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Louis frowns down at his piece of cake.
He hadn’t even wanted a piece of cake, but now he’s offended that whoever passed him this plate before he could think to refuse had given him a middle piece. Everyone knows edge pieces are better— more icing, of course.
Louis glances over to the table and his frown sets deeper, nose scrunching. He’s always thought cakes with faces printed on them fell on the wrong side of the creepy vs. cute divide. Case in point: Shirley’s once cheery smile is now maimed beyond repair.
He stares back down at his own piece, paper plate gripped in both of his fists. Louis has her right eye. His fork sticks out of her cheekbone. It’s gruesome.
“You know, staring contests are only fair when the other opponent also has to blink.”
“What?” Louis looks up.
It’s a small enough town that Louis is surprised to find he doesn’t recognize the face of the man trying to talk to him. And what a face it is, too, to not recognize.
The guy presses his lips together, nodding down at the cake on Louis’s plate and raising his eyebrows a little, like he’s still waiting for Louis to get the joke. When Louis doesn’t budge even a little bit, he rubs his chin and tries explaining. “You were staring. And there’s the eye, see,” he points vaguely at the plate. “Staring contest.”
Louis winces openly. “I’m going to be honest, that was painful. Do you want me to blow right past it or would you rather a pity laugh? I’m good for it.”
“Blow right past it,” the man nods, smile less sheepish and more shamelessly amused now. “A pity laugh would only prolong the suffering.”
“Always risky to open with a joke, pal.”
“High risk, high reward,” he shrugs easily, speaking like someone who is used to being highly rewarded. Louis quirks an eyebrow. His fingers flex around the plate in his hand and when he looks down, he’s reminded of why they’re all here.
“How do you know Shirley, then?” Louis asks, genuinely interested. Even if Louis wasn’t already confident in his ability to recognize the majority of his small town, he’d still be confident enough to spot a new face in Shirley’s social circle. He’s been to enough of her birthday parties, holiday dinners, and miscellaneous gatherings over the past better part of a decade to be able to not only name, but also hold a pleasant conversation with every single one of her grandchildren and their own families.
Louis isn’t one of her grandchildren himself, but Dr. Shirley Hart is certainly more family than not. It’d be hard for anyone not to build a relationship with the veterinarian tasked with a biweekly farm visit. But Shirley and Louis had easily become closer than that. Louis isn’t one of her grandchildren by blood, but he does have his own framed picture on Shirley’s mantle where she keeps the rest of the pictures of her kids and grandkids. It’s one of his prouder accomplishments in life.
“I’m actually taking over the practice,” the guy says. Louis can hear clearly in his tone how proud he is of that fact.
Louis blinks and tries to decide which emotion to focus on first— the sadness at the reminder that Shirley really is retiring and things are changing or the panic that Louis’ new vet is this. This tall, charmingly embarrassing, very attractive man that Louis now has to see regularly.
Louis swallows. He’s decided to feel neither. Big emotions like that are usually reserved for when he’s sitting on his front porch at an hour when he should definitely be inside sleeping. “You’ve got big shoes to fill.”
“I’ve got big feet,” Shirley’s replacement says, smiling.
Louis very much enjoys watching said smile freeze as he realizes he has once again spoken without thinking. Louis scrunches his nose up amusedly and waits for him to sort himself out.
“I-,” the guy rubs a hand over the side of his jaw. “Blow right past it,” he says again. “I’m usually more….”
A part of Louis wants to let the guy flounder for a bit more, but he throws him a line. “I’m Louis.”
“I’m Harry,” he says, shoulders relaxing, teeth white in his pleased smile. “It’s nice to meet you.” The way he says that, it’s nice to meet you, moves something in Louis’ belly, because he means it. Harry thinks it’s nice to meet Louis, in a really simple but astoundingly genuine way.
Louis blinks inwardly at his own reaction and looks down to Harry’s big outstretched hand. It’s embarrassing how much Louis wants to grab the hand and hold it. So, naturally, of course, he doesn’t.
Louis puts his plate in Harry’s offered hand and smiles. “I actually have to go.”
Harry accepts the plate unthinkingly, green eyes never faltering from Louis’s face. The unwavering attention warms the back of Louis’s neck. “Oh,” Harry says. “That’s too bad.”
Louis nods and clasps his newly empty hands together tightly. “We’ll talk more soon. I’ll call you,” he tells him, taking a step backwards.
Harry looks very intrigued at that, head tilting down a little so he’s closer to Louis’s level, eyes all warm. Louis stares for half a second before he realizes— “For the farm,” he rushes on. “I own the farm. Uh, Maplewood.”
Harry’s eyes widen in recognition at that and he straightens up, nodding. “You’re Louis! Shirley’s told me so much about you. I should’ve put it together sooner.”
Louis feels a bit like a bobblehead nodding again, but he doesn’t know what else to say to that. Harry looks so delighted at this entire situation that it’s making Louis feel like he’s missed a step somewhere. He hooks a thumb over his shoulder, hoping he’s pointing somewhere close to the door, and says again, “I have to go.”
“Oh, yeah, of course,” Harry nods. “You probably have to get up early.”
Louis swallows a yawn. Any mention of his sleep schedule only ever serves to make him that much more tired. Harry’s right, he does have to get up early. He always has to get up early. His entire life is just a never-ending string of early mornings.
Which is exactly why he has to leave. He’s too tired to deal with his new, hot, smiley vet.
“I’ll call you,” Louis says again, giving him a small wave and turning on his foot. He has to stop and turn again because he’s nowhere near the exit, but he resolutely does not look at Harry while he does it.
—————
Louis does not call Harry.
Back in his school days, Louis was famous for his procrastination. Nowadays, with all he does and how busy he is, Louis can’t really procrastinate on anything lest he drop one of the many balls he is always trying to juggle. Luckily for him, it turns out he’s still got a knack for it.
He spends the Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday after the retirement party telling himself he’ll call Harry after every new task he comes up with to do until it’s seven o’clock and he’s positive that Harry must be home by now. Saturday he doesn’t call because, well, he doesn’t know Harry’s schedule yet and he probably doesn’t even work Saturdays.
On Sunday Louis gets ready for the farmers market after tending to the animals and tells himself the same thing. It’s still the weekend. He’ll call Harry tomorrow. Today is farmers market day. He simply doesn’t have the time to spare a thought for anything else.
Or, at least, that’s the delusion he’s buying into today. Truthfully, the farmers market doesn’t take that much effort anymore.
About seven years ago, after Louis had just bought the farm and was still figuring everything out, he took the farmers market very seriously. What was a farmers market for if not a farmer, right? Setting up his little table that first time is a rush Louis still hasn’t been able to replicate. He’d been a King among fools. The homemade jewelry and crystal stalls had nothing compared to him.
Now, seven years later, Louis is mostly just tired. He still shows up every Sunday and chats to all the locals, but he does it while sitting in his camp chair. And he’s friends with the homemade jewelry and crystal stall ladies. They’re very nice, actually, and always pat Louis’s cheeks and tell him he works too hard and needs more sleep. It’s nice that they care. Gina even tries to set Louis up with her grandson.
The point is, Louis is content to have a Harry-free Sunday and put off his responsibilities for one last day. That plan goes down the drain when Louis looks up after putting Tilly’s eggs in a cloth bag for her and spots Harry two tables down.
Harry’s got his face obscured by his sunglasses and his hat, but Louis recognizes that same smile— charming, easy, attractive. He’s shaking hands with Mr. Patrick and Louis’s eyes get stuck on the dark ink starting at his wrist, crawling up his arm and under the rolled shirt sleeve.
“Thank you, dear,” Tilly calls, waving over her shoulder. “I’ll see you next week.”
Louis glances back and frowns. “Bye bye,” he waves belatedly. It only takes another second before his eyes slide back to Harry and when they do, Harry is staring right at him.
Louis feels glued to the spot, stuck with nothing to do but watch Harry walk closer until he’s four feet from him, only the table between them. He pulls his sunglasses from his nose and puts them over his hat, eyes bright and intent on Louis. “Good morning, Louis,” he greets pleasantly.
Something about Harry’s gaze makes Louis feel like he’s under the microscope and he ducks his chin a bit, leaning his fingers on the table to stop their fidgeting. “Morning.”
“I thought I’d hear from you before now,” Harry says. There’s no malcontent behind the words from what Louis can hear. He just states it like the fact that it is.
Louis just nods to the tote bag hanging from Harry’s shoulder. “Good haul?”
Harry pats his bag proudly, palm open and fingers outstretched. Louis is very pointedly not noticing the size of his hand. “Great haul. You should see the cucumbers I got. They’re beautiful.”
“Congrats,” Louis laughs, too amused to pretend he’s not. “I’ve never seen someone so happy about produce.”
“Produce isn’t something I take lightly,” Harry says, brows pulling together in an attempt to match the severity of his statement. His smile, though, is still too present and Louis finds himself laughing again at the silly sight it makes.
“Good to see you’re settling in nicely, then. Now that we’ve met your produce standards and all.”
“I am,” Harry nods. “I like it here a lot so far.” He takes a step closer as he says it and Louis’s fingers twitch.
“Normally people just complain about the small-town life,” Louis tells him.
“I’m usually more of a city guy myself,” Harry says. “But the change of pace is nice.”
Louis snorts at that, shaking his head cynically. “Yeah, well, I’ll ask you again in a month. It can get old fast.”
Harry hums, leaning in over the table a bit. He likes to loom, Louis’s noticed. Louis would bet that if Harry had his way and there wasn’t a table separating them, Harry’d be having this conversation six inches from Louis’s face. The thought of it makes his mouth dry.
“What about you, Louis?” Harry prompts.
Louis curls his fingers back into his palms and looks up at Harry, feeling caught on the way his name sounds in Harry’s mouth, pronounced carefully.
Harry’s smile goes a bit crooked after another beat of silence and Louis forces his eyes away, cheeks pinking. “What about me?” Louis shrugs. He hopes his voice sounds more normal to Harry’s ears than it does to Louis’s right now.
“Do you like small-town life?”
That’s an easy question. “Yeah,” Louis nods, meeting Harry’s eye again. “I really do.”
Once upon a time, there might’ve been a Louis that craved a life more fast-paced than what’s offered here. Now, though, Louis can’t imagine living any differently, can’t imagine not knowing all of his neighbors. He loves hugs and he can basically walk into any shop down Main Street and find someone he knows well enough to get one.
