turning to a sequence of alphabetised bins behind her.

I wandered away as she searched, to a row of shelves nearby. There I saw cans of liquid boasting weight loss within a week. Each can contained 220 calories. My eyes roamed to the adjacent shelf, on which cans of liquid for weight gain were stacked. I thought of buying some for Louis, and eagerly read the label.

'Sir? Sir?' a voice called. 'You, there... Tomlinson?!'

"Huh?' I turned around. 'Oh, sorry,' I replaced the can and went to the counter.

'I've only got seven ready,' she said. 'You'll have to come back later.'

'But they were called in by the hospital.'

'It's a lot of prescriptions, sir.'

'And he's really sick.'

'I'm sure.'

There was something about her, her tone and posture, the disinterested look painted across her face sealed with hideous blue eye shadow, that made me snap.

'Goddammit,' I growled, 'give me the medicine, all of them.'

'I told you, I only have seven. Do you want them?'

'Yes, give them to me!'

'You need to purchase them, sir.'

'I know that, but some should be covered by NHS exemptions.'

'huh?'

'The hospital didn't tell you?'

'No. Now the order will have to be done over,' she said through an exaggerated sigh.

'Aaaaaaaeeeeeee!' I screamed out, my fists balled into wads of frustration and anger.

Her eyes widened and she stepped back.

I turned and stormed away while everyone stared on, judging.

***

When I reached home, Louis was just as I had left him; I checked to see that he was still breathing. Then I phoned the hospital and asked the doctor to call the prescriptions in to a different pharmacy, reminding her that Louis had exemptions.

By this point, it was time to go to work. Lou looked so helpless and delicate, so peaceful and vulnerable, I hated to leave, but I had to. I dragged the house phone to his bedside, kissed him on the forehead, and left.

I drove Midnight too fast to work, a habit that was getting worse daily. Stopping in the toilets, I examined my reflection. I was ashen, with purple-gray patches beneath empty looking eyes. I had sprouted gray hairs among the brown, and I badly needed a trim, but there was no time for maintenance of me.

A colleague walked into the room.

'Oh, hi Harry!'

I nodded politely.

'I was at the library the other night, and found a book entirely by accident that had your name in it. It's a medical reference book by someone Cowell? I checked it out incase you haven't seen it? It's on your desk.'

My breath immediately turned rapid; I felt a tingling around my lips, my fingertips, as I forced myself to thank him and exit the loo, climbing the flight of stairs to my desk as quickly as I could manage.

As I walked, a feeling of extreme panic descended upon me, making edges malleable, causing surfaces to undulate, muffling sound, and transforming all light into a monochromatic white. I made it to my chair near the computer, sat, and breathed evenly, trying not to cry out or shriek; I knew I walked a thin edge.

When I felt better and things had firmed up, I opened Professor Cowell's book. It had a red cover; I took it in my arms. It was oversized and weighty, and I just held it, stroking it for a while. I was too frightened to look for the sketches I had drawn of Louis, the sketches that were the reason we met.

Later, the book still open on the first page, I called Louis, he was munching on macaroni and cheese, watching an old movie on TV.

'I'm fine, go back to work,' he said. 'See you when yeh get home.'

'Okay. I love you,' I said.

'I love you,' he responded, and we hung up.

Eventually, it was time to head home. I stood and pulled on my jacket, then hesitated, looking down at the book again.

I flipped shakily to the sketches of Louis, immortalised in print. I fixed on them one by one, turning the pages slowly, lovingly. It came back like vertigo: what Louis had looked like, felt like, smelled like, sounded like. I could see him twirling on that stool, wandering around my apartment naked, pulling his tracksuit over his bare ass.

I can't explain what I did next. I glanced around to make sure no one watched and then methodically ripped Louis out of the book, all twelve images of him, and put the pages carefully in my bag. I could've bought the book, but I needed the pages then, that second. And somehow they felt like they were rightfully mine.

Chapter Text

The next day Louis and I went to see Anthony's herbalist in a dusty flat in Clapham. There was no sign on the door and inside only a few sad, faded chairs in an outer vestibule and a door with a button and a sign that read: RING FOR SERVICE.

I rang. We waited.

Louis sat and gazed out the half-window through the black security bars and years of grime to the hard brown dirt outside, watching pedestrians' feet scrambling through busy daytimes.

I rang again.

'Coming!' a West Midlands accent called.

Then the door opened, revealing a slim, younger than expected man with a shaved head.

'yes?' he asked, his eyes peering between myself and Louis.

'We phoned ahead. My husband's sick.' I pointed to Louis.

'Ahhhh,' the man said, approaching Louis' chair.

'Liam Payne, herbalist and apothecary' the man held his hand out to Louis. They shook.

'I'm Louis.'

'Can you help us?' I asked impatiently.

'He has AIDS?,' Liam confirmed

I nodded, 'do you have an examination room?'

Liam shook his head, 'I am not a doctor. If you want to die, go to a doctor. I'm a herbalist.'

'I know,' I said, exasperated. 'But don't you―'

Louis stood unsteadily and placed his hand on Liam's shoulder. 'Let's go,' he said.

'Good,' Liam said, and led the way.

We went through the door Liam had emerged from and down an unlit hallway to a cramped, windowless room lined with shelves on which bottles and jars were crammed. Around the perimeter, tables supported rows and rows of plants with grow-lights hovering above them.

Liam instructed us to sit on a hand-knotted rug on the floor amid a group of stained red-satin pillows, while he scurried to a wooden worktable on which lay scattered multitudes of vials and canisters of dried plants, flower buds, powders, and thick liquids. We watched as he took mortar and pestle in hand and began darting to shelves, grabbing jars in what appeared to be a random fashion. From the jars he took pinches of plant dust and dollops of goo, mixing, always mixing, and as he worked he grunted, pulling at his chin and fondling his bare head.

'There,' he said finally, delivering two small vials to Louis, one consisting of gray sediment suspended in dark oil, the other a powder, dark green.

Lou held the vials up to the light admiringly and smiled, 'thank you,' he said.

'Put the powder in soy milk, quarter teaspoon. Make sure it dissolves' Liam said, making a stirring motion with his hand into a make-believe glass formed by his other hand. 'Don't use cows milk.'

'Okay,' Louis said, 'no cow's milk.'

'Quarter teaspoon, one per day, see me again when it runs out.'

'And the liquid?' I asked.

'The liquid,' Liam said, 'that's very precious, very special. Take a dropper-you do have a dropper?' Louis looked to me. I shrugged. Liam went on, 'Get a dropper. One-half dropper in some wormwood tea, boiled, two times a day.'

'All right,' Lou agreed, and I stood, bending to help him up and placing the vials carefully in my bag.

'When do we come back?' I asked.

'Just as soon as those are empty. That'll be two hundred and fifty, cash only.'

I pulled an envelope out of my bag and handed it to Liam. 'Two hundred. That's what I was told,' I said.

Liam took the envelope and peered inside, sifting through the bills quickly with his dry, skilful fingers. 'Very good,' he said. "For you, a discount,' he smiled and turned away.

We showed ourselves out.

***

The herbs seemed to be working. Within two days, Louis' energy levels and appetite were almost back to normal and I was convinced he had started to gain weight.

His T-cells had increased to fifty, from nothing, and his eyes were less glassy, less tired.

I found myself in health-food stores frequently, buying wormwood tea, vitamins. One of the afternoons, as I stood gazing over random powders, waiting for my purchases to be rung up, a man approached me. He was tall beyond reach, his hair broom yellow with a sorrowful, matching mustache.

'Excuse me?' he said, tapping me on the shoulder.

I looked up. 'Yes?'

'The gentleman behind the counter says you're seeking treatments for HIV?'

I nodded.

'There is something new, very new,' he went on. 'So new no one in England has heard of it. I have just returned from China. I can tell you where to get it.'

'What is it?'

'I can give you no further information unless I meet with you privately,' he said, glancing around nervously. 'It will cost money, a lot of money, but you will be cured of HIV.'

'Cured? It gets rid of the virus?'

'Yes.' He looked around again. 'I cannot talk here. Take my card.'

He handed me a business card and walked to the other side of the shop. Trembling from the word 'cure,' I followed him.

'Sir?' I said. He turned around. 'How much would it cost?' I asked.

'You would have to travel to China with me. And pay me a separate fee.'

My heart was fluttering, 'How much?" I asked again.

'My fee is fifty thousand.'

My mouth dropped silently open.

'How much is your life worth?' he asked. 'Call me.'

'Mr Tomlinson!' the cashier called. 'Your stuff is ready.' I turned and told him, 'Just a minute,' and when I turned back, the tall man was gone. I squeezed his card, the closest thing I knew to salvation, in my hand.

***

'Louis!' I yelled as I bustled in the front door with my packages of vitamins, teas, supplements, and CBD oils. 'Lou!'

'In here, H,' he called from the bedroom.

I went to the bedroom door. 'Did I wake you?" I asked.

'It's okay. Come here. Sit on the bed.'

I sat beside him; his hair was soaked with the sweat of sleep.

