Archive of Our Own ^beta

Harry

OCTOBER 31, 2015

Unpacking is definitely a lot of hard work. Harry’s already figured out as much the first time he moved into a flat when he was just a wide-eyed university first year, but he’s quickly realized that the process takes a lot more effort when you’re moving into an actual house instead of a small two-bedroom student flat with most of the essential furniture already provided.

The house he’s moved into is simple enough, just a single-floor bungalow-type with a spacious living room, a main bedroom and a guestroom, an average-sized bathroom, and a fairly large kitchen-slash-dining-room. It reminds him a lot of his parents’ bungalow back in Holmes Chapel, which is largely part of the reason he decided to take it.

It took the entire afternoon and most of the night for him to get everything out of their boxes and at least organize the living room, after which he promptly crashed in bed and passed out without even bothering to properly eat dinner. His mum offered to come over and help him unpack, but he had politely turned her down, told her that he’d be fine on his own. He doesn’t really regret that decision per se, since he didn’t want to unnecessarily bother her, but he now wishes he could’ve at least asked someone to give him a hand with moving beforehand.

He’s really, really tired.

Regardless, he still managed to groggily drag himself out of bed as early as he could the following morning. After taking a shower (which mostly consisted of him standing under the spray of hot water with his eyes half-shut, occasionally leaning against the tiled wall so as not to fall over), he half-heartedly organized his bedroom and hefted all the empty boxes out into the backyard so they wouldn’t get in the way. Then he got into his car and drove out to the grocery store, familiarizing himself with the quiet but welcoming neighborhood that’s now to become his home, and bought about half a cart’s worth of sweets for the night.

After all, just because he’s been unable to plan a costume or even do some pumpkin-carving this year due to the move, it doesn’t mean he can’t get into the Halloween spirit. It’s a special holiday to him, one filled with bright and happy memories from his childhood and drunken (but just as happy) memories from his years as a university student, so it feels wrong not celebrating it in some way.

Presently, he’s sitting on his old secondhand couch inside his new living room, the lights turned off and the curtains pulled back to give him a view of the street outside. He thinks that if he listened hard enough, he could hear the sounds of candy wrappers jostling inside their paper bags and children laughing brightly as they try to spook each other with ghost stories. It makes him smile, thinking back to the first time he was allowed to go out at night as a little boy, walking hand-in-hand with his sister in matching vampire outfits.

He leans further against the couch, though he’s reluctant to make himself too comfortable. The night is only starting, and he’s sure to get a few knocks on his door from eager trick-and-treaters, so he’d have to get up more than a few times over the course of the night. He settles for leaning casually against the armrest, keeping his eyes glued to the screen of his laptop where it’s sitting on the coffee table even though he’s seen The Nightmare Before Christmas about a hundred dozen times already.

He’s got a small bowl of sweets on the coffee table for himself, and he idly picks at a chocolate bar as he watches Jack fall into the door that leads to Christmas Town. He’s about to take a bite when a knock comes from the door, the first trick-or-treater of the night, and he jolts up excitedly. He sets his chocolate bar down and pauses his movie, before getting up and rushing out of the living room.

There’s a bigger bowl of sweets sitting on a low table by the front entry, and Harry grabs it before pulling the door open. He sees two people standing on his front porch, a father-and-daughter pair dressed in matching pirate outfits. Good parenting, Harry thinks, but before he can spare the man a further glance, his eyes get drawn to the little girl who brandishes a painted cardboard sword at him.

“Trick or treat!” she shouts, waving her sword in what she probably thinks is a menacing manner (but in reality she just looks adorable). Her face scrunches up in her attempt at a glare as she adds, “Now, hand me all of your treasure!”

She’s probably five or six years old, Harry thinks. Definitely no older than that. Her hair is hidden underneath a pirate hat that’s slightly too big for her head, the brim sitting low on her forehead. She’s wearing a white shirt with dirt stains that Harry can tell have been done on purpose, the sleeves rolled up to her mid-arm and the hem tucked into brown trousers, her feet in small black boots. To complete the look, she has an eye patch on, but her visible eye stares expectantly up at Harry, blue and bright and enthusiastic despite her attempts to keep up the demeanor of a mean pirate.

Unable to suppress a smile, Harry lifts his hand not holding the bowl up, like he’s surrendering. He gets down on his knees so that he’s at eye level with the little girl. “You’ve got me, you’ve got me! I surrender all my treasure to you.”

She breaks character and giggles, her small button nose scrunching up as she tries to stifle the sound with the back of her tiny hand. When she puts it back down, she’s got a wide smile on her face. “I like you, Mister. For that, I won’t make you walk the plank. But you still have to give me your candy.”

Harry pretends to breathe a sigh of relief, dramatically wiping imaginary sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “Woo, I got worried there for a second!” He drops his voice to a whisper, adds, “I don’t know how to swim, you see.” Which is a lie, because he does know how to, but it makes her laugh so.

“You’re funny! Papa can teach you how,” she says, and Harry finally turns his gaze up to her father.

His resemblance with his daughter is striking, is the first thing Harry notices. Underneath the scruff and the bandana hiding his hair and the other accessories dangling from his head (that Harry has a sneaking suspicion his daughter is responsible for), Harry sees warm blue eyes looking back at him. The man is in a similar attire to his daughter, and he’s cradling a treasure chest between his arm and hip.

Harry stares for a moment, a feeling he can’t name settling in his chest, but it’s something warm.

“Papa! Give me the treasure chest!” the little girl shouts, and Harry blinks, snapping his gaze away. He can feel his cheeks heating up for some reason, so he clears his throat and dutifully puts candy in the treasure chest (she’s actually got a treasure chest for her candy, aw). He can feel the little girl looking at him curiously, and he adds a few more extra candy just because. “What’s your name, Mister? I’ve never seen you before.”

He smiles, tosses in a couple more extra sweets much to her delight. “My name’s Harry, and I just moved here yesterday.”

“Oh!” She hands the treasure chest now halfway filled with candy back to her father, who has an amused smile on his face but has yet to speak for this conversation. “Hi! I hope you’ll like it here! My name is Rose. Y’know, like the flower? Papa says roses are his favorite flower, which means I’m his favorite flower, but I think he’s only saying that because he doesn’t know any other kind of flower. Which is silly. He’s pretty silly, you know, like this one time—”

“Alright, Ro,” Rose’s father cuts in softly, sounding (horribly, horribly) fond. “Let’s stop there before you tell Mister Harry any embarrassing stories about me.”

Oh, dear. His voice is, it’s – it sounds like the feeling of sitting in front of a fireplace on a cold winter night, all wrapped up in a thick blanket with a steaming mug of hot chocolate, like the feeling of rustling bedsheets on a quiet Sunday morning spent sleeping in with someone holding you close. It’s warm and soft, like bells chiming in the distance and Harry’s favorite poetry recited in a slow cadence and honey-flavored laughter.

And then Harry remembers, this man has a daughter. Meaning he most probably (most definitely) has a spouse, and Harry feels slightly ashamed of himself. He tries to clear his head of his previous thoughts, before standing back up and extending a hand to introduce himself properly. He doesn’t even know the man’s name.

“Hi, uh. I’m Harry Styles,” he introduces, smiling slightly.

The man’s grip is firm, the pads of his fingers slightly calloused as they graze the skin of Harry’s hand. “Louis Tomlinson,” he says. He gently places a hand on top of Rose’s hat after they let go, adds, “And you’ve already met this little bundle of energy here.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Harry says, and when he sees Rose pout and wave her sword slightly, he chuckles and leans down to her once more. “Both of you,” he clarifies, earning a smile from her. “You’re the very first person I’ve met here, Rose.”

“Really?” Rose asks, excited. She looks up at Louis with wide eyes, tugging on his trousers. “Did you hear that, Papa? I’m Harry’s first friend here!”

“He said first person to meet, Ro.”

“But he gave me lots of candy!” Rose argues. “Which means we’re friends. We should totally invite him for lunch tomorrow.”

Louis seems to consider this, getting a thoughtful look on his face. On his lovely face, now that Harry’s looking more. He’s got cheekbones and a jaw to die for. His overall bone structure is divine, really.

And then the conversation catches up to Harry, and he shakes his head quickly. “Oh, no! It’s alright, I don’t want to intrude or anything.”

Rose pouts. Harry thinks he sees a strand of brown hair peeking from beneath her hat. “But I want you to come over!”

Harry smiles apologetically at her. “I’m really sorry, Rose. But I still need to finish fixing the house up. Maybe some other time this week, though? When I’m more settled in.”

“I can show you around, though,” Louis offers, and he sounds completely genuine when he says it. “Or help you finish unpacking whatever you have left.”

“Oh, it’s fine, really!” Harry insists, at the same time Rose asks, “Do you live alone Harry?”

He blinks. “Um, yes. Why?”

Rose nods once, decisive. “Okay then. Papa and I will come over tomorrow for lunch instead. Papa will help you unpack. And besides, you shouldn’t be alone, Harry.”

Harry is about to argue that it’s really fine, he doesn’t mind being by himself for a few more days, but she looks so set on having lunch with him that he can’t help but agree. “Okay then,” he sighs, and she cheers. “Lunch it is tomorrow. But I’m warning you, my house is still a mess.”

“That’s alright! Like I said, Papa can help you clean it up!” Rose says cheerfully. Then she hugs Harry around the leg once, before skipping down the three steps of the porch and running towards the sidewalk. “Now onto find more treasure!”

Louis chuckles, watching after her. “Don’t go off too far, Rose,” he calls, before turning back to Harry with a slightly apologetic smile. “Sorry, she can be a little menace sometimes.”

“Oh, no! It’s fine. She’s really great.”

“Thanks,” Louis laughs a little. “I try my best. You don’t need to have us over for lunch tomorrow if it’s inconvenient for you, though. I can talk her out of it.”

“It’s really fine,” Harry assures, shooting a thumbs up for good measure. “As long as it’s okay with you, I mean.”

“Of course.”

Harry smiles at that. “Good, okay. That’s good. Making friends with the neighbors is a good start, yeah? Which house is yours by the way?”

Louis points somewhere to the left. “Just a few houses down that way, so. Not too far.”

“Great,” Harry says, not really sure why he said that. He shifts a little, hugging the candy bowl to his chest. “Um. Should I make lunch for four people?”

“Oh, no. Just three. You, me, and little Rose.”

A small surge of hope in Harry’s chest that he quickly smothers. He tries to be as casual as possible when he asks, “So, no wife? Husband? Partner? Spouse?”

He worries that he might be crossing a line here, considering that he and Louis are strangers, but Louis just laughs lightly. “Spouse? Who still says that?”

“Heyyy,” Harry pouts, internally breathing a sigh of relief that Louis doesn’t look uncomfortable, at least. “I like it. It’s cute and gender-neutral. Doesn’t nearly get used enough, in my opinion.”

Louis smiles at him, and it’s so similar to how Rose looked just earlier. “You’re quite strange, Harry Styles. In a completely good way, though. But to answer your question, no. No spouse. Got a divorce three years ago, actually.”

I have a chance, is the first thing that comes to Harry’s mind, before he mentally gives himself a kick because that is not at all an appropriate response. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he says, glancing at where Rose is waving at some other kids, “is it tough for Rose?”

“She was only two when it happened, so she doesn’t fully understand it yet,” Louis says, confirming Harry’s assumption that Rose is five years old. “But we’re doing alright. And it’s not all bad, really. Her mum and I are still on good terms, and she gets to have Rose over on weekends twice a month.”

“I see,” Harry says, just as Rose shouts, “Papa! I wanna get more candy!”

Louis laughs. He’s always laughing, it seems. “Well, I better go before she decides that I should walk the plank. It was nice meeting you, Harry Styles. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, yes,” Harry nods, perhaps a bit too eagerly. Louis smiles one last time, and then he’s gone, walking down the porch and onto the sidewalk where Rose is waiting. He holds onto his daughter’s hand as they disappear down the road in a flurry of excited screaming and giggling, and then Harry’s alone, standing on his front porch and staring at the place where they had been.

He steps back inside after a while and closes the door behind him.

For some reason, he can’t seem to stop smiling.

*

NOVEMBER 2015

It’s a little past noon the following day when the knock comes.

Harry yelps in surprise, nearly dropping the spatula he was using to stir the vegetables with onto the floor. He checks the time and sees that there’s still a few minutes left before he has to take the chicken breasts out of the oven. So with a quick poke and prod to see if the vegetables are okay, Harry turns the stove off and hurriedly wipes his hands down the front of his apron, before rushing out of the kitchen.

There’s another quick succession of knocks coming from the door, and as Harry gets closer he thinks they’re caused by small fists. He can feel a smile pulling on his lips at the thought of little Rose standing on the other side, probably pouting as she waits for Harry to open the door with her fist already poised to knock again, her father watching amusedly.

It’s probably a bit ridiculous (and not to mention dangerous for Harry’s emotional well-being, all things considered) to be this attached already, especially since he only met the two last night and he’s talked to them for all of ten minutes. But. He’s also new in the neighborhood. Of course he’d be eager to know people and make friends. And both Rose and Louis seem nice, so. Harry’s eagerness is perfectly reasonable.

Or so, he tells himself that. It’s whatever.

He opens the door with a smile, and sure enough Rose and Louis are standing there, already smiling back. Rose is wearing a purple dress today, and her hair (it is brown, Harry notes) is pulled up into a high ponytail, held in place by what looks to be a lavender silk ribbon. She lifts her hands and squeals when she sees Harry, still as bright and energetic as the night before. “Harry! Hello, I love your apron!”