The table next to Louis’s clatters as they close it up. When Louis looks around, most people are putting their things away. Harry’s looking over his table and things when Louis looks back, eyes narrowed and calculating. “Is this your table?”
Louis raises a brow. “No,” he drawls. “Why? Are you in the market for one? I can recommend some places with a better selection than this,” he laughs, knocking on the top of the plastic card table.
“No,” Harry rolls his eyes, smiling. “I was wondering if you had to pack it up to bring it back home again or not.”
“Nope. The table goes back there,” Louis says and points to the nearby recreation building. “All the rest of the stuff goes back home. Why?”
Harry claps his hands together, a man with a plan. “C’mon. I’ll help you carry it over.”
“Oh, no, you don’t-,” Louis starts, but Harry cuts him off.
“You should tell me what to do with these,” he says, grabbing one of the baskets off of the table.
So Louis lets Harry help him pack everything up and bring the table back inside. Then, when Louis tries to say goodbye, Harry insists that he help Louis bring all of his stuff back to his truck as well. Louis tries to say no again, but Harry refuses to let go of the crate he’s holding.
He loads it into Louis’s car easily, smiling all the while like it really is his pleasure to help him lug heavy crates across parks. Louis thinks he’s either abnormally friendly or a show-off.
“Thanks,” Louis says again, clicking a button on his keys to unlock his car. “Talk to you soon?”
“Here,” Harry says, pulling a strap off his shoulder so he can dig his phone out of his bag. “We can get each other’s numbers.”
Louis shakes his head. “I have the practice’s number already,” he tells him. “And my number is definitely on file somewhere.”
Harry pauses, smile quirking a bit as he stares at Louis. The sun is still in his eyes, though, with his sunglasses pushed up onto his head still, so Louis credits his funny face to that.
“I’m trying to give you my number, Louis,” Harry explains around a breathy laugh.
“Oh,” Louis blinks, processing that. He scratches his temple, moves a piece of longer fringe back behind his ear, and then nods. “Okay. Let me just....”
Louis pulls his phone from his pocket and frowns. He taps it a couple of times and holds down his lock button to no avail. The black screen stays just as black. “It’s dead,” Louis says mildly. Which actually makes sense now that he’s thinking about it. Louis got out of bed to sit on the front steps at three a.m. and didn’t bother putting his phone back on the charger even though it never finished charging in the first place.
Harry hands over his phone. “You should charge that,” he tells him sagely.
Louis takes the phone with pursed lips. “Wow,” he breathes. “Anybody ever tell you that you have a knack for giving advice?” He looks down at the phone and hands it back to Harry. “You have to unlock it.”
“Oh, sorry,” Harry hums. “You can call or text me anytime if there’s ever a question or a problem. I don’t mind.”
“No FaceTime?” Louis teases. “I’ve got a very social goat that’ll be disappointed to hear that.”
Harry hands Louis his phone and tells him very earnestly, “You’re very funny.”
It’s not the first time Louis has ever gotten that same compliment, but usually people are laughing as they say it. Louis isn’t sure how to take it so he grabs the phone and asks, “Do you want me to put the name of the farm or anything so you’ll remember who it is?”
“Just your name is fine,” Harry tells him. “I’ll remember.”
Louis pauses and then puts a farmer emoji next to his name anyway, just in case Harry’s only being polite or is giving his memory too much credit. When he hands the phone back over, Harry looks at the contact information and smiles before dropping it back into his bag.
“Thanks again, Doctor,” Louis nods, clicking the button on his keys again.
“Have a nice day, Louis,” Harry says.
Louis gives him a little salute, gets into his car, and tries not to watch Harry in his mirrors as he drives away.
—————
Tuesday morning dawns a little colder than usual. The grass is dewy and the animals seem just as sleepy as Louis feels. Louis huddles back in his hood as he feeds the cows and waits for the sun to climb higher and warm the world.
“You’ve got to be on your best behavior today,” he instructs around a yawn. “Dr. Harry is coming to meet you all today.” The cows don’t seem very excited by the news, but the sheep at least look lively when Louis tells them the same thing. The chickens flap around obnoxiously when they hear too, but that’s nothing new really. The chickens are always obnoxious.
By the time he’s done with his morning chores, the pink of the sunrise has mostly disappeared and the cold isn’t biting at Louis’s fingers as much. He actually slept through most of the night so his phone is miraculously charged when he checks the time. Harry isn’t due in for an hour yet— enough time for Louis to drink another cup of coffee, brush his teeth, and make sure he doesn’t have any lingering sleep crust in his eyes.
When Harry does finally pull up, Louis is waiting on his front porch, sitting on his favorite step (the second one from the top) and looking more presentable than he did an hour ago.
Harry waves at him over the top of his steering wheel and rolls down the window. “Where do you want me to park?”
Louis shrugs. “There,” he says. “Anywhere’s fine.”
“Do you want some coffee?” Louis asks as soon as Harry’s parked and opening the door, because he’s very polite and also because if Harry says yes he has an excuse to go and get another cup for himself as well. “It’s not good coffee, but it’s coffee.”
Harry shakes his head. “No, thank you. I’m trying to cut out caffeine.”
“Oh, gross,” Louis frowns, inwardly groaning. He’ll have to wait to have his third cup of coffee until after Harry leaves.
“Did you find it okay? Here— the farm?” Louis asks. Harry’s grabbing his bag from the backseat and it’s reminded Louis that he’s here in a professional capacity and that Louis should try to treat him as such. Calling him gross at nine o’clock in the morning is probably what some would call ‘getting off on the wrong foot.’
Harry nods, closing the door behind him. “Yes, thank you.”
Louis grabs the railing and pulls himself up from the step.
The farm isn’t big by any means and he’s given tours to enough grade-school classrooms, clients, and other miscellaneous professionals that he could do it in his sleep. But Louis walks slower this time, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He introduces every cow by name and does the same with the couple of goats he has. Louis diligently answers all of Harry’s questions about their feed, health history, preventative care, vaccine schedules, and on and on, heart growing every time Harry seems pleased or mentions their good health.
They’re on their way to the sheep when Harry turns around and says, voice smug and tinged with something else Louis can’t put his finger on, “Cute boots.”
Louis looks down at his feet and toes into the dirt. He’s got his boots that look like frogs on. They honestly look like something you’d find in a children’s aisle, but Louis is not ashamed of them. Plus, they match the green hoodie he’s got on under his overalls so he feels like he deserves some credit for that.
“Thank you,” Louis nods. “They are cute, aren’t they?” He usually saves them to wear when he’s got a school visiting for a field trip or is hosting some event for kids. Now he’s glad he wore them today just because.
Harry nods indulgently. “They are,” he agrees happily.
Louis smiles and tries to point to Harry’s boots with his hands still in his pockets. “Better than yours,” he says. Harry’s tall rubber boots, although customary, are still just a plain, boring navy. They do at least match his scrubs, Louis will give him that.
Harry’s mouth drops open in shocked offense. “Excuse me?” Louis would almost feel bad if it weren’t for the way the corner of his lips were pulling up into a smile, green eyes sparkling in amusement. “You should know that I’m very competitive and I take that as a challenge.”
“Bring it on,” Louis shrugs. “I’ve been building my collection for years.”
Harry’s smile grows wider and he turns around before saying, “Must be easy when you stop growing in middle school.”
Louis is left to gape at Harry’s retreating back. By the way his shoulders are shaking, Louis can tell that Harry finds himself hilarious. “Laugh it up, pal,” Louis calls, still incredulous. He’s not often left speechless without a comeback, yet… here he is.
He only gets moving again because Harry starts talking, asking questions about the two lambs in the corner of the pen.
“When’d you wean them?” Harry asks, pulling himself up and over the fence without any trouble at all. His sleeves cover the way his arms flex with the move, but Louis watches anyway.
“They stopped bottle feeding three weeks ago,” Louis answers mournfully. It’s more work, but it’s also one of the cutest parts of his job. He hates when they get too big to be held like little babies.
Harry crouches down to get a closer look, murmuring quiet hellos to each of them.
“That one is Duck,” Louis points. “And that one is Rock. They’re Matilda’s babies.”
“How’d your Louis come up with your names, huh? They suit you both,” Harry speaks softly enough that Louis isn’t sure if he’s expecting a response from him or is just talking to the lambs. Louis doesn’t say anything. He rests his elbows on the fence and waits for Harry to finish up.
When Harry’s all done, after he’s said goodbye to all the animals, Louis walks him back to the house where his car is still parked. Once he’s certain that Harry can figure out the rest of his way back by himself, his car in sight up ahead, Louis makes a pit stop at the shed beside his house. Harry pauses as well, though, waiting for Louis to pull out the container of kibble he keeps inside.
In a line against the side wall of his house, Louis keeps a collection of cat bowls. None of them match or were bought at the same time and all together they make quite the eclectic sight.
“How many cats do you have?” Harry asks, eyeing the black and white cat that appears from around the back of the shed.
“None,” Louis answers and then pours some kibble into an empty bowl. He looks up, meeting Harry’s gaze. Noting the confusion, he goes on, “They’re not really mine. They just exist. They’re like my guests.”
Another cat runs over then, a quiet tinkling of a bell sounding somewhere beneath the fluff of orange fur. “Oh, except that one. Mugs is mine.” Louis finishes topping off the other bowls, satisfied, but stays bent enough to rub a knuckle over the top of Mugs’s head.
“The rest are strays?”
“No,” Louis shakes his head and stands back up. Strays is too harsh of a word for what they are, Louis thinks.
Harry looks them over again, all three of them now, and then back to Louis, face scrunched in confusion. Louis hefts the bag of kibble back into his arms and puts it back into the shed. When he comes back, Harry is still watching them eat.
“The clinic can take smaller animals too, if you ever want to adopt more of them,” Harry informs him.
Louis frowns. “I know,” he says slowly. “They all get their shots and check-ups done there.”
“You vaccinate your strays?”
“They’re not strays,” Louis repeats. “They’re not mine, but they live here. And eat here. And-.”
“And you take care of them,” Harry continues for him.
“Of course.”
Harry doesn’t say anything to that and when Louis looks back up to see why he’s so silent, Harry’s staring at him. He’s got a curious look on his face, one that Louis can’t puzzle out exactly. But Louis’s quickly becoming used to not being able to discern the meaning behind the looks Harry gives him.