'I'll get a face cloth,' I said, and left for the bathroom. I ran the water and called out to him, 'Lou, you won't believe what happened today.' I returned with the washcloth and sat down, stroking his forehead, his cheeks, his neck.

He closed his eyes. I continued, 'I met a guy who has a cure for AIDS.'

His eyes whipped open. 'What?'

'I know, I know. I didn't believe it at first either. But I've thought about it all the way home. It'll cost a bit of money and we'll have to go to China-'

'China?'

'Yes, but I've always wanted to go there and it's time we have a holiday anyway and for a cure-'

'No,' he said, sitting up. 'It's time we talked, love.'

'We are talking. We're talking about a cure!'

'We're talking about bullshit, H, a conman.'

'It's a chance,' I said.

Louis sighed, 'I've never died before, Harry, but I know...I know I don't wanna spend what time I have left in a random hotel in a county I've never been before being conned by some... weasel,' he reached out, his thin fingers encircling my wrist, and continued, 'and I don't wanna die miles from home, I don't wanna leave you alone.'

'I need you to stay alive,' I said weakly.

'Wait. I need to talk about this,' he said. 'I love you-I can't imagine being without you, existing without you, but you, H...you're gonna be okay when I'm gone.'

'No.'

'Yes, and dying...it int as bad as everyone thinks. After a while you just accept it. The scariest part is the panic that almost chokes me when I think of leaving you. To be honest I've been feeling a little curious about dying.'

'Curious?'

He nodded. 'People spend their lives wondering what's out there, and soon, I'm gonna know.' A smile crossed his face. Eerie, distant.

'No you're not. I'm not letting you go, ever,' I said, clutching at his hand.

'I've seen life stop long before someone dies. Don't let that happen to me.'

'What do you mean? What do you want, Louis?" I asked, beginning to cry.

'Let me go when I'm ready to go.'

I recoiled, 'No! Together Forever. You promised me.'

Louis smiled again, this time looking just like the old Lou. 'I'm not breaking that promise. I'm just redefining forever."

I couldn't smile with him. Whatever panic or fear he felt, I was sure mine was thousands of times worse.

'Me parents will want to do some Christian bullshit after I go,' he said. 'Let them if it's easier, but I want to be cremated, don't let them bury me.'

'Just don't die,' I whispered, tears burning my eyes.

'Scatter me ashes where we got married, so I can always be there. It were the happiest day of me life.'

I nodded, biting my lip. He relaxed, at peace now that I had finally listened to his wishes.

***

It was only a few days after our conversation that I returned home from work to a quiet flat. I called out for Louis as I dumped my work things on the sofa. There was no response. I moved towards the bedroom, pushing open the door.

The sight I was met with was that of Louis on the floor, his body writhing, twisting, and jerking, his blue eyes a mere sliver of white as he gasped for air.

I screamed out, running to him. 'Jesus!' I cried, my hands shaking with fear. I tried to do what I could to stop the jerking. I grasped his head, but it quickly got away, slamming back down into the carpet.

My hands burned from the heat of his body; he was drenched in sweat. I tried to still his arms, but they spiraled outward with a power beyond Louis, flailing at me, driving me away.

I threw myself back into the livingroom, frantically wrestling my phone free from my jacket pocket.

It seemed a long while between when I called the paramedics and when they arrived. The whole time, Louis convulsed on the floor. I stayed by his side and watched, just watched.

The blare of the siren was a high-pitched relief, and soon the paramedics were injecting Louis with something that made him stop seizing. He was so motionless that I thought for a moment that they had killed him. Then I saw his thin chest lifting and falling.

They took him away, down the stairs, allowing me to follow.

***

'Harry Tomlinson?'

The voice startled me as I say alone in an empty waiting room.

'Please tell me he's alive,' I begged, jumping to my feet.

'My name is Dr. Harland. Mr Tomlinson is alive. We're admitting him for an MRI of his brain. We're not sure what caused the seizures. Maybe toxoplasmosis, however it could have been something else.'

'Toxo? Toxo-gondii?'

'That's right. Toxoplasma gondii. Are you a doctor?'

'No, I used to help Louis with his exams when he was a med student. It's in his brain?'

'We think so.'

'Oh, God.'

'It's treatable in most cases...' Dr. Harland kept talking, but I didn't listen. I had been learning to hope, banking on herbs, dreaming of running off to foreign countries for magical cures and suddenly a parasite that Louis had studied so many years before could be chewing through his brain. What could this doctor say that would change any of it?

'Where is he?' I asked, interrupting Dr. Harland.

'Twelfth floor, AIDS Unit.'

'Thank you.'

When I got to Louis he was conscious but silent, staring at the ceiling blankly. Seeing him alive, nearly losing him, made me realise that I'd settle for almost anything at this point, even if he couldn't ever speak, or move again, I'd be relieved so long as he were alive.

I held his hand; I traced his profile with my finger. I tried to catalog every detail of him that hadn't changed: his skin, the arch of his nose, the curl of his ears, the color of his hair, the feel of his nipple against my cheek, the tuft of hair below his navel, his kneecaps. So many things the same if I only bothered to look, so many things unique to my Lou.

'Don't go,' I whispered. He didn't respond.

***

Louis woke up early the next morning, he stuttered a little as he wished me a good morning and expressed his love. I just held him, thankful to hear his voice again.

Dr. Harland walked in shortly after. He had a chubby face, surrounded by tousled blond hair, and a protuberant belly that his white coat didn't quite fit around. 'Good morning,' he said. 'Any problems over-night?'

'N-none,' Louis answered shakily. 'Dr. Har...Harland, this is H-Harry, me hus...band.'

'We met last night,' the Dr said kindly.

'What are his T-cells? They were up just a couple weeks ago.'

'They do tend to fluctuate,' he said, flipping through Louis' chart.

'But he's been on treatment and―'

'Here they are,' Dr. Harland said. 'Uh, two. Yes, two.'

'Two?' I repeated.

'That's right. Now, about your MRI. We've had the results back and there are lesions. We'll be treating you for toxo for four or five days. If there's no improvement or you worsen, we'll need a biopsy.'

'Biopsy?' I asked. 'Of what?'

'The lesions.'

'You'd open his head?'

'We'd have to.'

I looked to Louis, incredulous, but he just nodded.

When the doctor had left, I said, 'You mean the herbs and vitamins...they weren't even working?'

'We tried, H. We di...did our b-best.'

'There is no actual treatment for this fucking disease, is there?'

He reached for my hand and kissed it. 'They can treat the inf...fections.'

'For a while.'

'Yes.'

'Then what?'

'What we t-talked about.'

'What about the seizures?'

'Medication.'

'Will you have them again?'

He shrugged and looked away, out the window at the colorless sky. I held him close, his bones sharp against me.

After helping Louis with his lunch, I went to see Niall Horan at the AIDS Project. He had been calling me incessantly to get Louis set to testify at the trial; it was to start the following week.

Hi,' I said sheepishly, peeking my head through his open office door.

'Jesus, man!' he responded. 'Where've you been? We've got a trial here!'

'I know. I-'

'You giving up?'

'No. I...Niall... oh, shit.' I started to cry and cursed myself. It seemed I had a bottomless well of tears these days, ready to flood my life.

Niall rolled to the door and closed it. He turned toward me.

'Talk to me,' he said.

My speech was punctuated by gasps and sobs. I told him everything. Sadness lay heavily over me, a suffocating weight that I couldn't imagine ever being rid of.

Niall listened without comment, so quietly, in fact, that I thought perhaps he had fallen asleep. I glanced over at him, and he nodded the nod of shared suffering.

'Niall,' I said, 'three, fifteen, twenty-five years-these aren't lifetimes. We get made to believe that AIDs isn't a death sentence anymore but it's not true.'

'Not fair, is it?'

'No.'

'How much time is really enough though?'

'It doesn't matter. Just more.'

'But the desire for more will always be there, whether you're six or ninety-six.'

'But ninety-six is enough,' I protested.

'If you're far from it.'

'So, what are you saying? That it's okay for these people to die because no matter how long they live they'll never be satisfied?'

'No. What I'm saying is, forever doesn't exist for any of us. No matter how much forever you want, loving someone forever, living forever, it inevitably cracks open before you get there, and you fall right through.'

'I'm not asking for forever, Niall. Only for what's reasonable, maybe forty, fifty years with him.'

'And then you'd let him go?'

'Well... it'd be easier.'

He shook his head. 'No, it wouldn't. We can only live one second at a time. We can't live in the time that's past, or the time that's ahead. When you pick fifty years, it's only because it's so far away you don't believe it'll ever come-it seems like forever to you.'

'I'd settle for thirty, or even twenty, right now.'

'But when you get there, you'll feel cheated, like you do now. You'll want another thirty, fifty, or seventy.'

'So I should just accept it?'

'Do you have a choice?'

'I guess not.'

'Dying and loss are always hard, Harry. It doesn't get easier with age. Neither does living, but it's all we've got.'

'If we're lucky,' I said.

'If we're lucky,' he agreed.

'I could use some luck right about now.'

'We'll need more than luck to win this trial. We'll need Louis' testimony. I think we'd better film it.'