Harry flushes, tugging at his apron as he bites on his lower lip. It’s a bright yellow thing with a cartoon drawing of the sun, something Gemma jokingly bought for him a few birthdays ago but he grew attached to. He does a little curtsy, pulling one side of the apron out like he would a skirt, and Rose giggles at him, doing a curtsy of her own in return.

“Why thank you, Little Miss. I love your dress. It suits you.”

Rose claps her hands together and makes a happy noise, before tugging on Louis’ sleeve and, yes. Right. Louis is there.

“Thank you! Papa let me pick it out by myself. I told him I wanted to wear Vans with it though, so.” She sticks out a foot and, sure enough, Harry sees that she’s wearing Vans. “Papa wears Vans quite a lot, too. We match.” A quick glance to Louis’ own feet confirms this, and. Well. Harry’s already looking, so he might as well take a more proper look at what Louis is wearing entirely.

He’s not very proud of the way his eyes drag up the curve of Louis’ legs hidden in form-fitting black trousers, up towards the baby blue long sleeve he’s wearing, until finally his gaze lands on Louis’ face. And, oh dear. It seems that Louis has shaved all of his scruff from the night before. His cheekbones are even more pronounced and the blue of his eyes seem sharper in the sunlight, his hair pushed half-heartedly up into a quiff of some sort.

All in all, in the light of day, Harry can confirm that Louis Tomlinson is indeed very attractive, and his charm wasn’t something Harry conjured up the night before in a sweets- and fatigue-induced dream.

“Um,” Harry stammers a little, clearing his throat as he steps aside and tries to smother his thoughts, “come on in, then. I’m just about done with lunch.”

Rose cheers and runs inside, leaving Harry and Louis standing on the porch by themselves for a few seconds. Harry shifts a little awkwardly, not knowing what to do because Louis still hasn’t spoken a single word since they’ve arrived. Before he can worry too much about it though, Louis finally steps inside and places a gentle hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“Hey, Harry,” he says, and his smile is small and warm and genuine. “Thanks for having us.”

Harry blushes, feeling warmth prickling at his skin where Louis’ touching him. He’s unable to hold back a smile, feeling his cheek dimple. “No problem. And thank you for coming over.”

Louis’ smile brightens, his eyes crinkling by the corners. Harry can definitely see where Rose got her smile and charm from. “My offer’s still up, by the way. If you ever need anyone to show you around, just give me a ring.”

Before Harry has a chance to think his response through, he blurts out, “How can I do that if I don’t have your number, though?” He quickly snaps his mouth shut once it’s out, because god damn it, he will not flirt with this man who is basically a stranger and a father, regardless of how much his face looks like it’s been personally sculpted by angels.

However, Louis just laughs good-naturedly and squeezes Harry’s shoulder in response, before letting go to take his phone out from his pocket. “Fair point,” he says, unlocking his phone and handing it to Harry. “Here you go, then.”

Harry can’t quite believe this sudden turn of events, even as he programs his number into Louis’ phone (but not before sneaking a look at his home screen – it’s a selfie of him and Rose, the young girl wearing a sparkly silver tiara while Louis has multiple clips attached to his hair, a pink scarf twined around both their necks while Rose holds up a flowery teacup; the picture makes Harry smiles to himself). He pauses, thinking of what name he should save his contact under, before deciding on ‘Harryyy x’.

Louis smiles amusedly (and fondly, though that may be merely projecting on Harry’s part) when he sees Harry’s contact name. He types something for a moment, and then Harry’s phone pings in his pocket, signaling a text.

Pulling it out, he reads, You’re a quirky one , aren’t you ?

There’s a smiling emoji after it, and Harry rolls his eyes (but fondly) because of course Louis is the type to use emojis. Of course. He saves the number under the contact name ‘Louis’, and then decides to add the sunglasses emoji after it.

“What did you put my name as?”

“Louis sunglasses emoji.” Louis doesn’t say anything in response, so Harry looks back up at him. There’s an expression on his face that Harry can’t quite explain or put a name to, but it’s not a bad look. It’s something a bit like wonder, really, but Harry still finds himself biting his lip, feeling a little self-conscious. “Why? Is there something wrong?”

Louis snaps himself out of… whatever it is, and laughs. He laughs a lot. It’s quickly becoming one of Harry’s favorite sounds. “Nothing, it’s just – that’s my favorite emoji, did you know?”

Harry’s eyes widen at that. “For real?”

Louis just nods, and Harry doesn’t quite know what to do with himself because here Louis is, a fully-grown man looking after his five-year-old daughter by himself, and he apparently uses emojis frequently enough to have a favorite. Harry doesn’t know a lot about Louis Tomlinson, that’s for sure, but if there’s one thing he’s certain of right now, it’s that this man is absolutely ridiculous and wonderful and – and something else. Louis is something else.

Harry can’t stop staring at him. And Louis can’t stop staring back. There’s a small shift in the air, barely-there, but just enough for Harry to pick up on. There’s a sudden urge in his chest, fingers twitching with the need to reach out and just – just feel. Feel the warmth of Louis’ skin, the echo of his breathing, just to make sure that he’s actually real.

“Papa! What’s taking you and Harry so long?” Rose’s voice suddenly echoes from somewhere in the living room, and both Harry and Louis startle visibly. They both look away.

Clearing his throat, Louis turns to the sound of Rose’s voice and calls back, “Be there in a sec, sweetheart.”

“Right, um,” Harry begins, coughing once. “I gotta finish up with lunch.”

“Yes, uh, yeah,” Louis nods, but he seems a bit distracted all of a sudden, much like how Harry feels. His cheeks look slightly pinker than they did just a minute ago. “You go… do that. I’ll be, um, in the living room?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry points vaguely in the direction of the living room, where Rose has apparently already made herself at home. “I’ll call you both when lunch is ready.”

Louis smiles, quick like a flash of lightning, and then he’s walking the few steps between the front door and the open doorway leading into where Rose is. Harry takes a second to clear his head, lets out a breath, and then goes back into the kitchen to take the chicken breasts out of the oven.

*

Rose is, as Harry expected, an absolute delight. She’s sweet and loud, always speaking whatever comes to her mind, and she has very little sense of physical boundaries, not that Harry really minds her hugging his arm every now and then to get his attention. Louis doesn’t seem bothered by it, either, at least not outwardly – over the course of their lunch, Harry has caught this look on Louis’ face a few times, something like conflict or doubt, but it’s gone the instant their eyes meet.

But Rose, she’s like an open book. She’s high spirits barely contained within her small frame, she’s happy laughter and magical stories made up on the spot, she’s a bundle of pure energy, just like Louis has described her.

So it’s not really a surprise that she and Harry get along splendidly. After lunch, she drags Harry into the living room, not even letting him clear the table and put the plates in the sink. She makes him sit down on the couch like she owns the place (and an honest but completely terrifying thought quickly passes through Harry’s mind, that he won’t really mind getting used to this – whatever this is), and then she plops down on the coffee table and tells him all about the family of teddy bears that she has in her room.

Louis comes out a minute later and sits beside Harry. Rose stops talking just long enough to throw herself onto her father’s lap, and then resumes her story.

“Did you clean the table?” Harry asks Louis once Rose is done speaking, now occupied with trying to see if she can reach over and touch Harry’s hair from where she’s sat. At Louis’ nod, Harry frowns. “You didn’t have to do that. You’re my guests here, I could’ve dealt with it later.”

Louis just smiles easily, though, adjusting Rose on his lap so that she’s facing Harry better. She manages to tug on a loose wave of hair, and she makes a noise of triumph that both Louis and Harry smile at.

“I don’t mind,” Louis murmurs to Harry, even though he’s looking at Rose. “This one here seemed very excited to talk to you.”

And, okay. Harry can’t help but think of how domestic this feels, all of a sudden. He quickly crushes that thought, though, because he’s known Louis for all of a day and, for all Harry knows, he might not even be gay. He did mention an ex-wife.

But. Harry’s always dreamed of domesticity, is the thing. Ever since he was sixteen, really. And he’s dreamed of having kids for about just as long, even as young as he is. Now, seven years later, not much has really changed about those dreams.

And suddenly here Louis and Rose are, right in front of him, in his house, looking so much like the perfect dream.

“You’re a really good cook, Harry,” Rose says, snapping him out of his thoughts. He blinks and finds Rose staring up at him. “You made Papa eat his vegetables. Do you know he never eats his vegetables?” Her voice drops conspiratorially to a whisper, and she leans forward, “He’s like a big baby.”

“Hey,” Louis pouts, and Harry can’t help but laugh. Louis flashes him another smile, another skipped beat of Harry’s heart. “It’s true though. Lunch was very delicious, thank you.”

Harry can’t help the pleased flush that creeps onto his cheeks. “Anytime.”

“What do you do, Harry?” Rose asks, shifting on Louis’ lap, and it sounds so funny coming out of a five-year-old’s mouth, but. But it’s also like she’s inspecting him, screening him. For what, Harry isn’t sure.

“Well, I used to work for this small magazine firm in Manchester as a photographer,” he says, glancing at Louis quickly to see if he’s listening (he is), before turning his gaze back to Rose. “That was a little over year ago. I eventually quit and decided to do a bit of traveling, see some of the world and all that. I went backpacking in Southeast Asia for a few months, then went back to Europe and visited a few more places.”

“Ooh,” Rose perks up, clearly interested. “Which places are your favorites?”

Harry isn’t sure how much her knowledge of geography is, considering she’s five, but he thinks about his answer seriously anyway. He ponders the question for a moment, then decides, “Singapore was really beautiful, very organized and modern. The Philippines was also quite memorable. Very, very hot, especially in March, but I got to try all kinds of local food. They have this shaved ice thing with milk and a bunch of other stuff thrown in, and you just mix everything together, that was my favorite. As for Europe, hmm. I went to the Eiffel Tower in France, of course, and I went sightseeing in Berlin, Germany.”

Rose is looking at him with wide eyes. “Whoa, that’s a lot of places! Definitely more than I’ve been to.” She pouts a little and nudges Louis on the stomach. “Papa, how come we don’t travel?”

“Because you’re too young still, sweetheart,” Louis says, tickling her sides until she squirms and lets out a squeal. He drops a kiss to her head, and Harry is helpless to stop his smile. Louis looks at him curiously. “Did you take pictures of the places you visited?”

Harry nods, moving to get up. “Just a sec, let me grab my camera so I can show you.” He walks to his bedroom, where he keeps his camera inside the bottom drawer of his nightstand. He pulls it out and turns it on, flicking through the pictures until he finds the ones he likes.

Rose makes grabby hands when he comes back, and Harry sees that she’s moved herself down from Louis’ lap and onto the sofa. He sits beside her and shows her the screen, tells her about each picture and what the place was like. She listens to him intently, nodding with wide eyes, and as he gets to the picture of the Brandenbuger Wall he feels Louis shift closer to them both, then lean in to take a look at the pictures for himself.

Their faces hover near each other. Harry tries his best not to let himself get affected by it, since Louis’ eyes are completely fixated on the screen of his camera and Rose is still sitting between them. They go through the pictures quietly now, and after a few minutes Louis says, “You’re a really good photographer, Harry.”

Harry bites on his lip to hold back a sudden smile. “Thank you.”

There’s a peaceful kind of quiet that falls over them as they finish looking through the pictures. Once they’re done, Harry turns his camera off and sets it gently onto the coffee table. He feels warm.

“So, Harry. What brought you here?” Louis asks once he’s leaned back onto the couch. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m sure you’re going to be a great addition to our little neighborhood! But I’m curious. What made you come here?”

Harry thinks about what to say for a moment. He pulls his legs up onto the couch and crosses them. “Well, I guess I’m searching? After university, I went into work immediately and just saved money in my bank account without actually knowing what I wanted to do with all of it, then the traveling idea just struck me one day. It was from completely out of the blue. So I took everything I needed, money and a few clothes and my camera, and just – I just left. Figured I’d see some of the world before, I don’t know, before everything else happened? Even though at that point I didn’t know what ‘everything else’ was.”

He waves a hand, motioning vaguely with a flicker of a smile. “I still don’t know what it is, to be honest. Once I got back, I didn’t know what I wanted to do next at all. So I spent a few nights crashing on some friends’ couches, then one morning I just woke up and thought, I want to have a house. And like, that felt like a starting point for me, somehow?” He smiles, shrugs. “Then a bit of looking around led me here, and it reminded me of Holmes Chapel where I grew up – small, homey, welcoming. So I thought, okay. Maybe I’ll find whatever it is I’m looking for here.”

Louis’ expression looks – he looks soft. Warm. “Well,” he begins, smiling, “I hope you find it here, too.”

Harry ducks his head to hide a smile. “Thank you.” He looks back up when he feels more in control of his facial expressions, asks, “How about you, Louis? What do you do?”

“I write,” Louis says, shrugging. “Sometimes for magazines, sometimes for children’s books. I freelance.”

“Oh,” Harry says, interest perked.

“Yeah,” Louis chuckles. “Some people have told me to find, I don’t know, something more stable? But this is the only job that doesn’t require me to leave the house much, since I mostly transact through emails, and I need to stay home for little Ro here.” He drops another kiss to her head, and Rose beams.

“Papa, I can take care of myself! I’m a big girl!”

“I’m sure you are, darling,” Louis says, before turning back to Harry. “And I like it, to be honest. Not exactly the most ideal job for a twenty-eight-year-old father, but I make it work.”