He’s still thinking about it as he waves goodbye, holding Mugs in his arms while Harry drives back down the road he came.
—————
Louis spends the rest of the week purposefully not thinking about Sunday and the farmers market and whether or not he’ll see Harry there. It’s usually easy to avoid thinking about things he doesn’t want to with the schedule he keeps, but Harry is as persistent and overwhelming in thought form as he is in real life.
Louis sits on his steps early Thursday morning and can’t stop his mind from lingering on the breadth of Harry’s shoulders. On Friday, the sound of Harry saying ‘cute’ rings in his ears as he milks the cows. The animals can tell he’s off his game too. Matilda bleats at him and it’s incomprehensible as usual, but Louis knows she’s calling him pathetic in her own special way.
All of the stress ends up being for nothing, of course, when Sunday comes and goes without an appearance from Harry.
Whatever. His presence, or lack thereof, at the farmers market is not something that impacts Louis’s life in any way, shape, or form. At least, that’s what Louis tells himself while he packs up his table alone.
And, even if he was looking forward to seeing Harry again, it’s not like he has to wait long anyway. Harry’s supposed to come by on Tuesday to start the goats on a new parasite management plan.
By Monday afternoon, Louis is restless enough that he ends up at Sweetheart’s Bakery an hour earlier than he told Penny he’d be there.
“Hi, Penny,” Louis calls as soon as he’s through the door, probably too loudly to be appropriate. It’s fine, though. The few people sitting at a table either give him a polite smile or wave. They all either find Louis charming (rightfully so) or are too used to his antics by now to care.
“Lou!” Penny pokes her head around from the back. She steps further into view and holds up her doughy hands. “Sorry, I’m a mess. Let me wash my hands and I can grab the order for you.”
Louis takes that as the invitation he knows it is and follows her into the back kitchen. He drapes himself over the only counter without any mixing bowls or dough and lets out a long, dramatic sigh. “That’s unhygienic,” Penny scolds. “You’re cleaning that counter before you leave.”
Louis ignores her. There was a time when their partnership was new and Louis and Penny were still trying to get a feel of each other, when they at least tried to keep up a front of professionalism. That fell apart pretty quickly once they both realized they harbored the same penchant for gossip and trashy reality television.
Penny turns on the water with her elbows and scrubs the dough from her hands, glancing over her shoulder at Louis. “Why are you here now anyway?” she asks.
“Wow,” Louis pouts.
“You know exactly what I mean,” Penny rolls her eyes. “You’re late more than you’re ever on time. And today you’re early.”
Louis pushes himself up onto his elbows and stares at his nails. He gave up biting his nails years ago once he started working on the farm. It was actually pretty easy to do once he got a mouthful of dirt or grain or something else equally disgusting. He still keeps them pretty short anyway just so they’re easier to keep clean. Right now, though, he wishes he could gnaw on them a little, just to settle some of the nervous energy he can’t shake out.
“I have to drop by the clinic in a bit, so,” Louis tells Penny. He’s very careful to make sure his words are even and measured, giving nothing away.
Penny turns the sink off and shakes her hands off for a moment. “The new doctor’s already started, right?”
“Yeah, have you met him yet?” Louis asks. Even and measured.
“No, but Sean met him at Shirley’s retirement party and said he was hot.”
Louis has nothing to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything at all.
Penny spins around, eyes wide and delighted. “You think he’s hot too!” she accuses as she grabs a nearby towel to finish drying her hands.
“I just want to point out that I said nothing,” Louis throws out an indignant hand.
“That’s what gave you away, Lou. You always have something to say.”
Louis must pull a face at that because he gets a face full of dish towel a second later. Penny looks very smug when it falls back down to the counter. She crosses her arms over her chest and waits expectantly, looking all too menacing for someone wearing a bright pink apron that says Sweetheart across the chest. Louis can’t wait for her to be a mom.
“When are you and Sean going to pop one out, huh? Any news on that front?”
Penny snaps her fingers in front of his face. “Louis! Focus! Hot Dr. Styles. You aren’t getting the order until we talk about this.”
“He’s kind of-,” Louis starts reluctantly and then pauses, trying to choose his words carefully. So much for even and measured.
“Sexy? Mysterious? Perfect to star as your leading man in the straight to Netflix small town rom-com that your life just became?” Penny lists off.
“I was going to say weird,” Louis tells her flatly. “I can’t figure him out.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s just…,” Louis shrugs. “He’s very smiley. And he gets really close and stares, like,” he pauses to demonstrate, but breaks as soon as Penny starts laughing.
Penny pats his cheek, tilting her head patronizingly. “I think most would call that flirting.”
Louis stands up, cutting that line of thought off immediately. He’s not going to go down that road. Louis can’t entertain that notion, not when he’s already spending so much of his time thinking about Harry’s jawline. “The order,” he says. “A deal’s a deal, Pen.”
Penny stares him down a moment more before finally giving in and moving back to grab the papers from her tiny office.
“I miss Shirley,” Louis says when Penny comes back and hands the order over. It’s not exactly a whine— Louis’s too dignified and mature for that, but it’s close.
“She’s not dead. You see her all the time. There’s nothing to miss.”
“Why can’t you just indulge me?”
“Denying you and your tantrums is good practice for when Sean and I ‘pop one out,’” Penny says plainly, ushering him out of the kitchen and back to the front dining area.
Louis huffs a breath out through his nose and stops walking abruptly enough that Penny bounces off his back. He eyes the front counter for half a second and announces, “I’m taking this,” before grabbing a beautifully pre-wrapped, signature Sweetheart’s cupcake. “See you later.”
The cupcake sits in his passenger seat on the short ride from the bakery to the clinic, small in size but heavy in it’s judgment.
There’s nobody at the front desk when Louis walks in. He glances at the clock on the wall and frowns. It’s only a couple of minutes after three— Celia must be around here somewhere.
He’s too restless to stand around with the cupcake for more than a minute though, so Louis shuffles closer to the door that leads back to the exam rooms. “Hello,” he calls. He hears some movement and backs up a couple of feet until he looks less eager.
“Hello, sorry!” Harry says, coming around the corner. “I- Louis? Hi,” his smile changes from genial to something warmer. “Sorry, Celia has the afternoon off. I didn’t hear you come in. Is something wrong?” Harry starts at that and pats over his chest and pant pockets until he finds his phone. “Did you call?”
Louis shakes his head. “No, no, everything’s fine,” he rushes.
“Oh,” Harry looks up, smiling again. “Good.” He locks his phone and slides it into the chest pocket of his purple scrubs. “So what can I do for you then?”
Louis bites the inside of his cheek once, steeling himself. “I need to get a refill on one of the prescriptions. The Heartgard for the cats.” Totally believable and reasonable, if you ask Louis.
Technically it isn’t even a lie. Louis does need a refill on the cat’s heartworm pills. Could he have waited another month before getting them? Absolutely. But Louis is too responsible to wait until the last minute like that. Harry doesn’t need to know any better.
Harry’s brows pull together anyway. “We’re still on for tomorrow, right? I could have brought these to you in the morning, Louis.”
Louis shrugs, feeling silly and caught out. He knows his cheeks must be pinking up, but he doubles down. “No sense in waiting around when I can be proactive about preventative healthcare,” he tells Harry, plastering on a winning smile, teeth bared and all. “At least that’s what I always say.”
“Hm,” Harry nods. To Louis’s credit, Harry doesn’t look suspicious. He just looks… Louis doesn’t want to say the word fond, but. He looks endeared. Like Louis is endearing to him.
Louis swallows.
He watches Harry pull up Louis’s file on the computer and go to the back to grab what he needs.
Harry wears long sleeves under his scrub tops, he’s noticed. Louis wants to know if he does it because of the early springtime chill or if he thinks it’s more professional to hide his tattoos at work. It hits him, then, that he wants to know that and more. He wants to know whatever Harry wants to share with him, curious in a way beyond what Louis suspects is normal neighborly curiosity.
Harry rings him out and then steps back around the front counter, back into Louis’s space to hand him the little box.
“Do you want this?” Louis asks instead of taking the medicine, resolutely not looking in Harry’s direction as he offers him the perfectly wrapped treat. It doesn’t look as pristine as it did at the bakery after the ride in Louis’s car and it’s time at the mercy of his fidgety fingers. Harry doesn’t look like he minds.
The plastic wrap crinkles in the shocked silence as Harry stares down at it, eyes wide. “A cupcake?”
Louis bites his tongue on the no shit, what else would it be? and just nods.
“You brought me a cupcake?” Harry repeats.
“It’s— I get them free. The farm is a supplier—uh, partner, whatever, to Sweetheart’s. It’s down the road.” Louis finally looks back up to Harry and nearly swallows his tongue. That look is back— the fond one.
And if that wasn’t enough to light Louis’s skin on fire, Harry drops the cat’s medicine back on the counter so he can take the cupcake with both hands. One big hand comes to cup over both of Louis’s, the other grabbing the cupcake itself. They pause there like that for a few prolonged seconds while Harry ducks his head into Louis’s space. “Thank you, Louis.”
His voice is like syrup, deep and thick. Louis feels like he can taste it on his tongue.
“No biggie,” Louis breathes.
As soon as the cupcake is lifted from his grasp and his hands are free, Louis snatches the little box off of the counter. “I have to go,” he tells Harry. “I should get this back to the cats,” Louis explains. It’s a weak excuse that they can both easily see-through, but Louis sticks to it, shuffling backwards until he can turn and push through the door.
When Louis gets back in his car, he lets out a long breath and then covers each cheek with the back of his hands, cringing at how warm they feel.
So maybe he has a little crush on his new veterinarian. He’s not fifteen so it’s embarrassing to be so infatuated, but it’s totally manageable. Louis is good at compartmentalizing and prioritizing, it’s how he’s survived this long. He can keep it in check until it inevitably fades as all crushes do. No biggie.
—————
Louis yawns again and presses the heels of his hands hard against his eyelids. Colors bloom against the black and stick to his vision for a few seconds after he lets go.
To the absolute surprise of no one, Louis didn’t get much sleep the night before. He sat up on his porch steps at four a.m., pulled his hoodie strings tight until his face was hidden, and did his best to ignore his racing thoughts, the subject of which is now walking beside him.
“How can you own a farm and not be a morning person?”