'But wouldn't it be better to have him come to the courtroom so people can see him?'

'Yes, but it's not realistic at this point.'

'Oh.'

'Will you be in court next week?'

'I'll try.'

We shared a look through the shine of his glasses.

***

The trial was scheduled the next week. The same day we found out Louis didn't have toxoplasmosis. He had something worse: lymphoma of the brain. AIDS wasn't enough; he had to have cancer now, too.

Discrimination was the last thing on my mind that day; it was hard to get angry at a lost residency opportunity when Louis was being painstakingly eaten up by parasites, viruses, mycobacteria, and now he was being ravaged by cancerous cells. Nothing could make it right, or even better. Not the law, not medicine, not justice, not fairness, not God.

Getting Louis the residency he deserved had been the same as hope for me, something for him to live and fight for, a future, but now the odds were so thickly stacked against us as to erase all hope from consideration.

I showed up at the courtroom only out of respect for Niall Horan and the hard work he had put into our case.

'Good morning,' he said.

'It's lymphoma, Niall,' I said softly. 'It's cancer now.'

'There are treatments for that.'

'It's stalling.' I waited for him to tell me otherwise. He didn't.

'It won't matter to the case,' he said. 'We have Louis' testimony and we're going to win this one for him.'

I buried my face in my hands. 'We can't give him back his life. That's what I wanted, and that's what I've lost.'

I felt Niall's hand on my neck, strong, gentle. 'But by winning this case we can give life to someone else like him, someone else being discriminated against.'

'I wanted Louis to become a doctor.'

'But that's not why you're here now.'

'I don't know why I'm here now,' I said, trying hard not to cry in front of so many people, in a room reeking of authority and power.

'Yes, you do,' he said. 'Just watch.'

The trial began.

Chapter Text

I wasn't sure if Louis' death would devastate his father or just be another disappointment to him. I had begged Louis to tell his parents that he was sick, something that his four sisters had agreed on: if not for their dad's sake, definitely for their mum's.

From what I could tell between my own experiences and comments overheard between Louis' siblings, Johannah was an amazing and loving mother who had unfortunately been caught in-between whatever tore Louis and his father apart.

The day after the trial started, I called the Tomlinson's from the corridor outside Louis' ward.

When Mr Tomlinson answered, I said, 'Hello, it's Harry.'

'To what do I owe this rare pleasure?' he asked dryly.

'It's Louis. He's in the hospital.'

'Has there been an accident?'

'No.'

'What is it?'

'He's sick. He's been sick for a while.'

Silence, lifeless, desolate. I listened to it hum a moment and then added, 'Louis has AIDs.'

There was a long silence. I pulled the phone from my ear and peered at the screen, Mark had hung up.

I slept in Louis' hospital room that night on an uncomfortable blue armchair. He slept peacefully whilst I tossed restlessly, watching the rise and fall of his chest.

It was dark and confusing when the door opened a few hours later, letting a sharp slice of blinding white light into the room, the two bodies in the doorway silhouetted into anonymity.

'Who's there?' I whispered.

'Come into the hallway, please,' a man said.

I fumbled off my seat and slid across the floor in my socks, squinting and shielding my eyes from the light. I closed the door behind me so as not to wake Louis. "That's him,' someone said.

'What?' I asked. 'Oh!' I gasped when I saw Mr. Tomlinson.

'I'm the hospital administrator, Mr. Cochran,' the man said, extending his hand to me. I shook it tentatively as he went on, 'Mr. Tomlinson called me earlier this evening to tell me he hadn't been informed that his son is sick. He claims it was kept from him.'

They looked at me. I wore stained sweatpants, a holey sweater that belonged to Louis and therefore was slightly too small. I couldn't remember if I had brushed my teeth recently and my hair was sticking out at all angles.

'Maybe you should talk to your son,' I suggested.

'Is the patient competent?' Mr. Cochran asked.

'No,' Mr. Tomlinson said just as I said, 'Yes.'

'I'll get his notes,' Mr. Cochran concluded, and left.

Mr. Tomlinson and I were left standing there, shifting our weight, with no place to put our hands. Finally, he said, 'I suspected you were one of those kind that Christmas-'

'What kind?'

'Not clean.'

'Clean?' I gulped. 'You think I gave it to him?'

'Don't lie on top of all your other sins.'

I saw Mr. Cochran coming down the hall with Louis' chart. I was bursting to argue with Mr. Tomlinson, but I kept quiet.

'It appears from the notes,' Mr. Cochran began as he joined us, 'that your son is mentally competent, Mr. Tomlinson.'

'He's showing very poor judgment,' Mark said.

'Poor judgment?' I asked.

'He should have told us he needed help. We can take care of him,' Mr. Tomlinson said.

'I suppose we could have a psychiatrist come by,' Mr. Cochran said.

'Why?' I asked. 'Louis is fine.'

They looked at me briefly before peering back into the chart. Finally, they closed it.

'Let's do that,' Mr. Cochran decided. 'We'll have the Psychiatry Service come on by in the morning. They'll tell us how to proceed.'

'Fine,' Mr. Tomlinson agreed.

'Proceed?' I asked. 'What do you mean?'

'We'll talk in the morning. Go back to sleep,' Mr. Cochran said, and they both walked away.

I reentered the room and sat beside the bed, waiting for my vision to adjust to the density of the dark. When it did, I watched Louis until eventually, hours later, his eyes opened. He blinked and turned toward me.

'Hi,' he said quietly, reaching for my hand.

'I called your parents, Louis. Your dad's here.'

'Me dad came to London? Why?'

'Because you're sick.'

'What'd he say?'

'That you should've asked him for help, that he can take care of you.'

'Take care of me?'

'Yes, he brought the hospital administrator here. Your dad's trying to say you're mentally incompetent.'

I could see the gray silhouette of Louis' hand raking through his hair, scraping his scalp. I wondered how far below it the brain lesions were.

'I'm sorry,' I said.

'Don't be. I probably should've told em before. Maybe then he wouldn't be doing this.'

'But what is he trying to pull?'

'I think he'll be trying to dispute you being me next of kin, or trying to become me power of attorney. So he can make me decisions instead of you.'

'But we're married.'

'That makes you me automatic next of kin but not me power of attorney, that's why I asked you to fill out all that paperwork wi' Horan.'

'But you're not incompetent.'

'Not now.'

'I'm trying to be brave, Louis, but... being your power of attorney, that means I have to let you go. I don't want to lose you.'

'It's hard.'

I held his bony hand and wanted to be strong, to stand up and take control, but there was something I wanted more - for Louis to live.

We watched as the first faint flush of white rinsed the sky beyond the ice-cold glass of the hospital window, making Louis' blue eyes glow before they closed again and he slept some more.

I left his room silently, to walk the blank hospital corridors over marked vinyl flooring. I wanted to race away from death, suffering, sorrow and grief, but I could feel them seeping beneath my skin, creeping up the nape of my neck, sinking behind my eyes and insinuating themselves in places deep and hidden.

The hospital moved at early hours, and I wasn't alone in the halls. I passed phlebotomists and clerks, X-ray technicians and nurses changing shift, and by the time I returned to Louis his breakfast had arrived. So had his parents.

The door was open and I remained unnoticed just outside. They could have seen me if they had looked, but their attention was on their son.

Louis was propped up on his pillows, listening, his expression serious.

'It's important for you to get good care,' Mr. Tomlinson said.

'I'm getting good care here.'

'I'm unhappy with these doctors and their diagnosis.'

'I have AIDS, Dad.'

'You have lymphoma. That's cancer,' Johannah said. She was holding Louis' hand, stroking it.

Louis sighed and his father went on. 'They're treating you as some sort of charity case, but don't forget you are our son. We know people, prominent people in our private hospital. The doctors there will take better care of you.'

'I'm staying here, wi' Harry.'

'You belong with me and your mam,' Mr. Tomlinson said.

'Rest now, we'll talk later.' Johannah leaned down to kiss her son, while Mark turned to leave, involuntarily facing me in the doorway. He was startled for a moment; then he nodded to Louis and brushed past me.

'I'll get him out of here,' he muttered under his breath as he passed. 'Mark me words.' He left in a whisk of cold air. Johannah followed him, not meeting my eyes, but giving my arm a quick squeeze as she passed.

"They want to take me to a private hospital,' Louis said, looking at me.

'I know,' I moved to the side of the bed.

'I told em I wouldn't leave you,' he said.

I knelt on the floor, my lips against his hand, feeling the useless strength of the tendons there, made prominent by months of his wasting away.

'You won't ever leave me, will you?' I asked.

'Not for them,' he said.

Relief surged through me, giving me a moment's solace before he repeated, 'Not for them.'

'Not for anything,' I said. 'Say it.'

He caressed my hair and smiled a distant smile, saying nothing. I climbed into the bed beside him, 'Take me with you then,' I whispered in his ear. 'I don't want to stay here without you.'

I felt him shake his head, then I let my tears slide freely, slipping left, over the bridge of my nose, down the side of my face and onto his shoulder.

***

When the psychiatrist came to examine Louis that afternoon, I was asked to leave. I went to the courtroom to see Niall.

