Archive of Our Own

Harry loves his wife, but not like that.

He's been trying to tell himself that he really does love her, that he wants to be with her. He can't believe it. Even when they bought a house together, he still had trouble sleeping in the same bed as her. When he imagines starting a family with her, he can't picture it.

It's hard to figure out why he feels this way. Taylor is a wonderful woman. He's been attracted to women before with no problem. It could be that he and Taylor have been good friends since middle school. It could also very well be the fact that their parents set them up. Since then, they've basically been forced to stay together for family's sake.

After a bit of rousing by Harry's father, the couple decided to purchase a nice home a couple miles out of the city. It's a farming town, really. They both come to find that country folk around here are extremely polite. Sometimes it almost seems too nice, like they're making a move.

Harry doesn't want to, but he thinks his neighbor across the street is flirting with him.

Immediately after moving in, every household on the street knocks on their front door and welcomes them to the neighborhood. There's people of every age making rounds on their doorstep. Taylor is usually the one to greet them while Harry works on learning how to play music in the furnished basement.

One day, while his wife is at work, the doorbell rings. He can't imagine who else could show up days after they thought they'd already met everyone. He sets his guitar down and rushes up the stairs to answer, trying to be as polite as the rest of these people have been.

There's a man in overalls standing in the doorway, holding a tray in his hands. He grins as soon as the two make eye contact. "Good afternoon," he says, bright-eyed. "You're Harry, right?"

Harry nods with a shy smile. "Yeah. Sorry my wife isn't home, she had to clock in early."

With a shrug, the tall farm boy looks behind his new neighbor politely, trying to get a sneak peak of his home. "That's okay, I'll meet her eventually," he smiles again. "I'm Louis. I live right across the street," he motions to the farmhouse behind his head.

"Nice to meet you, Louis," Harry nearly reaches out to shake his hand before he realizes the boy has none free. He steps back to make room for him to squeeze through the doorway. "Would you like to come in?"

"Absolutely, if you don't mind," Louis gives him another teeth-filled smile and then follows him into the house.

Their home isn't fully finished yet as they'd just moved in a week ago. There's various Tupperware containers and bakery trays that the neighbors have made them piled up on the kitchen counter.

Louis must spot this because he looks down at his own tray with a self-deprecating laugh. "Jeez, I should've known everyone would bombard you with food," he murmurs.

Harry replies by shaking his head. "Hey, I hate cooking, I'll take anything I can get," he laughs.

"Well, in that case, you'll have lots of cheesecake. You guys can have milk and stuff, right?" the man asks, setting his container down on the counter wherever there's space.

He tells him that yes, they can. "My wife's a vegetarian, so we don't buy a lot of meat, but I have to admit to you, I've been buggin' for some steak since we moved here."

There's a moment of silence between the two. Comfortable. Louis' been looking at the wedding photos on the wall, rocking on his heels. "You're always welcome to come to mine if you want some," he tells him without turning around. "This your lady?"

Harry smiles a little. He really does love Taylor, but not like that. "Yeah," he nods although Louis is looking elsewhere.

"She's pretty," he says, continuing to look at the picture of the couple feeding each other their wedding cake. It's a nice photo. Harry would love it if he actually loved his wife like that. He finally turns around with a sigh, hands shoved into the pocket of his overalls. "Well, I should head back, but it was nice to meet you," he grins again, showing off his pearly whites. He shakes Harry's hand and shows himself out. "Remember my offer still stands," he stops in the doorway before leaving.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

Harry is lounging on the couch with a plate of half-eaten cheesecake in his hand, watching a YouTube video on the television, when Taylor gets home. It's nearly dark out now during the early spring season, and Harry's dinner had consisted of two slices of the cake Louis had made.

"Welcome home," he says after swallowing a piece. "You gotta try this, it's fucking awesome."

His wife makes her way over to the couch, sitting down next to him. She steals a bite off of his fork and then groans. "Jesus, who made that?" she asks with wide eyes.

"Our neighbor, Louis."

"I didn't meet a Louis."

"Yeah, he came over while you were at work," Harry explains. The reason why unbeknownst to him, he begins to feel somewhat guilty.

Taylor hums, nodding to herself. She wraps her arm around Harry's shoulders and scoots closer. "What's he like?" she asks. She's always been one to like neighborhood gossip.

Handsome. Harry almost blurts that out and immediately clears his throat to rid the word from his tongue. "He was nice," he shrugs.

"Yeah? He say anything about me?" she grins hopefully.

"He said you were pretty," Harry replies, staring at the wedding photo again.

The blonde brushes her husband's hair off of his forehead. "Well... Did you agree with him?"

She's teasing, but Harry knows she wants him to answer. "Duh," he smiles sheepishly, leaning into her touch.

"You're sweet," she coos, leaning forward to kiss his lips. He returns it, setting his plate down on the table.

Harry is about to ask if she wants some dinner but she gets up and goes to get some leftovers from the fridge. He sits on the couch with his knees curled up to his chest, continuing to look at their wedding picture on the wall.

"So, do I get to meet Louis?" the woman asks from the other room.

He can hear her opening the microwave. "He would like to meet you," he replies, raising his voice.

"I'm looking forward to it."

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

Louis Tomlinson makes his way over to Harry and Taylor's house a few days after their first meeting.

Harry had waved at him a few hours earlier when they were both outside of their respective homes. Louis waved right back and went on walking to the chicken coop in the backyard. He saw a woman in the garden and wondered if he should stop over to meet her.

Now he's walking up the steps to see his new neighbors, picking a flower out of the dirt in the driveway. He knocks on the front door and smiles when Harry opens up. "Oh, hi," the curly-haired boy smiles, his head against the door.

"Flower?" Louis asks, holding it out to him.

"Thank you," he takes it with another smile, opening the door a bit more. "My wife's home, she's been wanting to meet you. Come in."

He follows Harry in, slipping his shoes off under the coat hanger. His wife is standing in the dining room, lighting a candle in the middle of the table.

"Babe," her husband calls out when they walk in, catching her attention. "Louis' here."

She sets the lighter down and looks up at the tall man behind Harry. "Louis, hi," she beams, shaking his hand. Harry admires how polite she is, stepping off to the side to finish setting the table. "I'm Taylor, it's nice to meet you."

"Taylor, likewise."

"Would you like to stay for dinner?" Harry asks, interrupting them. He ignores the slight glare Taylor sends his way.

Louis catches that. He shoves his hands in his pocket again, rocking on his heels. "Um... I don't want to intrude," he says.

The other boy shakes his head, pulling out a chair. "No worries. Got too much food for the both of us," he offers a kind smile, motioning for him to sit down.

"If you're sure," Louis shrugs, but stands behind the chair so the couple can sit first.

The candle flickers in the middle of the table in between the various dishes of food. Harry moves to blow it out when Taylor waves him off dejectedly.

They eat in near silence. There's some small talk between Taylor and Louis, but nothing much. The music playing through the telly helps alleviate the clear discomfort in the room.

Eventually, a conversation starts. "So, Louis, you from around here?" Taylor asks, wiping her mouth with a napkin.

"Yeah," he nods with a reminiscing smile. "I've lived across the street since I was a kid. My mom owned it."

"Where is she now?"

"'Bout an hour away."

Harry smiles, resting his elbows on the table even though Taylor always chastises him for it. "You're lucky. Mine live out of state."

Louis stares at him, and so does Taylor, both of their eyes burning into his soul. His wife seems to be telepathically ushering his arms back down to his sides. "Sometimes it's easier when they're farther away," their neighbor offers, then looks back down to his plate.

He doesn't know how to respond, nodding to himself. He brings his arms off the table and can hear Taylor sigh, relieved.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

Harry doesn't know how he got to this point, but he's horrified.

He went over to Louis' house for dinner, the third time he's stepped foot inside, and Louis offered to show him the barn. How could Harry resist? He wanted to see the cows, that's all, and he was on his third glass of merlot anyway.

So, they go. Louis leads the way, flicking on the light switch next to the big door of the barn, and a cow moos into the bright space, annoyed. "Sorry," Louis calls out to it, smiling at the way Harry laughs. "This is Charlotte. Like Charlotte's Web, but cow version."

"That's interesting," Harry snorts.

"I named her, you twat," he fakes offense, leading the boy through the herd of cows gathered in the cattle pen. "One of my chickens actually had babies the other night, d'you wanna name one?"

That's a big responsibility. Harry can't even come up with what he wants to eat for dinner, let alone assign a name to a pet. "Name one Louis," he says without a second thought.

Louis rolls his eyes. "Fine. Then the girl can be Harry."

He's grinning at him sweetly like he didn't just try to insult him, and Harry punches his shoulder before making a run for it.

"Harry, don't run, you'll hurt yourself," Louis manages to say, before Harry goes tumbling.

When he turns his foot to bolt away, scared of getting punched back, his shoe slips on the giant pile of hay next to the pen. Needless to say, he goes flying into it, his loose-fitting Vans coming right off his feet from the impact.

His new friend sprints after him, familiar with his barn, and throws himself underneath, attempting to soften the blow. Harry prays the needle-in-the-haystack phrase is just a hoax, otherwise they're both going to look like pin cushions by the end of the night.

So Louis' under him now, arm around Harry's torso, one shielding his eyes from the strands of hay in their faces. Harry doesn't even realize what happened until they're still. "What kind of pigsty do you live in?" he asks incredulously, heart racing.

"Yeah, Harry, I sleep with cows," Louis grumbles, a smile teasing his lips. "Like your mom. Booyah."

Harry turns around in Louis' hold, facing him, and they're both slowly sinking into the haystack like they're trapped in quicksand. His mouth is agape. "You leave my mother out of this. I didn't think you knew what a your-mom joke was."

The older boy shakes his head, speaking in a matter-of-fact, smartass tone. "I'm not a degenerate. I have unrestricted internet access and cable."

"You're wearing a flannel and dungarees."

"What, you want me to take them off?" Louis teases.

Harry still doesn't get off of him, pushing him farther into the hay. His shoulders are nearly gone now, covered in the yellow straws. "Mm... What kind of underwear are you wearing?"

"Would you believe me if I told you they had ducks on them?"

Of course he believes that. Louis is exactly the type to wear duck-patterned boxers. "You're such a nerd," the curly-haired boy sighs.

Louis continues to tease, keeping an unrelenting hold on Harry's waist so he doesn't topple over. "My turn. What kind of underwear does your wife wear?"

He elbows him in the ribcage half-playfully, blushing on Taylor's behalf. Louis could make anyone flustered. "Sorry. Secret. I'd prefer it if you didn't steal my wife."

"Don't worry, I don't like girls," Louis chuckles, then his smile drops and he clears his throat. "Anyway... Could use some more wine," he's secretly begging for Harry to get off of him, face flushed in embarrassment.

"Louis," the boy nudges him, but doesn't get off.

"What?" Louis avoids his eye.

He holds himself up when Louis let's go of him. "Are you gay?"

"Why's it matter to you?" he smiles self-consciously, gently pushing Harry away. "Do you want some more to drink? I think I have enough for one more glass."

Harry follows him into the house, can see his own across the street. The light is on in the living room, and he knows Taylor is probably watching a movie by herself, wondering what he and Louis could be up to. Talking about being gay, that's what. Not that he'd ever mention that. "Is... How did you know?"

Louis pauses at the counter, taking his and Harry's empty glasses and splashing more merlot into both. "Know what?"

"That you were into men...?"

He's still not looking his way, glaring into the alcohol beneath him. "I dunno. It's not like I've come out to a lot of people. I live alone."

"You don't have to come out to be gay," Harry twists his mouth in thought.

"Okay," Louis laughs breathily, topping off the rest of the wine into his glass. He hands Harry's back to it's respective owner, clinking their cups together. "So, are you?"

He furrows his eyebrows, bringing his wine glass up to his lips. "Am I...?"

"Secretly gay."

"What makes you think that?" Harry asks, genuinely curious. He's not even offended, just wanting to know why Louis would say something like that. There's got to be some reason.

Louis shrugs, drinking. "You seem very interested, that's all."

"Interested in.. You being gay?"