“I’ll be honest, I’m not sure. It’s complete crap. I nap a lot,” Louis grumbles.
“You can go inside and lay down if you’d like. I don’t mind. If anything comes up, I’ll let you know,” Harry offers kindly.
Louis would like nothing more and he allows himself the briefest of moments to imagine doing just that, before he shakes his head. “Thanks. I’m alright, though. I’ve got a call with a wedding planner in a couple of minutes anyway.”
Harry looks equally confused and intrigued for a second before he freezes and then grins, face completely changing. “I’m not saying no, but we should really start with dinner,” Harry drawls, looking all too pleased with himself.
Louis stares at him. “That’s incredible. I could actually see you come up with that in real-time.”
Harry huffs a laugh through his nose, eyes bright, still too proud of himself to be brought down by Louis’s teasing.
“It’s not my wedding planner. People rent the long barn for events sometimes,” Louis explains, gesturing lazily in the right direction. “Penny does the cakes. Her husband Sean runs the website for me.”
They stop just outside the cow barn and Harry takes the moment to look back at the farm. Louis holds his arms over his stomach and wishes he could see it all through Harry’s eyes, see what it is that Harry is seeing right now. When Louis looks back down the wide dirt path that leads around the field, past the other barns, through the trees, his heart feels settled. Everything is blossoming with the springtime sunshine and rain. He repainted the fences only last year and the stone walls are mossy and old, but not decrepit or in disrepair.
“It’s a beautiful place to get married,” Harry says and Louis lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
“Thanks, doc,” Louis smiles, smacking his lips together to ease some of the tension he’s feeling.
Harry smiles softly at him and holds out his arm, gesturing Louis inside before him. “Shall we?”
Louis’s about to nod and lead him inside when his phone rings loudly. The volume’s turned all the way up for the sole purpose of making sure he doesn’t miss this one call. “Uh,” he pulls the phone from his pocket and frowns at Harry. “Sorry, I have to-,” Harry waves him off easily, turning into the barn and leaving Louis alone to answer.
The call isn’t difficult by any means or anything Louis hasn’t done a hundred times before. It’s a lot of confirmations and talking through amenities and the logistics of vendors— boring things that Louis actually has memorized because he’s a responsible business owner and knows his farm inside and out.
He runs through his regular list of recommendations, aside from Penny’s bakery that comes as part of the package of course; the adorable bed and breakfast in town run by Mr. and Mrs. Hayes and the local florist, Morgan. Thankfully, it doesn’t take long and Louis’s able to hang up and head back inside before fifteen minutes have passed.
“Okay, I’m-,” done is what he means to say, but the words die on his lips. Harry spins around, caught red-handed and sheepish. “I leave you alone for ten minutes and you’re destroying my property,” Louis observes dryly. He puts his hands on his hips to complete the picture of disapproval and purses his lips.
Harry looks down at the detached cabinet door he’s holding and then back to Louis.
“Is this part of the care plan? Because I’ll be honest, I didn’t actually read any of the fine print before I signed, but I didn’t expect this.”
“I just opened it,” Harry swears.
“Wow, you must work out, huh? You’re really strong,” Louis says, clearly mocking him.
The sarcasm apparently is lost on Harry, who only stands up taller, shock giving way to a new, pleased grin. “I box a bit,” he admits, nodding like it’s no big deal.
Louis rolls his eyes and walks over to grab the cabinet door from his hands. “It’s been broken for months, pal.”
Harry spends approximately three seconds looking bashful before he gets over it, attention on the door again. “You should really see about getting that fixed, Louis. It could be dangerous.”
“Did you get hurt?” Louis asks, moving around Harry to lean the door against the barn wall.
“No, but you might one time. It could fall on you.”
“I’ll be fine,” Louis shrugs off the concern.
“I could probably fix it for you if you’d like. It’s just a matter of replacing the hinges. It would take me five minutes.”
Louis’s brows furrow in incredulity. Maybe Harry is built for small-town life if he’s this friendly and ready to help at the drop of a hat. “I can take care of it,” he assures him.
Louis’s gotten to be quite handy over the years at Maplewood. A broken cabinet door is a piece of cake. He just needs to find the time and the motivation to get to the hardware store, that’s all. It’ll get done eventually.
For a moment, Harry looks like he’s going to fight Louis on it and insist he help. Wisely, for whatever reason, he drops it. “The goats,” he says instead, grabbing his bag from the ground again.
“The goats,” Louis nods.
—————
Louis tries to fit in a visit with Shirley at least once a week. Usually, she’ll come around to his for some tea and a chat so she can say hello to all the animals at the same time. Tonight, however, she insists on sharing an actual meal together so Louis makes the short drive to hers.
It’s been a long week with fewer naps than Louis would’ve liked, so he’s all too happy to oblige and let someone cook for him. Louis doesn’t get traditional weekends with the farm, but it feels like what he thinks a Friday night should feel like, knowing he’s going to have company for dinner and maybe even a glass of wine.
There’s someone walking down the front porch steps, screen door swinging closed behind him, when Louis gets out of his car. Louis stops in his tracks and leans back against his car.
“Hey!” Harry’s face lights up when he looks up and spots Louis.
“Hello, Harry,” Louis says genially. Harry’s still got his scrubs on under a thin coat— he must’ve come from work, and he’s got a foil-wrapped container in his hands. “Shirley insist on feeding you?”
Harry smiles down at the Tupperware and nods. “You’re in for a treat tonight. The soup is delicious.”
“You’re not staying?” Louis asks. Not that he wants Harry to stay, nor is he about to extend an invitation. He’s just curious.
Harry shakes his head, corner of his mouth turning down slightly. “I can’t tonight.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Is it?” Harry asks, stepping closer than probably necessary for polite conversation.
Louis shrugs. It is, but he knows better than to voice the opinion out loud. He’s enjoying the benefit of ambiguity. If he doesn’t say it out loud, it’s less real.
Harry obviously doesn’t have the same concerns. “Would you like to get brunch with me tomorrow?” he asks.
“Oh, no,” Louis says, shaking his head. It sits between them for a brief moment before Louis realizes how it sounds and registers the way Harry’s lips have pressed together. “I mean, I can’t. I’ve got— stuff.”
Harry nods easily. He takes the rejection effortlessly, if he’s taking it as a rejection at all. He doesn’t look too bent out of shape about it. For some reason, though, Louis feels compelled to explain himself, to make sure Harry understands exactly why he’s saying no.
“The bakery and the farm cosponsor a tee ball team together,” Louis says. “I don’t coach it or anything, but I go to all the games. I bring the snacks.”
“You sponsor a little league team?” Harry smiles, tilting his head like he’s charmed by that fact.
Louis nods, standing up straighter. He loves his kids dearly and can talk about them endlessly. “Guess what they’re called,” Louis prompts, cheeks already tight with how wide his smile has suddenly stretched.
Harry takes the cue seriously and tucks the soup under one arm so he can pull at his lip in thought with the other. “The Kinder-gardeners,” Harry says slowly, like he’s making sure Louis can understand the joke. He clearly is tickled with himself, biting into his bottom lip to hide a laugh. “The a-maize-ing aces. Get it? Maize, like corn.”
Louis sucks his cheeks in tightly and bites down to keep his own laughter at bay. He refuses to encourage this nonsense.
“One second, there’s another one in there… batter… butter,” Harry thinks out loud.
“Jesus. I have to stop you. This is painful,” Louis laughs, cutting a hand through the air. “I’ll just tell you the name.”
Harry doesn’t look disappointed, fortunately. He just nods once and says, “Alright.”
Louis pauses for a moment for dramatic effect, and then finally tells him. “The Maplewood Sweethearts.”
“That is fucking adorable,” Harry says slowly. Louis resists the urge to counter you’re fucking adorable. He likes the way words sound in Harry’s mouth. He just laughs again.
“You should see the end of season celebration. We do it at the farm every year and they always all want their picture taken with the goats.”
“That sounds fun,” Harry says. “I love tee ball.” And that’s just objectively a weird thing to say, because nobody loves tee ball. His gaze is kind of intense too and his eyebrows are lifted a little, like he’s waiting for something. Louis stares at him, eyes narrowed.
“You can come tomorrow if you bring juice boxes,” Louis offers finally, and hopes Harry says yes. He really doesn’t want to go to the grocery store to get juice boxes tomorrow morning. If Harry agrees, he can sleep in for twenty extra minutes.
“You’ve got yourself a deal, Louis.”
“I’ll text you the details,” Louis promises, wiggling a few fingers in a small wave goodbye.
“Have a good night,” Harry tells him, in between juggling the soup and his car keys. “Try to get some sleep.”
“No guarantees,” Louis says mostly to himself, finally making his way up to Shirley’s front door. The anticipation of seeing Harry tomorrow is more than enough to keep him tossing and turning long after his bedtime. Maybe an extra glass of wine will be enough to knock him out for the night.
Only one way to find out, Louis supposes.
—————
The next morning, Harry picks him up, hat on backwards, sunglasses dark, gum snapping obnoxiously between white teeth. It would be altogether too much for Louis to handle, but Harry hands him a coffee with a smile and tells him, “Buckle up.”
Just to be contrary, Louis twists in his seat to look around the car nosily. There’s a big cooler in the backseat. “How many juice boxes did you bring?”
“You only make a first impression once,” Harry tells him seriously. “I wasn’t sure what flavor was the best.”
“So naturally you bought the store’s entire inventory,” Louis says dryly.
Harry shrugs and snaps his gum. “Buckle up,” he tells him again.
Louis buckles up, but he also balls the paper straw cover and throws it at Harry’s head. “I’m very cool with the children, Harry. Don’t embarrass me today.”
Harry laughs, glancing over at Louis before turning out into the road. “And what does it take to be cool with four year olds?”
“Working with animals and providing good snacks is all it takes really,” Louis counts off on his fingers.
Harry snaps his gum and flashes a smile. “Then I should fit right in.”
Touché.
It turns out Harry’s absolutely right. The kids and their parents all adore him, which isn’t surprising, but is still nice to see become a reality. Louis introduces him to the team and quickly becomes an expert in calming breathing exercises to keep his heart from beating out of his chest when Harry crouches down to shake their little hands one by one.
In through the nose, out through the mouth.
He has to drag Harry from the dugout by the arm when the coaches call the start of the game and the kids are more interested in listening to him list every single animal he’s ever met and worked on in his entire career.