Harry is one hundred percent sure there’s a fond look on his face right now, but he’s helpless to stop it. He reaches out and puts a hand on Louis’ shoulder, says, “I’m sure Rose appreciates it.” He glances down, sees Rose watching the two of them curiously with a sparkle in her eye. “Don’t you, Rose?”

He’s not sure if she actually understood, but she nods anyway, says with a bright smile, “I love my Papa a lot.”

*

What are you up to ?

Harry stares intently at the bare stretch of wall in front of him. He’s just ripped the old wallpaper off completely and tossed it in one of the empty boxes, and now he’s trying to decide which color to paint the wall with. He already bought white paint for the first coating, but he’s torn between mint green and sky blue for the actual color.

He looks back at his phone.

It’s been nearly a week since he had lunch with Louis and Rose, and they’ve seen each other a total of two times since. One was when Louis and Rose went out for a walk in the park and dropped by to see whether Harry wanted to join them, and another was accidental, them running into each other in the grocery store.

They’ve also been texting for that long, he and Louis, almost nonstop.

Harry’s still trying to figure out how he feels about that. He’s been in town for a total of eight days, and already he feels like he’s dealing with a storm. Because really, that’s how Louis (and Rose) feel like right now. They arrived on Harry’s doorstep like an impending hurricane, something strong and loud and hazardous, without any kind of warning. But at the same time, it’s a welcome kind of storm, like the first touch of rain after months of being stranded under the blistering sun.

Harry doesn’t know if Louis is into him, or if he’s just being nice because he’s the first friend Harry made here. Well, second that is, next to Rose.

What he’s definitely sure of is that he likes Louis. But he doesn’t know if Louis is off-limits. He probably is, all things considered, but Harry’s heart just had to be, well. His heart just had to be like this. Drawn towards sharp blue eyes and defined features and a warm smile.

And then there’s Rose. Lovely, little bundle of joy Rose.

Harry doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do.

So for now, he just replies, Trying to decide which color to paint my walls with. x

*

Of course – of course – Louis ends up coming over.

Of course.

“Saturday. Ro’s with her mum right now,” Louis offers as explanation, shrugging. He’s wearing jeans and a plain white shirt, but he still looks unfairly beautiful standing on Harry’s doorstep like the hurricane that he is.

Harry pushes the door open wider, keeping it in place with his hip as he crosses his arms across his chest. He lifts an eyebrow, says, “Did you come over because you’re lonely, Lewis?” because they’re at that level of friendship where they openly banter now. This is all probably a bit too fast, but like Harry said – Louis is a hurricane and Harry has been stranded in the middle of a desert for years.

Louis pretends to scowl, but Harry can see the flicker of amusement in his eyes. “No. I came over because I’m a nice neighbor and I thought I’d help you paint your wall, Harold.”

“There’s a good four or five houses between ours, neighbor,” Harry points out.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Are you gonna let me in or what?”

Harry laughs at that, finally stepping aside and sweeping his arms out in a grand gesture. Louis does a little bow before stepping inside, and yeah, Harry can definitely see where Rose got all her silly charm from.

“So, we’re doing this entire wall?”

“You don’t actually have to help me paint, you know.”

“But I want to!” Louis insists, sounding a lot like Rose. He looks as though he’s actually going to pout if he doesn’t get his way. Harry needs to get this situation under control before he gets a heart attack.

“Okay, fine. We’ll paint.”

Louis cheers. He actually cheers. Harry is doomed, because there’s a hurricane in his house, in this room with him, and it comes with bright laughter and secret smiles that make Harry’s skin tingle with warmth from a ghost touch, it comes with calloused but gentle hands that grip onto the brush handle and Harry’s heart too tight like it doesn’t want to let go, it comes with stolen glances and flashes of sharp blue that make Harry feel like electric sparks are shooting up his spine and igniting a fire somewhere in his chest.

An hour later, they’ve managed to paint about half of the wall. Harry thinks more of the paint got on them instead, since Louis is apparently just as much of a menace as his daughter, but Harry can’t find it in himself to be bothered at all.

“You’ve got paint on your cheek,” Louis points out. They’re on the floor, lying on old newspaper sheets, paint brushes tossed aside somewhere.

Harry rolls his eyes. “And whose fault do you think that is?”

Louis just hums, the picture of perfect innocence. Harry nudges him on the side with his elbow, and Louis nudges him back, and it somehow evolves into a tickle fight.

Even though he’s a few inches shorter, Louis manages to easily get the upper hand. His fingers dance up and down Harry’s sides, digging into the flesh by his waist, and Harry squeals, trying to shove him off. Louis rolls over and tries to pin his lower body down with his legs, but Harry manages to kick out and avoid the attack.

Louis laughs, surging forward once more. Harry tries to go in for his side, but Louis stops him and pins his hand up above his head, before continuing his assault on Harry’s waist. Harry lets out a shriek of laughter and tries to fight back, but he’s having trouble seeing clearly and breathing properly to really do much with his free hand other than weakly clutch at Louis’ shoulder, trying vainly to push him off.

“I give up!” he wheezes, and Louis slows down.

“What was that? I didn’t quite hear you clearly.”

“Dick,” Harry mutters, yelping when Louis pokes his waist again, finger digging in. “I surrender, I surrender!”

Louis laughs, says, “That’s what I thought.”

It takes a while for Harry to calm down, and when his breathing finally returns to normal, he suddenly realizes the compromising position they’ve managed to get themselves into.

Louis somehow found his way slotted between Harry’s splayed thighs, leaning over him. Their hands are tangled together above Harry’s head, Harry’s free hand on Louis’ shoulder with Louis’ face right above his. They’re so close, Harry can probably count Louis’ eyelashes, can feel each breath he exhales. Harry can’t find his own breath, stuck somewhere between his lungs and his throat, and when his gaze flicks up from Louis’ slightly parted lips he sees Louis watching him, blue eyes searching.

The atmosphere shifts.

Their eyes meet, and it’s electric, something fizzing in the air between them. Harry’s breath stutters, slips out between his lips unsteadily, and the small sound it makes causes Louis’ gaze to shift to his mouth. Harry swallows.

He wants to kiss Louis. He really, really wants to kiss Louis.

And it seems that Louis’ thoughts are at the same wavelength, because he leans down, inches his face closer, like he’s waiting. Like he’s telling Harry, it’s up to you. So Harry takes the leap, closing the remaining distance between them, and. And.

Louis kisses a lot like he speaks, soft yet overwhelming in the best way, completely present and sure. His lips move with an ease that seems natural, leaving Harry breathless right there on the floor. He tries to match his pace with Louis’, but then he eventually just lets the older man take the lead, surrendering himself and shutting off all his mental faculties.

He feels Louis squeeze their hands together, and Harry winds his free arm around Louis’ neck, tugging him down. Louis goes with the pull, letting their bodies fit together, and then he kisses Harry deeper and slower. Closer.

Faintly, in the back of Harry’s mind, there’s a small voice telling him that this is a bad idea, that they’re going too fast, that they should stop and think about what they’re doing. It’s quickly muted, however, since the only sounds Harry can focus on are the breaths being exchanged between them and the rustling of the newspaper beneath him every time Louis shifts their bodies.

Louis’ other hand traces the curve of Harry’s side, maps out the line of his body before dipping a thumb underneath his shirt and pressing it into the skin there. It feels like he’s leaving a mark, proof that this is real and that this is happening, heat spreading from that single point of contact all throughout Harry’s body until all he can feel is heat and Louis and heat and Louis.

He breaks away with a gasp, throwing his head back and sucking air into his lungs, the smell of fresh paint burning his nostrils. Louis’ lips latch onto his jaw, and his sharp little teeth sink into the flesh, making Harry’s back arch. His legs twitch, the urge to wrap them around Louis’ waist nearly overwhelming as the older man places small, wet kisses down the side of his neck, and just as he’s about to give in and pull Louis closer to him – closer, closer, until their bodies press completely into each other and Harry can no longer tell them apart – a loud noise pierces through the air and startles them both.

A phone ringing.

There’s a short moment, a pause that probably lasts a second but feels like it stretches on and on and on, where the situation finally catches up to Harry and he realizes where and who and what. He stares at the newly-painted wall, remembers when it was just a dull gray slab of cement with peeling brown wallpaper at certain parts just hours ago, and tries to think of how exactly he ended up here – on the floor, beneath a man he’s only met a week ago. A man who has a daughter.

Louis seems to be having the same thought process, because his eyes are wide and his lips are parted like he’s in shock, and Harry hates himself a little for wanting nothing more than to have that mouth back on his.

The phone keeps on ringing, interrupting the heavy silence that has fallen in the room, and then it finally ends and Harry doesn’t even know whose phone that is, let alone get himself together enough to move out from underneath Louis and try to locate it.

Finally, after a minute and an eternity, Louis says, “Um, that’s – that’s my phone. I left it in the other room before we started…” he trails off, and Harry has to tell himself that Louis means before they started painting, and not before they started kissing.

Harry opens his mouth, shuts it again. He doesn’t know what to say.

Fortunately (or not, Harry doesn’t know which is which right now since his thoughts are a mess), Louis’ phone rings again, and this time Louis pushes himself up, away, untangling their fingers. Harry feels cold lying on the floor but he makes no move to get up.

He turns his head, stares at the drying paint as he hears Louis fumble around and finally answer his phone. Harry tries not to listen in, he really does, but he can’t help but hear, “Hello? Yeah, I’m still out at – at a friend’s. Rose? Why? What’s wrong?” Harry sits up at that, worry blooming in his chest as he strains his ears to listen. Louis is just in the other room, and Harry can hear the sound of his feet pacing worriedly. “Okay, okay. I’m dropping by to pick her up. Please tell her I’m coming, just – okay, yeah, I’m leaving now.”

Harry is still sitting on the floor when Louis steps back in, but he quickly scrambles up when he sees the worried furrow between Louis’ brows.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asks, reaching out to place a hand on Louis’ shoulder and then freezing halfway through.

Louis notices, but he doesn’t say anything about it. “That was Alicia, um. Rose’s mum. She said Rose suddenly got a fever and is asking for me. She was perfectly fine last night and when I dropped her by earlier, but she’s crying and I have to pick her up.” He’s walking towards the door as he says this, Harry following after him, and they stop just as they reach the front door.

Harry waits for Louis to say something. When Louis doesn’t, Harry asks, “Will you text me if she’s okay?”

Louis looks at him, and it’s yet another one of those looks that Harry can’t put a name to. It’s like he’s looking for something in Harry, and it’s a bit frustrating because Harry wants nothing more than to shake him and ask, What is it? What are you looking for? Tell me and I’ll give it to you. But he stays quiet, because Harry knows you can’t shake a storm.

You can only stand there and wait for it to come, to hit you with all its force, and then you try to pick yourself up once it passes.

Finally, Louis cracks a small smile. It’s a bit strained, but it’s there. “I will.”

And then he’s out of the door, and possibly out of Harry’s life as well.

Harry is left standing there wondering if this is it, if this is the wreckage Louis leaves in his wake. Perhaps he should be a little grateful that this is happening now, because if he had let Louis and Rose worm their way in deeper into his little life, perhaps stay a bit longer, the aftermath would be far worse.

He shuts the door quietly, takes a deep breath, and goes back to painting his wall.

He tries his best not to think of lips that taste like rain and fingers that fell perfectly in between his own, tries to rid his mind of teeth that cut like the blunt edge of a knife and blazing blue heat that sears through his skin.

*

The world, surprisingly, does not end after that.

He receives a text the following day, one that simply says, Rose is better now ! Just a slight fever , nothing a good cuddle and some soup can’t fix :)

Harry doesn’t reply until an hour later, and the only thing he says is, Good to hear! Give her a hug from me x

If Louis doesn’t want to talk about it, then fine. Harry can pretend it didn’t happen, too. Or, he can try to, at least. It was just a kiss, he tells himself. He’s twenty-three years old and he’s experienced plenty of meaningless kisses before, heat-of-the-moment things induced by temporary, false passion. It’s not a big deal.

(Except it is. It really, really is.)

And if Harry still feels the phantom touch of a thumb pressing into the skin of his hip, then what of it? It doesn’t have to mean anything.

It doesn’t mean anything.

*

Harry finds a job at a bakery in the town center. He can already hear a voice in the back of his head, one that suspiciously sounds like his former thesis adviser when he was still a graduating senior (who was sort of a dick, to be honest), saying he’s wasting his photography degree by working seven to three shifts baking pastries and mopping floors and manning the counter. But he ignores it, because the elderly couple who owns the bakery is sweet, and Agatha reminds him a lot of Babs.

“I used to be a baker,” he told her, before listing off some of his favorite pastries to bake and talking about the most popular pies in the bakery he used to work in. He was hired on-the-spot.

Now he’s standing in front of the ovens, hands stuffed in the pockets of his apron as he waits for the buns to finish. The warmth coming from the oven is comforting in a familiar way, reminds him of when he was an eager, wide-eyed fifteen-year-old learning from Babs. It’s a good feeling, the warmth, considering the metaphorical storm that just recently turned his life upside down.

“Harry, dear,” Agatha calls from the open doorway of the kitchen. She’s four feet, eleven inches, slightly hunched over by all her years, but she’s a strong woman. That much is obvious enough, even from just the three days that Harry’s known her. Her husband, Richard, is a tall, thin man who mostly keeps quiet but always has a smile on his face. They’ve been together for fifty-four years.

“Yes, Aggie?”

“Is that batch done?”

“Just about,” Harry says, smiling. “I’ll bring them out once they’re finished and start on another batch.”