"Yeah."

"So you are gay," he states.

The man glances around the room as if somebody will hear them. Maybe Taylor's listening in, hiding in the barn. "I am," he admits with a heavy sigh. "And to answer your question, I found out because I kissed a boy in high school, and I liked it."

"How did you know you weren't just, like... Horny?"

"'Cause I wasn't just in it for sex. I'm hurt by how low you think of me, H."

"I didn't mean it like that--"

Louis smiles. "I'm just messing with you," he shakes his head a little, focus on the kitchen counter. "Anyway... There's your answer. You happy?"

Harry doesn't reply to anything, seemingly lost in his cell phone. Louis stands there just watching him for multiple seconds, until the boy suddenly lifts up his head and clears his throat like the silence wasn't awkward enough. "Um... I should get going," he murmurs.

"Man," Louis sighs. "The party just started, Harry. You sure you don't want to finish this bottle with me?" he shakes the wine bottle around, watching the liquid slosh around inside.

"Maybe another time," Harry answers, trying not to make it seem like he's rushing to get out of here. Things got a little too awkward a little too fast, and now he doesn't know how to act. "Sorry, Louis. I'll... Um... I'll talk to you tomorrow."

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

Talk to him tomorrow, he does not. Harry, having the day off of work, was planning on heading outside and getting some yard work done while it was still warm out. He abandoned all of these plans as soon as he got home last night, after his strange encounter with Louis. Not that he doesn't want to talk to him, but... He just feels weird. He could have sworn Louis was about to make a move before he ran off. He ends up staying inside the entire morning, into the afternoon, and only going out once to check the mail. Louis must see him go outside later that evening, because as soon as Harry relaxes on the couch, there's a series of knocks on the door.

He debates getting up to look through the peephole, just to see if it really is who he thinks, but decides against it. Louis would know he's standing right there, ignoring him. He stays hunkered down on the couch, hoping Louis doesn't come around to peer through a window and see him, wide awake and totally able to have a conversation.

He never does, though. Harry hears the knocking a few more times before the doorbell rings. Louis is probably figuring Harry is downstairs, busy and unable to hear. He only rings it once before Harry hears feet scuffling away from the front door, fading out across the street.

Taylor comes home about an hour after the successfully avoided interaction with Louis, her hands full. Harry gets up to help her as soon as the door opens, taking whatever he can from her to lighten the load.

"What the hell is your ring doing on the front porch?" She asks, causing Harry to turn around in his tracks. He sets her water bottle and her keys down on the kitchen counter, brows drawn together.

"What are you talking about?" He questions slowly, walking back toward the front door.

His wedding ring is actually there, on the concrete step just in front of the doormat. Taylor probably only noticed it because it was glistening under the porch light. He bends over to pick it up, inspecting it for damage, and wipes it off on his hooded jacket.

He remembers now, hypothesizing. His ring must have fallen off when he flew into that haystack last night. That was probably why Louis was here earlier, to drop it off. His heart flutters in his chest, mostly out of embarrassment. Louis came over to do something nice and Harry treated him like he was never there. He sighs, sliding it back onto his finger. "It must have fallen off when I was over at Louis' yesterday," he excuses, clearing his throat.

She looks at him for longer than he would like her to, trying to figure something out, it seems. "What were you doing where your ring could have fallen off?" She asks, half-teasing him. Harry, having known her for so long, can tell when she's being serious or not. In this instance, she is, but trying to hide the skepticism.

He looks her in the eye, then diverts his attention elsewhere. "He was showing me around his barn. I slipped on a pile of hay."

"Did you get hurt?" She asks, caressing his face. Her own ring is warm against his cheek. Harry's is freezing on his finger, being left outside for so long.

"I don't think so," he shakes his head, wanting to be away from her touch at the moment. He feels so nervous, can't quite put his finger on why. His conversation with Louis the night before keeps replaying in his head, about being gay, and drinking wine, and having sex. He drags his eyes over Taylor's face and smiles sheepishly. "He asked me what kind of underwear you wear," he admits, trying to turn the conversation more lighthearted.

She grimaces, flinching a little. "Why would he ask you that?" She questions.

He shrugs. "I dunno. I mean, he was kind of drunk."

Taylor manages to chuckle, her expression still showing confusion. "What did you tell him?"

"Nothing," Harry answers, twisting his mouth. "None of his business."

"Do you even know what kind of underwear I have on?" She teases again, narrowing her eyes at her husband playfully.

He bites his bottom lip in thought, shaking his head slightly. "Nope," he says, sneaking an arm around her waist. He slides his hand under her shirt, his fingers disappearing beneath the waistband of her gray slacks. He plays with the lacy hem of her underwear, offering her a subtly suggestive smile.

She smiles back at him, leaning closer to press their lips together sweetly. She puts her arms around his shoulders, hands clasped together behind his head. Harry always thought she was beautiful, and still does, loving to look at her when she isn't aware he's looking. It's strange, because although he isn't sure he really loves her, he knows she's the most beautiful girl he's ever seen.

He doesn't mind kissing her, or making love to her. To be honest, he probably wouldn't mind having sex with anybody. He thinks it's just the intimacy he loves so much. He wouldn't dare tell Taylor that, though, not while they're in the middle of making out in their living room. He unbuttons her shirt and slides it off her shoulders, leaving her in her brassier and her work pants.

She pulls away for a moment, just staring at Harry, grinning like a mad woman. "I love you, Hubby," she says, pecking his lips once.

He knows she won't let them continue without hearing it back. "Love you, darling," he murmurs against her mouth, going to lead her over to the couch so he can climb on top of her.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

They're all at Harry's house again, eating dinner. Taylor invited Louis this time, as a thank you for bringing Harry's ring back. If he had the choice, he would have stopped over at Louis' for five seconds just to say thanks, and then went off on his merry way. But here they all are, sitting at the dinner table with a candle in the center like it's romantic or something.

Taylor gets up to answer the phone halfway through their dinner, excusing herself as she gets up from the table and leaves through the front door.

"Voyeurism, huh?" Louis blurts out as soon as the door is fully closed.

Harry chokes halfway through a bite of food, looking up from his plate to furrow his eyebrows at Louis across the table.

"Sorry," he chuckles, practically playing with the salad in his bowl.

"Why did you just say that?" Harry asks, hand over his heart. He's surprised he's still alive after a choke like that, still coughing into his fist.

Louis shrugs. "Just didn't think you were into all that."

"I'm not," he defends, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest.

"I saw you two, the other night," he explains, so nonchalant it's driving Harry insane. Who the hell comes over to someone else's house to talk about their sex life? "You guys do know all your blinds were open, right?"

It's Harry's turn to shrug. "That wasn't a thought at the time," he says, then leans forward, elbows on the table. He's trying to be quiet, but if they can't hear Taylor on the phone outside, he's sure she can't hear them. "So you're saying you were watching us?"

Louis continues to stare at him, humming once. "Well, when you start fucking your wife with your blinds open and the lights on..." He brings his hands up in another shrug, like it's a normal thing to hear. "I get bored, Harry. God forbid I look out the window every once in a while."

"Seems like you're the one into that voyeurism stuff," Harry retorts around his fork, trying to continue eating so maybe they won't have to continue this conversation.

"So what if I am?" Louis questions. Harry doesn't think he's serious, but the way he's looking at him does kind of scare him.

"To each their own, then," Harry says, glancing at his playful expression.

"You take everything so seriously," his friend complains half-heartedly, nudging his shin underneath the table with his foot. Harry scoots his own leg back, evading his kicks.

"You keep talking about my wife like a weirdo," he replies, food in his mouth. He doesn't care about being polite in front of house guests anymore, especially not Louis.

A bark of a laugh comes from Louis' mouth, shaking his head. "Trust me, I am not talking about your wife."

He doesn't know what to say after that, refusing to break his gaze from the plate in front of him. He's nearly done eating, his salad already gone and the garlic bread Taylor had made nearly empty, also. He doesn't look away from the table until the front door opens again, and in comes Taylor. She looks hesitant to speak, as Harry and Louis both stare at her. "Did you remember to request off work for this weekend?" She asks Harry, who simply blinks at her.

"Um... No...?" He says slowly, brow quirked. "I don't remember you asking me to."

She throws her hands up like she's given up, looking irritated. She walks right past the kitchen table and down the hall, practically storming off into their bedroom. Harry casts a quick, apologetic glance toward Louis before he gets up and follows her.

She's pacing around their room, talking to herself, and clutches her chest when she notices Harry standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

"What, darling?" He asks her.

She shakes her head, glaring at the carpet as she speaks. Harry wonders if Louis can hear their conversation from down the hall. He's probably listening in, the perv. "My cousin's getting married this weekend," she finally looks up at him, seemingly upset with her husband. "I told you, like, months ago to ask off of work. I really wanted you to be there."

He kneels down near the end of the bed at she sits down on the mattress, bringing his hand up to touch her kneecap. He twists his mouth, trying to come up with something useful to say. "I'm sorry, Baby, I forgot," he murmurs, gazing up at her.

Taylor rolls her eyes, her fingers tangled together in her lap angrily. "You always do this," she complains. "Every time I ask you to do something for me, you say you forget."

"I really do," he excuses, trying to get her to believe him, but she's unwilling to listen. "I'm sorry, really... On the bright side, you'll probably have more fun without me there," he offers her a smile, which she doesn't return.

She sighs heavily, lips pursed as she thinks things over. She shakes her head to herself. "My mom is asking me to come tomorrow instead of Friday," she says. Harry doesn't think she's actually talking to him, but he listens anyway.

He presses his cheek against her leg, continuing to look up at her like he's trying to win her over. "You think I can't take care of myself for five days?" He teases. The look on her face answers his question, and his silly smile fades from his lips. "Who do you think I am?"

"My husband, who doesn't listen to me," she answers bitterly. "When was the last time we went on a trip together?" She asks.

He frowns. "Probably our honeymoon," he answers hesitantly.

"Exactly."

Harry gets up off of his knees to stand in front of her, his hands on her cheeks. "I'm sorry, darling," he tells her again, trying to kiss her, but she evades it. "I've just been so busy."

Taylor scoffs, almost under her breath. "You can go hang out with Louis for an entire day, but you won't even come with me to see my parents on your day off?"

He blinks again. Curse her and the way she always knew how to get him to lose an argument. All he can do is let out a defeated breath, hanging his head. "Forgive me, Baby. It's not like I do it on purpose."

"It doesn't matter," she shakes her head, forcing Harry's hands back down to his sides as she stands up from their bed. "I'm sick of it, Harry."

He stands back as she opens the closet door and grabs her suitcase from the top shelf, setting it down on their bed so she can pack it for tomorrow. He sighs, turning around and leaving the room before they start really arguing.

Louis is pretending not to be listening when Harry finally enters the kitchen again, typing gibberish in the notes app on his phone. He looks up when Harry is in his line of sight, smiling sheepishly. "Hey," he greets awkwardly. Harry rolls his eyes at him, kind of amused.

"Hey," he replies.

Louis must have stacked up everyone's dishes when he finished eating, finding something to do while the couple who invited him for dinner were arguing down the hall. Harry twists his mouth while he picks everything up and brings it to the sink, hearing Louis' grumble as he gets out of his seat. "Thank you," Louis says quietly, watching his friend clear the table. "For having me."

"Mhm," Harry nods shortly, back to him.

It's quiet for a second, then, "I think I'm gonna head home."

Harry turns toward him, letting the hot water run over all the dishes in the sink. "You don't have to," he says.

Louis quirks one eyebrow. "Why not?" He questions, crossing his arms over his chest with a smug little smile.

That makes Harry scoff, shaking his head. "Nevermind, if you're gonna be a smartass," he murmurs, going back to his dishes. "I don't know what I'm doing with the rest of my night. Just thought I'd offer more of my hospitality."

His friend from across the street shrugs, moving further into the kitchen to be closer to Harry, only so Taylor can't hear what he's saying. "Not interested in screwing your wife with all the blinds open again?" He teases.

Harry reaches back blindly to smack his shoulder. "First of all, no, now that I know you'd watch. And second of all, I'm sleeping on the couch tonight."