“Adorable,” Harry confirms, letting Louis lead him to a seat on the bleachers by a hand in the crook of his elbow. “How’d I do? Have I embarrassed you yet?”
“No, but the day is still young,” Louis admits. A few feet ahead, Penny moves her various bags and blankets from the surrounding bench to make room for them.
Louis steels himself and makes sure to snag the seat in between them.
“Dr. Harry!” Penny cheers. “I’ve heard so much about you already. I’m Penny.”
Harry shakes her hand across Louis’s lap, shooting Louis a smug grin as he does it. “Have you?”
“No,” Louis denies.
“He’s always so sour in the mornings, isn’t he?” Penny says with all the superiority that only comes from being a morning person. It’s always been a point of contention in their friendship.
“Ah,” Harry hums. “He’s not so bad.”
Louis keeps his gaze forward on the field. In his peripheral he can see Penny on one side, looking as pleased as punch, and Harry on the other, also smiling at Louis. Louis ignores them both and watches little Jaida step up to the plate.
Harry whistles with his fingers when she bats the ball off the tee after her third try. Of course that means he has to whistle every time someone hits the ball now so as to not show any favoritism. Louis’s openly laughing at him by the end of the game.
After the game, when the kids all have juice-stained mouths despite the juice boxes having straws to prevent exactly that, they stay to mingle and dole out a dozen well-deserved high fives. There aren’t any losing teams in tee ball so Louis congratulates them on their undefeated status and directs them to the coolers of orange slices and Penny’s granola bars fresh from the bakery.
“Where do I get myself one of these shirts?” Harry asks, reaching out to pinch the fabric away from Louis’s waist and tug on it. “I’m a little jealous everybody’s got one except me,” he says, pointedly eyeing the way Louis and Penny both have red Maplewood Sweethearts t-shirt jerseys to match the team.
“Are you planning on becoming a regular fan?” Penny questions.
“I can’t think of a better way to spend my Saturday mornings,” Harry tells her, absently peeling an orange he found that had been left in the cooler unsliced. He pops a piece into his mouth and grins.
Louis shares a look with Penny. “As long as you keep supplying the juice boxes, I’ll get you a shirt,” he promises.
“Good deal,” Harry nods, looking delighted to be further infiltrating every part of Louis’s life.
—————
Louis waits until the last possible moment to start packing up his table, which is pathetic as it stands. But today was a busy day for the farmers market and Louis sold out early. He could’ve packed up and left an hour ago. He could’ve gotten a head start on his chores at home and then taken an extra-long nap.
Instead, he sat in his camp chair, legs stretched out in front of him, and waited. Pathetically.
At least there was enough foot traffic to somewhat act like he was hanging around to entertain the dozens of conversations his neighbors wanted to have with him. Louis saw at least four new baby pictures today and dodged another vaguely threatening attempt from Gina to hook him up with her mysterious grandson.
He really can’t wait any longer, though, not when the tables around him are mostly broken down and cleared out. So he gets up and packs his crates and baskets away. He’s just turning the table onto it’s side on the ground when he hears it.
“Louis! Hey! Thank god you’re still here.”
Louis looks up from where he’s folding the legs of the table to catch Harry slowing out of his jog until he’s stopped a few feet away. “You know you’re late, right? The market’s closed now.”
Harry waves his hand through the air, batting away the concern. “Yeah, I was on an errand.”
Louis looks him over in search of a hint at where he went, but finds nothing of note. Harry’s just in another pair of running shorts and a faded t-shirt. “What was so important that it kept you away from your cucumbers, produce boy?” Louis asks, punctuating the question with a loud snap as the other table leg is pushed into place.
“What— produce b-, never mind. I was on a mission,” Harry tells him proudly. “I’ll show you. Are you free now?”
Louis looks down at the table in his hands and then back to Harry. “Now now or after this?”
“Here, you pack up the rest of your stuff and I’ll bring this inside,” Harry says, gently tugging on the table until it slides from Louis’s grasp. He lifts it easily and walks backward a couple of steps. “Wait for me, okay? I’ll help you carry that all to the car. Just— stay there and look pretty.”
Louis’s left to stare, dumbfounded, after him once he turns around and speedwalks the table to the recreation building.
Clearly having eavesdropped on that entire interaction, Gina leans over from her neighboring booth and clasps a hand over her chest. “If I would’ve known you two were involved, I would’ve never tried to set you up with Ronny, honey,” she swears.
“Oh, we’re n—,” Louis starts and then stops himself quickly, seizing the opportunity to get her off his back once and for all. “It’s okay. No harm done, Gina. Send Ronny my best.” And never mention him to me again, thanks.
Louis doesn’t have to wait long for Harry to come back— he jogs the whole way, politely nodding to anybody he passes. “Okay,” Harry claps his hands and rubs them together excitedly. “Let’s hit the road.”
Louis just barely swallows back the teasing Harry deserves for saying let’s hit the road unironically. The only reason he gives him a free pass is because he’s once again carrying the biggest crate for Louis and Louis knows better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.
“Can I at least have a hint? You’re being weird,” Louis says, even though he knows weird isn’t exactly the right word for it. Being constantly surprised is par for the course when spending time with Harry, Louis’s found. Suspiciously and worryingly enthusiastic might be more on the nose.
“We’re going to the farm,” Harry tells him.
Louis pops his trunk open so they can load everything inside. “Okay,” he drags the last syllable out. “Why?”
“You’ll see,” Harry says, closing the trunk and urging Louis around the car with a hand on the small of his back. He opens the driver's side door and nods for Louis to get in. “I’ll follow you there. Come on!”
Louis sits down and looks back up at Harry. He’s smiling widely, very obviously excited for whatever it is that they’re about to do. Louis wracks his brain and comes up empty. He genuinely has no idea what Harry’s up to. “Fine,” he finally gives in and starts his car.
Grinning, Harry closes the door for him and then pats the hood twice.
Nothing in their little town is a long drive from anywhere else so it doesn’t take long before they’re pulling up to Maplewood and getting out of their cars, Louis still without any clues and Harry with his reusable shopping bag that he swings from his fingers.
Harry pulls something out of the tote and displays it proudly.
Louis’s lips part in shock when he realizes what it is. “Wh— really?” he breathes, stepping closer to grab it from Harry’s hands and take a closer look. Surely he must be seeing wrong because there’s no way that Harry…
“I told you it was dangerous,” Harry says as Louis inspects the package of hinges.
“You really went to the store for this?”
“Mhmm,” Harry confirms.
Louis glances back up to Harry, eyes narrowed. “Is small town life really that boring for you?”
“No,” Harry laughs and reaches to take the package back. Louis snatches it closer to his chest and backs up. “Louis, give it to me. I can have it done in less than ten minutes.”
Louis feels like he’s a step behind in this conversation, brain still wrapping around the fact that Harry had free time and decided the best way to spend it was fixing Louis’s cabinet. “I can do it.”
Harry reaches again and Louis spins this time to dodge his hand. “You don’t have to fix my cabinet for me.”
“I don’t mind,” Harry says.
Louis still refuses to give the hinges up, leaving Harry to resort to more drastic measures. He grabs him by the arm first to keep him from wiggling away and when Louis continues to hold it out of reach, Harry wraps an arm around his waist. Louis tries to twist out of the grasp and fails.
“You’re so stubborn,” Louis complains, hiding the package against his chest. He’d put it down his shirt if he wasn’t certain that Harry would just reach down after it.
“Have you met yourself?” Harry laughs incredulously and tries to pry Louis’s arms apart with his one free hand.
Louis’s this close to throwing elbows when Harry holds him tighter, curling his shoulders around him and ducking his head in low and says in his ears. “I just want to help, Louis.”
Louis freezes. He opens his mouth and closes it again when no sound makes it through. He swallows and tries again. “Fine,” he breathes.
Slowly, Harry lets go and steps back. “Thank you,” he says, perfectly pleasant and calm, apparently unaware or uncaring of the fact that he’s sent Louis’s heart off to the races.
“All that for a fucking cabinet,” Louis huffs, setting off for the barn without checking to see if Harry’s following.
They fix it together. Louis holds the door in place while Harry screws everything into place. It takes less than three minutes when all is said and done and then Louis has a working door again.
They sit on the porch steps afterward, neither ready to say goodbye yet and both content to laugh about the funny things that happened over the last week. Louis only half-listens to Harry recount Mrs. Giroux’s reaction when Celia, the soft-spoken sweetheart that she is, finally snapped at her for ignoring the leash policy in the clinic’s lobby.
The other half of his brain is stuck running through the last hour over and over until it makes sense. What even is the appropriate response when somebody goes out of their way to fix a broken cabinet door that they encountered once weeks ago?
“I could’ve done this myself, you know,” Louis says, tucking his knees up onto the same step he’s sitting on so he can rest his chin on top.
Harry hums in acknowledgment, unperturbed by the interruption, and nudges his shoulder gently against Louis’s. “I know. You didn’t have to, though.”
Louis tilts his head just enough to meet Harry’s eyes. “Thanks.”
“Anytime,” Harry says and Louis believes him— believes that Harry is offering his help, and wants to help, anytime Louis needs it. It settles something unfamiliar in his chest. Harry picks up his story where he left off and Louis turns his eyes forward and thinks, okay.
—————
Spring slowly gives way to sticky summer days.
Louis’s schedule doesn’t change much, but the days are hotter which makes working outside even harder. It’s not all bad, though. Shirley surprises him and stops by with freshly brewed iced tea one day and on another, Harry does the same. It sort of makes Louis think they’re conspiring behind his back, but if the end result is iced tea, he’s not going to complain.
With Louis’s life, it’s easy to lose time to such a busy schedule. Sometimes it’s only the changing seasons and routines around the farm that help him put into perspective how many months are actually passing by without his paying attention. Having Harry around has forced him to pay closer attention. Harry comes around one afternoon and convinces him to play hooky for a couple of hours, saying it’s summertime, Louis.
So maybe if Louis is being completely, totally, one hundred percent honest with himself, the thing with Harry has progressed passed the bounds of what constitutes as just a ‘crush.’
He doesn’t think it’s his fault either. The whole ‘if you don’t talk about it, it isn’t real’ strategy was working for him. Louis’s lips were sealed. It just turns out that everybody else’s in town were not.