'Hi,' I said, sneaking up behind him during a break.

'Hello, Harry. How's your man?' he asked.

'His parents are here. His dad has requested a psychiatric evaluation to see if he's mentally competent.'

'A care-giver tug-of-war?'

I nodded. 'How's our case?'

'We've got problems.'

'Oh?'

'Dean Valois' assistant, backed out.'

'I thought she had agreed to testify that she overheard the phone calls the dean made to the programs about Louis' HIV?'

'Yes, but that was off the record, and now she says she "doesn't recall" anything.'

'Why?'

'I'm sure the dean threatened to fire her, although she wouldn't admit it to me.'

'But he can't fire her for that! He left his door open-'

'I told her if that's what she's worried about, she's protected, but you and I both know he'll fire her if he wants.'

'So what'd she testify to?'

'That the dean knew about the HIV from his position on the committee and that she knew through the medical students.'

'Which doesn't help us prove that the programs knew.'

'Precisely. We need her testimony.'

'We're gonna lose, aren't we, Niall?'

'Not necessarily. You never know how the jury will interpret the weight of the evidence.'

There was a little pause, then I said, 'Sorry I haven't been here more. I-'

He held up a hand. 'No need, I understand. By the way, have you given any more thought to filling out the power of attorney paperwork?'

'I want to do it...'

'But?'

'It's hard.'

'All worthwhile things are.'

I stared at him and sighed. 'It means letting him go. I want him to stay alive, to stay here with me, more than anything.'

'More than giving him what he wants?'

'He wants the same thing, to be with me.'

'Yes.' His eyes examined me, over the top of his glasses.

'I know what you're thinking. If I don't become his power of attorney, his dad might be able to dig his claws in.'

'The psychiatrist may find Louis competent now, but...'

'Couldn't you be his power of attorney? You know him well enough now.'

'He's chosen you, not me.'

Before I could respond, court came to order with a bang, ramrodding through life and death, staying on schedule.

'See you,' Niall whispered.

'See you,' I responded, scooting away. I stayed in the courtroom for about thirty minutes after that, just listening to Niall's melodious voice, prodding, cradling, commanding, fierce.

Niall fought for Louis, but he fought just as much for all those with illnesses, those whose daily dose of energy was miserably doled out to the task of finding shelter, food, child- and medical-care, to staying alive.

***

I arrived back at Louis' room as the psychiatrist, Dr. Kilkea, was standing up to leave, shaking Louis' hand. 'Is this Harry?' she asked when she saw me.

I nodded.

'Good,' she said. 'I'd like to talk with you privately if I may.'

'Okay,' I said, glancing at Louis. He winked, looking as competent as ever.

I followed Dr. Kilkea out to the nursing station and into a little conference room that smelled of burned coffee. She had to ask a nurse doing charting to leave so we could be alone.

'Please sit,' she said.

I sat in a chair across a cluttered table from her and we looked each other over. She saw an unshowered, uncombed, unironed mess. I saw a woman in emerald green silk with smooth dark hair to her waist and gray eyes edged with the beginnings of crow's-feet.

'So,' she said.

'You took the word right out of my mouth,' I said.

She laughed lightly, revealing a smudge of pink-red lipstick on her upper teeth. 'What do you think of Louis' father?' she asked.

'He doesn't understand the full weight of Louis' sickness, he's also not considering Lou's wishes.'

'What do you see as Louis' wishes?'

'To be here.'

'And?'

'And?'

'What about his illness?'

'Its evil.'

'Sounds like you're angry.'

'Wouldn't you be? Sometimes I think it'd be easier to be him.'

'Are you saying you'd rather be the one with HIV?'

'I guess not, but sometimes I wish I was the sick one, that I was dying and not him. Oh, God, you're gonna think I'm crazy now, aren't you?'

'No.'

'Aren't you interviewing me to see who can take better care of Lou, me or his father?'

She smiled and shook her head. 'I interviewed Louis for that purpose. He asked me to talk to you.'

'Why?'

'He's concerned about you. He wants you to live-'

'I want him to live and he won't.'

'Are you resentful that he's dying?'

'That wouldn't be fair.'

'But it would be understandable.'

'It would?'

'Anything you feel is okay. The important thing is to feel it, not to deny it or let it come out in ways that would be damaging to you or to Louis.'

'I would do anything for him. If only there was actually something, anything I could do.'

Dr. Kilkea nodded. 'There is. Listen to him.'

She was blurry and statuesque through the haze of my now falling tears as she stood and handed me a Kleenex with one hand and her business card with the other. I could see her fingernails, pink and manicured below my chin.

"Call me if you like,' she said. 'To talk about you.' She hesitated as I blew my nose, then said, 'Louis needs you.' I felt her hand on my shoulder before she walked away.

***

Two psychiatrists at the hospital deemed Louis mentally competent, but Mark Tomlinson still wouldn't quit. He was determined to keep seeking opinions until he got one that suited him.

Louis and I both knew he was competent and that any psychiatrist would find him so. What we didn't know was that Mr. Tomlinson had a friend who was a psychiatrist, a friend good enough that he was willing to fly all the way from Italy to evaluate Louis.

It was this psychiatrist that I ran into first thing in the morning a few weeks later when I went to the hospital to see Louis.

'Excuse me,' I said when I saw the doctor.

'Morning, H,' Lou said. 'This is Dr. Gravano'

He twisted in his chair to look at me. 'You must be Harry Styles' he said.

'Tomlinson-Styles,' I corrected. He watched me as I set my things down and leaned over to kiss Louis.

'Dr. Gravano is a psychiatrist from Italy,' Louis said.

I straightened up. 'Your dad wants a third opinion?' I asked.

Dr. Gravano turned his notes over in his lap. He was tapping his foot rapidly, impatiently. 'We should continue,' he said.

I remained standing by Louis, stunned by this turn of events, unsure of what it signified.

'Okay,' I said, 'continue.'

'This consultation is confidential,' Dr. Gravano said, his foot picking up speed.

'With all due respect, I'm his husband,' I looked at Louis; he smiled. I wasn't reassured. 'Do you want me to stay?' I asked him.

'It's okay, H, I'll be fine,' he answered. 'We should be done when, Dr. G? Thirty minutes?'

'I'll need about forty-five minutes more today. I'll complete my evaluation tomorrow.'

'What do you want me to do, Louis?' I asked.

'Give me another kiss and wait for me in the visitors' lounge.'

'Okay,' I agreed, kissing him, glancing at Dr. Gravano and heading for the door.

'Please close it,' Dr. Gravano called bluntly.

I did, and then started down the corridor, dismayed. I was walking toward the lounge, but I had passed it when I heard a sound, something between a hiss and a growl. It turned me right around. I wasn't sure if it had emanated from Mr. Tomlinson but there he was, standing in the doorway of the lounge, watching me.

We stood like that for several moments, just staring. His eyes were hard, angry.

'Mr. Tomlinson,' I began, walking toward him.

'The two of you have created an awful mess. It's me responsibility to clean it up.'

'It's not a mess, it's a disease. He needs treatment, but most of all he needs care and affection.'

'He is my son.'

'Yes, and if you haven't forgotten he is my husband,' I snapped.

'He's coming with me and his mother to a real hospital.'

'This is a real hospital. A hospital that fully understands his condition and has been treating it for months. Why can't you do what's right, even now?'

'Right? What do you know of what's right?'

'Excuse me?'

'I should have kept him away from you years ago. Now we are all paying.'

'He's the one paying. Don't you even love him enough to see that?'

'You know nothing of the love a father has for his son.'

'Nor do you,' I snapped.

Mr. Tomlinson turned away and reentered the lounge, leaving me alone, seething in the hall. I followed him to the door. He sat and began leafing through a magazine.

I watched him, his face set, without apparent emotion. I asked, 'Does Louis even know what it's it like to have the love of his dad?' My question was met by silence, the flipping of glossy pages. 'Does he?' I persisted.

Mr. Tomlinson looked up with eyes that were now devoid of any emotion, and said, 'Me son is leaving this hospital, you'll not be welcome to join us.'

The words were like a slap, a sudden choking of air in my throat.

'I should have kept him away from you years ago,' he repeated. There was almost something like regret in his voice, in the slow shaking of his head, but it was just the sheerest trace of that before it disappeared and he went back to scanning his magazine.

I backed up slowly, then turned, running to the elevator, pounding the down-button with my fist, pounding and pounding. I gave up waiting and sprinted for the stairs, down to the lobby and out to the icy street without a coat.

I eventually arrived at Niall's office wild-eyed and panting.

'Niall!' I yelled.

'What is it, man?' he asked, seeing me. 'I'm due in court in fifteen minutes.'

'I'll do it.'

He closed the door and motioned for me to sit. I did.

'Take a deep breath,' he said.

'Give me the paper.'

'What's going on?'

'Mr. Tomlinson got a psychiatrist over from Italy. He's going to say that Louis' not competent so he can gain power of attorney.'

'That can be contested in a court of law, your married.'

'But in the meantime, can Mark get power of attorney?'

'Maybe.'