“Oh, it’s fine dear. Perrie can take over in the kitchen after you. You can man the counter, give yourself a bit of a break from all that baking,” Agatha says, stepping towards Harry and reaching up to pat him on the head. She barely reaches the top of his head, but she still manages to ruffle his hair out of its bun, and Harry laughs.

“Thanks, Aggie. I’ll be out in a bit.”

Perrie steps into the kitchen just as Harry’s placing the freshly-baked buns on a tray, and she shoots him a smile as she puts an apron on. “It’s nice having you around,” she says, patting him on the back. “I mean, we don’t get too busy but it does get rather lonely – don’t tell Aggie and Rich I said that, though. They’re lovely, but they’re not really always around to make conversation with.” She frowns. “Plus the last bloke who used to work here with me, Mike, was a proper dick. Don’t tell him I said that, either.”

Harry laughs. “I don’t even know who Mike is.”

“Still, this is a pretty small town,” Perrie winks. “That boy made me very uncomfortable. Always made very rude comments, said he had a crush on me.” She rolls her eyes. “He never stopped, even though I told him I have a girlfriend.”

Harry makes a sympathetic noise. He can understand the feeling of men making unwanted advances – he’s had to deal with it a few times before, himself.

“Something tells me I won’t be having that problem with you, though,” Perrie adds, taking her place behind the table.

Harry laughs as he makes his way out to the counter. “Why? Because I seem so polite?”

Perrie just winks again. “I can tell, you know.”

Harry winks back. “Well, you’re right, either way.” He hears Perrie make a whooping kind of noise behind him, and he shakes his head slightly, grinning. Richard is sitting on a chair behind the counter, reading the local daily paper, and Aggie is nowhere to be seen. Probably running errands. If there’s anything Harry learned about her in his three days working here, it’s that she never stays still. She’s a bit of a hurricane, herself.

Richard smiles at him quickly before going back to his newspaper, and Harry sets about wiping the glass counter clean. It’s a slow day, only a handful of customers coming in and out, though the early hours are usually when the rush of people looking for a quick breakfast on the road come in.

The bakery itself is just small, a narrow stretch of room with a length of wood attached to one wall acting as a table, four high stools placed in front of it for people who want to sit inside. There’s a glass window beside the door that almost takes up the entire wall, and the counter is made of a glass case displaying all the pastries. Everything is pink and simple and homey. Harry fell in love with it the moment he stepped foot into the place.

The time is currently eleven, an hour before Harry’s lunch break, and he takes a Halloween-themed cookie to munch on and drops his payment in the register (even though he and Perrie have been told that they’re free to take pastries if they ever get hungry throughout their shifts). Even though it’s already halfway through November, they still sell cookies with frosting designs of bats, pumpkins, spider webs, and white ghosts. In two days, they’ll start decorating them with yellow stars and little green trees and red socks.

It’s around fifteen minutes later when the small bell on top of the door rings, signaling the arrival of a customer. Harry looks up from where he’s scrolling through his texts with Gemma, cookie in his mouth, and then suddenly his world is spinning way too fast and there’s a heavy weight sinking in his stomach keeping him where he’s standing.

“Harry!” Rose’s shrill scream rings throughout the bakery, and she’s running, eyes bright and smile wide. She’s wearing footie shorts and a shirt that’s a size too big on her, her hair pulled up into a tight ponytail and her forehead glistening with sweat, probably from playing footie in the park. Her shoes leave dirt marks on the floor that Harry will have to mop later, but in that moment all Harry can think about is how much he’s missed her.

“Rosie!” he greets, forgetting the cookie still hanging from between his lips. It drops onto the counter and Rose giggles at him, stopping before the glass case and waving her arms up at him. Harry reaches over so he can press their palms together in a mini high-five. “Have you grown since the last time I saw you?”

“Silly Harry,” Rose laughs. “Where have you been? It’s been”—her nose wrinkles as she thinks, brows furrowing in the middle—“a week? Yeah, a week since I last saw you! Or was it longer than that?” She sounds a little upset, and Harry immediately feels guilty. He glances up quickly, and Louis is right there – standing by the door, watching them with another one of his unreadable expressions.

Harry ignores him and smiles back down at Rose. “I’m really sorry. I was looking for work and settling in.” Which isn’t a lie. It’s just not the entire truth.

“Oh, that’s okay then! I understand,” Rose grins, all teeth and crinkly eyes.

Harry’s chest flutters. “What do you want, Little Rosie?”

“I want one of the same cookie you were eating!” she answers immediately, before getting a contemplative look on her face. “Hmm, actually, make that five cookies! Papa!” She turns around, and this time Harry has no choice but to look back at Louis, who has this odd deer-caught-in-the-headlights look on his face, “Five cookies for lunch is okay, right?”

Louis looks at Harry, and Harry tries his best to keep his gaze. Louis is the first one to look away, and he looks confused and unsure and slightly flushed and Harry is also feeling all of those things but he thinks, right now, he has a bit of the upper hand.

“Five cookies is okay for after lunch, darling,” he says, addressing Rose, and then he finally approaches the counter. He shoots Harry a small smile, one that Harry returns politely, if not a bit stiffly. “Hi, Harry.”

“Hello Louis,” he says, almost cringing at how formal he sounds. He clears his throat and looks back down at Rose. “Go ahead, Rosie. Choose whatever you want.”

“My name is Rose,” Rose says, looking thoughtful, “but I’ll let you call me Rosie. Only you, though.”

Harry feels warmth bloom in his chest at that. “Okay, Rosie.”

“Papa calls me Ro. I like nicknames.”

Harry glances at Louis, unable to stop himself. Louis isn’t looking at him, though, eyes trained on his daughter. “Go on, love. Which ones do you want?”

“I want one of each design!” Rose says, before pointing at the pumpkin. “But an extra of the pumpkin one because it’s cute.”

Harry puts her cookies in a small box and rings it up, slipping in an extra vanilla cupcake just because. He carefully takes the money from Louis, making sure they don’t make unnecessary contact, and then he’s handing Rose the box of sweets.

“Enjoy your cookies!”

“I will!” Rose grins, and Harry reaches down for a high-five.

“Ro, darling, is it alright if you sit down on the stool for a minute? I just need to talk to Harry,” Louis says, and Harry feels himself freeze. “You can eat one of your cookies now if you want.”

Rose easily agrees at the promise of an early dessert, so she happily skips over to one of the stools. Louis lifts her up and tells her to stay still, kissing her on the nose before approaching Harry again. He looks nervous. Waiting.

Harry doesn’t say anything.

Louis clears his throat. Opens his mouth. Shuts it again.

Then, “You’ve been ignoring me.”

Harry blinks, feeling his mouth drop open. There’s a few beats of silence between them in which he tries to process what just came out of Louis’ mouth, wondering if he’s heard right, and then he hears himself ask, “What?”

“You haven’t been texting me,” Louis says, and he sounds unsure, but also determined. Which is an odd mix, but. “I mean, I thought at first that maybe you were just busy settling in, I know it’s a major adjustment and all. But then I also thought, maybe that was your way of telling me to fu—sod off? Without saying it outright?”

Harry fishmouths for a few seconds, staring at Louis, and then he just – “Why are you making it sound as though this is my fault?” Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Richard glance up curiously from his newspaper, and the sounds of Perrie working in the kitchen suspiciously stop. He tries to keep his voice down, because Rose is still in the same room as them, after all, and this isn’t really something she needs to hear. “Like? I’m not the one who just practically ran off after we – after!”

Louis blinks at him. “Rose was sick! Like, did you not hear the phone call?”

“I’m not saying you were lying about her being sick, just,” Harry stops, frustrated. He glances at Rose and sees her watching them, her eyebrows furrowed, so he hisses out in a whisper, “You could’ve at least said something about it. Anything.”

“About me kissing you?”

“It wasn’t just you. I kissed you too, but yes.” Harry can’t believe he’s having this conversation right now. He takes a deep breath. “Look, Louis, I get it. You freaked out. And frankly, I freaked out, too. But you just – you just left me, without even saying anything. That wasn’t nice, Louis. Then you pretended it didn’t happen, and that kinda stung. I’m not the only one who’s been ignoring you. You’ve been ignoring me, too.”

“I’m sorry,” Louis says, glancing frantically at Rose over his shoulder, who’s frowning now. His eyes dart back to Harry. “Yes, I freaked out, but I didn’t mean to just run out on you. And I didn’t – I didn’t realize I was ignoring you? I was waiting for you to text me, and I guess you were doing the same and just.” He stops, seeming frustrated with himself. “Listen, Harry. Can you come over tomorrow? For dinner? I want to talk to you about this, but not here. I need – properly. I need to talk to you properly.”

Harry pauses, unsure. Louis widens his eyes at him, though, and – “Okay, fine. But I’m still not happy about what you did.”

“I know, and I’m really sorry, honest. But, I’ll explain myself tomorrow night. Please, just.” He sounds a little terrified, really. But there’s also determination there, and Harry is having a hard time figuring him out right now. “I promise, tomorrow.”

And Harry doesn’t really know what exactly Louis is promising here, but he finds himself nodding anyway, thinks that maybe storms and hurricanes experience disasters within themselves, as well.

*

The Tomlinson residence is a simple two-storey structure with a low white fence surrounding the yard. The walls are painted a warm blue color, and it’s a house that feel likes a home, standing picturesque against the orange sky and the dark line of trees a little farther away.

Harry has been standing outside of it, on the sidewalk, for a good ten or fifteen minutes now. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know why he even came here in the first place. He should probably leave now before anyone sees him.

Just as this thought makes itself known, he sees a curtain get pulled back behind one of the front windows, and Rose is there, looking out curiously. Even from where Harry’s standing, he can see the way her face brightens when she sees him outside, and then she’s gone in a flash. There’s a faint squeal from inside the house, and then the front door is opening and – and there she is, looking lovely and radiant in a frilly orange dress, her hair undone and falling down her shoulders.

“Harry!” she exclaims, running out of the door and up to him, and Harry is helpless but to step in and scoot down and open his arms for an embrace. She runs straight into him, and he doesn’t really think about it much, just lifts her up and spins her around, but it’s worth it hearing her delighted squeal. “You’re early!” she exclaims once he sets her down, pouting exaggeratedly. “Papa hasn’t finished with dinner yet so he still hasn’t fixed my hair.”

Well, to be fair, Louis didn’t really specify a time. He just said dinner, which could be any time between six and eight. Instead of saying this, however, he just smiles and goes with, “Don’t worry, I can do your hair for you while Louis finishes with dinner.”

Rose agrees easily, and then she’s grabbing onto Harry’s hand and tugging him towards the house. Louis is standing by the open doorway, arms crossed and looking half-fond, half-nervous. Harry doesn’t read into it too much. He’ll let Louis do the explaining later.

“Papa, Harry and I are going up to my room so he can fix my hair and I can show him my toys!”

Harry waits to see whether Louis would object to letting a man who they’ve only known for a while up her daughter’s room alone. He seems to think about it for a second, face crinkling a little, but then he meets Harry’s eyes and he just. His entire expression softens. Harry doesn’t get him.

“Sure, Ro,” he finally tells Rose, bending down to pinch her cheek lightly. She playfully bats his hand away with a giggle, and then she’s running into the house and up the stairs, a barely-contained ball of energy.

Louis turns to Harry. “Thank you for coming. I – I know I have a lot of explaining to do, and I promise I will, but Rose is really excited to see you and she’s been asking about you and—”

“Lou,” Harry says, cutting Louis off, and they both freeze for a moment. Harry mentally curses himself, the nickname just slipping past his tongue without him even realizing, but he decides to just play it off like it’s not a big deal. “It’s fine, it really is. I mean, I missed Rose, too.” And you. I missed you so much, but that’s something I didn’t want to admit to myself until now, because you’re here standing in front of me and you look so unfairly beautiful and why. “So, really. Don’t sweat it.”

Louis smiles a bit unsurely, and then he pats Harry on the shoulder a little awkwardly. “Okay, um. I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”

Harry just nods, before following Rose up the stairs. There’s a door open, and he assumes that to be her room so he takes a peek inside. The walls are painted a sunny yellow, and there’s a dresser pushed beside a small but comfortable-looking bed. White fairy lights line the wall, and on the ceiling are glow-in-the-dark stars. There are stuffed toys on nearly every surface, and Harry finds himself smiling.

“Harry!” he turns his head and sees Rose standing in one corner of the room, rummaging inside a box. There’s a football and a small skateboard beside the box, a small bicycle leaning against the wall with a pair of roller skates lying by the wheels. Harry thinks back to the day before, when he saw her in footie attire, and it’s apparent that her interests are very mixed.

She makes a triumphant sound and pulls out a book from the box. She turns around and waves it at Harry.

Tentatively, Harry steps one foot into the room. When she only looks at him, wide-eyed and smiling, he walks over to her and sits down on the carpeted floor. “And what is that, Little Rosie?”

“Coloring book!” She plops down on the floor in front of him and opens the book to a random page. It’s a dinosaur coloring book, Harry notes. “I like dinosaurs. Dragons, too! I have a Toothless plushie – have you seen the movie? It’s my favorite. I want to have a dragon someday.” She pulls a box of crayons from the pile on the floor and hands it to Harry. “Color!”

Harry grins, amused. “I thought I was going to fix your hair?”

“Oh, right.” Rose’s face crinkles as she thinks about it, very much like how Louis’ did earlier. “Well, I can start coloring this one while you do my hair, then we can color the next picture together! Or, maybe after dinner. Please stay after dinner?”