Louis’s found that it’s very hard to ignore your growing feelings for someone when there are people at the grocery store that want to stop you to congratulate you on your new relationship. Louis blames Penny. And Gina. And all the tee ball parents and farmers market patrons. And the barista at the place that Harry always gets Louis coffee from. And the waitstaff at the cafe they went out to lunch last week at.
And Shirley. It can all be traced back to Shirley.
Whoever’s fault it is (not Louis’s), he’s passed the point of no return. Louis would’ve rather avoided this whole situation, but can’t really do anything about it now that it’s spun so out of control. He doesn’t think he has any other choice but to watch how it all turns out.
If he had to make a prediction, Louis’s thinking best-case scenario: Louis spends his days as Harry’s silly little farmer best friend and his nights staring at the ceiling, thinking about the way Harry’s hands felt when they grabbed the back of Louis’s neck for a couple of seconds earlier that afternoon; worst-case scenario: Harry catches on to Louis’s staring and tells him that he needs to find a new vet.
He can roll with the punches, whichever it ends up being.
—————
There’s a wedding in the long barn in two days so Louis’s already made sure that all the grass is freshly cut and the grove most guests like to use for photos is perfectly manicured. There’s just a couple of spots on the barn that he’s noticed could do with some retouching. It’s not in a place that anybody would ever notice or single out for that matter, but Louis likes to be sure.
When he mentions to Harry that he can’t meet for an early dinner because he has some painting to do, Harry tells him to wait until he can help him. Louis toys with the idea of doing it all before Harry gets there, but instead, he keeps busy by cleaning out the cat’s food bowls and replacing the cow’s salt licks out in the field.
Harry shows up in an old t-shirt and fraying jeans, looking beautiful enough to catch Louis’s breath in his throat for a second. They walk from the house to the long barn, passing the cows grazing in the field. Louis listens to Harry talk about his day and watches the way his hands swing through the air in front of him as he tells a story.
Everything they need is already set out when they get there so Louis just has to crack the paint can open. He crouches down to do just that and when he stands back up with a paint roller, Harry is staring at him.
“What?” Louis asks wearily.
“Country pumpkin,” Harry observes, smiling toothily.
Louis grimaces. “I think you mean bumpkin. And I resent that.”
“Pumpkin,” Harry reiterates, pointing to the faded, threadbare pale orange t-shirt Louis has on under his overalls.
Louis brandishes his paint roller like a weapon. “I’m not afraid to use this.”
Harry takes a step closer, and another step, and then leans down a few inches so Louis can be eye-to-eye with him and his smug grin. “A dry paint roller isn’t much of a threat, pumpkin.”
“How far do you think you can run before I get the can open?”
“I ran track in college,” Harry tells him matter-of-factly, chest puffing out. He really can be such a cocky son of a bitch. At this point, he’s practically asking to be taken down a peg or two. Louis can only oblige.
“Okay,” Louis drawls. “What about something in this decade?”
Harry’s face morphs into the picture of deep offense, brows furrowed and mouth open. “Rude.”
“The truth hurts,” Louis tells him solemnly.
After a moment of silence, Harry says, “You know, I still run most mornings.”
Louis nearly hurts himself rolling his eyes as hard as he does. “Pick up your brush, Harry,” he groans and leans over to pour some paint out into the tray. Fortunately for both of them, Harry obeys.
The actual painting doesn’t take too long— it really was just a few spots in need of a little bit of help. Once they’re both concentrating, it only takes them a couple of minutes.
Louis drops his roller into the tray and steps back to observe their work. If he didn’t have paint on his hands, he’d pat himself on the back. It looks great.
“Good work,” he nods to Harry who comes to stand beside him.
Harry voices his agreement and then looks down at Louis with a smile. “You have something,” he starts and gestures to his own cheek.
Without thinking, Louis scrubs his cheek and leaves behind a smear of paint. He looks down at his paint-stained fingers and then looks at Harry. “You did that on purpose!” he accuses.
“I swear I didn’t,” Harry says, visibly trying to hide his amusement. “It’s still there— no, wait,” he adds when Louis goes to rub the other cheek. “I’ll get it.” He drops his own paintbrush into the tray and steps into Louis’s space.
Holding him by the chin, Harry tilts his head backwards into the fading sunlight. “Eyelash,” he murmurs. Gently, he pinches the single lash off of Louis’s cheekbone and holds it a few inches away for him to see. “See? Do you want to make a wish?”
Louis feels like he’s going cross-eyed trying to look so he stops trying and looks at Harry instead. Harry’s still holding him in place by his chin, thumb nearly at his bottom lip. It’s a firm grasp, but Louis could easily break it if he wanted to.
He doesn’t want to.
“Come on, make a wish,” Harry insists.
Louis grabs Harry’s wrist to hold him steady, closes his eyes, and blows.
When he opens his eyes, Harry kisses him.
The sound of surprise he makes is muffled against Harry’s mouth. Louis’s grip tightens impossibly on Harry’s wrist, holding on for dear life. It’s a short kiss. It’s over before Louis can start to properly react.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a really long time,” Harry admits lowly, eyes open again and sweeping over Louis’s face. His other hand has joined the one still holding his chin in place and gently frames the side of Louis’s head.
Louis cups his hand over Harry’s and lets out a shaky breath. “I’ve wanted you to do that for a really long time.”
“Really,” Harry says, voice all satisfied and cocksure. It takes the smallest things to bring out the arrogance sometimes, honestly.
“Don’t ruin the moment,” Louis resists rolling his eyes. He juts his chin out again and waits for Harry to take it as the signal it is; a request for another kiss.
Harry obliges and this time Louis’s ready for it.
He kisses Harry and kisses him and kisses him while the setting sun turns the sky orange. Everything’s tinged golden when Louis pulls away to catch his breath and Louis has to blink a couple of times to clear his head and double-check that, no, he’s not dreaming.
Even in the best case scenario, Louis had never even considered.. never imagined…
“Hey,” Harry nudges him. “What are you thinking about?”
“You,” Louis says before he can stop himself. It’s not the whole truth, but it’s still more honest than Louis wanted to be.
Harry kisses his forehead, above his eyebrow, and holds there for a long moment until Louis relaxes some of his weight against him. Harry takes it without strain. “What are you thinking about?” Louis asks.
“You,” Harry tells him and his tone of voice— he says it like duh, what else would he be thinking about?
“Okay,” Louis says. Okay, he thinks. Okay okay okay, so this is happening.
“Okay,” Harry repeats back indulgently and then kisses him again.
—————
Dating Harry is somehow simultaneously everything Louis expected and nothing like he could have anticipated.
Except, Louis doesn’t like the word ‘dating.’ It sounds too juvenile for what it is they’re doing. He guesses he could say ‘seeing.’ Like, yes, hello, I’m seeing someone, if it ever comes up in conversation. It hasn’t yet, mostly because everyone Louis interacts with had already assumed they were together.
Anyway, seeing Harry… it’s astoundingly easy for how overwhelming it feels to Louis sometimes. Louis doesn’t know how to put it into words.
It’s like— they have dinner with Sean and Penny one night, and Louis feels like a real adult with a real adult relationship as Harry tops off his wine glass for him without asking and leaves a warm hand resting over Louis’s thigh as they eat. And then they make out in Harry’s car out front afterward like two teenagers, desperate and giggling into each other's mouths.
Something Shirley says sticks with him.
Louis’s in the kitchen helping her pour three cups of tea when she turns to him and says, “I’m so happy you have someone, dear.”
At first, Louis wants to laugh. He’s always had people, Shirley herself included. Louis has a lot of people in fact.
But it’s different, the way he has Harry.
Harry drives him home that night and instead of just dropping him off with a kiss goodnight, Louis invites him inside, feeling warm and lovely and a little bit cracked open after Shirley’s comment.
Harry trails him up the stairs, lightly holding onto his hips as they go. It’s this same casual, constant affection that Louis thinks gave them away to Shirley earlier that night. Either that or Louis’s inability cut the heart eyes out. He’s okay sharing the blame for this one.
When they make it up to his room, Harry steers him to the edge of his bed and pulls his t-shirt off of him. There’s no kissing, no ulterior motive cropping up just yet. Harry could genuinely just be trying to put Louis to bed and tuck him in; Louis wouldn’t put that past him.
So Louis takes matters into his own hands and unbuttons Harry’s shirt, smiling when Harry’s hands return to his bare waist with more intent this time. Louis slides the open shirt off of his shoulders and tips his face up, eyes falling shut. Harry rewards him with a soft kiss.
“Are you tired?” Harry murmurs against the corner of his mouth. Louis is always tired— that’s the baseline at which he lives.
“No,” Louis tells him anyway.
“Let’s lay down,” Harry offers, kissing over each of Louis’s eyelids before maneuvering him back onto the bed.
Louis lets himself be pulled and arranged this way and that, kicking off his pants as he goes. Harry settles him against his chest and then stops. “I said I wasn’t tired,” Louis says again when he realizes Harry isn’t going to make another move.
“I know,” Harry agrees easily. “Let’s just lay down for a couple of minutes.”
Maybe it’s the way he says it, voice quiet and rumbling, or the way his thumb is rubbing over Louis’s ribs. Maybe it’s the cadence of Harry’s breathing that he can both feel and hear pressed this close to him. Whatever it is, it drains the tension from his limbs until he’s lax and agreeable. “Don’t let me fall asleep,” he warns.
“Mmm,” Harry hums neutrally.
Louis wakes up again an indeterminate amount of time later and starts when he realizes there’s a hand over his eyes. “What the fuck,” he slurs, rolling over and away from the body beside him.
“Hey— sorry, it’s me,” Harry says, grabbing hold of Louis’s bicep before he can roll off the edge of the bed. “Was just me. The light”
“What?” Louis tries to sit up.
“I didn’t want the light to bother you,” Harry explains.
Louis looks around his bedroom, reorienting himself and soaking that in. He fell asleep on top of Harry and instead of moving him to get up and switch the light, Harry held a hand over his eyes for... however long he was asleep.
The only reasonable reaction to that is to roll back over and kiss him. Louis pulls Harry down on top of him and doesn’t let him back up for a long time. Louis cants his hips up and lets out a pleased breath when Harry presses down against him, big hand sliding down to grab his thigh.
It’s nice to be able to be unthinkingly free with his affections and desires and know that Harry won’t ever judge him, will only ever match that energy.