'How long would contesting an application for power of attorney take?'

'It could take a while.'

'I don't have a while.'

'So this is why you've finally agreed to sign the paperwork?'

'What choice do I have? I'll do my best, that's all I can say. It's got to be better than what his dad would do.'

Niall removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, already fatigued at the start of his day.

Niall handed me two papers, held together by a staple. I studied them for a few moments, then asked, 'He was competent when he signed this. It's dated. I just need to sign my part. So, what if...if I dated it the same date as his signature...and we got it filed asap...' I put my pen to the paper and signed.

'I didn't hear that. Those papers were filled out ages ago, I just haven't filled them yet' Niall said, grabbing his coat with a wink.

I handed him the forms. He smiled and dropped them into his satchel, 'I'll get it sorted before court, I promise.'

***

Louis was awake when I returned his room; a nurse was taking his blood pressure and temperature.

'What's up?' he asked when the nurse had left.

'What makes you think something's up?'

'Your smile.'

'I smile all the time.'

'Not lately.'

I closed the door.

'Now I know something's up,' he said.

'I signed the papers to become your legal power of attorney.'

'Why now?'

'I'm your husband, your next of kin, and as soon as Niall files the paperwork I'll be your power of attorney too. Your dad can't do anything about it.'

'Last week you said you didn't think you could do it.'

'I've matured.'

'You've been pressured.'

I shrugged. Just then Mark and Johannah entered the room. Mark was carrying an empty duffle bag.

'Louis, we've come to take you to our hospital. What would you like to take with you?'

'What? No, I'm not going anywhere' Louis responded.

'It's time you stopped being childish, Louis. As your parents, and given your current mental state, we have every right to take you with us, to seek better care for you. Don't make us take measures to force you to cooperate. Let's not make a scene by getting hospital security involved,' Mark said.

'I'm not going,' Louis said, defiantly.

'This is crazy,' I said. 'Can't you see he's too weak? Can't you hear he doesn't want to go?'

'Can't you see that it isn't important what he wants, but what he needs?' Mark asked.

'But they're the same thing!' I snapped.

Everyone was speechless for a moment, the ring of my voice plaintive on the air of that small room. Then, abruptly, Louis' parents were gone, leaving a deeper silence in their wake.

Louis grasped for my hand, pulling me to the bedside and pressing it to his lips. 'I love you,' he said.

'I love you too' I said, kissing him, 'wait here.'

I left the room and approached the visitors room. Louis parents were sat together, listening as Dr. Gravano spoke on the phone.

'The young man is resisting. I have the parents here with me.'

I tapped Dr. Gravano on the shoulder.

'Just a moment, excuse me,' he said into the phone, covering the mouthpiece and looking at me. 'Mr Styles, I realise your concern for Louis, but you are just making things-.'

'Call our lawyer,' I said, handing him a tattered business card I had in my jacket pocket.

'What?' Dr. Gravano asked.

'Our application for me to become Louis' power of attorney was signed and dated prior to him being determined to be mentally competent by two different psychiatrists. It should have been officially filed this morning.'

'Hang on,' Dr. Harper said into the phone, 'I'll call you back,' and hung up.

'This is a ploy.' Mr Tomlinson had stood, his face turning red.

I waited while Dr. Gravano pushed his glasses up on his nose and dialled Niall's number. He moved across the room, talking into the phone under his breath.

Seconds stretched into oblivion as I watched, my face hot, finally, Dr. Gravano turned toward me and hung up his phone. 'The power of attorney request has already been filed, it should have been done before now.'

I breathed.

'You're not saying it's valid, you determined he's not of sound mind?'

'The forms were filled out prior to Louis' most recent assessment. They are valid.' Dr. Gravano said, sighing and shaking his head. 'I'd like to help, but with this document... I mean, I don't think it's contestable.'

'Of course it is!' Mr. Tomlinson said. 'This is all too convenient. It doesn't smell good.'

'Maybe not,' Dr. Gravano said, 'but you'll have to prove it.'

I left the room and kept going until I reached Louis' room, entering as if in a daze. He was sitting on the side of the bed, just waiting.

'Shit,' he said when he saw me.

I stared at him. 'No,' I said, 'it's okay. You're staying.'

'Mum and Dad accepted that I'm not transferring hospital?'

'I don't know.'

'There's no way me dad's giving up.'

'Quit talking about it.'

'He'll be in here making a stink any minute. Just watch.'

We waited. We watched. They didn't return.

Chapter Text

Stiff winter melted into spring and we had settled into a routine of sorts. I worked in a small law office closer to home while various people stayed with Louis in the flat. My mum, dad, Robin & Gemma all took as many shifts as they could, Gary and Anthony from the AIDs group helped occasionally, and by April Lottie and Fizzy had moved back from France, taking a small flat as close as they could afford. We made it work and Louis was never by himself.

When he wasn't in the flat, Louis was in hospital getting massive doses of radiation that plowed a path through his brain, keeping him amazingly cognisant and, equally incredibly, alive.

***

It was the beginning of May, when Niall randomly stopped by with a bag of groceries. I met him at the door downstairs; our building didn't have an lift.

'Hello.'

'Niall, it's really good to see you,' I said, stepping forward to take the bag as he held it out to me.

'Thank you, you didn't have to bring anything,' I added.

'From the wife. She asked after Louis.'

'Did they meet?'

He shook his head. 'She follows all my trials. She tends to remember the ones I've lost, annoyingly.'

'It wasn't your fault. We still think you're amazing,I-'

He held up a hand. 'I've come to ask Louis something.'

'I'd invite you up, but...'

'I know, no access. I'm used to it.'

'I'm sorry-'

'No need. It helps to remind me there are still battles to fight.'

'You probably haven't lost that many.'

'I came to ask Louis if I can sue the rest of the programs.'

'You've done enough, really. We don't hold it against you that we lost.'

'As a favour to me, please.'

'Favour? We owe you.'

'You owe me nothing. I'm asking this as a friend.'

I sighed. The lawsuit had been pretty bad at the end. Twelve people, regular-looking people, standing up and declaring that Louis wasn't worth fighting for, that they wouldn't want him as their doctor. Niall had explained that's not what losing meant, but he was wrong; I had watched the jury members' faces and they had condemned Louis, the same way the programs had. Louis had just shrugged and kissed me when he heard, then ordered a pizza; he claimed it had always been more my fight than his.

'There are six other programs,' Niall said. 'Just because we lost this one...'

'You mean you're willing to go through this six more times?' I laughed. 'For no pay?'

'What's a guy like me need with money?'

I stared at him, his eyes intense, stubborn.

'What keeps you going?' I asked.

He took my hand, 'anger, Harry,' he said. 'anger at the fact people out there can just destroy talent and lives because they can't keep their opinions or judgements to themselves. Those programs decided how Louis' life would and should be lived when they denied him the chance to prove how great a psychiatrist he could have been. I'm here to tell the world, no one should have the power to do that.'

'You really care about him, don't you?'

He laughed, and said, 'No, I do it for the money.'

I smiled; Niall was the second man in my life I couldn't say no to.

***

We made it to late August before Louis could no longer climb the stairs to our flat; after that we carried him.

By the beginning of September 2021, Louis' doctors informed us that the radiation had stopped working; they talked of 'hospice,' 'respite care,' 'comfort measures.'

'Darlin',' Lou mumbled one dark night as I sat on the edge of the bed watching the street lamp paint a smeared light blue across our window.

'What is it?' I asked, bolting up and hurrying to his side of the bed. 'Are you okay?'

'Harry, I love you.'

'I love you too, baby,' I said. Was this it? Was this good-bye?

'There are so many things I en't done.'

'You'll have time,' I said, fighting panic, tears, and despair.

His teeth glistened as he smiled. 'Stay an optimist, will yah?'

'I'll try.' I gripped his hand, painfully tight.

He was quiet, so still that I rested my palm on his chest to make sure he was still breathing.

'I'm okay,' he said.

'Of course you are.'

'He never forgave me, that's me one regret.'

'Who?'

'Me dad.'

'Babe, don't you remember? You spoke to your mum and dad yesterday...on the phone?'

'Me mam said she loved me, and dad told me to come home. He never forgave me for what happened.'

'What do you mean?'

'He could never look at me the same again. I ruined everything.'

'You didn't ruin anything, Lou. Your dad loves you.'

I was crying, trying not to sob, willing the words to be true so he could believe them.

'You're a better man than I deserve, H.'

'No―'

'Stick with Niall. He's a good friend.'

'Lou?'

'I'm so tired.' He sighed, and I knew then what he wanted, remembering the words of the patient he had cared for years before: 'I'll be going now,' and his words in response: 'I'll be here.'

'Don't go,' I said quickly, kissing his hot forehead. 'Don't ever go, please.'

'Okay,' he murmured, closing his eyes.

The following day I took an indefinite leave of absence from my job, borrowed money from everyone I knew, and sat with Louis, practically nonstop, day and night.