"By yourself?"

"Mhm."

Louis hisses in reaction to his words, feigning sadness for him. "Did you piss her off?" He asks in a babying voice.

Harry only slaps his arm again in retaliation. Louis laughs, backing away from him, and Harry wrings out the wet towel in the sink to snap at his friend with.

"Okay, I'm leaving," Louis holds his hands up in surrender, backing away from their brawl. Harry hopes he doesn't trip over anything on his backward journey to the front door, setting his towel on the table.

Louis doesn't turn his back once, even as he twists the doorknob blindly and takes a step outside. He shuts the door as Harry pretends to come after him, and all Harry sees through the peephole is him sprinting across the street to his house.

He finishes the dishes and wipes down the table before he goes down the hall again. He considers checking on Taylor, maybe seeing if she forgives him, but the bedroom door is closed. He goes into the bathroom instead to brush his teeth, deciding to call it an early night. He'll try to gain her forgiveness tomorrow morning, before she leaves without him.

And listen, Harry does feel bad about not taking off of work for the special occasion, but he really did forget about it. Not that he would have been very excited to go, though - her family is so into their relationship as a married couple that it's pretty much all they talk about. Harry doesn't think he can sit through another reunion where all they ask about is when they should be expecting grandchildren.

He turns the bathroom light off and maneuvers back to the living room to lie down on the couch, putting a movie on the television just so he has something to listen to before he falls asleep. Taylor always plays white noise from her phone at night, and Harry is quite the opposite, needing a show or a movie playing in the background. He doesn't mind sleeping on the couch. It's comfortable, and a nice change from the pitch black, silent bedroom he usually sleeps in.

He's about to close his eyes when some kind of light flickers on out the window, and he leans up on his elbow to see. It's coming from Louis' house, more specifically his living room window. He must have turned lamp on or something, the soft orange glow illuminating all the way across the street. Harry brushes it off and focuses on the movie again, something random he picked from he and Taylor's shared watchlist on Netflix.

The light goes out in Louis' house, and seconds later it's back. Harry can't help but return his gaze to the window.

Louis is standing in his living room now, visible from across the street. He must have just gotten inside from tending to his animals in the barn, Harry hypothesizes, but the reason isn't important. Harry can't even begin to wonder what he was doing before, because all of a sudden Louis' standing right in the middle of the room, facing Harry's house, slowly unzipping his sweatshirt. Harry maneuvers back up onto his elbow again and watches him, though he would never admit he was doing so. If Louis gets to watch him and his wife have sex through their window, Harry gets to watch him undress through his.

The movie really is background noise now. Harry blocks the whole television out of his sight while he's busy staring outside. He's surprised he can see Louis so clearly, being so far away. He must be close to the window, shrugging his hoodie off both of his tanned, muscled shoulders and setting it down somewhere. Harry's trying to picture the layout of the room, which he's only seen a couple of times. What was Louis doing when he caught sight of Harry and Taylor the other night? Just standing there, gazing out the window at nearly ten in the evening?

Well, Harry's doing the same thing now, so does it really matter? He was lying on the couch, though. It's justified, he thinks.

Louis is left in a black tank top and his blue jeans, the same ones he'd worn to dinner at Harry's just a few hours ago. Harry continues to watch, wondering if Louis knows his eyes are on his body. His incredibly handsome body, but don't tell Taylor. Harry can be married to a woman and think one of his friends is handsome. It checks out. It's fine.

The man across the street reaches down to toy with his belt, untucking it but not pulling on it to take it off. He instead moves just above the belt to toy with the bottom of his tank top, slipping it up and over his head and leaving Harry to stare, dumfounded. He's never seen Louis without anything covering his torso, only little slivers of skin exposing itself when he's reaching to grab things in the garden next to his house.

Harry hates to admit that he's hot. He desperately fights with himself on whether he should look away or keep watching, and can't come to a rational conclusion, so he just continues to watch.

Louis' completely shirtless now, just standing there in his jeans and a hanging belt. He's taking forever to finish getting undressed. Louis has to be fucking with him. He probably knows he's being watched, can most likely feel Harry's pupils burning into his abs. How pathetic is he, to be lying on the couch watching his neighbor get scantily clad through a window.

Harry's eyes settle on Louis' hands as he finally puts his fingers back on his belt, undoing it fully. He swallows thickly as Louis tosses his belt aside and moves to unbutton his jeans, then undoes the zipper and begins to shrug his pants off. He feels as though he needs to hold his breath, watching Louis pull the jeans off of his calves. He's just in his boxers and a pair of socks now. Harry immediately recognizes the boxers, covered in ducks. Cheeky little shit. He's doing this on purpose, Harry thinks. And here he is, enjoying every second of it.

Louis looks up after he's undressed and makes direct eye contact with Harry through both of their windows, shaking his head. He has a satisfied grin on his face, one Harry only sees for a second before the light in his living room is turned off.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

Harry is so embarrassed he thinks he might be sick.

He could barely sleep last night, not after the whole Louis-in-the-window situation. He literally tossed and turned for hours until he finally got some shut-eye, too caught up in thinking about what just happened. Louis just practically pursued a married man, got nearly naked in front of his window just because he knew Harry would be watching. He should have never told Louis he was sleeping on the couch. Then this wouldn't have to be such a problem.

Taylor is in the kitchen when he wakes up. He hoped he would have gotten up before her so he could try to make her breakfast, earn her forgiveness, and bid her goodbye, but he didn't get much sleep.

He tosses the blanket off of himself and makes his way toward the kitchen, hoping to get a chance to actually speak to her, but she's on the phone. He goes up to her anyway, putting a hand against her back and leaning over to press a swift kiss to her cheek. She doesn't pull away, which is a plus, but Harry knows she's still upset with him.

She's trying to butter a piece of toast with one hand, her phone against her ear in the other. Harry takes the knife from her and spread the butter on, trying to wake himself up a little. She mouths a thank you to him before continuing her conversation with whoever she's talking to, her voice trailing off as she goes down into the basement. Harry knows she doesn't speak much when she's getting ready to go somewhere. It's just double quiet now, because he pissed her off yesterday.

She leaves shortly after he'd woken up, telling him she loves him before she drags her things out to her car. Harry offers to help her and she declines, leaving Harry to get ready for work himself.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

When Harry gets home from work, there's only a few minutes of peace before knuckles rap at the front door. He was just about to sit down on the couch and order takeout before that knocking interrupted him. He sighs heavily, returning to the door he'd just walked through. He already knows who it is, doesn't have to look through the peephole. Who else comes knocking at his door as soon as he gets home?

Sure enough, it's Louis who stands on the other side of the door, hands clasped behind his back. Harry can feel the redness creeping onto his cheeks as soon as he sees the man, trying his hardest to will it away.

"Where's your wife?" Is the first thing Louis asks him, barely having taken a step into Harry's house.

"I'm sorry?" He furrows his eyebrows.

Louis shrugs. "I saw her leave this morning with, like, four suitcases."

Harry blinks. "Oh. Yeah. She has a wedding to attend."

"So you didn't scare her into running away?" He asks, smirking. Harry doesn't even hit him this time, just leaves Louis at the open door as he walks back to the living room. "Hey," Louis calls after him, but doesn't come inside.

"What?" Harry groans, two steps away from finally getting to sit on the sofa.

He's still standing in the doorway, smiling. "How long is she gonna be gone for?" He questions.

Harry almost doesn't give him an answer, kind of afraid of what he might be up to. "'Til Monday," he says. "Why?"

Louis shrugs again. "Do you want to do something fun?"

"Like what?"

"I dunno," he says slowly, sounding playful. "Wanna come over to mine?"

Harry gulps, thanking God that Louis is too far away to hear it. He thinks back to last night and twists his mouth. "I don't know," he says, trying to make it sound casual. "You're already here."

Louis chuckles, hands in the pockets of his jeans. These ones are black, probably the only pair he owns that aren't faded blue and stained with grass and dirt. He takes a step further into the house, not closing the door all the way just in case. "Does your wife think the house is going to burn down if you're not here?" He teases.

"Why do you keep calling her that?" Harry asks, running a hand through his hair as he sits on the couch.

Louis is silent for a second. "Is she not your wife...?" He questions, confused.

He sighs. "I mean, yeah... But..."

"But...?" Louis repeats, closing the door behind him all the way. Harry watches him lean against the door to make sure it's shut, sliding his shoes off, then walks toward him, sitting on the carpet in front of the couch rather than on it.

Harry gulps again, fixing his line of sight to the coffee table rather than Louis. "I don't like that you keep calling her my wife after what you did last night," he admits.

Louis looks up at him, putting on a confused expression. "What did I do last night?" He asks. Harry can tell he's trying not to laugh.

He glances, deadpan, at Louis for a moment, trying to tell him he's stupid without saying it out loud. He won't answer. He'll make Louis sit here for hours in silence instead.

His friend just chuckles, his legs crossed as he sits in front of him. "So, you were watching me," he muses, grinning.

Harry doesn't speak again, in fear he might puke if he does. He feels horrible talking about this in his own home, a place he and Taylor usually inhabit.

"Come on, Harry," Louis sighs exasperatedly. He reaches out and touches Harry's kneecap, shaking his leg gently, trying to get his attention. "It's not that big of a deal. We were just messing around."

His bottom lip is in between his teeth, gazing off into space while Louis watches him worry. "How do we know the difference between messing around and being serious?" He asks eventually, turning his head slightly toward Louis'.

Louis groans, his forehead against Harry's knee. "In what world would we be serious about this kind of stuff?" He questions.

Harry lets out a defeated sigh. "So, you trying to trying to turn me on while you undress in your window is 'just messing around'?" He puts the last part in air quotes, looking Louis' way with an unamused expression.

His friend wiggles his eyebrows. "Who said I was trying to turn you on?"

"You don't have to say it out loud to prove it."

Louis gazes up at him, chin now resting on his kneecap. Harry wants to push him away, but he can't bring himself to do it. The man just keeps smiling, teasing him. "Well..."

"Well...?" Harry repeats, glaring down at him.

"Did it work?"

He rolls his eyes, shoving Louis backward until he falls against the carpet and laughing maniacally.

"Lighten up," Louis groans exasperatedly.

"It's not funny," Harry leans back against the cushions, arms crossed and feeling like he's shrinking as they speak. He's looking at the television, turned off with nothing on it, acting like there's something to actually pay attention to other than how handsome Louis looks when he's lying on his back, gazing at Harry with his arms behind his head.

"Fine," he sighs loudly, huffing out another breath as he stays down on the carpet. "I'll stop... Unless you don't want me to."

Harry glances at him after he says it, immediately turning away once he sees the playful lip-biting expression on his face. He brings a knee up to his chest, shielding his embarrassment from the man on the floor. "You know I'm not gay," he murmurs.

Louis lets out what Harry figures is a pinched chuckle, like he didn't meant to laugh. "How do you know?" He asks.

"Um... Because I'm not into guys?" He says, brows drawn together. "What kind of question is that?"

"I think the way that you watched me undress last night implies that you might be," his friend shrugs, speaking quietly. Harry doesn't understand why they both keep talking like there's someone around to hear them, but neither of them speak up.

Harry says nothing, because he thinks if he does he might cry. Taylor is on vacation, one he was supposed to join her on, and here he is, pondering his sexuality with the man who made him wonder in the first place.

Louis is quiet for a moment, too, which is surprising to Harry, who hasn't felt a second of tranquility since the man showed up on his doorstep. He clears his throat, then, and Harry can hear him swallow thickly. Why should he be nervous? He's the one that keeps flirting with the married man. "Like I said, I didn't think I was gay until I tried it."

Nothing from Harry, again. He might not talk for the rest of the night, if these are the things Louis' saying to him.

"It doesn't have to mean anything," Louis continues, blasé to the nature of their conversation.

Harry finally cracks, making eye contact with Louis, who's just watching him. His eyes are so soft, pupils dragging over practically every feature he can see on Harry's body. Harry instinctively shoves his twiddling thumbs into the pockets of his jacket when he notices the way Louis' staring at them. "I'm married, Louis," is all he manages to get out before he has to break the dangerous gaze between them.