They only break apart to finish undressing and even then, they can’t look away from each other. Louis’s always felt like he can come undone under Harry’s gaze. Somehow, he looks even hungrier now.
Louis hooks a leg around Harry’s waist when they come together again so that their cocks can rub together as they move. The first slide pulls a groan from deep in his chest and it’d be so easy to lose himself in this, to get off rutting against Harry. But Louis wants more than that tonight.
Louis pushes at Harry’s shoulders until he gets the hint and holds himself up and off of Louis’s body. Without six feet of man on top of him, it’s easy to lean over enough to reach his bedside table drawer.
When he hands the lube to Harry, Harry grabs his hand and kisses reverently over each of his knuckles before he takes the bottle.
It’s been a while since the last time Louis did this with somebody and he tells Harry as much. Harry only kisses him slower, over and over again, until Louis feels like his skin is on fire. His knees fall open wider and Harry spends his time opening him up. Harry’s touches are always purposeful, like he’s always so aware of Louis’s body and what he’s doing to it. This is no different. Louis doesn’t even have the wherewithal to get impatient as Harry takes his time and then some.
He fingers him to his first orgasm, swallowing his little gasps and cries. “There you go,” Harry kisses down the side of his face as Louis clings to him. “Yeah, baby. Let go.”
Once he catches his breath and can see past the stars in his eyes, Louis reaches down to get his fingers around Harry’s dick. Only, Harry grabs his wrist to stop him. “No, I want to wait until,” he trails off, but the intention is clear. Harry wants to wait to come until he can do it inside Louis.
Louis tilts his hips up and raises a brow, legs falling open again. “Come on then,” he encourages.
Harry pushes into him bit by bit, breathing heavily against Louis’s skin. It’s— so much. Harry’s big and Louis’s sensitive, flushed pink all the way down his chest. He feels like there’s no room left in him to catch his breath properly, like Harry’s taking up all of the space in him.
Harry pulls out only to push back in harder and Louis shudders with his whole body, head tipping back. “Feel so good,” Harry slurs and the sound of him so affected by Louis sends a thrill through his limbs. It’s even better a little while later to watch him tip over the edge and come. With a hand on himself, it’s easy for Louis to follow behind him.
After two orgasms, Louis feels completely boneless, but he musters up what little energy he has left to grab a cloth from the bathroom to wipe them down.
Harry barely lets him finish before he pulls Louis back into bed and throws the towel somewhere on the floor. He rolls them over to the other side of the bed and curls around Louis completely. He kisses him until Louis yawns into his mouth and then, laughing softly, kisses his forehead instead.
It’s probably the best night of sleep he’s had in a year.
—————
The end of the tee ball season comes with a silver lining in the form of the end of season party that Penny and Louis throw together in his barn. It’s always a smash hit— the kids all get their little participation trophies, eat their weight in cupcakes and pizza, and then run around the farm until they’re ready to drop. A good number of them usually leave passed out on their parent’s shoulder.
Penny shows up the morning of, before Louis’s even finished milking the cows, Sean trailing apologetically behind her. “Good morning, Lou! Hope you’re ready for chaos!” Which, of course he is. He’s well versed in chaos. He deals with his chickens every day, doesn’t he?
Noon hits and a few kids trickle in with their parents. By a quarter past, Penny’s vision comes true— it’s chaos. Everybody’s arrived and trying to greet each other at the same time while Moana plays loudly from the speakers.
Harry shows up at 12:30 with a stack of pizza boxes and is immediately mobbed by a dozen small, screaming children. He lifts the pizza out of their reach and smiles pleasantly like it’s just another day at the office.
Harry’s all dressed up for the occasion. Not only does he have his Maplewood Sweethearts shirt on, but he also has a matching hat. Louis’s not sure how he got that, but he’s willing to bet Penny was involved. Frankly, that’s just rude. Not even Louis has a hat.
Louis doesn’t go over to say hello. He’s in the middle of a conversation with a few parents and he’s trying to keep his cool. It’s okay, though, because Harry winks at him once over his surrounding crowd of fans and that’s enough to get Louis through.
Louis holds Jaida on his hip while he chats with her mom about the upcoming school year and how scary it is to think about sending a first grader all by themself on the school bus.
Jaida cuts in to tell Louis that she’s not afraid and that yellow is actually her favorite color, so.
“Brave girl!” Louis commends, tickling under her chin with his free hand. “I always loved the bus, too.”
They chat for a couple of minutes longer, right up until Penny brings the cupcakes out and the kids lose their damn minds. Louis sets Jaida down so she can race all of her teammates to the table and takes the opportunity to go organize the trophies and certificates so they’ll be ready to hand out in a bit. He’s already halfway through by the time Harry finally finds him and asks if he can help.
“Nope, already done,” Louis tells him, finishing the last few quickly enough that it’s not that much of a lie. He knows Harry has this weird, massive boner for helping Louis, but sorting twelve certificates is not a task he needs help with.
“Did you eat?” Harry asks.
Louis hasn’t yet. He’s been too busy mingling, but it’s on the agenda. “Did you?” he shoots back instead of answering.
Harry opens his mouth to reply, but— “There are cats outside.”
Louis and Harry both turn around at the new voice and have to look down.
Carter is missing one of his front teeth and he’s got a red ring around his mouth from the fruit punch they served with lunch. He tilts his head almost all the way back to talk to Louis and Harry and his too-big team hat falls off his head and lands behind him.
Harry swoops to grab it for him, brushing it off before he plops it back onto his head. “There you go, bud.”
“Thanks,” he says politely, adjusting the brim with both hands so it’s out of his eyes. “Are you married to Louis?”
Louis snorts. “He wishes,” he teases, knocking the brim of Carter’s hat down again with a knuckle.
“Hey!” Carter giggles and fixes his hat once again.
Harry laughs along with Carter and draws Louis into his side with an arm around his shoulders. “Louis’s silly, isn’t he? Hey, you know how to get him back? Go tell Miss Penny that Louis wants to lead the next sing-a-long.”
Carter, the sweet child that he is, runs along to do just that.
“Jokes on you,” Louis says, patting Harry’s stomach. “I love a good sing-a-long. I’m best at the Rapunzel songs.”
Harry smiles down at him. “Hmm, you’re cute.”
“Yeah,” Louis agrees.
Harry’s lips quirk and he jostles Louis a little bit in excitement. “Hey,” he says. “Guess what?”
“What?”
“You’re my Maplewood Sweetheart.”
And, Jesus, Louis knows he should make fun of him for that. He wants to make fun of him. Or more accurately, he wants to want to make fun of him.
But he just laughs, cheeks pink and heart skipping a beat in his chest.
Fuck the rose colored glasses of love.
—————
Harry rubs a thumb back and forth across the blade of his left shoulder. He kisses the same spot and then presses the pad of his thumb there.
“What are you doing?” Louis asks around a mouthful of pillow.
“You’ve got freckles,” Harry tells him quietly, voice even deeper after a good night's sleep. “Here and here and over here,” he says, tracing his finger across the span of Louis’ shoulders.
Louis doesn’t respond and Harry doesn’t seem bothered by that. He just lays another kiss over Louis’s right shoulder this time.
After five minutes or twenty, Louis isn’t sure, still drifting in and out of sleep, Harry says, “I like them very much.”
Louis mumbles a sleepy thanks. He peeks one eye open and can tell from the bit of sunlight coming through the curtains that it’s nearly six. They’ll have to get out of bed soon and start their respective workdays. For a few more minutes, though, Louis can laze in bed.
Harry brushes his hair to the side and kisses the tip of his ear. “Did you sleep well?” he asks.
Louis makes a noise of assent and shifts so he can press his hips back into Harry’s body. He smiles when he finds what he wants— the shape of Harry’s hard dick. Harry gasps softly into his ear, grip tightening on Louis’s side. “Yeah?” he hums.
“Yeah,” Louis says.
They don’t have a lot of time, but Louis isn’t going to say no to this, not when Harry wants to fuck him awake so sweetly. And that’s exactly what he does.
Louis pulls a pillow under his hips and that’s about the extent of the help he offers. Harry, fortunately, doesn’t mind doing all of the work. He adjusts Louis how he wants him, one knee pulled up to the side, and rubs a hand over his ass.
It doesn’t take long to open him up again after the night before which works in their favor as they race the sunrise. Harry pets over the dip in Louis’s back over and over again while he pushes in. Once his hips are pressed against Louis’s ass, he reaches up to hold one of Louis’s hands by his head and finds his rhythm.
Louis’s hot and he’s still got a mouthful of pillow that he’s definitely drooling on, but none of that matters compared to Harry and the way he’s moving. Harry waits until Louis comes first before draping himself over his back and thrusting sloppily, chasing his own release.
It’s definitely later than it should be when they finally roll out of bed together, but neither one of them care enough to mention it.
Things feel different when the rest of the world is still asleep. In the early morning like this, when Louis walks Harry out to his car and they kiss, still half asleep, or in the middle of the night when Harry finds Louis out on the porch and he either holds him or coaxes him back inside. It’s in those sacred moments that his relationship feels especially precious; almost like they’re briefly and wonderfully in a world alone together.
Harry’s only been gone for ten minutes when Louis’s phone rings. He frowns into his cup of coffee and picks up the call. “What’d you forget?” he asks.
“Nothing,” Harry says, sounding far away like he’s on the speakerphone in his car. “What are you doing for lunch?”
“Taking a nap before meeting with a wedding planner,” Louis guesses.
“I could go for a nap.”
“Yeah,” Louis says absently.
Harry spells it out for him. “I’m asking to come over.”
“Oh,” Louis stops, face scrunching incredulously. “You want to spend your lunch break napping with me?”
“Yes.”
Louis’s stumped. He stares at Mugs sauntering into the kitchen as if he’s going to give him any answers. Mugs only pushes his head into Louis’s shin.
Louis actually feels bad about how often it seems they end up napping together.
Harry doesn’t even always sleep with him. Sometimes he reads while Louis sleeps curled up next to him. Sometimes he scrolls through cooking blogs until he finds a recipe he wants to try for dinner. Louis makes fun of him when he catches Harry doing the latter because he actually reads the personal essays that come before the recipe like a weirdo.
Once, Louis had asked Harry if he’d rather do something less lazy. Harry had simply rolled him over and kissed his way across both of Louis’s cheekbones.
Harry tells him that he’s happy just to spend time with him no matter what it is they do.
“Louis?” Harry calls.