Often he slept, but most times he stared, faraway but purposeful, like he was gazing at destiny. It was at those times when I most felt the loss of our union, that he was on a journey to somewhere without me, to have new experiences that I would not know in a place I could not follow. It was then that I would bring him back by clearing my throat, speaking, reading the new out to him, or kissing him, caressing him; it was then that he would smile, briefly, before he was gone again.

Sometimes, in late afternoon with the sun low, hot, and blazing yellow, the dust motes suspended by the laziness of summer currents, I would simply watch him sleep and give in to regret. I would think of all the 'lasts,' and how ignorant I had been not to notice them: the last time he picked me up and threw me onto our bed, or kissed our nephew, or wore his white coat, or threw a snowball, or drank espresso, or sang; the last time we made love. How oblivious I'd been not to hold it tight and care about it more; how I should have cherished each moment and clutched them close, what we had. I had ignored time and now I couldn't get it back for all the riches in the universe. And then, while I thought, Louis would stir, see me, and smile, and time would feel like air, invisible, weightless and impossible to hold.

***

It was September 28th. Our 2nd wedding anniversary. Louis had been readmitted to hospital. He was weak and spent most of the day asleep. In the late afternoon I cradled him in his bed, playing our wedding DVD on the small hospital TV.

'Look, baby, our first dance. Do you remember what you whispered in my ear?' I said softly, running my fingers down his cheek as he stared blankly at the screen.

'S...So beautiful,' Louis whispered, his voice exhausted and weak.

I nodded, tears threatening to spill, 'that's right babe. You looked so beautiful too. You are so beautiful. I'm so lucky to have you.'

He moved his head towards mine, pressing his forehead into my cheek, closing his eyes. A single tear rolled down his pale face, the only one he had allowed to fall.

'I love...you' he struggled with the words, my heart broke as I held his cheek in my palm and told him a thousand times over that I loved him too.

By dinner time, he was seizing.

I asked my mum to call everyone who needed to know: Fizzy, Lottie, the twins, Niall, our friends, Gemma, Dad. Everyone except Louis' parents. That was my job.

I called from the hospital corridor, just outside Louis' room.

'Mark' I said when he answered, dropping the formalities, 'Louis is very sick.'

'Even more reason to bring him home, to his family,' he responded bluntly.

'He's really sick this time.'

'I'll pay for a nurse to escort him with me, then. We can do it tomorrow afternoon.'

'You don't understand-'

'I understand that you can't handle him.'

'He's in the hospital-'

'Better for him to be here with us. I can pay for home help and private nurses, he will-'

'Listen!' I shouted, there was silence on the other end. 'Listen,' I repeated, softer this time 'he's sick. Are you and Johannah coming?'

'To bring him home?'

'No. To see him. To say goodbye.' I choked, jamming my knuckles to my lips.

'Let us bring him home and we'll come. Or, I can have me lawyer call you next week.'

'He can't travel,' I started to sob.

'Goodbye, Mr Styles.'

'Mark,' I said desperately, 'you don't have time.'

He had already hung up. I slumped onto the floor and cried into the phone; passersby stared.

***

It was 8pm. I was sitting at Louis' bedside, my forehead pressed against the cool silver shine of the bed rail, when Niall came in. I felt his hand on my shoulder, and I looked up.

'Hi,' I said.

Something in Niall's expression: defeat, acceptance, understanding, sorrow made my heart quicken.

'Your mother called me,' he said.

'Thanks for coming.'

'No thanks needed.'

'He's stopped seizing,' I said, looking at Louis as he slept.

'He looks comfortable.'

'Yes.'

'It may not last.'

'What does?'

We both watched Louis, his face, so thin and wasted, had peace written on it. I held his hand, warm, still living.

Niall said, 'Don't forget you're his power of attorney.'

'I won't, but it's not like he's on the brink of anything. I mean... you know,' I bit back tears, 'he has a little time left.'

'I hope you're right, but if it's time, it's time' Niall rubbed my shoulder, and as he did, I felt a fist tighten around my heart, from sudden knowing.

'No,' I gulped, 'not yet, Niall.' I stared at Louis, so serene, immobile and dormant, so vulnerable.

'It will never get easier, Harry,' he said. 'I'm sorry. I'm really bloody sorry.'

His hand was gone; I didn't look up to see him leave. It must've been five minutes more before I rose to close the door.

Alone with Louis, I asked him what to do, begged him to live, kissed his closed eyes, begged him to stay with me, to let me hear his voice again, and then I watched in horror as tranquillity metamorphosed into agony, tossing and twisting him for countless hours.

'Isn't there anything you can do?" I asked at 10pm as Louis entered his second round of seizures.

The group of doctors, five in all, gathered around Louis' bed during evening rounds and stared with consternation at his contortions.

The older one turned to the one nearest him. 'General anesthesia is still an option,' he said.

'He'd have to be in the Unit,' the other one answered. This wrinkled the first one's brow, and his head bobbed in short little nods.

Louis kicked the bed rail violently, a purple welt immediately bulging on his left ankle.

'Please stop it,' I cried, running to his leg, trying to catch it, rub it, kiss it, anything.

'The Unit wouldn't be appropriate in this case,' the older doctor said. The rest of the doctors in the group were younger, dressed in short white coats, with looks either distracted or horrified, each blink a blessed relief from the sight of Louis misery. When I turned my back for a cold cloth they walked out, a clump of useless expertise.

'Damn you!' I shouted after them in the hall outside Louis' room, causing several nurses to turn and stare at me. The group disappeared into another patient's room. I stormed back to Louis' side. 'Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!' I fumed, slamming myself onto the blue armchair by his bed.

'Fuck you!' I repeated, hysterically, now facing Louis, he grew still. 'No,' I said, rushing to his side. 'I didn't mean you, love. Oh.' I sank onto my knees at his side and watched him catch his breath.

Once I was sure that he was still breathing, I got in bed beside him. He had the strength yet to displace his chest against my own, to move his breath against my cheek. I embraced him; he lay still. I kissed him; he lay still. I sobbed into his chest; he lay still.

'Louis,' I whispered. He lay still. 'Just tell me you love me, please, just one more time.'

He lay still.

'I talked to your dad. He told me there's nothing to forgive...he told me that loves you.'

He lay still.

I moved my lips to his ear. 'Thank you for showing me bravery,' I whispered with a choke.

He lay still, the rise and fall of his chest pausing.

'Louis? Lou?' I pleaded, my voice panicked.

He lay still. I watched. Nothing.

'Lou?'

I crawled off the bed, aiming to pull the cord to call for his nurse, but instead I fell to the floor, sobs I didn't recognise as my own filled the room.

He seized again, twice. With each seizure I sat there on the floor, not moving, staring. When he was still, I shakily stood, and soon he gasped followed by a long and shallow exhale.

Before he left me, I could have sworn he smiled.

The machines began to beep, the room filling with nurses. I was led out into the corridor and to the family room. My parents and Louis' sisters were all there. They stood when they saw me. My eyes met Fizzy and I tried to shake my head. To tell them he was gone. One of the twins cried out. The room descended into grief.

'I'm so sorry,' Mum said. She was weeping, and she came over to embrace me. I felt buried, suffocated almost; it took minutes before I could break free.

My voice sounded strange as I asked, 'Where is he?'

Robin answered, 'he's still in his room, sweetheart.'

I shook my head vigorously, seeing the weeping pile of Louis' siblings turning to look at me through their cries. 'No, not where is his body, where is he?' I asked.

My mum looked at me, puzzled, reaching out to push my hair away from my face. I jerked free of her hands and took a few steps back. Lottie pulled away from her sisters and moved across the room, pulling me into a cuddle so like the ones Louis used to give.

'He's where he's always been. With you, love. He's with you.'

Chapter Text

The next day we headed for Niall's office, to talk.

I had been coaxed out of bed by Gemma. My mind was sodden, murky, my hair dirty and my skin sallow. The sun was impossibly bright, too normal. People walked, drove cars; leaves grew, rustled by wind. It dawned on me that according to the world, according to the grand scheme of things, nothing had happened, or worse, what had happened to Louis was ordinary. My entire world has ended and the rest of the world continued to turn.

As Gemma and I climbed into the backseat of my parents' car for the short drive to Niall's, I felt like shouting to passersby so that they would know I was crushed, devastated, no longer like them. Even the back of Robin's head, and Mum's hand stretched back to hold mine, were alien to me. It felt as though Louis' death had happened to me, and me alone, transforming me into something outside, something other.

I led the way to Niall's office and was slightly surprised to see that Lottie, Fizzy and the twins were there, sat in an array of chairs around the desk.

'Well,' Niall said once we were seated, 'it's not very kind, but as Louis' lawyer, I have paperwork to go through with you all."

'Of course,' Mum said. 'We understand.' she grasped my hand.

Niall went on, 'There's the will-'

'What about Louis' parents?' I asked. 'Shouldn't we-'

'No,' Lottie said. 'I don't give a fuck what that thing says me dad deserves nothing.'

'We aren't talking about a great deal of money,' Niall said.

'I don't care,' Lottie protested, her anger propelling her out of her chair. 'That asshole gets nout of Louis'!" She had nowhere to go, so she shrank back down into her chair, her face set, her eyes full of rage.