“Okay,” Harry agrees easily, helpless to say no to her. “Now, where’s your hairbrush?”

“By the mirror.” She points to a small table with a mirror attached above it. “I have ribbons too! Can you plait my hair?”

“Sure thing, Rosie.”

Rose does a little cheer, and then she starts coloring. It’s a T-Rex, and she makes the body red. Harry smiles, feeling a mix of fond and amused, as he gets behind her and starts brushing her hair. It’s quiet for a while, Rose humming underneath her breath as she tries her best not to color beyond the lines, and Harry parting her hair and working methodically. It’s nice, and Harry gets a pang of longing in his chest that he quickly squashes.

He’ll have this someday, have his own family and his own children to bond with, but this – this isn’t his, and he shouldn’t get used to it. He’s just a guest, and he won’t be staying for long.

“Papa hasn’t quite gotten plaits right yet,” Rose says after a while, breaking the silence. “He’s good with fixing my hair into ponytails, though. He said he used to do it all the time with Auntie Phoebe and Auntie Daisy and Auntie Fiz and Auntie Lottie when they were still young.”

Harry blinks. “Those are a lot of aunts.”

“Uh-huh,” Rose nods, but only slightly since Harry’s still plaiting her hair. “Papa has five sisters and one brother, though Auntie Doris and Uncle Ernie are just a year older than I am. They’re twins, just like Auntie Daisy and Auntie Phoebe! Papa says it runs in the family. I wish I had a twin.”

And, the thing is, Harry and Louis (and Rose), they’re all practically strangers. Sure, Harry had a small glimpse of Louis’ life from the texting they’ve been doing, and Harry has shared little bit of his to Louis as well, but the fact still remains that they’ve only really known each other recently.

(Harry ignores the part of him that can’t help but think, then why does this all feel so familiar?)

“Do you have siblings, Harry?” Rose asks.

“Yeah, an older sister. Her name’s Gemma.”

“Do you love her a lot? Because Papa loves his siblings a lot.” Rose has stopped coloring the dinosaur by now, and Harry finishes with her hair. He moves so that he’s sitting cross-legged beside her, and he can feel her looking at him curiously.

“Yeah, I love Gems a lot. We look out for each other,” he says honestly, feeling a smile forming on his lips at the thought of his sister. She’s in London right now, working her way to becoming editor of the newspaper she works at. The last time they saw each other was four months ago.

“That’s nice,” Rose says, and she sounds a bit sad. Harry glances at her and sees that she’s staring down at her dinosaur book with a furrowed brow and a small frown. It looks so wrong on her, this crestfallen expression, that Harry finds himself reaching out to place a gentle hand on her shoulder before he can even think about it.

“Hey, what’s wrong, Rose?”

Rose shrugs, turning the page to a picture of a dinosaur family of five. Only two of them are colored, one blue and one yellow. “Sometimes I wish I had a sibling. I know Mama and Papa aren’t together anymore, and someone told me you need two people to have a baby so I don’t think I’ll be having any siblings soon.” She looks up at Harry, and her eyes suddenly look watery. Harry’s heart breaks. “Sometimes I think Papa is sad. He doesn’t tell me it, but I think he misses Mama. Or, not Mama, but having someone else? I don’t know. Why do people break up and leave?”

Harry doesn’t know what to say. He – he doesn’t know anything about Rose’s mother, doesn’t know how or why she left and how Louis feels about her. He doesn’t know anything at all. So he asks, “Are you mad at your mum, Rose?”

She seems to honestly ponder this for a second, before shaking her head. “No, not really. I still get to see her and spend time with her sometimes, Papa too, but. I don’t get why she had to leave us?”

“Well,” Harry starts carefully, shifting closer to Rose and lifting one arm up. She goes and leans against him, resting her head on the side of his chest. Harry wraps an arm around her, continues, “Sometimes people just fall out of love. My mum and my dad, my biological dad, they fell out of love, too. I stayed with my mum when I was little, but I still saw my dad every now and then, just like you with your mum now. I still love him, and mum does, too, but just not in the way they used to.”

Rose sniffles beside him, nodding once.

He pats her head lightly. “People are complicated, Rose. I don’t know how to explain half the things they do.”

“Yeah,” Rose sniffs again. Then she asks, voice so small it’s heartbreaking, “Do you think Papa would stop loving me, too?”

“Never,” Harry says, fiercely sure, and it just feels right to lean down at that moment and place a kiss on her head.

“I’ll never stop loving him, too,” Rose says after a while. She sounds more thoughtful now. “Do you think she’ll ever find a new Mama? Or another Papa?”

For a five-year-old kid, she’s so open-minded and observant and thoughtful. Harry smiles and hugs her closer, says, “He will. After all, my mum fell in love again. I love my stepdad, and he loves me and Gems, too, just like real family, so. I’m sure he will.”

Rose hums, cuddling closer. She’s got one hand clutching onto the fabric of Harry’s shirt – a button up with peach zigzag line patterns – and the other wiping at her eyes. It’s quiet for a while, and if Harry listened hard enough, he thinks he could hear the sounds of Louis working in the kitchen, of plates being placed on the table and spoons clacking against porcelain, of pots being set aside and water from the sink running.

Then, amidst all of the quiet noise, Rose whispers, “I wish it would be you.”

There’s a whirlwind inside Harry, his cells igniting a fire inside of him at those honest, simple words. Before he can reply, however, Louis is calling from downstairs, “Dinner’s ready!” Slowly, they both stand up.

Harry goes downstairs and into the kitchen where the food is waiting, but his mind (and his heart) is still somewhere in the room, trapped between I’m sure he will and I wish it would be you.

*

Dinner – chicken with homemade mash – went by pleasantly enough. Or, as pleasantly as it could at least, what with both Louis and Harry keeping their conversation topics neutral. Work. University. More work. Fortunately, Rose kept all looming awkwardness at bay by being her usual, lovely self, telling stories in between bites of chicken and somehow convincing Harry into promising a movie-night-slash-sleepover with her sometime.

The moment Louis gives Rose the okay to leave the table, she hops down from her chair and drags Harry out to the living room with her. Harry and Louis share a quick look, and Louis looks like he wants to tell his daughter to go do something else for a while so he can talk to Harry, but also like he loves Rose too much and can never deny her anything.

Harry can definitely relate.

So he lets himself get dragged away, and Louis doesn’t say anything to stop it.

“You sit here while I go upstairs and get my hair stuff, okay?” Rose says as she makes Harry sit on the couch. “I’m gonna do your hair! Make you look pretty – well, prettier. You already look very pretty as it is.”

Harry grins, poking her in the belly. “You’re only saying that.”

“Nuh-uh!” she insists, poking Harry back on the nose. “You’re really, really pretty! Even Papa says so. Now just stay here while I get my stuff!” And then she’s running off, never staying still, and Harry is left gaping after her back because does that mean Louis talks about him? To Rose? Does Louis call him pretty?

He shakes his head to himself. That’s ridiculous. Maybe it’s Rose who talks about him and Louis, being the good father that he is, listens to her. Maybe Rose once called Harry pretty and Louis just offhandedly agreed. Yeah, that’s it, That definitely makes a lot more sense.

Rose returns with a bunch of hair clips and ties not even a minute later, dumping them all on the couch beside Harry. She climbs onto the couch, and Harry wants to ask her, Has Louis ever called me pretty? What did you mean when you said you wish it would be me? Why did the both of you just stepped into my life like this, without any kind of warning?

What he asks instead is, “Do you want me to sit on the floor?”

She thinks for a second, before nodding. “Yeah, that way I can reach your hair better.”

So Harry sits on the floor and lets Rose brush his hair. It’s oddly calming, even when she sometimes pulls too hard and twists too tight. He stops thinking for a moment, allowing himself a moment of peace as he focuses on the motions of Rose’s hands tugging at his hair.

“There!” she exclaims after a while, sounding proud of herself. Harry’s hair is now half-up in a bun. “You’ve got really nice hair, Harry. I love it. You should grow it out more!”

He finds himself laughing, easily agreeing because of course. “Sure, Rosie.”

She claps and cheers, and then she’s climbing off the couch and turning the television on. “I’m gonna watch some telly now. You should go see what Papa is up to.”

Sometimes, Harry feels like Rose is much more observant and intuitive than she lets on, especially for a five-year-old. He gets up and ruffles her hair, making her giggle (she’s always giggling in the same way Louis’ always laughing, Harry’s noticed), and then he’s taking a deep breath and walking into the kitchen.

Louis is just finishing with the dishes when he walks in. He’s got his back turned, and Harry clears his throat once to announce his presence. He watches Louis startle a little, before glancing over his shoulder. “Oh, hey Harry. I’m just about done here.”

“Okay,” Harry says, because he doesn’t really know what else there is to say. He leans against the island in the middle of the kitchen as he waits for Louis to put the last of the plates aside, feeling anxious and hopeful and fidgety and a lot of other things he can’t name all at once.

Finally, Louis turns around and leans against the kitchen worktop. There’s a small wet patch by the hem of his shirt and his hair is slick and pushed back in places, as though he’s kept running his fingers through it. He’s nervous as well.

“So, um. I have to apologize about, just, silently freaking out and leaving. It’s just, like I said, Alicia called and said Rose was sick and things were – they were happening too fast, so I just.” He cuts himself off, and he looks slightly frustrated with himself. Harry can sympathize, but he keeps quiet and waits for Louis to finish.

Louis looks at him, then, really looks at him. His eyes look sincere and it’s conveyed in his voice when he says, “I’m really sorry.”

Harry lets out a single, slow breath. “You already apologized.”

Louis shrugs, smiles helplessly. “I just need to make sure you know I mean it.”

Harry crosses his arms against his chest, keeping his gaze on Louis. “Can I ask something?” At Louis’ quick nod, he continues, “What are you apologizing for, exactly? For running away? Or for kissing me? Because, like, that wasn’t just you. I kissed you, too, but if you regretted it—”

“I didn’t,” Louis cuts in, wide eyed and honest. “I don’t. I’m apologizing for after, for leaving so abruptly and then pretending that it didn’t happen. But I don’t regret kissing you, god, it’s all I can think about recently. It’s what I’ve been thinking about since the first time I met you, if I’m going to be honest.” He laughs, but it’s humorless, more frantic. “I can’t get you out of my head, Harry Styles. Not since the moment I saw you. But I have Rose to think of and she’s my number one priority, and the logical part of my brain is saying don’t get close, but – but I can’t help it. I’m drawn to you, Harry, and just what does that say about me as a father?”

Harry lets himself process that for a moment. He tears his eyes away from Louis, stares instead at a point on the opposite wall. His heart is pounding frantically in his chest, and he tries to will it to slow down, but it’s futile.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you, either,” he finally admits, voice quiet. The air around them is still, thick, as though it’s just waiting for something to give. “And I know that. I know you can’t just jump into these things easily because you have your daughter and – and it’s complicated, introducing me into her life all of a sudden when we’re not even sure about what this is.” He blinks once, takes a deep breath. “What are we even doing here, Louis?”

“I don’t know either,” Louis admits. “But I want this to be – to be something.” He laughs again, humorless, and rubs a hand down his face. “I’ve known you all of, what, two and a half weeks? Yet you’ve already managed to make me feel this way, god.”

And same, Harry thinks. But he doesn’t say that out loud.

There’s a few beats of silence, only interrupted by the sounds coming from some cartoon on the telly. Then, “I want to give us a shot, though.”

Harry blinks, not sure he’s heard right. “What?”

This time, Louis looks determined. “I want to give us a shot. I like you, Harry, even though it’s probably stupid because I barely know you, all things considered, but I want to get to know you and spend time with you and see if we could work this out, because I…” he trails off, and this time his voice turns soft, nothing but pure honesty, like the final drops of a gentle rain, “I believe you’ll be worth it, Harry. I really do.”

Harry sucks in a quiet breath. His heart rate’s picked up even more, and he wants to say so many things in response to that, but all that comes out of his mouth instead is, “What do you want us to do, then?”

“I want to take you out to dinner,” Louis says, and just how did they get here? Weren’t they just teetering on the edge of an argument a while ago? “Properly. Not here or your place, but actually take you out. Get to know you.”

“And then what?” Harry asks, softly, so that Louis knows he’s not opposing. He just – he just needs to know.

Louis thinks about it for a moment. “And then, if it all goes well, I’ll let you hang out with Rose. So after you get to know me, and I get to know you, and we both think that we can make this work, you’ll get to know my daughter.”

“That’s – yeah, okay.” Harry nods once, just a slow up-and-down movement of his head. “And then if that works out as well, then we just… take it from there?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Louis nods. He cracks a smile, finally a genuine one, albeit it’s small. “I tried dating people before, about a year after Alicia and I split. There’ve been a few people who I thought, maybe, but then they’d either be not up for getting into a committed relationship with a man who has a daughter, or Rose just doesn’t like them. So I stopped.”

Harry can understand that, even though he’s not a father. He can’t help but ask, though, “What changed now?”

Louis watches him for a moment, and there’s something in his eyes again, like he’s searching for something. But this time, the look doesn’t stay for long. The expression clears away, and then there’s just clarity. Like clouds clearing the sky after the rain.

When he speaks, his voice sounds soft and honest. “You came along.”

*

“Okay, correct me if I got anything wrong, but basically – you met a single father on Halloween night, he offered to help you paint your wall which somehow led to the two of you kissing,  then you both freaked out about it and ignored each other for a week, he invited you over for dinner and the two of you talked it out so now you’re going on a date?” Gemma’s slightly blurry face leans closer on Harry’s laptop screen lying near the foot of his bed, her brows furrowed. “H, are you sure this is a good idea?”