“Oh, uh— yeah. Sure, come over then,” Louis says.
And that’s that. Harry comes over on his lunch break to nap with Louis like he didn’t just see him six hours ago.
They nap with the curtains pulled open, the sheets sunlit and warm. Louis falls asleep easily under Harry’s arm and then wakes up before his alarm is set to go off. Body heavy, he doesn’t move, doesn’t even open his eyes. Just focuses on how the quiet sound of his breathing is mingling with Harry’s.
Harry nudges his nose up under Louis’ until Louis tips his head back enough that they can slot their mouths together, open and slow. The pace never picks up; neither of them pushes for anything more than just this unhurried molasses drip of a kiss.
Louis eventually walks him out to the front porch, only in his socks and wrapped up in an old, patchy cardigan. Harry kisses him again and then holds him tight against his chest for a long while.
“Love you,” Louis says when they pull apart. He’s hoping it comes across casually enough that he can blame it on a half-asleep brain if it goes wrong. “Drive safe.”
The look on Harry’s face is anything but casual. “Louis,” Harry starts, grabbing Louis’s arm to keep him from going back inside. “I love you, too,” he says, voice thick and so earnest.
Louis lets out a small breath. It feels like there are a million other things he wants to say sitting at the base of his throat. “That’s nice,” is all Louis manages.
Harry pulls him close again, bundling him against his chest one last time before he has to go. “Don’t want to leave you like this,” he murmurs to the top of Louis’s head.
Louis hides his face against Harry’s shirt. “You have to go,” he says. “How else are you going to earn money to buy your ugly boots and your cucumbers?”
Harry laughs into his hair. “Okay,” he agrees and squeezes him once more before letting go. “I love you.”
“Love you, too,” Louis says.
Harry gets in his car, starts it, gets ready to pull out, and then pauses. He turns to Louis and blows him a kiss with a wink. The gesture settles something in Louis; something about the familiar, silly flirting helps to solidify the fragility of the moment.
Louis waves back, watches him go, and misses him as soon as his car turns out of the long drive.
—————
As one of the last hurrahs of summer, Harry and Louis crash one of the weddings at Maplewood.
Technically Louis is supposed to be there as the owner in case they have any questions or need anything, but he thinks he’s mostly just supposed to lurk in the background until he’s called upon. He’s probably not supposed to take advantage of the open bar and use the dance floor. And he’s definitely not supposed to bring a plus one.
They infiltrate the party late enough that anybody responsible enough to ask questions has already left and the rest are too tipsy to care. Neither one of them are dressed formally enough to blend in either, but after a few glasses of champagne, the word conspicuous isn’t in their vocabulary.
They dance in the middle of the crowd, offbeat and obnoxious. Harry spins him under his arm and laughs loudly when they somehow end up tangled and tripping over each other’s feet. Not one to be deterred by anything, Harry tries a dip next and tips Louis far back enough that he loses his balance and has to rely on Harry to keep him from ending up on the floor.
“Love you,” Harry smiles and says it again, “Love you.”
Louis hangs on and says it back, “Love you.”
They stay until the end and then stumble back down to the house together, drunk off champagne and giggling into each other’s mouths. Louis has to be up early like always, but he can’t remember why he’s supposed to care— especially not when Harry’s hand pushes up under Louis’s shirt to rest under his belly button.
That one touch is enough to start that achy fire in the pit of his stomach. Harry’s so casually possessive in his affections. It’s rewired Louis’s brain, occupying a body that’s so adored.
They make it as far as the living room, neither one of them interested in trying to get up the stairs for the bedroom when the couch is right there. As soon as they’re naked, Harry pulls Louis down into his lap and holds him there. His eyes are dark and he looks like he wants to keep Louis there in his lap forever, in his arms, kissing him until his mouth is slick and swollen.
They fuck there on the couch, giddy and desperate and in love.
And then, before Louis knows it, summer fades and gives way to a burst of brilliant Autumnal colors across Maplewood.
The sun is starting to rise later and later. One of the cows is newly pregnant. He has to call the school department back so they can hash out the details of the Fall Fest event that they want to hold at Maplewood. Life keeps moving along, seemingly unaware or uncaring of how profusely changed Louis feels this time around.
At least his favorite front porch step is consistent. It’s always the same no matter the time of day or night (mostly night), no matter the season or the year. It’s where he’s sitting with Mugs when Harry pulls up after work one day— they have big plans to cook dinner and then go to bed early.
“Hi, baby,” Harry greets. He looks good, no surprise there. He’s wearing a big hoodie over his scrubs; Louis is already devising a plan to steal it from him.
“Hi, love,” Louis says, moving Mugs off of his lap so he can stand up.
“I got you something,” Harry says, walking around to the other side of his car to open the trunk.
“No you didn’t,” Louis denies automatically, but he steps closer anyway. “What is it?”
Harry doesn’t tell him anything so Louis follows him around to the back of the car and stares. Sure enough, there’s a huge box laying on it’s side. Louis wracks his brain for an explanation and comes up blank. Harry still isn’t saying anything— he’s just standing there with his hands on his hips, looking immensely proud of himself.
There’s a picture on the front so he leans closer to get a good look. “You got me a bench,” Louis says, though his tone is more of a question than anything else. “Why?”
“A rocking bench,” Harry amends, patting the box.
“Again… why?” Louis presses. “Is this part of a punchline for one of your terrible jokes that I’m not getting?”
Harry almost looks like he wants to address the terrible jokes thing, but ultimately thinks better of it and shakes his head. He slides the box closer and then hefts it out. Still confused, Louis watches as he walks over and sets it on the porch.
“Because,” Harry finally starts. “I don’t like to think of you sitting out here all alone like you do in the middle of the night. At least this way, you’ll be comfortable. We can even put some blankets on it so you won’t be cold.”
Louis can’t respond right away. He tries, opening his mouth, but nothing comes out. The wheels of his brain stop turning altogether, frozen in a mix of shock, confusion, disbelief, and complete adoration. Louis has a knee-jerk reaction to laugh it off as a joke, but he pushes that away. He knows he only wants to laugh because it’s easier to do that than admit how touched he is.
Harry uses his keys to tear the box open, unbothered by the silence. He looks at ease as he pulls out the instructions leaflet, gives it a cursory glance, and drops it somewhere behind him. Louis can’t even find it in himself to give Harry grief for being such a cocky bastard. All of his energy is devoted to reckoning with the feeling of being so thoroughly known.
“I don’t need to be taken care of,” Louis says, arms crossed over his chest. Apparently, there’s a part of him that isn’t ready to concede just yet.
“I know,” Harry nods, glancing at him briefly between neatly setting out all of the pieces. “But do you want to be?”
The words die in his suddenly dry throat. “I,” is all Louis manages, blinking.
Seen and known.
“I thought so,” Harry says easily and then adds, “It’s okay to want that, you know.”
For a brief moment, Louis wants to grab Harry and shake him, frustrated at the way he can completely upend Louis like this and go about building furniture like nothing is wrong. But it occurs to him that Harry is probably doing it on purpose. He’s giving him the space to breathe through this. And that is just officially too much— Louis can’t think about it anymore lest he want his mind to melt out of his ears.
“At least let me put it together,” Louis says, feeling shaky and raw. “I can’t believe you bought me a bench.”
“A rocking bench,” Harry corrects again. “And you can help. We can do it together.”
So they put it together, bumping shoulders and laughing quietly while the sun dips lower and lower in the sky behind them. It takes a little longer than either of them expects and by the time the bench rocks without any precarious creaking, it’s dark out and they’re both hungry.
Of course Louis’s terrible sleep schedule has his back and makes sure he’s up at three a.m. to acquaint himself with his new bench. He sneaks out of bed, careful not to jostle Harry too much, and creeps downstairs. He leaves the porch light off and curls his knees up to his chest to sit in the dark of the night and think.
Louis doesn’t feel like it’s been that long when Harry shuffles out of the front door and comes to sit beside him. It must’ve been over an hour though, because Harry drops a heavy quilt around his shoulders and Louis realizes how cold he’s gotten.
Harry looks pale and sleep-rumpled, still half asleep, and Louis’s heart throbs painfully. He loves him so much. Louis leans over until he’s snuggled against Harry’s chest and squeezes his eyes shut. “I love my bench,” he tells him quietly. “Thank you.”
Harry rubs his shoulder and noses into his hair. “You’re welcome,” he says, voice rough. “Couldn’t sleep?”
Louis hums a response. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
Harry stretches his legs out in front of him and starts to rock them slowly.
“Are you happy?” he asks after a long moment of silence.
The question catches Louis off guard and he opens his eyes in shock. “Yes,” Louis says automatically. He’s the happiest he’s been in a long, long time. He doesn’t know where this is coming from.
“You seemed lonely, in the beginning.”
Louis drops his feet to the porch so he can turn to face Harry. He wonders how long Harry’s thought about this. “Alone doesn’t always mean lonely,” he says after a pause.
“You still seemed lonely,” Harry counters softly. Without the porch light, it’s still too dark to make out the details of his expression.
Louis sits back to think about that. He can’t remember ever consciously feeling lonely before Harry. There’s no singular moment that stands out to him that he can point to and say, yeah, I was unhappy. It’s just— in comparison to life now, everything seems so mundane. And suddenly, thinking about ever having to go back to that makes him nauseous.
Carefully, Louis says, “If I was, I’m not anymore.”
“No?”
“No. And I’m happy right now,” Louis promises. “Really happy.”
Harry smiles at that. “Good. So am I.”
Louis settles back against Harry’s chest and lets that wash over him. Harry wraps an arm around him and starts them rocking again. Louis tips his head back into Harry’s bicep and accepts the kiss that Harry leans down to give him.
“Love you,” Louis breathes when the kiss breaks.
Harry stays close like he’s trying to see Louis better despite the lack of light. His other hand frames the side of Louis’s face, thumb sweeping under his eye tenderly. “I love you, too,” he says, and what a feeling it is, Louis thinks, to hear that and to know deep in his bones that it’s the truth.
They stay like that for a while more, rocking together peacefully. Harry’s nose is cold when it bumps against Louis’s cheek and Louis knows he must be tired, but he never loosens his grip on Louis, never asks to go back to bed, or complains that he’s bored or cold.
Louis listens to the beat of Harry’s heart and floats in that precious feeling he’s come to associate with Harry— the feeling of being beloved.