"I know," Louis hums. He maneuvers his socked foot closer to the boy on the couch, watching for any reaction from Harry as he nudges his foot underneath his loose pant leg. Harry doesn't move away, though Louis can see in his eyes that he's debating doing so. "Just saying. I don't think it hurts to try and figure it out."

God, he's gonna be sick, and not because he's repulsed by the thought. Louis is just so disgustingly handsome, and charming, and makes Harry question things he's never thought about in his life. "I..." He begins, then can't come up with anything to actually say.

"You..." Louis teases, a hushed laugh leaving his mouth.

Harry's silent once more. Anything he says now will jeopardize him. If he defends his marriage with Taylor, Louis won't continue the insanely tantalizing flirting he's been directing his way. On the other hand, if he gives in, Taylor will lose her mind. He wouldn't blame her. If he came home and found out his wife was thinking of hooking up with other people, he wouldn't be happy, either. "I don't... I don't want her to know," he says, then squeezes his eyes shut, horrified of the words he'd just spoken.

Louis' foot is still against his calf, knocking their legs together unconsciously as he looks up at the ceiling. "Know what?" He questions.

"That we do this," Harry answers sheepishly, heart racing.

His friend's lips downturn in a no-big-deal kind of way, shrugging. "Well, she doesn't have to know," he says. "I won't tell her if you don't."

Harry's going to puke, putting his face in his hands as he sighs aloud. "Maybe we shouldn't," he exhales again.

"We don't have to do anything," Louis responds easily. His foot has stopped moving against Harry's leg, settling on top of the man's own foot. "I'm just trying to help you, Harry. You tell me what you want."

"I don't know," Harry says, voice cracking, thankful Louis can't see the tears welling in his eyes. The photograph of him and Taylor might as well fly off the wall and shatter into pieces against his head. He barely realizes he's about to cry until it's choked out, his shaky exhale interrupting the silence between them.

He hears Louis shuffle against the carpet, and then feels a hand on his kneecap. This is exactly how Harry always comforts his wife when she's upset, kneeling in front of her, touching her knee as an indicator as to whether or not she actually wants to be consoled.

Louis gets up from the ground and joins him on the couch, maintaining a respectful distance between them but staying close enough in case Harry wants to be held.

"I'm sorry, Haz," Louis says quietly, rubbing his shoulder. It's the first time Louis' ever called him by a nickname. He's probably heard it so much from Taylor that it just started to stick. "I didn't mean to upset you."

Harry sniffles, shaking his head. "It's not you," he mumbles.

Louis sighs. "I'm not trying to get in between you two," he explains. Harry can hear his voice sounding distant, like he's looking elsewhere in the room, probably at that godforsaken picture from their wedding. "I like Taylor. I'm just trying to help you figure out how you feel."

"I know," Harry answers, his breath shaky. He wipes the tears off of his cheeks with the backs of his hands, pillowing his head against Louis' shoulder. "Sorry."

"Don't be," Louis responds, his arm around him. "Do you want me to go home?" He asks. "Give you some time to think?"

"Okay," Harry nods, lingering in Louis' hold for a moment before he pulls away, both of his knees curled up to his chest.

"Okay," Louis repeats, smiling a little. He pats Harry on the back before retreating toward the front door. "I'm gonna go feed my animals... You know where I am if you need me," he jokes, opening the door. Harry manages to laugh a bit, still trying to pull himself together as he wipes the tears from his face.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

It's day three of Taylor being gone, and Harry is pretty sure there's a Louis-shaped pile in the grass across the street.

Harry didn't speak to him yesterday, only waved at him when he got home from work and then shut himself into his home for the rest of the night. He still can't figure out what to do about the might-be-gay situation, so for now his idea is to ignore it all. He'll live his normal life and never think about it again, and it will definitely work.

Or so he thought. Taylor messaged him a few hours ago, attaching a photo of herself in her bridesmaid dress, and Harry doesn't feel anything looking at it. When they first started dating, he would have gone crazy at the sight of it, but right now, staring at it while he thinks about the man that lives across the street, he can't feel anything at all. All he can do is heart-react to it, sending back a text saying she looks beautiful and that he hopes she has fun.

It's already getting dark out, the sunset disappearing more every time he looks out the window. He's found himself doing that a lot, standing in the living room, watching the house across from his as if it'll grow legs and walk away. He hasn't done much since Taylor left, hasn't been able to find fun things to do outside of work, so for now he just looks at the neighborhood, hoping he will find some entertainment there.

He finishes folding his laundry and walks past the kitchen window to put a few hand towels away, and that's when something outside peaks his interest.

There's a lump in the grass in Louis' yard, suspiciously shaped like Louis himself. He seems to be sprawled out in the dirt, Harry can't tell which way he's facing and it freaks him out a little. He gives himself a second to think rationally before he unlocks his front door and stands on his front porch, calling Louis' name out loudly to see if he's alright. He gets no response, and begins to sprint across the street in a sweater and boxers.

"Louis!" He calls again, crossing the road quickly. He gets onto the sidewalk and rushes toward Louis, who still hasn't said anything or moved at all.

Louis is lying on his back in the long grass, his eyes closed. It's getting so dark Harry can't even tell if he's breathing or not, his heart practically in his throat. Without thinking, he immediately straddles his friend, grabbing him by the shoulder and shaking him.

The man's eyes fly open and he flinches, yelping as he wakes up. Harry stares at him, bewildered. "Are you okay?!" He asks, nearly out of breath.

Louis's hand goes up to his chest, blinking rapidly. "Jesus, Harry," he groans, closing his eyes again. "You scared the shit out of me."

Harry scoffs, still straddling him. "You scared the shit out of me!" He retorts. "What are you doing out here? I thought you were dead!"

Louis shakes his head, dropping his hand back down to the dirt with a heavy sigh. "Well, I was sleeping," he grumbles.

"In the dirt?!" Harry questions, astonished.

He shrugs. "I wasn't trying to sleep. I come out here to watch the stars sometimes. I must've just been tired."

Harry sits back on his thighs, sort of forgetting that he's in Louis' lap, and Louis immediately chuckles.

"Not that I'm complaining, but why are you sitting on me?" He asks, bottom lip between his teeth.

"I called for you, like, four times," Harry says. "I literally thought you tripped and died."

"Tripped on what?" Louis asks, scoffing.

Harry brings his hands up in exasperation, blinking rapidly. "I don't know, Louis, your yard is like a fucking landmine. I'm still picking hay out of my clothes from the last time I was over here."

Louis is quiet, sighing in defeat. He picks his head up and looks at the way Harry's straddling him, his bare legs bracketing his torso. "Where are your pants?" He asks.

"At home," Harry answers, hoping his horribly red face isn't visible this late in the evening.

"Why?"

Harry sighs again, wondering why he ever came out here in the first place. "You're welcome for worrying about you."

"Hey," Louis is biting his bottom lip again. He brings one hand up to touch Harry's waist, keeping it there. "I wasn't complaining."

"Shut up," Harry groans, only a little annoyed.

"I wasn't," he defends, inflection rising in his voice. He laughs, squeezing Harry's hip so gently Harry might not have felt it if he wasn't so hyperaware of every move Louis makes. "Thanks for trying to save me.... And for sitting on me."

"Anytime," Harry says, then thinks about what he just said and gets off of him immediately, rolling over to join him in the grass and hoping he didn't make things awkward.

Apparently he didn't, as Louis turns on his side to face him. Harry is lying on the ground and looking up at the sky, trying to ignore the way he can see Louis staring at him out of the corner of his eye.

He swallows thickly, arms crossed over his chest uncomfortably. "Taylor's at her cousin's wedding right now," he murmurs, just wanting to say something.

Louis hums, continuing to face him. Please, for the love of God, look at the stars, Harry is basically begging in his mind. Every time Louis looks at him like that, he feels sick.

"Do you ever want to get married?" Harry asks.

His friend laughs quietly. "Well. Gay marriage wasn't even legal when I found out I was gay, so..."

"But what about now?"

"Maybe," Louis shrugs. "I mean, I haven't dated in probably three years, so probably not anytime soon," he chuckles again. "How long have you two been married?" He asks.

"Two years," Harry answers, his excitement to be around Louis dissipating the more they talk about Taylor. He prefers to not think about his wife while he's figuring out his sexuality, but he'll answer anyway.

"How'd you meet?" Louis asks another question, leaning up on his elbow.

Harry clears his throat, shaking his head to himself. "Well, we met in eighth grade," he tells him. "Um... Her parents really wanted to set us up, so we went to prom together senior year, and been together ever since."

"Oh," his friend says. Harry turns his head slightly to the right to look at Louis, who has a hint of a frown on his lips.

"What?" Harry asks sheepishly.

Louis shakes his head also, blinking. "I thought you guys were, like... I dunno. Lovebirds."

"Are we not?" Harry questions, though he knows the answer.

"I mean, like... Together-by-choice lovebirds," Louis corrects himself.

Harry shrugs, looking back up at the stars. "If I admit something to you, you can't tell anyone," he says, glancing once at Louis, who nods.

"Harry, you're, like, one of the only people I talk to," he chuckles.

"I didn't, um..." Harry sighs, trying to find the rest of the sentence in the dark sky. "I didn't really want to marry her... I mean, my parents literally pushed me to do it. I didn't even have to pay for the ring."

"Oh," Louis says, looking at Harry like he's confessing to murder.

"So, I proposed to her," Harry continues. "And we got married, like, two months after we got engaged. Didn't have to pay for the wedding, either."

"Damn," his friend hums. Harry tenses when Louis' hand gets closer to him, his index and his middle finger dragging across Harry's collarbone that's barely peeking through the top of his sweater. He's always finding ways to touch him, Harry might even go as far as saying Louis is constantly teasing him, though he won't complain.

Harry tears his gaze away from the night sky to look at Louis instead, curling an arm underneath his own head to make himself more comfortable. It's so... Romantic. Louis' hand on his chest, lying together outside of Louis' farmhouse while they look at the stars. Taylor isn't even in his mind anymore, smiling shyly up at Louis', who's practically leaning over him. Louis keeps looking at his lips, and Harry can't stop himself from speaking. "To be honest, I don't even think I love her," he admits quietly, feeling as though his heart is about to burst from his chest. "I don't think I ever actually have."

Louis surprises him when he suddenly leans down and presses their lips together shortly, his hand now on Harry's shoulder. Harry doesn't move, too shocked by the action, and Louis pulls back after a second with a guilty look. "Sorry," he says, blinking once. Harry's looking up at him like he just told him he killed someone.

"Why?" Harry asks. Louis doesn't know what he's asking it for, but he'll guess, clearing his throat.

"Just..." He shrugs. "Trying to see if you felt anything."

Harry doesn't say anything back. After a few seconds of silence, he moves up on his elbows and kisses him, taking the initiative. Louis' hand moves up to caress his cheek, his hand so much bigger against his face than Taylor's is whenever they rarely kiss. Here he goes, thinking about Taylor again. The guilt is going to eat away at him until he's just bone, but he can't find it in himself to stop, parting Louis' lips with his tongue.

Louis is the one to push him back, now that Harry is straddling him again. He's on his back just like he was the other night, when they first discussed doing stuff like this, gazing up at Harry like he's one of the stars in the sky himself. "Well?" He tries, his hand against Harry's chest.

Harry does nothing but whine slightly, nodding, sounding like he's been defeated.

"Did I turn you gay, or what?" Louis jokes.

"I don't know," Harry says, sitting up. They're back to how they were five minutes ago, except now it's different, because they just casually made out in Louis' front yard. "How do I tell?"

Louis' laugh leaves him grinning, rolling his eyes at the boy in his lap. "Did you like it?"

"I think so," Harry answers, not admitting that he enjoyed every second of it.

"Would you do it again?"

"Maybe."

"Okay," Louis purses his lips in thought. "So..."

Harry is quiet, his heart racing as he sits in Louis' lap. "I think so," he says again.

Louis looks up at him with his eyebrows furrowed. "What?"