“I’m not,” Harry says honestly, before lifting a sheer black shirt for his sister to see. “This?”

“Nah, save that for the second date. You don’t want to, like, overwhelm him too much the first time. Especially since you two are pretty much just testing the waters here.” She leans back in her chair, eyes narrowed. “But really, H, a single dad? His daughter would be his top priority, you know—”

“As it should be,” Harry cuts her off, picking a flamingo shirt from the pile of clothes on the floor and then tossing it back down when Gemma makes a disapproving noise from the computer (Harry loves that shirt, but it’s not exactly date material). “Rose is a very lovely little girl and she deserves all the best. If Louis didn’t have her best interests at heart, I would’ve never agreed to this.”

Gemma is quiet for a moment, as though she’s thinking. Then, “So you really like him?”

Harry groans, frustrated now. Louis is picking him up in half an hour and he’s still only wearing pants. “Were you not listening, Gems? I genuinely like him.”

“Even though you’ve only known him for, what, not even three weeks?”

“Yes,” Harry says, “now make yourself useful and tell me what to wear!”

Gemma sounds amused now. Harry is sort of regretting that he agreed to Skype with her before his date (his date, honestly; Harry feels more like a sixteen-year-old teenager rather than of a fully-grown man of twenty-three with the way his heart skips every time he thinks of the word). “Okay, relax baby bro. Just looking out for you.”

“Louis is lovely, I assure you,” Harry says. “He just freaked out because he’s a dad. I can understand that.”

Gemma hums. “You’re wearing one of your skinny jeans, yeah? The black one? Try one of your floral shirts then just throw on a black jacket on top. Are you going some place fancy?”

“Not really,” Harry says, picking up a yellow shirt with a red flower print. He puts it back down when Gemma says not that. “I don’t want to be underdressed though.”

“But you don’t want to be overdressed as well.” She hums again, then asks, “Wait, did you paint your nails?”

Harry looks down at his hands. His nails have a pale pink coat over them, and he’s surprised Gemma even managed to notice. “Yeah,” he says, inspecting them. “I haven’t in a while. I kinda missed it, and, y’know, if Louis turns out to be some sort of judgmental dick then at least I’d know early on, yeah?” Something tells him that Louis is far from that, though.

“Fair point,” Gemma says. “I like them. Looks pretty, as always.”

Harry shoots her a quick smile, before he’s picking black trousers with white vertical stripes, a black button-up, and a black jacket from his closet and the pile on the floor. He puts them on right there, hopping as he pulls the trousers up his legs because of course they’re tight (much to Gemma’s amusement). He shoves his arms into the shirt and asks, “How many buttons?”

Gemma contemplates this seriously for a second. “Leave three undone.”

“Just three?”

“Fine, four.”

Harry leaves the top four undone, and it’s low enough for the top of his butterfly tattoo to be peeking out. The swallows on his chest are visible, too, and Harry slips the jacket on with a satisfied smile. He gives Gemma a twirl. “How do I look?”

She claps. “Gorgeous, baby bro. Go get him.”

“Thanks! Now I gotta do something about my hair, I’ll text you later. Bye!”

“Bye! And mum will definitely hear about this, by the way.”

Harry whines. “Can you please let me be the one to tell her? I will after this date, I promise!”

Gemma rolls her eyes, but Harry knows it’s out of fondness. “Fine. Now go enjoy your night.”

Harry blows her a kiss and she laughs, before disconnecting the call. Harry quickly puts his clothes back inside his closet before running into the bathroom, brushing his hair and running his fingers through it. He parts it near the side and checks his outfit, tries to decide which one of his boots he should wear.

It’s when he’s putting on a layer of lip gloss that he hears a knock on his door, and he hurriedly fixes himself before practically rushing out to the front door. He stands there for a moment, taking in a deep breath and putting on a smile, and then he’s reaching for the doorknob and pulling the door open and—

“Wow.” Harry isn’t sure if that came from him or from Louis, or maybe they both said it, but. Louis is standing there in a plain white shirt underneath a black blazer, paired with dark skinny jeans that show off the golden skin of his ankles because he’s not wearing socks, and wow.

“You look amazing,” Louis says, which – Harry was just about to say that, too. They stare at each other for a second before they both seem to remember where they are and what they’re supposed to be doing. Louis laughs a little, and then he’s handing Harry a small bouquet of flowers. Roses.

Which reminds Harry, “Where’s Rose for the night?”

“At a mate’s,” Louis answers, getting a slightly worried look on his face. “But I promised I’ll pick her up at ten, so. We’re actually on a curfew, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Harry reassures. “We still get a couple of hours.”

Louis smiles and nods, pointing a thumb backwards. “Let’s go then?” There’s a car parked on the sidewalk, and Harry can’t help but giggle at the thought of Louis driving from their house to here. Louis rolls his eyes like he knows exactly what Harry is laughing about, but the smile stays on his lips so. It’s alright. They’ll be alright.

Harry has a strong feeling that they will be.

It’s only a ten-minute drive to the restaurant. It’s one of the fancier establishments in the town center, but once they step inside Harry realizes that the place is actually welcoming. He was slightly worried of having to spend a first date in a stuffy, pretentious kind of place, but the lights are warm and the people are smiling and the chatter filling the air is pleasant.

They’re led to their table and wine is poured in their glasses, and Harry takes a look around him. There are paintings hanging on the walls, none of them Harry can recognize, and there are a few photos as well. Outside, a light drizzle has fallen over, and Harry can see people hurrying by with umbrellas over their heads through a glass window taking up a large section of the wall facing the street.

There are a lot of families sitting around the tables, children and adults alike dressed nicely but not overly so. There’s soft music coming from speakers hidden somewhere, and the waiter’s smile is pleasant when he hands them the menus, politely telling them to call him back once they’ve decided on their orders.

“It’s nice here,” Harry says, flipping the menu open.

“Yeah,” Louis agrees, voice soft. Harry glances up and sees that Louis is watching him, eyes warm.

Harry flushes, ducking his head and biting back a smile. “Thanks for taking me here.”

“Thanks for agreeing to go out with me.” Louis points at the wall of artwork, probably noticing Harry looking at them curiously earlier. “Those pieces are by local artists, by the way. Both the paintings and the pictures. If you submit a photo, they’d put it on display, and give you free desert the next time you eat here.”

“Really?” Harry asks, perking up at the idea. He’s got a couple of photos he’s been wanting to print out. Maybe he can look into the submission process more, but at some other time.

Louis nods, and then he reaches for Harry’s hand on top of the table. Harry’s breath hitches slightly and Louis falters for a second, before he’s pushing on determinedly and slipping his fingers between Harry’s. Harry can see that Louis’ looking at his painted nails, and he waits for Louis to comment on them, but the older man just smiles fondly and rubs a thumb over the skin of Harry’s hand.

“Thanks again,” he says, “for giving me a chance.”

“Of course,” Harry says back, voice not more than a whisper.

It’s surprisingly easy, after that. They talk while they wait for their food and they continue talking even after their food has arrived, sharing bits and pieces of their lives in between bites. It all feels nice. Familiar, even.

“So,” Louis starts, after Harry’s finished talking about Gemma, “the bakery, eh?”

Harry nods, taking a sip of his wine. His tummy feels warm and full, his cheeks feel flushed, and his heart feels like it can leap out of his chest right now and just take off. “I used to be a baker.”

“Why does that little bit of information make you more charming to me?” Louis asks, but they both know it’s rhetorical.

Harry answers, anyway, “Because I am charming.”

“Very much,” Louis agrees. “You’re on a whole new level of charm, really.”

Harry’s cheeks turn redder at that, and he giggles, the wine and Louis’ smile and just the general atmosphere of the night making him feel loose and warm and content. Happy. “Speak for yourself,” he says. “You’re charming, Louis. And amazing too, raising Rose all by yourself and doing such a great job of it.”

“Not exactly by myself,” Louis points out humbly, “I get help from me mum whenever she comes over from Donny, and Alicia still does what she can, but. Thank you. I try my best.”

“She’s lovely, you know?” Harry smiles, genuine and warm and open. That’s just the thing with him. He lays out everything for anyone to see, most of the time, and it’s hurt him in some instances in the past, yes, but Harry has this feeling that he can trust Louis, and that he’s where he’s meant to be right now.

Louis’ answering smile leaves Harry breathless. “She really is.”

*

It’s about twenty minutes before ten when they get into Louis’ car, and the drive back is silent but comfortable. There’s a warm and happy feeling in Harry’s chest, and he sits there in the passenger seat with a smile on his face the entire drive back.

“Thank you for tonight,” Louis says after a while.

Harry turns his head slightly so he can look at Louis properly. They’re almost at his house now, the row of houses lining up the neighborhood blurring by outside as Louis drives. He’d drop Harry off, pick Rose up from his mate’s house, and they’d go home and then Harry would text him and they’d do this again. The thought makes Harry smile. “You don’t really have to thank me. I should be the one thanking you, really. I had a wonderful time.”

“Yeah?” Louis asks, and he sounds hopeful and just a hint unsure, as though he’s worried that maybe Harry didn’t enjoy himself and this date was a complete disaster. Honestly.

“Really, Louis. It was all wonderful, and I’d like to do it again sometime. Soon.”

Louis laughs at that, the sound filling the silent air of the car. It’s contagious, and Harry finds himself laughing along. He’s so, so happy.

Finally, the car comes to a stop in front of his house, and they sit there for a minute even after the engine dies. Harry is still smiling.

He turns his entire body to face Louis, only to find the older man already looking back at him. There’s a brief moment, a second suspended in time where they just look at each other, and it’s a little like déjà vu but also not. Because this time, there’s no floor and no second-guesses and no shaky paint-covered fingers. This time, there’s just Louis and Harry in this car and there’s warmth and a feeling that’s starting to form between them, like the initial sparks of a flame.

This time, when they kiss, it’s soft and unhurried and simple. It’s Louis tasting Harry’s smile and Harry putting the words he can’t yet say into Louis’ mouth. It’s the soft touch of Louis’ fingers beneath Harry’s chin and it’s the gentle brush of eyelashes against skin.

And when they part, it’s with a whispered promise that passes between the gap of their lips. It’s with Harry smiling and Louis smiling back, and it’s with this feeling of nothing but right, right, right, this is all absolutely, perfectly right that Harry takes to bed with him, tucked safely between the sheets and his heart.

*

It’s been a quiet day in the bakery, and most of Harry’s shift so far has been spent standing behind the counter wiping imaginary dust away from the glass case and recounting the money in the register, just to give his hands something to do.

Also, it’s easier to distract himself from the looks Perrie, Agatha, and even Richard have been shooting him all morning when he’s busying himself with something.

Finally, around eleven o’clock, Harry sighs and turns to Perrie, who’s outright staring at him from the open doorway leading into the kitchen. “Okay, what do you want to ask?” He can feel Richard glancing at him curiously from his usual chair, using the newspaper to cover half his face, and Agatha is pretending to arrange the stools.

Perrie grins. “So. Louis Tomlinson, eh?”

Harry sighs again. “Yes, Louis Tomlinson. What about him?”

“He’s nice,” Perrie says, shrugging, but there’s something about her tone. Her grin widens and she waggles her eyebrows, adds, “Though I bet you already know that, considering you’ve been spending time with him.”

Harry can feel his cheeks heating up. He thinks about taking a muffin from the display and stuffing his mouth full of it, just so he has an excuse not to talk. Before he can do that, however, Agatha is saying, “He is very nice, that Tomlinson lad. Comes here sometimes with his daughter, even before you started working here.” She smiles. “That Rose is such a delight, as well. They’re a charming father-daughter pair, don’t you think, Rich?”

Richard makes a vague noise of agreement from behind his newspaper. “He obviously cares a lot about his daughter. From what I’ve seen and heard, he really does his best in raising her.”

“And he’s obviously doing a good job,” Agatha nods, and she flashes Harry a smile. It feels like she’s saying, I approve.

Perrie pipes up, “I’ve talked to them a few times, and they really are a lovely pair. You’d make a wonderful addition to their family, Harry.”

At that, Harry sputters, choking on air. Perrie raises an eyebrow as he coughs, perhaps a touch too dramatically. His cheeks are probably a second away from bursting into flames right now and he can feel Agatha and Richard’s curious gazes pinned at him, and honestly, why is he even in this situation.

“We’re not – I’m just – he’s,” he begins, quite eloquently, before making a small noise of frustration. He makes a vague motion with his hands, tries again, “We’ve only started going out.” It’s technically true, since they’ve only been on one date so far, but. Saying it like that somehow feels off, leaving an odd taste on Harry’s tongue. It honestly feels like he’s known Louis and Rose longer than that.

“Mm-hmm,” Perrie just hums vaguely, before winking and turning back into the kitchen. “Whatever’s going on with you two, I have a feeling that it’s all gonna turn out well. You three would look really great as a family.”

“It’s not that easy, though,” Harry reasons, making her glance over her shoulder, “I mean, Louis has a daughter and it’s – it’s not that simple.”

“Sure it is,” Perrie argues, and she sounds reasonable. “You like Louis, Louis likes you. And from what I’ve seen the last time they were here, Rose seems to like you a lot, too. So.” She shrugs, smiles, and then disappears back into the kitchen to do some more baking. Or maybe text her girlfriend.