I stared at her, the angry side I had rarely seen in Louis so near the surface in her.

'Maybe,' Niall began, 'the best thing to do is to just read through it, as Louis requested. Anyone not present who is named in the will can be notified by mail.'

Lottie crossed her arms, her legs spread into a stubborn stance, saying nothing. '

Are you okay with this?' Niall asked me.

I nodded. 'All right,' he said, 'here we go: "I, Louis William Tomlinson, being of sound mind and body, do hereby bequeath my worldly goods in the following manner: To Lottie Tomlinson, little sister, best childhood companion and faithful keeper of secrets, I leave any of my clothes that she wants, every condom I haven't already used, and all my hats."

We looked at Lottie. Her face was contorted into a smile that fought against tears. We didn't know it then but she had no use for Louis' joke gift of condoms, as she would soon discover she was pregnant with her and her boyfriend's first child.

Niall swallowed and continued, "To Felicite Tomlinson, little sister, Louis in a wig, and one of the funniest people I know, I leave all of my band tshirts, my books, and my very small collection of unused guitars. Sorry, kid, my talent comes with me, but I'm not worried about you," Niall looked up, for response.

Fizzy was crying silently, sorrow half-swallowed.

"The twins, Phoebe and Daisy Tomlinson, my babies, the sweetest and kindest souls I know. I leave you all my jewelry, it's not a lot and probably too masculine for you but it's yours now. I also leave my video games and Nana's photo albums to you both."

I nodded to Niall to continue, although my breath was fast and shallow, my skin tingly and tight around my mouth.

"To the people who cared for me as only parents could, Anne and Robin Twist, I leave, to Anne, my grandmother's cook book, to Robin, my art books."

"He sketched in the margins,' I said. I felt Robin's hand on mine and watched as Mum cried. "Am I next?" I asked.

Niall nodded. I took a big breath and stood.

'I'm sorry,' I said.

"It's okay," Niall said. 'We can skip that part-'

'No, I want to hear it. But I need to hear it alone."

"Of course, sweetie, we understand,' Mum said.

"We should have thought of that,' Robin commented.

When everyone was gone, I approached Niall at his desk. 'Do you mind if I read it to myself?' I asked. He shook his head and handed the papers to me.

'I can still hear him so clearly,' I said. 'I can see him like he was at first, when we first met.' Niall nodded. 

I said, 'He's so clear to me now, even more than when he was alive.'

'I know,' Niall said. 'Hold on to it.'

'How?'

"You'll find your own way.'

'I want more than this,' I said, waving the papers and walking away, toward the window.

'You have more.' I turned to face him, the will a simple piece of paper dry and light in my hand. Then I began to read, silently, the words filling my mind in Louis' voice.

"Harry Edward Styles, the sexy, sparkling, fiery love of me life, I leave you me heart, me soul, me body, forever. Because of you, H, am not sad or angry about leaving, or not having had enough time, because you made it enough. You made it a thousand lifetimes.

Thank you.

I leave you Midnight, me bike that you named, all me worldly possessions not otherwise bequeathed, especially me collection of Adidas sweaters and the North Face coat you love to borrow, me stethoscope you are so fond of playing wi', me denim jacket you've practically stolen already, me photos that are mostly of you, me camera to take more pictures of your gorgeous face, and anything else you want that were mine.

I leave to you, H, all me dreams, all me desire and all me love, all that I am...all that I were.

I leave any cash you can find belonging me and all proceeds from any settlement of lawsuits in me name. Knowing you, you'll know how to give it away.

I love you always, and I'm sorry for leaving."

I turned to the window for a moment, breathing slowly, forcing myself not to break. There was more to read.

"To my parents," I looked up at Niall and breathed. The knowledge that no new words would ever come to me from Louis again, that now I would only ever hear words from conversations past or imagined.

"I'll bring them back in,' I said shakily.

When we were settled again, Niall continued reading:

"To my parents, Mark and Johanna Tomlinson..." Niall hesitated and Lottie's jaw tightened, but she remained quiet as he went on, "I leave memories, in any way they choose to use them. And love."

Lottie exhaled, Fizzy held her hand. We were all silent.

"That's the will,' Niall said with a sad sigh. "Now there's the issue of the...remains.'

"His body?' I asked, voice shaking.

"Yes,' Niall responded. "As his next of kin, Harry, you can speak for Louis in this regard."

"He wanted to be cremated. He asked me to scatter the ashes," I said, my words sounding metallic and unreal.

"He told me that also,' Niall said. "Has anyone contacted Louis' mother and father?"

"No!" It was Lottie again. "Forget them. Dad don't give a shit anyway."

My parents looked startled, but didn't speak.

"That's not true,' I said. "They tried to take Lou back to Doncaster, to help him.'

"That wasn't about helping,' Fizzy said, still holding onto Lottie. "That was about possession, about, Dad getting his way.'

"Maybe,' I began, 'but Lou didn't hate your dad, or you mum. He even told me once, it's okay if me parents want to do some Christian bullshit after I die"

'He did?' Niall asked, eyebrow raised.

"Yes,' I said.

"Louis hated the Church,' Lottie said with a slight growl.

"He told me he wasn't religious' I said, 'but he said to let your parents have a service if they wanted."

"I'll contact them,' Niall said. He looked at me. "I guess that does it,' he added.

We stood.

"Why don't you come home with us?' Robin asked me.

I shook my head, "thanks, but I'd rather be alone.'

'You sure?' Mum asked.

"Yes, don't worry."

"We love you,' Gemma said, giving me a hug.

"I love you too.' They looked at me mournfully, as if hoping to soak up some of my sadness, but there was too much to absorb, too much for all of us.

We began to file out.

'See you,' I said, and headed for the toilets.

***

As I walked back down the hall toward Niall's office a few minutes later, Lottie caught up to me.

"There's something I have to tell you, Harry,' she said. 'About Lou.'

'What?'

"I didn't want to say anything in front of your parents, or the twins, but Louis kept a secret. Only my Dad, me and Fizz know."

'A secret?" I stopped walking.

'He asked me to tell you after he die...after he were gone.'

'I don't know how much more I can take today, Lottie.'

"He trusted me. I promised I'd tell you."

'Okay. Fine." I looked up and down the hall. It was empty. "Can we talk here?"

"I guess...okay..urm here goes" she closed her eyes, "Louis was...well he was urm...r...raped. When he were thirteen."

My heart dropped into my stomach. I staggered back and dropped myself onto a wooden bench.

"By who?" I whispered, unable to make myself speak louder.

"By the vicar in our parents' church. The one that still works there."

'No,' I said, fresh tears welling in my eyes. She nodded.

'And Dad refused to believe Louis, probably because he couldn't handle what had happened. He said Lou were disgusting to make up such a revoluting lie. But he were telling the truth. I know it."

I nodded shakily.

'The whole thing disgusted Dad. He couldn't face it, so he turned away from it. Pretended it couldn't have happened."

'And your mum?"

'She never knew. She knew something happened to make Dad and Louis fall out and it broke her heart, Louis were her golden boy. But she's terrified of Dad. So she dropped it."

"But why didn't Mark confront the Vicar? Or go to the police?"

'Because to believe Louis would've turned his faith upside down...his whole world upside-down. His faith is everything to him."

"But what about Louis' world?"

"It were sacrificed."

I didn't want to hear any more, but only now things began to slide into place, to finally make sense: Louis' resistance to getting married in the Church, his dad's 'rules' that Louis had never understood, but felt he had broken: his overwhelming need to rescue everyone else.

"But then...why did Louis blame himself for your Dad's rejection of him?" I asked.

'Louis were a kid. He believed what Dad said, that he were disgusting. He felt filthy after what had happened, that somehow he had been to blame. That he had caused the Vicar to choose him."

"He was just a kid.'

"Yes, and in awe of our Dad. He didn't think Dad could be wrong, so he blamed himself. He never went to church after that. He renounced religion, which enraged our Dad.'

"He told me he'd never be a hypocrite.'

"Like that Vicar is. Still, Lou wanted Dad's love so badly." 

"And his forgiveness."

"Yes, but Dad never forgave Lou for telling the truth. After Louis got sick, Dad felt responsible, though.'

'Responsible?"

"That he had "let" his son break the rules, go against the churches values, whatever."

"Why didn't he tell me about this?"

"Telling makes people think, like it made our dad think.'

'He couldn't have thought I wouldn't believe him."

'Of course not, but it's a hard thing to escape from once you know about it. He didn't want it to ruin what you two had.'

"Then why tell me now, when it's too late?"

"I guess he didn't think it would matter once he was gone. I don't know."

I nodded slowly, not really understanding, then sighed, recalling that long ago Midnight Mass, the beauty, the the faith, the hope-and Louis' inexplicable stubbornness, Mark's steely back clenched as the priest with his white and gold robes...I didn't want to think any further. I grabbed Lottie's arm in sympathy and thanks and then stood and left. 

Chapter Text

It wasn't until that afternoon that Niall located the Tomlinsons. I had meant to return home but had instead spent the day perched at Niall's window, staring out into the street as he worked.