"I think that..." Harry tries again, unable to find the words. His gaze is fixated on a button on Louis' flannel. "That I might... Be into men...?"

His friend lifts a hand up in the air, his fingers splayed out and his mouth agape. Harry high fives him, laughing, and they both fall back against the dewy grass as the exhilaration wears off. Louis sighs dreamily, joking around. "My work here is done," he says, pretending to dust off his hands.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

He ends up on Louis' doorstep the night before Taylor is supposed to arrive home, a little wine-drunk and craving whatever dinner he can see Louis making in his kitchen through the window.

Louis opens his front door within a minute, an ingredient-coated spatula in his hand. There's a faint music playing in the living room, some slow stuff. He looks at Harry like he didn't expect to see him, and then his surprised expression softens into a more relieved one. "Harry," he greets.

"Hi," Harry answers, smiling sheepishly.

"What're you doing on my doorstep?" Louis asks, smiling back at him with an eyebrow crooked.

"I'm hungry," he says.

His friend looks across the street into Harry's own open blinds, tsking. "Watching me again, huh?" He teases.

"Maybe," Harry murmurs, shuffling against the rustic wood of his patio. He's been looking out at Louis sitting on his porch swing when he's leaving for work in the morning, wondering how he's so content with just sitting outside for longer than twenty minutes. Harry feels as though he constantly needs to be doing something, unable to settle down and enjoy the moment.

Louis opens his door further and holds his arm out toward the rest of his home behind him, waiting for Harry to come in. "I'm not making dinner, if that's what you're here for," he says, letting Harry walk further into the kitchen.

Harry turns around and leans against the counter by the oven, looking at Louis. "What are you making, then?" He asks.

"Do you like rhubarb?"

"I dunno," he shrugs.

Louis shakes his head slightly at how badly Harry lives under a rock. "You will," he promises, going to peek into the oven and see how his creation is coming along. "Strawberry rhubarb pie. I finally picked enough strawberries to make it, so I'm glad you're here."

"Why?" Harry asks, smiling, curling in on himself.

He shrugs. "I was gonna bring it to your house when I finished it. Haven't really had a reason to make this yet, so..."

"For me?"

"Yeah," Louis nods, standing on the opposite side of the kitchen.

"Why?"

He chuckles, almost defensively. "Does it matter?"

Harry shrinks a little, altering his gaze from Louis to the old wooden flooring beneath his feet. "Thank you," he says, interrupting the music still playing in the next room.

"I haven't had someone to cook for in a long time," Louis brings up, clearing his throat as he stares at the oven. The old-fashioned timer next to it, shaped like a ladybug, says there's nearly fifteen minutes left until it'll be done, so Harry's not sure why he's still staring at it.

It's quiet between them, the only sounds in the house being the repetitive clicks of the gas stove and whatever tunes Louis was playing in the other room before Harry came to bug him. It's comfortable, and more domestic than anything Harry's experienced with Taylor. He never quite felt like he was actually home anywhere they lived. Not at the tiny apartment they lived in straight out of high school, or the house across the street they bought only some months ago. Here, with the warm light cascading in the kitchen, the bucolic wallpaper on the accent wall in the living room and the creakiness of the floors of an old farmhouse, Harry feels like he belongs.

"Are you drunk?" Louis breaks their silence by asking, still standing in the same spot by the fridge.

Harry looks over at him with a distracted shake of his head, snapping back to the real world, where he's married and this is actually his neighbor's house. His incredibly handsome, charming neighbor whose tongue was in his mouth the other night. "Why?" He asks defensively.

"I've just never seen you so calm," Louis shrugs, smiling at him. "You don't usually show up on my doorstep. That's my thing."

Harry rolls his eyes playfully, attention diverted back to the ground. There's obvious wear in the wood by the stove, where Louis must do a lot of cooking. He loves that his house actually looks lived in, unlike his own, where they barely have decor or a favorite place to spend their time.

Louis' still looking at him, Harry can see the smile on his lips from the corner of his vision. "'N you look really beautiful when you're drunk," he says. Harry picks his head up again and furrows his eyebrows at him. "Not that you... Don't look beautiful all the time," he sighs, shaking his head. It makes Harry laugh. "Just forget it..."

"Well, thanks," Harry says, unsure of what else to say. Nobody's ever called him beautiful before, certainly not as a straight man.

"What'd you drink?" Louis asks, changing the subject.

"The wine you dropped off when I first moved here," he answers.

"Mm," Louis hums, then puts his hand on the fridge door. "Do you want more?"

"Okay," Harry says, staying put against the kitchen counter. Louis moves to grab a bottle from his fridge and brushes against Harry's shoulder as he comes to grab two glasses from the cupboard. Harry gazes at him as he pours the red wine perfectly into a glass, handing it over to Harry carefully while he begins pouring his own. "Thank you," he murmurs.

Louis doesn't say anything, turning around to lean against the counter just like Harry's been doing, sipping on his wine while he spaces out toward the oven. Harry feels kind of silly, standing here like they're so fancy, but Louis is already effortlessly cool.

"Taylor will be home tomorrow night," Harry tells him.

"Cool," Louis nods shortly, never tearing his line of sight from the oven as the timer slowly counts down.

Harry clears his throat, glaring into his wine glass. "So if you think there's anything else I should experience, this is kind of the last chance."

His friend nods again, and he sets down his drink before he reaches for the bottom of his own shirt, dragging it up over his head. Harry's lips curl up around the rim of his glass, feasting his eyes upon Louis' shirtless torso up close. "Wanna see me naked?" Louis offers casually.

He flinches a little at his question, swallowing the wine in his mouth. "Okay," he answers, shrugging. He's trying to be as nonchalant as Louis is. It's not going to work.

Louis is so fucking strange, offering to show his friend his dick just to help him figure out if he's into men or not. Harry won't complain, though, feeling his heart racing in his chest when Louis takes his balled-up shirt and walks down the hall, beckoning Harry to follow.

He's in his bedroom, a spot in his house Harry's never been, and he nudges Harry to sit on his bed as he begins to undress himself. Harry's sitting there, hands together in his lap while he watches him unzip his jeans.

Louis is in his underwear within a minute, everything on full display for Harry to drag his eyes over. He's standing with his hands on his hips, acting like this is the most normal interaction he's ever had. Harry can't stop staring at him, every part of him. He gulps, unable to speak. "Like what you see?" Louis asks, teasing.

Harry just blinks, still at a loss for words.. He feels disgusting for looking at him so much, but it was Louis' idea, and it's not like he's going to stop anytime soon. "I mean, yeah," he eventually gets out, clearing his throat, leaning back, his hands holding him up against the mattress.

"Cool," Louis says, grinning, bottom lip between his teeth.

"You're really handsome," Harry murmurs, looking him in the eyes and hoping the heat creeping up his neck isn't visible.

"Thank you," he nods once, continuing to smile. "Surely not as handsome as you are."

Either Harry is imagining things, or Louis' moving closer to him. He rolls his eyes sheepishly. "You don't even know what I look like under my clothes," he defends.

Before he can get fully naked, he reaches over and picks Harry up by the leg, tugging on the bottom of his jeans. "Not yet," he shakes his head, starting to laugh. Harry yelps when he drags him closer to the end of the bed, his fingers against the waistband of his pants, but he won't push him away.

He doesn't move to pull his pants off just yet, staring at Harry like he's the most interesting thing he's ever laid his eyes upon. Harry's gazing up at him nervously, swallowing the urge to lean up and kiss him, but Louis might take the initiative and do it himself.

That is, until the timer in the kitchen rings and startles the both of them out of their homoerotic stare down. Louis steps back and clears his throat, pulling the pants around his ankles back up quickly before he exits the room. Harry is left on the bed with his jeans only halfway down his thighs, blinking up at the ceiling as his heart races in his chest.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

Harry wakes up in Louis' bed the next morning.

Not that they did anything. It's not like that. They got done eating the pie Louis'd made and by then Harry was tuckered out. So tuckered out that he didn't feel like walking back across the street to return home. Louis offered him his room, told him he would sleep on the couch for the night, but Harry told him he didn't mind sharing a bed. It'd be his first time in bed with a man anyway, a good experience to have while they were still experimenting before Taylor's arrival back in town.

So Harry wasn't really worried about them going too far. He's never been one to snuggle his wife while they're sleeping at night, mostly because she doesn't enjoy it. To quote her, she feels as though she's being suffocated, so Harry always keeps his hands to himself. This morning, however, he feels a weight against his back, and there's an arm around his torso, hooking just underneath his clothed chest. Louis is spooning him.

He's afraid to make a move, scared of the possibility of waking him up by accident. Things might be awkward when they're both awake. For Christ's sake, Louis tried to take his pants off in this very bed only a few hours before they fell asleep.

He considers going back to sleep, having the day off of work in anticipation of Taylor's trip home tonight. He hasn't checked his phone since he left the house last night, hasn't thought about it since he's been, you know, busy at Louis' house.

His plans on catching some more shut-eye are soon ditched, as soon as he peers out the curtain-drawn window to see a familiar vehicle approaching his driveway across the street. He sits up immediately, pushing Louis' arm off of him as he leaves the mattress quickly. "Fuck!" He curses, kneeling on the carpet in front of the window.

Louis stirs, leaning up on his elbow with his eyes still closed. "What?" He questions, sounding grumpy. Harry would think it was cute if his wife wasn't pulling into the driveway.

"Taylor's back early," he answers quietly, as if she might hear him from all the way out there.

Louis sighs, dropping his head back to his pillow. "Well," he murmurs. "It was nice knowing you."

Harry ignores him, scrambling to find his jeans somewhere in the unorganized mess of Louis' bedroom. He continues cursing to himself, crawling around on all fours like an animal while he searches. "Louis, I can't find my pants," he says, frustrated.

He's nearly back asleep as soon as Harry begins talking again, groaning. "Just..." He drawls off. "Wear some of mine."

"Will they fit me?" Harry asks, on his knees at the foot of Louis' bed.

Louis grumbles again. "I dunno. Better than going to see your wife with no pants on at all."

Harry rushes to Louis' dresser and opens a random drawer, hoping to find a pair of pants that fit before Taylor goes inside and sees the mess he'd left. He was cleaning up the place last night, before he saw Louis cooking and decided to get a taste. He pulls out a pair of overalls and groans as he stuffs his legs into them, rushing. He doesn't think he's ever gotten dressed so quickly in his life.

"You look really cute," Louis muses, half-awake. Harry barely throws a glance his way as he hooks the buckles in place. He only attempts to tighten one of the straps before he gives up, running his hands through his hair to try and make himself look presentable. "Good luck," Louis calls as he's running toward the front door, slipping his shoes on as he leaves.

Taylor is getting out of her car when he shuts Louis' door, turning around to see Harry as he jogs across the street. "Oh?" She hums, looking between him and Louis' home. "Where've you been?"

Harry pretends to be nonchalant, trying to help her get her bags out of the backseat. "Just had to drop something off at Louis'. I thought you weren't coming home until tonight...?"

"I caught an early flight," she shrugs, then purses her lips together when she sees his dejected look, his unruly curls and the way he keeps trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes. "You look like you just woke up," she interrogates, her brows drawn together. Harry prays he's not blushing.

He only shrugs, ducking his head into her car. "Eh... Didn't sleep well, is all," he excuses.

Taylor has her arms crossed over her chest the next time he looks her way, a suspicious look on her face. Harry looks back at her with his own eyebrows furrowed, chuckling.

"What?" He asks, smiling.

She shakes her head, more to herself than at him. "Since when did you own overalls?" She questions, her eyes set on the denim across his body.

He shrugs again, pulling the loose strap back onto his shoulder. "I just bought them," he explains. Upon her continuously wary expression, he laughs again. "Why are you acting weird?" He asks.

"Why are you acting weird?" She takes a step back, glaring at him.

"I'm not," he says.

"Yes, you are," she retorts. "I feel like you're hiding something from me."

He pouts slightly. "You know I don't hide things, Baby," he shakes his head, then leaves it at that, dragging her rolling suitcase away from her car. "Come on. You must be exhausted," he calls out to her, moving toward their house.