Harry turns to Agatha. “Aggie, tell Perrie it’s more complicated than that.”

“I actually agree with her, love,” she says, laughing lightly. Even Richard makes an amused noise somewhere behind him. “If you two like each other, and you think you can fit into their life, then why not? Love doesn’t have to be a complicated thing.”

“Plus!” Perrie shouts from the kitchen, “I stalked your Facebook and Instagram and saw all those posts and likes about babies, even way before. So I know taking care of a kid isn’t an issue with you!”

“You do talk quite a lot about babies,” Richard comments casually, flipping the page of his newspaper. “Might as well go and be the father of one.”

“Imagine if he and Louis could actually reproduce, Rich,” Agatha says, and Harry sputters. “They’d make the most beautiful babies. Think of little blue- and green-eyed kids with a head full of brown curls.” She sighs, and she sounds genuinely disappointment when she adds, “Such a shame.”

Perrie pokes her head out from the kitchen again. “Don’t worry, Ags. Science will find a way!”

They all laugh, and Harry drops his head onto the counter to hide his now tomato-red face.

*

“Purple?”

Harry turns his head slightly, just enough so he can see the side of Louis’ face. He isn’t looking at Harry, though, blue eyes fixed above them where he’s been playing with Harry’s fingers. His touch is gentle, and he brushes his thumb over one of Harry’s nails coated in chipping purple polish.

“Yeah.”

Louis looks thoughtful for a moment, before bringing their hands down onto the grass between them (a happy, warm feeling bubbles up in Harry’s chest when Louis keeps their fingers entwined). They’re in the park, lying on their backs underneath the shade of an old, sturdy tree, a thick picnic blanket keeping them dry from the wet grass. All around them Harry can hear children laughing and teenagers riding their bikes and mothers reminding their kids not to stray too far, yet somehow, it feels like Louis is the only other person there.

“Rose has been trying to learn nail art,” Louis finally says, before bringing up his other hand and showing his thumb to Harry. There are traces of nail polish around the edges of his thumb. “She’s been practicing on me, but what she really does is mix colors, get them more on my fingers rather than my nail, and then call it a fashion statement.” He sounds so fond, and Harry can’t stop the endeared smile he can feel forming on his lips.

“You really love her, don’t you?”

“More than anything,” Louis says, nothing but pure honesty, and he turns his head and looks at Harry with a soft expression on his face. There’s something there, though, something like worry and an apology, like he’s saying, she’ll always be my top priority, even if whatever is going on between us leads to something bigger.

And Harry wants to say, I understand, because he does. He really does. Instead of doing that, however, he just smiles his own soft smile, says, “I’ll drop by sometime. We’ll paint each other’s nails.”

Louis laughs at that, unbearably fond, and the sound tugs at the strings of Harry’s heart. “She’d love that. She’s been asking for you, says she wants to have that sleepover you promised.”

And – it’s an invitation, yes, but it’s also Louis asking, Are you ready to take the next step? Are you serious about us? Are you sure?

“I’m free this weekend,” Harry says, squeezing their hands together. Yes, yes I am. I’m ready, I’m serious, I am.

Louis smiles. “Great! She’s starting to think I’m keeping you all to myself.” Thank you for giving this – us – a chance.

Harry laughs. “Well, we did have an agreement, and we’re only honoring it.” Of course. I want this, too. I want this just as much as you do.

“True,” Louis nods with a laugh of his own. I feel the same.

“I’m going to spending a lot more time with her, though, so just a heads up.” I think I’m falling in love with you.

That last part came from completely out of nowhere, just a simple thought that quietly makes itself known in his head. It’s not an earth-shattering revelation – there’s no earthquakes and no sudden speeding of the heart and no feeling like he’s short of breath. It’s just simple honesty, like a fog clearing, and suddenly it’s right there.

Harry turns to rest his head on Louis’ shoulder, feeling the older man untangle their fingers just so he can wrap an arm around Harry’s waist and keep him close. He wonders if, this close, Louis can feel the steady and sure rhythm of his heart, each beat a whisper of I think I’m falling in love with you, I think I’m falling in love with you, I think I’m falling in love with you.

*

It’s five on a Saturday afternoon, and Harry is standing in front of the Tomlinson residence for the second time (although it feels more familiar than that, like he’s been here countless of times before – or, at least, like he’s meant to be here).

And this time, instead of unsure nerves and shaking hands, he brings with him a warm feeling in his chest that’s reflected in his smile, a heart full of hope, and a paper bag full of sweets. He knocks on the door three times, and then there’s the sound of small feet running down the hall accompanied by an excited squeal.

The doorknob twists. And then there’s Rose, wearing a pink tutu skirt, a footie shirt, and mismatched socks – one yellow and one blue. Her hair is tied up in pigtails and her cheeks are flushed pink, and she jumps up and down eagerly once she sees Harry.

“Harry! I missed you!”

Harry laughs, bends down so he can pick her up into a giant hug. “I missed you, too, Rosie!” He sways her from side to side, and she clings to him tightly. When he puts her back down, she seems reluctant to let go, so he pulls out the paper bag from his overnight rucksack and hands it to her.

“What’s this?” she asks, unfolding the top so she can peek inside. She gasps comically, looking up at Harry with wide, bright eyes. “You brought me biscuits!”

“There’s some cupcakes in there, too,” Harry grins.

“You’re the best,” she says seriously, before motioning for Harry to bend down. Harry does, and he’s surprised when she leans up on her tiptoes and kisses him on the cheek, quick and simple. “Thank you!” she says, before running off and yelling for her father.

Harry stands there by the doorway for a moment, the warmth in his chest spreading until the very tips of his fingers are tingling pleasantly with the feeling. It’s like his chest is expanding to accommodate the swelling of his heart, and he’s a few beats away from bursting with love and adoration for this little family that has strolled their way into his life.

When Louis finally emerges from the living room, looking rumpled in an old t-shirt and sweats, Harry feels the words threatening to spill from his mouth. I know it’s probably too fast, I know that, the rational part of me knows that, but I really do feel that I’m already so close to loving you and Rose, too, and I want this all to work out because now that I’ve let the both of you into my life, I can’t ever imagine letting you two walk away, and I hope you both feel the same. They sit on the tip of his tongue, overwhelming, but he holds them back for now because Louis is smiling and trying to fix his messy hair and smoothen the crinkles in his shirt. And somehow, that’s all that matters right now.

“Sorry, Rose made me move all her bedding into the living room and build a blanket fort for your sleepover. I hope you don’t mind sleeping on the floor because she wouldn’t have it any other way and the telly is there so—”

Harry takes the five steps between them and cups Louis’ face in between his hands, presses their lips together in a soft kiss that has the older man shutting up immediately. There’s a beat, and then Louis’ arms are slipping around his waist and pulling him in just that tiny bit closer, just enough for Harry to feel the warmth coming from his body.

When they part, they’re both smiling like idiots. Louis presses their foreheads and rubs the tip of their noses together, making Harry giggle. “I need to take a shower. Rose is waiting for you in the living room, with her movie collection ready. I hope you like animations.”

“Are you kidding?” Harry presses a kiss to the corner of Louis’ mouth, feeling it tug further up into a smile. “I love animations.”

“Yeah?” Louis asks, nuzzling their heads together. “What’s your favorite?”

“Rise of the Guardians,” Harry answers immediately, “though Inside Out is really great, too.”

Louis laughs. “We have both of that. She’s very fond of How to Train Your Dragon, though.”

“Perfect. I love dragons.”

Louis kisses him, once, and then playfully shoves him in the direction of the living room. He promises to join them after a quick shower, and Harry blows a kiss because he’s silly. Louis pretends to catch the kiss mid-air and clutches his fist to his chest, because he’s sillier. And when Harry finally steps into the living room, he finds Rose sitting in the middle of the mattress by the floor, dozens of pillows surrounding her while she tries to feed a biscuit to her Toothless plushie, because she’s the silliest.

And Harry can’t help but like that thought, that they’re one silly but wonderful little family.

“Harry!” She always sounds so enthusiastic when she says Harry’s name, in a way that Harry’s only heard her talk about Louis. “Did you bake these?”

Harry nods, putting his rucksack down on the floor before plopping on the mattress beside her. He sinks into the pillows, sighing in appreciation.

“They’re delicious. You should teach me how to bake,” Rose says, nodding like she’s already decided on it. “Papa also mentioned you would teach me how to do nail art?”

“Yep,” Harry agrees, showing her his hand. He chipped off all the purple polish so now his fingernails are coated in baby blue, with thin swirls of white. “Did this myself. I’ll show you how.”

“Yay!” Rose cheers. “Papa lets me practice on his nails sometimes. He does mine, too, see?” She waggles her fingers, and Harry sees that her nails are painted bubblegum pink. “He said he used to do this for Auntie Daisy and Phoebe, but he can’t do anything else. Not like yours.”

“I can teach him how to do it, too.”

Rose thinks about that for a moment. She does this thing sometimes, when she’s truly pondering something over, where she tilts her head and furrows her brows, her lips pursed. “I guess that would work. Or you could just stay here forever so you can do it.”

Something tugs at Harry’s heart, and he wants to say, I’d like that as well. He just ruffles her hair though, lightly so that he won’t mess up her pigtails, and she playfully bats his hand away and gives him a biscuit from the paper bag.

“I’ve got the movies ready, by the way. And Papa made this fort!” She motions at the pillows and the blankets on either side of them serving as a wall, draped over the backs of chairs. “We’re gonna put another blanket up when it’s time to sleep, so we can pretend we’re in a tent. But we’re not gonna sleep till late because Papa moved my bedtime to eleven tonight. Just for tonight, though. Please don’t leave immediately tomorrow! Papa said you can stay till lunch.”

Harry smiles. “Yeah, I’d love that.”

“Good!” She climbs onto Harry’s lap and lies back against his chest, making herself comfortable. Harry huffs a laugh in surprise, and she makes a triumphant noise when she finally finds a position to settle in. “Okay, now we wait for Papa to finish showering and for the pizza to arrive, but I think it’s fine to start with the first movie. Papa has already seen this and he always skips the first few minutes, anyway. He always cries when he watches it.”

Harry already has a suspicion on what the movie would be, so when she reaches for the remote of the player and the menu for Up appears on the telly, he groans.

Rose glances at him curiously. “What’s the matter, Harry? You don’t like this movie?”

“No, I like it, but the start always makes me cry too,” Harry explains.

Rose giggles and reaches up blindly to poke him on the face, and her finger ends up digging into his cheek. “You’re just like Papa, then. You’re both very silly.”

And it’s a little funny but also lovely, how Harry was thinking the exact same thing just a few minutes ago.

*

Three films, two boxes of pizza, and one nail-painting session later finds Harry sitting still in the middle of their little “castle” (“Okay, I declare this a castle of blankets and pillows and I’m the princess.” “Okay Ro, but what does that make me and Harry?” A short pause, and then, “You can be the kings.”), while both Louis and Rose brush and tug at his hair.

“You two are quite fond of my hair,” he comments casually, just as Rose plucks at a strand.

“It’s so pretty, I’ve told you this before,” she says, waving a brush at him. She’s changed out of her tutu and jersey in favor of pajamas, and Harry has also changed to the ones he packed with him after taking a quick shower (which prompted the impromptu hairdressing session in the first place – Harry came out of the shower toweling his hair, and Rose squealed when she saw him, making him sit down as she runs to her room for her hair dryer).

Now, she’s concentrating hard on making as many small ponytails as she can on her side, while Louis does loose braids on the other. Harry thinks he can get used to this.

“What movie should we watch next?” Rose asks after a while, once she’s done tying Harry’s hair into fourteen little ponytails (she’s counted and proudly declared it).

Louis finishes with the braids and sits down beside Harry, close enough that their arms brush together. Harry bites down on a smile, ducking his head.

“Harry, can you sing?” Rose asks suddenly, and Harry looks back up quickly.

“Um, I guess, yeah.”

She smiles. “Good! We’re watching Tangled next, then.” And then she goes and puts the DVD into the player, grabs the remote, and plops herself half on Louis’ lap and half on Harry’s. They both make a small ‘oof’ of surprise at her sudden weight, but after a few seconds of shuffling they all manage to make themselves comfortable.

Harry has seen this movie enough times to know most of the words, much to Rose’s delight. They both sing along to When Will My Life Begin while Louis fondly watches on, and Harry can’t help but think that his is just starting now. He keeps that small thought to himself, smiles like he’s got a secret. Rose boos when Mother Gothel starts singing Mother Knows Best, and laughs and claps at Max chasing Flynn through the forest.

When they reach the part where Rapunzel heals Flynn’s hand with her hair, Rose reaches up to touch Harry’s head. “I bet you’ve got magic hair too, Harry.”

Harry and Louis both laugh at that, and Harry sings, “Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine / Make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine.”

Rose pretends to gasp and waves her hand around. “I knew it! My palm was hurting and now it’s not anymore! Harry’s hair is magic!”

“I’m good with a frying pan, too,” Harry whispers, winking at Rose to make her giggle.

“You should go as Rapunzel next Halloween, then!”

“Hmm. I’ll add that to my list of ideas.”

“Papa can be Flynn,” Rose adds.

Louis pokes her on the side, and she giggles. “And who would you be, young miss?”

“Pascal, of course!”

They go back to watching the movie after giggling at each other for a good full minute, and Harry leans against Louis’ side, careful not to let Rose slip from their laps. He wraps an arm around her waist to keep her steady, noticing that she’s holding one of Louis’ hands in between hers, absentmindedly playing with her father’s fingers. Rose nudges her head against Harry’s upper arm, and after a few seconds he feels Louis’ arm slipping around his own waist, keeping him close.