Niall had dialled their number on speaker phone as he had done once an hour and this time instead of a diall tone, we heard Mark's voice.

"Who is this?"

"Is this Mark Tomlinson?"

"Yes. Who is it," he barked impatiently.

"Niall Horan, your son Louis' lawyer."

"Lawyer? What's this about? Is there some kind of
trouble?"

"I have Harry Tomlinson-Styles here with me-"

"Is this about me contesting the power of attorney decision? Because if it is, me lawyer ca-"

"Mr Tomlinson," Niall interrupted, "I'm really sorry to have to inform you that Louis passed away early yesterday morning."

Silence.

Not even static, breathing, or a gasp, just nothing.

Niall and I looked at cach other and then stared at the phone, expectant.

"Mr. Tomlinson?' Niall said.

"Why are you involved wi' this?" Mark asked.

"Excuse me?"

"I would like an explanation why I wasn't notified by the hospital, why his physicians did not contact me regarding his condition."

"His next of kin was present when he passed."

"Where is he?"

"His remains are in the University Hospital morgue," Niall said, "I'm calling because Louis requested that you be notified in case you wished to have a service."

"Wished? He's Anglican. He must have an Anglican service."

"I understand."

"I will make arrangements to have his body transported here, to Doncaster."

"There is one other matter, Mr. Tomlinson."

"What?"

"Louis specified to Mr. Tomlinson-Styles and to me that he wished to be cremated."

"That's absurd."

"And as Harry is the legal next of kin and his power of attorney-"

"I don't give a fuck. I tell you. We don't burn our loved ones."

"His request is legally binding."

"Who are you?"

"Niall Horan, I represent-"

"What religion are you?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but Catholic."

"Well, you Catholics may burn your kin, but I will not have me son put in a furnace."

"Catholics bury their dead," Niall said matter of factly, "Regardless I have been retained as your son's lawyer and he has specified that his remains are to be cremated and then scattered by his husband. There is no reason that his body must be released to you in its current-"

"We'll see about that," Mark.answered, and the next thing we heard was a dial tone.

Niall rised his eyebrows and clicked off the connection.

"How did someone like that raise our Louis."

I shook my head. "I don't know, but Lou loved him, despite his many faults."

Louis was like that.

Generous.

***

Mark managed to get Louis back to Doncaster after all.

Two days after his death and his body was already out of London. Niall and Mark had argued and argued about the body, paperwork, cremation and ashes.

I knew Niall would win- he had the law on his side-and I suspected Mark's arguing had more to do with parental turf and control than anything to do with religion, a ticket to heaven, or his son's desires.

It was eventually agreed that Lou's body would be released for the church service, which would be held in Doncaster, and it would be cremated immediately afterward.

I was to transport him home.

My role in the transport started me thinking about the train journey back to London with the urn holding Louis' ashes. The whole process unnerved me: the thought of deciding where to put it-under the seat in front of me, on a table? or in the overhead? What about in my luggage on a luggage rack? What if it spilled? The more I thought about it, the more I realized I didn't want our story to end that way.

So I decided we would take a ride, the two of us, one long, last, terrific ride to end our journey. With Louis in my backpack, I would take him home on Midnight.

***

I was in crumpled black when I entered the church, my trousers pasted to my legs by the heat.

Afterward, I stood on the steps, in scorching sunlight, having watched as the bald priest blessed Louis body. I had watched as Louis' mother, father, and the twins cried, as the others prayed, sniffled, sighed, and shook their heads. AIDS was never mentioned, only cancer, 'lymphoma,' brain tumor.'

I stood alone. I had asked them not to come, my family, his friends, our friends. I didn't want comfort, mourning, or goodbyes. Not like this. His real service would be at the crematorium.

I looked up finally and they were gone, the people that had been there, the people that I had not known. They raced away in their cars to destinations more comfortable, controlled environments without the problems of grieve and decay.

"You didn't want to go either, huh?"

"What?" I said, turning to see a young man behind me, about Felicite's age, dressed in black, his hair slick with heat.

"I can't stand that part," he went on. "I hung back until they were gone."

"Who?"

He raised an eyebrow, "the funeral procession?"

"Procession?"

"The burial..." he said.

'Oh, shit!"' I gasped. 'He wouldn't."

'Are you okay?"

"Do you have a car?"

'Sure.'

"You've got to take me to the cemetery. Now!'

"I told you, that stuff gives me the creeps.'

"Please, hurry."

"What's with you?" he asked as I dragged him across the grass by his sleeve to the only car left on the street; I had taken a taxi to the service from my hotel.

"I'm Louis' husband, I'm responsible for his body," I said desperately, "He's supposed to be cremated."

'In this heat he may spontaneously combust."

"Just take me there, please."

'Okay, but I'm not staying."

"Fine.'

We climbed in and he started driving.

He was a friend of Felicite's from school. He kept chattering about her and his memories of the family, but all I could think of was Louis lying in that coffin, being lowered into a hole of clay and covered with heavy earth and sheaves of flowers, alone.

When we got there, I bolted out of the car before the young man had stopped it, and rushed toward the cluster of people stood at the grave site. I stumbled in the soft earth, seeing them turn toward me, shocked: the priest, Mr. and Mrs. Tomlinson, the others, their eyes widening, their shoulders pulling back at my approach.

'Stop!" I screeched, but they already had. "You can't do this,' I panted, now in front of them.

"Excuse us, young lady,' the vicar said, meeting my eyes. "This is a burial. Please respect the deceased.'

"Respect the deceased? Like you respected him when he was a child? He trusted you!" I roared.

"Excuse you?" the vicars eyes went wide.

'God sees the truth,' I spat.

He glanced at Mark and Johannah for their reactions the stuttered, "sh...shall I proceed,' he cleared his throat.

"Pease do,' Mark said.

The vicar continued reading from the Bible. His voice was even, but his fingers trembled where they were spread beneath the book. The mourners turned their backs on me.

"NO' I yelled. They turned to look at me again. Mark came at me, "get out of here,' he said, taking me by the arm and trying to lead me away.

"This is illegal and you know it,' I said, yanking my arm from him. He quickly grasped it again, forming a fist around, pulling me with him.

"Continue," he ordered the vicar and we started to struggle.

The vicars voice droned on but the onlookers gaped at us. Mark dragged at me and I dragged back. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the young man who had reluctantly helped me walking over.

"Should I call the police?" he asked.

Mark stopped scuffling and stared at him.

"Good idea' he said, and the vicar stopped reading. Everything went still.

After about ten awkward minutes, two uniformed police officers climbed the small hill to where we were gathered and asked what the problem was.

'He does not belong here,' Mark said.

"I have copies of my marriage certificate, proof of my being the deceased's next of kin and a power of attorney document. Here,' I said handing it all over to one of the officers. "I'm Harry Tomlinson-Styles and I'm responsible for the deceased's remains. He's to be cremated. His father has stolen his corpse."

The officers exchanged a glance and looked at the documents for a long while; no doubt it was the first stolen corpse they had ever seen. Then the larger one took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair, replaced it, and spoke. 'Can't you two come to some agreement on this here?"

We shook our heads.

"No form of compromise?" the other officer asked.

I wasn't about to ask what he had in mind. We shook our heads again.

"Well, sir,' the first officer said, "it's the letter of the law I'm sworn to uphold. I see you've got a man of the cloth here, but-"

"Goddammit, he's my son,' Mark said, but with less confidence than usual. The 'goddammit' made the officer look up hastily toward the vicar, whose head was beginning to shine in the heat; he shifted his weight frequently.

"Im sorry, sir, he's got all the documents here,' the officer said.

I expected Mark to claim that it was all fake, coerced, forged, and to insist on a hearing or some such legal maneuver, but he didn't. His shoulders sagged a bit, like the air had been let out of him, and he nodded, walking away and rejoining the others.

I wasn't close to the coffin, or to Mark, or the vicar. I was a few feet away. But I saw it clearly, a memory emblazoned on my soul. Mark scrutinized the now silent vicar, his gaze probing below the Church's finery, the layers of protective, sacred cloth, to the man underneath.

I watched what Mark saw: flesh, humanity, the capability for evil deeds. Knowledge crossed his face abruptly and he threw his head back, hurling a guttural roar from his chest toward the heavens.

"Go!" he ordered those gathered. They stared at him and he again bellowed, 'Go!' His fists were clenched as the confused group began to shake their heads, looking at one another, backing up.

"Mark," the vicar began, 'in this time of grief-"

"Damn you, you sick bastard. Damn you to hell" Mark snarled in the vicars face.

The vicar shut his Bible with a snap and walked down the hill, toward the hearse without looking back.

Mark took Johannah's hand and they knelt by the side of the coffin. Mark rested his head on it and began to cry. Sobs convulsed his body, jerking his chest inward and out. The sound of his uncontrolled grief suddenly seemed the saddest thing I'd ever heard.

Johannah joined him, her sorrow higher-pitched, more soothing, blessed by ignorance.

I witnessed what Louis had never seen, would never see: his father's profound and true love given voice, while regret, an eternal hangman's noose, descended upon him, never to be loosened.

Louis was at last believed. And at last forgiven.