The front door is still unlocked from last night. Harry didn't think he'd be spending the night at Louis', so he never locked it. He makes sure to arrive at the door before Taylor, knowing how much she hates leaving the door unlocked. She's always been paranoid, probably now more than ever considering she just saw her sleepy husband running out of their neighbor's house.

He gets all of her things into the house, and then locks the door once everyone and everything is inside. Taylor is still watching him like a hawk, ready to attack him the second he does something out of ordinary. He wraps his arms around her, kissing the top of her head and feeling strange when he does it. "How was your trip?" He asks.

She shrugs, her cheek against Harry's collarbone. "Fun. Wish you could've come," she says, her voice muffled against his shirt.

"Next time," Harry promises, chin atop her head.

"Why haven't you been responding to my texts?" She questions. Harry considers acting as though he never heard a word, but knows she won't let it go if he does.

He sighs heavily. "My sound must've been off," he says. "Sorry, darling. I haven't been on my phone much."

She sighs also. Harry, though he can't see her face, feels as though she's rolling her eyes. She doesn't reply to him, barely has her arms around his waist at all. Harry is in a one-sided embrace with his wife.

"You're freaking me out, Tay," he says, tsking.

"Someone tried to seduce me," she suddenly blurts. Harry pulls away to peer down at her, frowning. "We went to the beach my first day there, and I stepped on a rock."

"Are you alright?" Harry asks, glancing at her socked feet.

She waves him off, nodding. "I bled a lot," she says. "Thought I was gonna pass out. Some guy came and dragged me back to the shore... He's a medic. I mean, not for the beach, but like, for a job, so he kind of saved me."

Harry nods shortly, still frowning. "So, how did he seduce you?" He questions.

He can't help but notice a hint of a smile on her face. "Well... He asked me if I wanted to get dinner," she admits.

"Did you?" Harry asks.

She avoids his eye, and Harry sees the blush creeping up her neck. "I did..." She says sheepishly. She glances at Harry's gaping mouth, and sighs, dropping her head. "I mean, I... It's not like... I wasn't gonna let it go anywhere. I was just mad at you, and..." She trails off.

Harry presses his lips together in a thin line, dropping his hands from her waist. "Did you tell him you were married?" He asks.

She nods. "Of course I did."

"Like that ever stopped anybody," he scoffs, shaking his head. He glances across the street and sees Louis finally getting out of bed, shirtless in all his glory.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Taylor asks, flinching away from him.

He shrugs. "Men do not care whether or not you're married," he says simply, adjusting the strap on his overalls again.

"So you don't?" She interrogates, back to having her arms crossed.

Harry scoffs. "What are you even trying to ask me?"

"If I was married to someone else, would you still try to get with me?" She asks.

He doesn't have the heart to tell her that he wouldn't gun after her, but not for the reason she would think. He doesn't imagine himself being with a woman again, if they were to ever divorce. "No," he says, leaving it at that.

She's the one to scoff now, stepping away from him more. "Then why did you say that?"

His mouth is open like he wants to speak, but nothing will come out. He throws his hands up in a shrug, rolling his eyes. "Because I know how men are, Taylor," is all he says.

"Like Louis?" Taylor questions, leaving Harry in a stunned silence.

"I'm sorry...?" He squints at her, speaking slowly.

She laughs bitterly. "Louis doesn't seem to care that we're married," she says. "I don't understand why you don't care."

"What makes you think that?" Harry asks.

"You're the one that told me about how he wanted to know what kind of underwear I was wearing," she sighs, a hand against her temple. "And every time he's over here, it's like..." She blinks. "Like he wants to get you away from me. Why can't he just get his own fucking wife?"

Harry shakes his head. "You sound crazy," is all he says.

"Don't fucking gaslight me right now," she cuts him off from continuing, her cheeks rosy. She always gets a flushed face when she's mad.

"He's not trying to get with you," he says incredulously.

"How would you know?" She asks, sounding more angry than he's ever heard before.

"Because he's gay," Harry blurts. He didn't mean to say it, but it just came out.

It sends Taylor into silence, blinking at her husband with her lips pressed together thinly.

Harry sighs heavily, his head in his hands. "He doesn't even like women. That's why I said you sound crazy. He's not trying to fuck you."

Taylor laughs bitterly. "Well, that's too bad," she spits. "At least somebody would."

Harry glares at her, and now they're both standing cross-armed across from each other in the living room. Louis is probably watching them fight through the window, getting his rocks off because Harry might finally be free from the reigns of his heterosexual marriage.

"You and I both know we never have sex," she continues, speaking with such an irritated tone it kind of frightens him. "I could probably count on one hand the amount of times we have since we've moved in."

"We've been busy, Taylor," he excuses, trying his hardest to stay calm.

She scoffs. "Clearly not busy enough to skip your bro-time with Louis every goddamn day."

Well. It's certainly not bro-time, but Harry won't let that slip out of his mouth. "God forbid I make friends in the neighborhood," he snaps.

"You know that's not what I'm saying," she retorts.

"Whatever, Taylor," he sighs, defeated, turning his back to her. "You're getting mad over nothing."

"Okay," she laughs bitterly.

Taylor is walking away, taking her bags to their room, when Harry lets his anger get the best of him. "Did you get his number?" He asks.

She turns slowly, her brows drawn together. "I'm sorry?"

"The guy you met at the beach... Did you get his number?"

He doesn't need a verbal response to know the truth, seeing it in the way she blushes and her eyes divert to a random spot in the kitchen. "...So what if I did?" She questions slowly, only shortly glancing at her husband before she disappears down the hall with her things.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

"So..." Louis clears his throat, setting his cup of coffee down on the table so he can clasp his hands together in anticipation. "Harry, tell me... Have you ever been pegged before?"

Harry, in the middle of taking a sip, chokes on a swallow and sets his mug down, hand over his mouth while he tries to cough quietly.

"Sorry," Louis smiles sheepishly, eyebrow raised, watching him sputter.

Harry lets out a heavy breath as soon as he's done choking, glaring at Louis. "What kind of question is that?" He asks.

Louis shrugs. "Just wondering. I mean... Maybe you are straight, you just like taking it up the ass..."

He puts his head in his hands, trying to pretend Louis didn't just say that. "Can you, like, not do that here?" He grumbles, peeking through his fingers to look at everyone else in the coffee shop.

"Relax," his friend laughs a little, his eyes lighting up while he's busy looking at the front door to the place. Harry turns around anxiously and sees Taylor opening the door, looking around for her husband and their gay friend.

"Sorry I'm late," she says, coming to meet them at their table. Louis pulls a chair out for her while Harry sits and stares at the half-empty coffee cup in front of him. "What are you guys talking about?" She asks, smiling at the both of them. Her smile seems a lot more genuine when she's looking at Louis. For Harry, though, it's not entirely authentic. They've barely made up since their argument upon her arrival back home. Harry's been sleeping on the couch almost every night since it happened.

"Nothing," Harry answers quickly.

Louis beats him to it, though. He's always been so honest. It kind of pisses Harry off. "We were just, um..." He pauses, sipping from his mug and ignoring Harry's pointed glare. "I was just wondering if you've ever pegged him before."

Taylor's smile falters, bottom lip caught between her teeth. She shakes her head. "Um...? No...?"

Harry hangs his head, thinking if he acts like he isn't there, they might not notice him at all. Both of their eyes are on him, though, he can feel their pupils burning straight through him. Louis hums. "Just saying. Might be fun," He shrugs.

Taylor only blinks at him, hands around the cup of coffee Harry ordered for her before she arrived. It's probably getting cold now, but it's her fault for being late.

Louis sighs, looking between the two. "You guys seem tense. Did something happen?"

"No," Harry says immediately.

"Nope," Taylor replies at the same time, bringing her cup to her red lips.

"I thought we were friends," their friend pouts playfully, looking at them like an injured puppy.

Taylor shakes her head dismissively, offering him a slight smile. "Sorry. You wouldn't get it," she explains, glaring at her husband across the table while she sips her coffee. Harry diverts his gaze as soon as their eyes meet, compelled to stare at the linoleum under his feet.

Louis continues to joke around, ignoring the heat between the couple in front of him. "Ouch... What's that supposed to mean?" He questions.

Taylor and Harry are both too busy being angry at the ground to notice Louis' teasing smile, so Taylor takes it seriously, glancing at Louis before going back to her stare-down. "Well... You're not married," she answers.

"Are you two having marital issues?" Louis asks, his lips pressed together thinly as he looks between them. Harry doesn't even have his wedding ring on, something he nor Taylor had noticed.

Harry lets a heavy sigh escape his lips, scooting his chair back and stepping away from the table. He doesn't say a word as he walks away, slipping his phone into his back pocket on the way out the door.

"Oookay..." Louis says slowly, eyebrows raised. He takes another sip of his coffee without looking Taylor's way, even though he can feel her eyes on him.

"Sorry," Taylor eventually murmurs, picking at a hangnail on her ring finger. "He's, um... We've been mad at each other all week," she explains. Louis frowns, hand over his mug like he's not sure he should continue drinking it.

"If I ask you why, are you gonna get up and walk out on me, too?" He jokes.

She rolls her eyes playfully, shaking her head. "Unlike him, I don't mind talking about my problems," she sighs, watching Harry's vehicle pull out of the parking lot and go down the street.

"Well, go on..." He says. "I'm here to listen."

Taylor has her fingernail between her teeth as they talk, a bad habit Harry's always chastised her for, but he's not here, so why should she stop? "Just... Don't think I'm, like, a bad person, okay?" She looks at Louis, guilty expression on her face. He only nods, unsure what he's getting himself into, but nobody can resist gossip. "I was really mad at him, after he forgot to take off work for the wedding. And first of all, it wasn't my intention to go out with some random guy while I was there."

"I'm sorry...?" Louis questions, brows furrowed.

She blinks at him. "I thought Harry would have told you," she says. "I figured he tells you everything."

"I haven't talked to him much since you got back," he admits, shrugging. "But anyway... What'd you do?"

He doesn't sound judgmental at all, thank God. She looks vacantly into her mug, continuing. "I, just... Got hurt at the beach. Some guy came to my rescue, and asked me to dinner, and I said yes," she describes, peering over at Louis for some type of negative reaction, but he's still neutral. "And, um... He gave me his number afterward."

"Have you been talking to him?" Louis asks, head resting on his hand.

She nods, after a bit of hesitation. "Here and there..."

Louis nods to himself. "What do you guys talk about?"

She avoids his eye. "Nothing bad. Just... I dunno. He knows I'm married."

"Taylor, I mean this in the nicest way," he says, taking another sip of coffee. "But I can guarantee you he doesn't care that you are."

Taylor widens her eyes at him, frowning. "Why are men the way that they are...?" She asks, more to herself than him. She shakes her head. "Harry told me the same thing."

"Did you tell him you were married before or after you went out?"

"After..."

"And he still gave you his number?" Louis shoots her a pointed, I-told-you-so look that makes her groan.

She puts her head in her hands. "Damnit, Louis," she grumbles. "I thought you would be giving me advice. This isn't helping at all."

Louis chuckles. "Sorry. At least I'm not lying to you," he says, then sets his empty cup down on the table. Taylor's barely had any of hers, clearly having a loss of appetite after Harry's departure. "Well," Louis sighs. "I suppose Harry will be mad at me and you when you get home," he half-jokes.

Taylor laughs, nudging Louis' elbow with her own. "Thanks for inviting us to coffee, anyway. This was nice, for the three minutes it lasted."

"Anytime," Louis replies, eye on her glistening wedding ring.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

Louis gets home before Taylor does, and Harry is waiting outside of his own house when he pulls into the driveway. He's clearly not looking his way, Harry thinks, ignoring him just like Harry used to do when Louis would come to his door unannounced.

Harry watches him step out of his vehicle and make his way into his home, still standing on the porch with his arms crossed over his chest. Louis doesn't spare him a passing glance while he closes his front door, which only irritates Harry more. So he makes his way across the street, hands practically balled into fists at his sides, and finds himself on Louis' doorstep before his mind can process he's even doing it.