He can’t help but think of how perfectly they all fit, and he truly feels like they’re a family. He vows to do whatever it takes to be able to keep this.

When the movie reaches the part where Rapunzel and now-Eugene are on the boat watching the lanterns, both Louis and Harry start singing underneath their breath. They turn to look at each other, smiling amusedly, and they somehow just fall into a duet, much to Rose’s delight.

Harry can see Louis’ expression morphing into something softer, fonder, and he knows it’s reflected on his own face. He sees the light now, too.

He’s been wrong all along. Louis, he’s not a hurricane after all – he’s the sun after days of rain, he’s fire in the middle of a snowstorm, he’s warmth and heat and he’s radiant.

And Rose, she’s a star.

Louis

DECEMBER 2015

There’s a space somewhere in Louis’ chest, hollow and carved in, that he’s been trying to ignore for the last three years – for the years even before that if he’s going to be honest, even when he had Alicia. It made him feel like a horrible person, carrying this emptiness with him even when she was present, though he should’ve known that trying to suppress it and pretend that everything was fine wouldn’t lead to a happy ending.

Alicia knew that, too.

They tried. They really did try to make it all work out, tried to correct what everyone called a drunken mistake (Louis hates that, hates knowing that even he, for a brief moment, thought of Rose as a mistake because she’s not – she was unexpected, unplanned, yes, but she was never a mistake). But in the end it was all just too much, and they couldn’t keep up the pretense of being happy in each other’s company anymore.

Rose served as the only emotional connection they truly had. It’s sad, whenever Louis thinks about it, how he and Alicia just lost the friendship they’ve managed to form in the years they spent in university studying under the same degree. It was never Rose’s fault, though – if anything, the people to be blamed are Louis and Alicia themselves, for letting their families pressure them into marriage, for not thinking their other options through and allowing themselves to be trapped in something that neither of them felt comfortable with.

The split, a year and a half later, had been a quick, clean process. They agreed on an arrangement – Louis gets custody for Rose and Alicia will sometimes have her over on weekends or during vacations. Louis moved to the next town to start over, away from the judgmental eyes of Alicia’s parents who wanted them to stay married.

Fortunately, Jay eventually had a change of heart. She had been for the marriage as well at first, perhaps thinking of how difficult it was to raise a child on one’s own. But when she learned of Louis and Alicia’s feelings about their situation, she supported their decision to divorce. Letting a child grow in a tense, rigid environment was not exactly ideal, either.

So Jay helped Louis move. She stayed in the house the first few months, only until Louis got accustomed to taking care of Rose by himself. Then she went back to Doncaster, to her own children, and Louis was officially a single father.

Watching Rose grow from a fumbling little baby with wide blue eyes to a bright little girl with a knack for being observant has been the highlight of the past few years of Louis’ life. Perhaps his entire life, really. He loves her dearly, and her constant presence has dulled the emptiness that has always resided in his chest. Focusing on her helped him push back his desire for having a better half, and he’d been content to let things stay that way.

But now, watching his daughter lying fast asleep cuddled against Harry’s side, her head resting on the young man’s chest, breathing even and eyelashes fluttering with whatever dream she’s having, while Harry keeps an arm wrapped lightly around her as though to keep her close, Louis, for the first time in a long while, feels like that empty space is filling up, shifting to accommodate these newfound emotions that he’s experiencing.

And it’s a very welcome kind of change.

*

“Can we go visit Harry at the bakery?”

Louis looks up from where he’s cleaning out his emails, responding to a few inquiries about his work and deleting promo offers and petitions (honestly, you sign an online petition once and they just never stop coming). There are a few interesting writing offers in his inbox that he’s marked to get back to later, his last job having been two months ago. He knows he still has enough saved in his bank account to last them for four or five months more, and he still steadily gets shares from his previous written works, but Rose is starting school next year and expenses will be higher.

Maybe he can find a job when she finally starts, so that he can work while she’s at school.

Rose speaks again, breaking Louis from his thoughts. “Papa? I wanna see Harry.”

He blinks, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. “You just saw him the other day, love.”

Rose looks back at him with a pout from where she’s sat on the floor, hunched over their coffee table. She’s holding a green crayon, and Louis can just barely make out some figures on her paper. He’s sitting a bit too far to clearly see what they are.

“But I miss him already,” Rose says.

Me too, Louis thinks. He pretends to sigh and think it over, holding back a smile when Rose’s pout deepens. Since their sleepover just the last weekend, Harry had dropped by a few more times. Now, a week into December, it feels as though he’s become somewhat of a constant in both Louis and Rose’s lives.

Had it been anyone else, Louis would’ve felt terrified and panicked at that, at letting someone get too close too quickly. It’s dangerous, letting Rose get attached to people – of everyone Louis’ been with after the divorce, he was never sure where they’d be going, whether they’d actually get to the point where they could talk about getting together for real and settling down and taking care of Rose together.

So he never let them spend much time with his daughter, if at all. None of them seemed too sure about taking the responsibility of a parent, either, which was another deal breaker – Louis couldn’t do casual dating, not anymore. Not that he ever did. Even before Rose came into his life, he’s been a commitment type of guy. He can’t do relationships without mutual feelings, which was probably part of the reason why he and Alicia didn’t work.

But with Harry, everything is different. Louis has never been one to immediately jump into things headfirst. He doesn’t fall for people right away, always treading feelings with caution, always careful. But Harry makes him want to throw all caution to the wind, makes him want to be young again. Harry makes him want to try.

He’s lovely, Harry is. He’s a clumsy, fumbling mess of a boy, yet he’s also a bright-eyed, intelligent young man with a sincere smile and an open heart.

“Papa?” Rose suddenly asks, snapping Louis out of his thoughts for the second time that day. He blinks, and Rose pokes at his leg. “You were spacing out.”

He shakes his head to himself, chuckling. “Was I?”

“Yep,” Rose nods seriously. “But you were smiling, too. What were you thinking of?”

“Harry,” Louis admits sheepishly, because he’s always going to be honest with her.

She perks up, eyes bright. There’s an innocent sort of understanding on her face, like she can see what’s happening even though she doesn’t fully understand the magnitude of it. “I figured. You had your Harry face on.”

“My Harry face?” Louis asks, laughing.

“Yeah!” Rose makes a face, something like a small smile and a faraway look in her eyes. Then her expression goes back to normal, and she says, “It’s the face you get whenever you talk about him. Do you like Harry, Papa?”

Louis’ heart flutters at the innocent question. He puts his laptop down on the couch and gets down on the floor, sitting cross-legged beside his daughter. He opens his arms and she immediately takes the invitation, climbing into his lap and clinging onto the front of his shirt. Louis kisses her forehead and strokes her hair for a little while, before asking, “What do you mean by ‘like’, darling?”

“Like,” she scrunches up her nose and taps her chin, thinking. “Do you want to hold his hand and tell him he’s pretty all the time?”

Louis laughs at that, tapping her on the nose playfully with his index finger. “Yes.”

“And do you want him to always be here with us so we can all spend time together?”

“Yes.”

“And, do you want to marry him?”

Louis blinks at that last one, a little taken aback. “Well, I wouldn’t say immediately. People need to know each other very well first before they decide to get married.”

“But you and Harry already know each other!” Rose reasons. “He already knows you take your tea without sugar, and that you don’t like wearing socks, and that Nan Jay calls you Boo Bear.”

“Yes, but…” Louis trails off, scratching the back of his head. “We still need to know each other more, darling. And usually people who get married meet each other’s families first. It takes time, love.”

“Then invite Harry over to Donny for Christmas,” Rose says, nodding determinedly. She gasps suddenly, eyes widening. “Wait! Does he know it’s your birthday on Christmas Eve?”

“No, I haven’t told him yet.”

“You have to!” Rose shuffles on his lap so that they’re facing each other, and she looks stern. “People who get married should know these things about each other!”

“And where did you get that idea, Ro?”

“I just know it.” Rose leans back into his chest. “And besides, if people who got married actually liked each other, then maybe they wouldn’t have to break up.”

Louis’ heart breaks at that. When he and Alicia got divorced, Rose was barely two years old so she didn’t really understand what was going on. It was only when she turned four that she started asking about why she only had one parent instead of two, unlike the other kids she played with who had a mama and a papa. Louis explained it to her as best as he could, but he knows there are some things she could never fully understand, at least not until she’s older.

She’s a sweet little girl, though, with a deeper understanding than most kids her age have. She never pushed Louis to give her a full reason, not because of a lack of interest, but because she sensed that it was something he could never properly explain to her. She just accepted it, but there are times – much like this one – where she says things that remind Louis just how young she is, just how much she’s probably feeling confused still by her mother leaving.

Yes, she still spends time with her, but not as much as other kids her age do with their own mothers. To her, Alicia is probably more a family friend than the person who gave birth to her, and there’s something sad and heartbreaking about that.

Louis hugs Rose, and she lets out a small breath of surprise. He presses his face into her hair, tries to keep his emotions in check because there are just some things he doesn’t want Rose to see. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

She sounds a little confused. “What for, Papa?”

“For not trying hard enough,” he says. “For making you grow up with just a dad.”

Rose, for sure, does not understand what he means by that, but she hugs him back anyway and says, “Silly Papa. Why are you apologizing? It’s not your fault Mama isn’t here now.”

Louis lifts his head at that, blinking wetly down at his daughter. “Rose…”

She takes his face between her tiny palms and gives him a stern look. “Papa, you like Harry, right? And when people who like each other get married, they don’t have to break up, which means they’ll always be happy together.”

His mouth falls open a little in understanding, catching onto her meaning. “But I am happy. You make me happy, Rose.”

“I know that, Papa.” She pokes him on the nose, and they both giggle at each other, even though Louis’ eyes are still shining with unshed tears. “But Harry makes you happy too, and like, if you get married then that means you’ll be even happier.”

Oh, the logic of a child. It’s so simple, like the answer to everything is so obvious. If something makes you happy, then do it, no questions asked. Louis sometimes wished he could truly follow that, that he’d stop over thinking and going through every possible outcome until he turns into an anxious mess, but that’s what growing up does to a person. You realize that life isn’t simple, that it never was, and suddenly you’re never sure of anything anymore.

“I do like Harry,” he finally admits, voice quiet. “I like him a lot. But he has to feel the same about me. And you have to like him, too.”

“I like Harry,” Rose says, simple. Honest. “He makes you smile all the time.”

“Silly,” Louis says, kissing her on the forehead. “You can’t just like Harry because I like him. You have to like him on your own.”

“But I do,” she insists. “He lets me play with his hair and he tells funny stories and just the other day he taught me how to use his camera. He makes me happy too and I like it when he comes over because it’s fun and he’s so nice, Papa, and very pretty too. I wouldn’t be asking you if we could go see him if I didn’t like him, you know.”

Louis’ heart, broken just minutes ago, has now repaired itself in his chest after hearing Rose’s talk about Harry. “Yeah? And you wouldn’t mind if he, I don’t know, became part of our family?”

Rose rolls her eyes (and just when did she learn to do that, Louis wonders). “Papa! I’ve been trying to tell you this! Of course I know that if you marry him he’ll be my other dad. That’s what I’m asking you. I wouldn’t mind at all. It just means that he’ll get to stay here all the time and you’ll be happy and he’ll be happy and I’ll be happy! Everyone will be happy!”

Louis laughs, hugging his daughter again. He presses a kiss to her hair and smiles. She just basically gave him her blessing. “Oh, Ro. What would I do without you?”

“Be dumb and not ask Harry to marry you, probably,” Rose mutters, but she leans up to kiss him on the cheek. “Now, are we just gonna sit here or are we going to the bakery? I need to give Harry my drawing!”

Louis lets her crawl off his lap, watching her pick up the piece of paper lying on the coffee table. He tries to peek at it curiously but Rose holds it close to her chest, pouting at him in a way that clearly says whatever’s drawn on it is only for Harry to see. Normally, Louis would feel jealous at his daughter giving more attention to someone else, but since it’s Harry all he feels is fond. Fond, fond, fond.

He pushes himself up from the floor and shuts his laptop down, before pocketing his phone and wallet and keys. Rose is already skipping towards the front door by the time Louis decides that he’s wearing a decent enough outfit to go see Harry. He follows after her, asking if she’s ready to go, and she just hops from foot to foot impatiently, which obviously means yes Papa, I’m ready to go, I’ve been wanting to go since fifteen minutes ago, let’s just leave!

He locks the door behind them and takes her hand, and she squeezes his palm with her tiny fingers, like a reassurance.

*

“We’re going out to dinner,” is the first thing Harry says when Louis opens the door for him (in reality, Louis has already gone and made a copy of their house key to give to Harry, what with how often the younger man comes over – he’s just waiting for the right time to give it to him because that feels like a pretty big step, the start of actual commitment even though they’ve yet to actually sit down and define what they are, and Louis doesn’t want to scare Harry away by seeming too pushy or assuming).

“Um,” he says in response, blinking, because Harry is all dressed up in a white long-sleeve shirt with ruffles lining the top three buttons, dark skinny jeans, and sparkling glitter boots. Louis himself is dressed in a tank top and sweats and he wracks his head, wondering whether they were supposed to have a date today and he somehow (impossibly) forgot. “Right now?”

“Yep,” Harry says, grinning, before pushing past Louis and into the house. “Rose, love! Let’s get you dressed up!”

“Harry?” