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Cooper loved Harry. That was true. He’d known it for a long time. It seemed to drip down into everything he did. Loving Harry had changed him.
Perhaps it was his interest in fishing gaining, perhaps it was Cooper’s smiles and ‘I like your Stetson!’ whenever he saw anyone with a cowboy hat—though, not even Harry owned one of those. It was the only brand Truman had told him about. It seemed to be a luxury, from what he could tell—or perhaps it was those nights where he clutched that boy scout badge in his hands like it was a prized jewel.
Loving him seemed to silently change Cooper. He wondered if Harry noticed how he’d shifted. He didn’t expect him to, though. They’d grown around each other. They’d grown towards each other, making a conscious decision to live lives in each other’s shape.
Cooper would leave donuts on his desk in the morning, his favorite, raspberry filled with a little jelly on top. He didn’t think Harry thought much of the sentiment, Cooper did, though. He thought about it quite a bit. Far too often, that’s how much he thought about it.
And it wasn’t just about that. It was about Harry’s smile, his laugh, his grand sense of humor, about the clothes he wore and the game he hunted and the way he liked his coffee.
Cooper really enjoyed thinking of Harry. Harry was such a kind man, who wouldn’t?
Albert, he supposed.
He chuckled at his own jokes. He chuckled at old jokes he’d remember Harry telling. He’d smile at the gentle sentiments he’d said and the ones that Truman had so softly said to him. He’d frown over—
Well, Harry’s childhood wasn’t the best. Though it had only been vaguely told and picked up from the wince on his face as he spoke of certain things. It was clear something had happened back then—Cooper didn’t enjoy thinking about it. He loved Harry too much. But if Harry wanted to discuss it, Cooper would listen and hear him with open arms.
All Cooper knew was that Harry was a good boy who didn’t deserve a damn thing that happened to him in his younger years.
He deserved to be soothed and loved and for his pictures to be put up on the fridge. Cooper thought Harry was the goodest boy he’d ever known, whether he was speaking in present or past tense. The type of boy he’d gently grab the nose of and chuckle.
Often he’d muse the man, think of how he’d love to hold him close forever. Yet, something was strange about the feeling. Something was off.
He wanted to spend the rest of his life with Harry, yes. Of course he did. He loved every moment he spent with him, and he thought seeing him every day, every morning, would be better than a cup of coffee. Brewed straight from the Great Northern’s fantastic breakfast accommodations—ones that, when he took the time to think, Harry had set up for him.
So he thought of him when he drank his coffee.
But no matter how he wanted to spend his life with him, he wasn’t keen on romance. No, not at all. He was indifferent to it, really. He wanted to hold his hand, his heart felt warm when he saw him, but…
It was just friendship. The quintessence of friendship, friendship in its purest form.
And it was perfect, as perfect as a night where the moon shone and the stars dotted the sky. He loved it. He loved him.
He wanted to be by Harry’s side, he wanted to have the opportunity to stay by his side. He wanted to be with him. Cooper wanted them to be together.
And they were together.
When Cooper had shared this revelation—Harry had just smiled, and somehow, he had completely understood. He hadn’t treated Cooper as if he was strange, or as if he was romantically in love with him.
He treated him as a friend, a friend who loved deeper than most.
And that was exactly what Cooper needed. To be treated as if his feelings were normal. Nothing was expected of him, nothing was pushed upon him. He was simply understood, simply loved, simply cared for…as no one else had.
So many people in his past had been, well, careless with him. They had treated him badly, whether they meant to or not. Yet, Harry was the pure opposite of all of these people.
He made promises, he kept them. He’d tell you he loved you and he’d mean it. He’d be a true friend, and that was all Cooper needed.
All this time, it was all he needed.
He wanted to show Harry he loved him. He wanted to go on hikes with him, he wanted to go skiing with him, he wanted to go to the Double R-Diner and sip coffee as they both thoughtlessly demolished four refills of their notorious never-ending fries. He wanted to call him when he got good news, or even when the news was bad. He wanted to stare at him for hours, studying his every movement. Without meaning to, of course…he seemed to just do that. Most people viewed him as a strange folk when they really got to know him.
No matter the man’s flaws, he seemed to love him more every day. The man made mistakes, sure, but that was what was so beautiful. He corrected his hurtful actions and he tried his best to be the best person he could be. Cooper didn’t need Harry to be perfect, he didn’t expect that of anyone, but Harry tried his best. He tried his best, and that was truly commendable.
Harry was a good man, that Cooper knew.
He wanted to tell Harry he loved him in every way he could. No matter how visiting lakes and drawing coloring pages for him made the man smile, he wanted to figure out how to express it in a deeper way. One Harry would understand, one that would truly tell him how much he appreciated him—Aside from just directly telling him every time he saw him, which Cooper did nearly every day.
Part of him knew how he could say it, he’d known the whole time.
…
Harry had always spoken of how it was unlikely someone would ever take care of him.
Cooper knew that wasn’t true. He knew someone would love the man. Someone would love the man, yes, because Cooper already did.
He’d always seen caregiving as a gentle way to express his love for someone. And as of recent, the idea had grown on him even further.
It wasn’t something easy to bring up, of course, and Cooper didn’t think he would. They both were very open with discussions of regression, yes, but Cooper didn’t know how to say it.
It was such a strange feeling. A warm, yet solemn feeling, built entirely on the foundations of love and trust.
He knew it wasn’t something he should feel. He couldn’t take care of Harry. Whether that was for his personal boundaries, or his previous traumas. He was aware of both of these conflicts. Cooper didn’t take care of people with relation to the cases he covered, and with what Denise had done to him…
Yet, every time Cooper discussed the idea of caregiving in writing. It drifted away from his past, what happened with Denise, and slipped closer to the future. His future. Harry’s future. What they could have.
Or he supposed, what they couldn’t have.
But the heart wants what it wants. He’d known that from the start, hadn’t he?
He’d try and say these things, but he’d never get the words out, he’d never get the opportunity—and when he attempted to speak of caregiving, Harry seemed to assume it was about Denise.
But it wasn’t, not anymore.
It was so…strange to feel after such a long time, though. When he had fallen for Denise, he had felt the same way, and coming to terms that he had fallen into that sort of love once more—he had to admit, that scared him. He was afraid to get traumatized, so he didn’t say how he felt. He didn’t make that move, though it would be fruitless either way.
He had to heal from Denise’s actions, and he had his own boundaries. These two things he was nearly hyper aware of, yet his mind still lingered on the thought of helping Harry in any way he could.
Four years, that’s what Cooper thought, in four years, if Harry was still a part of his life in four years. He’d make the offer. That gave ample time to heal and become more than a sheriff and a FBI agent working on a case together. Four years. Four years, he’d repeat to himself.
That was the age Harry regressed to.
He pushed the thought from his mind.
But no matter, Cooper loved him. He wanted to love him, to tell him how much he loved him, he wanted to give him the world. He wanted to give him his world.
And what if regression was a large part of his life? What then?
Cooper supposed it didn’t matter, at least for the next four years.
But whether Harry was forty-seven or four, Cooper would always love him. And…maybe, just maybe, he’d always want to spend his life with him.