He raps on the front door loudly, knowing Louis hasn't gotten very far in the time it took him to get across the desolate street. He hears shuffling on the other side of the door, and then the door is opening and Louis barely has time to see who his visitor is before Harry shoves him backward. "Hey," Louis yelps, taking a step back. Harry follows him into the house and basically slams the door shut as he does so, glaring at his friend. "Harry, what the fuck?"

"Is this some kind of game to you?" Harry questions, his eyes narrowed at him. "You invite my wife and I out for coffee, and then bring up shit we don't want to talk about?"

Louis holds his hands up in surrender, brows furrowed. "I didn't invite you guys so I could intrude on your marriage," he says, his tone of voice sounding like he believes Harry is being unbelievable, which he might be, but still. "If that's how I came across, I'm sorry."

"Well, it did," Harry spits, his eyes darting around the room as he grumbles angrily. "Fucking... Bringing up pegging in front of Taylor... And then you ask us if we're having marital problems. What the fuck?"

Louis is quiet, for once. Harry almost regrets saying it until he doesn't, overwhelmed with anger.

"You know what?" Harry laughs bitterly, arms crossed. "If this is how it's gonna be, I don't want to be around you anymore."

His friend shakes his head, reaching out to touch Harry's forearm, but his hand is smacked away before he can get close enough. "Come on, Harry, you don't mean that," he tries.

Harry scoffs. "Yeah, I do. You keep telling me you're not trying to ruin my marriage, yet you keep teasing my wife, like you're trying to hint to her what we've done."

"Yeah? Well, maybe she deserves to know," Louis shrugs, his arms also crossed over his chest. They're right behind the front door, out of sight from Taylor whenever she decides to come home. She told Louis she would be shopping after their coffee escapade, something she didn't mention to Harry, probably because she knew he wouldn't care. "You're the one coming over here, letting me kiss you, sleeping in my bed..."

"You let me!" Harry replies incredulously, his pitch high.

Louis scorns, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "Because you want it!" He responds. "Do you ever think about anybody but yourself? Jesus, Harry, I fucking like you!"

Harry takes a step backward, his frustrated expression faltering a bit. He doesn't say anything.

Louis just stares at him, deadpanned except for the way his bottom lip wobbles slightly. "All I'm trying to do is help you. But fine, we don't have to talk anymore. Go be closeted and married to a woman you don't even love for the rest of your life. I hope she makes you happy."

"I am not closeted," Harry seethes, lying through his teeth.

Louis chuckles dryly. "So, you won't mind if I tell Taylor about everything we did? I mean... You're not gay, so it doesn't matter, right?"

Harry shoves him again, unable to stop himself. He rarely gets angry, and when he does, it's not pretty. "Stop it, Louis."

"What? You said it yourself."

"Don't you dare tell her."

"You'll just have to beat me to it," Louis replies, a mirthless smirk on his face.

Harry blinks through the tears that are threatening to spill over his waterline, angry and upset all at the same time. "I fucking hate you," he says.

Their faces are so close Louis can feel his breath on his lips, and he rolls his eyes at the man's words. "No, you don't."

"Yeah, I do," he lets out a heavy breath.

"Who are you trying to convince?" Louis asks, raising an eyebrow. "Come on. Fucking... Hit me if you want, if you hate me so much. I don't care."

Harry shakes his head shortly, attempting to keep his unkind demeanor, but it's beginning to crack the more they stare each other down. "No," he answers defeatedly.

"No...?" Louis guffaws. "Am I supposed to hate you, too, or something? I don't have a reason."

"Why not?" Harry asks, willing away a sniffle.

He shrugs. "I told you, I like you," he admits, shaking his head. "I like kissing you, and sharing a bed with you, and being with you..."

Harry blinks, a stray tear coasting down his cheek. He can't tear his eyes away from Louis', even though he wants to. He wants so badly for Louis to push him away, tell him to go home so they'll never speak again, but instead Louis brings his hand up and brushes his thumb against his teary face. Harry allows it to happen for a few seconds before he presses their lips together, gripping the other man's t-shirt.

Louis kisses him back fervently, moving the hand he has on Harry's cheek to caress his jaw. Harry whimpers against his mouth, tangling his fingers in Louis' hair. He doesn't realize Louis' maneuvering the both of them backward until his back hits the door, and Louis takes his surprised gasp as an excuse to slip his tongue between his lips.

Their kiss lasts for a good minute, and Louis is close to reaching toward Harry's belt when they separate, a heavy breath leaving Louis' mouth. "I should go," Harry trails off, his head back against the front door.

"Okay," Louis murmurs against his lips, sounding as though he's fighting off the need to beg him to stay.

"I'm sorry," he continues, swallowing thickly.

Louis pecks him quickly, smiling warily. "'S okay."

"I'll talk to you later," Harry whispers, reaching behind himself to grab the door handle.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

The doorbell rings just as Taylor is finishing her shower, squeezing her damp hair with her towel as she pads down the hall to answer. She peers through the peephole to see Louis, standing on the front porch with a folded up pair of jeans in his arm. He's running his unoccupied hand through his hair, like he's preparing for something.

She opens the door, watching as Louis' previously confident expression fades when he realizes who's home.

"Louis," she smiles anyway, wrinkling her forehead as she looks at him. "What're you doing here?"

Louis visibly gulps, glancing over at the driveway where Harry's car sits. "Hi, Taylor. Sorry," he chuckles. "I thought Harry was home."

"Oh, he had to take my car to work. His wouldn't start," she explains, leaning against the doorframe. "Did you need to tell him something? I can pass the message along."

Like they don't both have cell phones, and each other's phone numbers. Louis never texts him. He prefers to talk in person. He snaps back to reality and shakes his head dismissively. "No, no. Um... I just wanted to, uh..." He trails off, head dropped toward his feet.

Taylor spots the pair of pants tucked under his armpit and furrows her eyebrows. "What ya got there?" She asks, continuing to smile.

Louis face is glowing red underneath the porch light, an embarrassed look on his face that Taylor has never seen before. He's usually so confident, not one to have things to even be embarrassed about, but he's clearly mortified. "Um..." He shakes his head, uttering a short laugh as his eyes light up, almost as if an idea just struck him. "Just... I was gonna bring these back for Harry. He asked me if I could hem them a while back, I totally forgot."

She nods once, holding her hand out so he can pass the pants over to her. Louis' original plan was to come over with said jeans, make his way into the house while Harry was home alone, and see what would come of it, except Harry is nowhere to be found and Taylor is obviously aware that something is wrong. "Well, thank you," she says slowly, twisting her mouth. "I know how to hem. I've altered all the clothes he's ever wanted me to. I wonder why he asked you to do it instead of me," she murmurs, unfolding the jeans and holding them out in front of her, staring over every inch of the denim. "He's probably still upset with me, I guess..."

Louis lets out a heavy sigh, rocking on his heels. His free hands are now in his back pockets, seeming to be thirty seconds from running back across the street. "Yeah... Men..." The rest of his sentence dwindles before he can continue.

"I'm so glad you get me, Louis," Taylor beams. "I mean, you're, like, the only gay friend I have, so..."

He takes a step back, one foot on the stair below him, fighting for words. "Who... Told you I was gay?" He tilts his head, blinking at her.

She rolls Harry's jeans back up and puts them under her own arm, shrugging. "I mean, aren't you?"

"Who told you?" He questions again.

Taylor shrugs her shoulders once more, her hand on the door as though she's about to close it the second their conversation is over. "I dunno. Nobody. I just figured..."

He shakes his head. "It was Harry, right?" He asks. "Harry told you?"

She makes a strangled sound as she fumbles through her words, then groans. "Okay, yes, he told me. But to be fair, I thought you were hitting on me, so he told me the truth."

"Why would I be hitting on you?" He asks incredulously.

"Ouch," Taylor replies.

He shakes his head disappointingly again. "That's not what I meant. What made you think I was hitting on you?"

"I mean, you were over here a lot," she answers. "And you would ask Harry really weird stuff about me. I dunno. I thought you were just trying to get closer to me."

Louis can't help it, but he lets out a stunned laugh, his eyes wide. "Oh, my God, no," he says. "No offense. I'm just really, really not attracted to women."

Taylor seems to take some offense to his statement anyway, her arms across her chest, Harry's unaltered jeans still tucked in the crevice between her ribcage and her bicep. "Do you think Harry's hot?" She asks.

"I'm sorry?" Louis blinks, flinching.

"Answer me honestly," she says. "Do you think Harry's hot?"

He's silent for a moment, eyes toward his feet again, and then he looks up. "I mean... Yeah?" He murmurs, shrugging. "Who wouldn't?"

He hears a sort of bitter scoff escape her throat. "You weren't trying to get closer to me," she shakes her head in disbelief. "You were trying to get closer to Harry."

"That... Was not my intention," he replies, blank-faced.

"You're not going to turn him gay, you know," she says. Louis can tell she doesn't care about not hurting his feelings anymore, even though their banter was completely civil just a minute ago. "He's my husband. He loves me."

Louis raises one of his eyebrows, an amused expression on his face. He lets the tensioned silence sit for a second, and just as he's about to talk, the sound of a car makes its way toward them. Harry's home, just in time for shit to really hit the fan. "Well..." He throws his hands up, waving his imaginary white flag while taking backward steps off of the porch. "If you really want to know, I didn't do shit to those jeans," he admits, watching Harry pull into the driveway in his wife's vehicle. "Harry left them at my house the day you came back. He spent the night, in my bed..." He continues, maneuvering to the sidewalk as he confesses to Taylor. "And for your information, he came on to me," he says, then books it across the street just as Harry shuts the car off and opens the driver's side door.

Harry swallows thickly the moment he steps out of the car, knowing something just went down. Louis and Taylor never speak without him there, and Louis did not seem happy. He looks over at Taylor, still standing in the doorway on their porch, and notices the jeans in her arm. "What, uh..." He blinks, staying in his spot behind the car. "What's going on, honey?"

Taylor stares blankly at the house across the street, where Louis is shutting and locking his front door, and then turns her head toward Harry. "Is it true?" She questions.

Harry chuckles nervously, trying to keep his cool. "Is what true?" He asks, still unwilling to move.

"Why were you at Louis' the morning I came back?" She interrogates, coming down to meet him at ground level. The front door is wide open. Harry would chastise her for letting the air conditioning out if they weren't seemingly about to brawl.

He rolls his eyes. "This again?" He shakes his head defensively. "Taylor, I told you, I was dropping something off. Why are you so upset? What did he say?" He glances behind him at Louis' house, then centers his attention back on Taylor, who's coming closer and closer. She doesn't even have shoes on, let alone socks, walking across their gravel driveway.

"Yeah, maybe dropping your fucking pants," she shoves his jeans against his chest, a heavy blow Harry wasn't expecting from her. His back hits the car door as she does it and he reaches up to grab her wrist.

"What are you even talking about?" He asks.

Taylor shakes her head, prying herself from Harry's grip. She's laughing in pure disbelief, pushing him again. This is something they both do when they're angry, push and prod until something really bad happens. Usually it doesn't get to that point, because one of them is calm enough to walk away, but not this time. "Stop playing stupid, Harry. Are you gay?"

"Am I what?"

"Are you gay, Harry?" She questions again, raising her voice. If any of the neighbors have their windows open, they will most definitely be the talk of the neighborhood by tomorrow afternoon.

Harry's eyes are wide, feigning disgust. "No, of course I'm not!" He defends incredulously.

There are tears in her eyes. Harry moves to caress her face and his hands are immediately slapped away. "Get the fuck off of me," she spits. "I don't fucking care if you are. But to lie to me? What the fuck, Harry?"

"I'm not lying," Harry shakes his head, but she hears the way he gulps after he says it.

"Go fuck yourself," she barks, retreating toward their house. "You can go stay the night at Louis'. Won't be the first time."

"Taylor, wait," he groans, following her. She barely makes it to the porch before he grabs her forearm, keeping her outside. "Just... Just listen, okay?"

Her lips are pressed together thinly, wriggling her arm out of his grasp once more. "You have one fucking minute," she warns, practically seething.

He can't even think of what to say, but he knows if he doesn't speak, Taylor will go inside, and lock him out, and he doesn't want to resort to Louis right now, not after whatever the fuck he just started. "I'm..." He sighs. "I'm sorry. I never wanted to hurt you," he starts, tears welling in his own eyes. Now they're both about to cry, only Taylor has a valid reason. "I just... It didn't mean anything at first, I swear. He... He, um... I found out he was gay, and he asked me if I was, and I just started thinking about it, and I'm sorry..."

She looks to be two seconds from punching him square in the face. Harry will let her if she so chooses. "What did you do?" She asks lowly, hands balled at her sides.

"Nothing bad," he replies quickly, shaking his head rapidly. "We just kissed a few times. I just wanted to see how it made me feel."

"Well...?" Taylor pries, her arms crossed.

He avoids her eye, glaring into the bush outside their home. Their shared home as a married couple, which Harry is definitely about to ruin. A wave of tears leaks from his eyes when he shuts them, trying to maintain his composure when everything he's ever known is falling apart. "I'm... I think I'm gay," he admits, unable to look her in the eye.

She's quiet for a moment. Harry sniffles once between the gap in their heart-to-heart. "Do you love him?" She asks.

"I don't know," he admits, rubbing his tear-stained cheeks.

"Do you love me?" He can hear the hopefulness in her voice, though he's pretty sure she already knows the answer.

It takes him a bit to answer that one, the last few years of his life materializing and coming to sock him in the guts. "I don't know," he repeats, afraid of her reaction.

She's not crying like he assumed she would be. There's something so calm about her, it's starting to freak him out. She swallows thickly, nodding, lips pursed in thought. "Okay," she murmurs and takes a deep breath. "Well..." She turns toward their front door, then barks out a laugh. "No wonder Louis told me I should keep talking to Joe," she says.

Harry sniffles, wiping his tears with the back of his hand. "Who?" He questions.

"The guy from the beach," she answers, then opens their front door and shuts it in Harry's face.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

"Haaaarryyyy..." Is the noise that startles Harry from his sleep, the only peace he's had in the last twelve hours ripped away from him. He had a long night at work, came home absolutely exhausted, and collapsed in bed the moment he got his shoes off. He squints against the bright sun shining through the open window, covering his eyes. "Hey. I know you're awake," the voice says.

Harry finally opens his eyes to a bowl of fruit lying on the mattress in front of him, frowning in confusion. Louis is kneeling on the ground behind it, his chin resting against his tan forearms while he gazes up at the boy in his bed.

"Morning," Louis says, smiling. "I made you breakfast. The rest is still in the oven. Figured you don't want to leave the bed."

Harry smiles, too, trying his hardest not to fall back asleep. Louis picks a grape out of the bowl and pops it into Harry's mouth. "Thank you," he murmurs around it, propping himself up slightly with his elbow.

"Mhm," Louis responds. He steals another piece of fruit while Harry is fighting his sleepiness, eating it himself. He's always taken pride in himself for the fruit he grows in their backyard. He reaches over and caresses Harry's wrist, bringing his hand toward his face so he can kiss each individual finger. "Wanna help me milk the cows before we have to leave?" He questions.

His lips downturn upon Louis' question, not looking forward to doing his least favorite farm activity. He would rather shovel up chicken shit than touch an udder. He'll do it for Louis, though, like always. "M'kay," he replies sleepily,

Louis bites one of his fingers playfully, laughing quietly as he's smacked away. "Or you can tend the garden. What's left of it, at least. Your choice."

Most of the plants in the backyard are beginning to dwindle and collapse, the chill of September making its way across the garden. Harry can't believe it's already fall. Time seemed to fly by as soon as he and Taylor decided to file for divorce, six months ago feeling like just yesterday. Taylor was the one that served him the papers, and he'll give her that. She deserved to, after what he did behind her back, but they remained civil. As civil as one can be when your ex-husband has been staying across the street with his new fling, but that's a story for another day.

Harry finally finished moving all his things out of their home and into Louis' four months ago, not having much. He left most of the furniture for Taylor, knowing Louis had a bunch of things in his house, and he liked his rustic taste better anyway.

Things are still kind of awkward, between he and Taylor and between he and Louis. Neither of them have said the L word yet. You'd think living together for six months (and kissing, and fucking, and owning pairs of matching overalls) would ignite that, but it never happened. Harry wants to say it so desperately it makes him sick, but he's afraid. He's still trying to figure this in-love-with-a-man thing out.

He snaps out of his pondering daze to feel Louis' thumb against his bottom lip, wiping away the raspberry stain on his skin. Louis' grinning at him, his own lip between his teeth, and Harry drags his tongue across his thumb teasingly, to frustrate him.

It works. Louis grabs the fruit bowl and sets it on the nightstand next to him, crawling into bed with him. He seems like he can barely wait to connect their lips, kissing him desperately. Harry chuckles against his mouth, moving to lie on his back so Louis can climb on top of him.

They only get so far, with Harry's legs spread, bracketing Louis' waist, when the timer goes off down the hall. Louis groans, attempting to back away from their heated exchange so he can fetch their breakfast from the oven, but Harry holds him by the collar of his sweater, shaking his head. "Let it burn," he murmurs against his lips, trying his hardest to continue.

Louis manages to pull back, feigning an offended look. "I worked really hard on our food, darling," he puts his hand to his chest, dropping his head.

"Sorry," Harry laughs, sitting up. "Just wanted you."

He smiles, leaning over the bed to kiss him shortly as he goes to leave the room. "You can have me later, Baby. Got something planned tonight, anyway," he says, then clears his throat upon seeing Harry's intrigued expression. He must have said something he didn't want to admit, leaving the room, leaving Harry to stare at the ceiling.

Baby. Darling. Two names they use a lot for two men who don't know how to say 'I love you', and who aren't even officially dating. Harry brushes it off, knowing it'll (hopefully) come eventually, and goes to follow Louis to the kitchen, bringing his bowl of fruit with him.

They meet Taylor at the courthouse in the afternoon, Louis dressed in the most formal clothes he could find in his closet full of flannel and jeans. He hadn't thought of coming, but Harry wanted him to be there. It was a good idea, anyway, because Taylor brought Joe. A nice guy who apparently really enjoys physical contact. Harry doesn't think he saw him take his arm away from her waist more than once the entire day. Good for her, he thinks. He's actually kind of glad she let this guy take her out on a date while they were married. He's never wanted anything but the best for her, though some of his actions might contradict that.

Louis shakes both of their hands when they're all close enough, gathered outside the courthouse in their Sunday best. Their divorce is getting finalized today. Harry's sure the both of them are elated this day has finally come. Who would want to be legally married to somebody you barely speak to anymore?

He doesn't think either of their parents know about their separation. Taylor, according to what she told him last time they spoke, has been excusing Harry from all of the family get-togethers, telling everyone he's been busy. Harry hasn't told his parents anything, either. He's barely come out of the closet to anyone but his lover and his ex-wife.

They all go into the building together, letting Harry and Taylor stand together in front of the judge. Harry still feels guilty, for everything. Taylor has clearly forgiven him, but he doesn't know how to forgive himself. The night they'd decided to end things for good, Harry ended up sobbing on Louis' doorstep, lying on the carpet in front of Louis' couch for hours while the other man tried to coax him into getting up.

Harry hands her the wedding ring that he'd remembered to bring, telling her to sell it, or keep it for Joe, or something. Taylor chuckles, putting it into her pocket before interlinking her fingers with her boyfriend's as they leave.

"Well," Taylor is the first one to speak, back outside by their cars. Harry and Louis are leaning against Louis' vehicle, Louis' arm around his shoulders, and she's smiling at them like nothing ever happened. "At least now I have two gay friends."

Harry laughs, trying not to pick anxiously at his fingernails. Louis begins to bid them both goodbye while Harry is busy staring off into space, thinking about everything that's happened in the last year. "How long are you in town, Joe?" Louis asks the man, who glances at his girlfriend with a smile. "Maybe we can all go stop for coffee sometime."

"Actually, I'm moving here," he answers sheepishly. "Figured we've been together long enough, I was getting tired of the long distance," he shrugs.

Louis nods, going to shake his hand once more. He's so polite. Harry fawns over him and his mannerisms all the time. "Congratulations, guys. Let us know if you need anything, you know I've got you covered."

"Thank you, Louis," Taylor says, then nudges Harry, who's still lost in his own world. "Hey."

"What?" Harry picks his head up, brows furrowed at her.

"Don't look so down," she chuckles. "I'm happy. Aren't you happy?"

He nods, and Louis kisses the top of his head. "Yeah. Just sorry. About everything," he says, diverting everyone's eyes.

Taylor groans. "Come on. Do not get sentimental, you're never sentimental."

"Sorry," Harry says again, his cheeks reddening.

She reaches over and pats his shoulder, grinning. "Love you, Haz. In a you're-my-gay-ex-husband way," she tells him, then doesn't give him a chance to return it before she and Joe walk toward her car, leaving Harry and Louis to their own devices.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

Harry's sitting on the deck with a cup of tea in his hands, a mixture brewed from their own garden, when he hears the back door slide open. He doesn't bother to crook his neck and look at whoever's coming, because he knows it's Louis. The string lights are beginning to flicker on above them as the sun sets, and a redolent smell of steak fills the outdoor air. Louis has two plates, one balanced on each hand. He must have used his foot to push open the door, a man of many talents. He can cook, and garden, and tend to animals, and open things with his feet. He can also turn people gay, a skill Harry hopes only works on himself.

"What'd you make?" Harry asks, leaning back in his chair to gaze at Louis, who's trying to set everything down on the small round table between their seats.

"Why don't you just hold your horses?" Louis tsks, finally getting everything to their designated spots. He holds both his hands up once the plates are on the table, backing away slowly. "Don't move. I have one more thing."

He disappears back into the house, retreating quickly. Now he has two wine glasses and a bottle of the wine he'd given Harry when they first met. Harry smiles sheepishly, curling his knees up to his chest while he waits for Louis to pour their drinks. He sets his cup of tea down on the pavement by his feet, neglecting it for the alcohol Louis decided to bring. "Why so fancy?" He asks playfully, only teasing.

Louis glares at him, but he's fighting off a smile, taking a seat across the table from him. He shrugs, picking up the knife on his plate so he can cut up the steak he's made. Steak, and steamed vegetables, and red wine. Harry thinks he could eat this one meal for the rest of his life and die happy. "Figured it's about time we have, like, an actual date," he says, focus on the dinner in front of him. "And I wanted to wait until the divorce was finalized, so..."

Harry twists his mouth, bringing the wine glass to his lips. "Thank you," he says between sips, then sets it down on the table so he can begin to eat. "Sorry. I didn't know it would take so long. I've never gotten divorced before."

It makes Louis laugh, shaking his head. "Don't be silly," he says. "I don't care. I got to be with you the whole time, anyway, it doesn't matter."

"If you say so..." Harry rolls his eyes playfully, divulging in his steak. "But seriously, thank you, Lou. This is really nice."

Louis nods, gazing out at the setting sun, looking nervous.

Harry reaches over and brushes his fingers against his hand, smiling at him. "What?" He asks, starting to laugh anxiously.

The other man blinks once, turning his head back toward Harry. He bites his cheek as he stares at him, shrugging. "Just... Felt like now would be a good time to tell you I love you."

Harry can feel his heart skip a beat in his chest, his gaze settled on Louis' lips, that curl up after he speaks. "I've been waiting for you to say that," he murmurs, trying to act like it's not a big deal.

"Just wanted you to be free from the reigns of your heterosexual marriage, 's all," Louis shrugs.

He sighs, almost dreamily, leaning across the table to kiss his lips. "I love you, too," he answers, kind of afraid of how naturally it comes out. It's not like he's been saying it in his head for the last six months or anything.

Louis pumps his fist upon hearing his response, then holds his wine glass up for Harry to clack his own against. "To turning you gay," he toasts.

"To turning me gay," Harry replies, stifling laughter, closing the space between them once again.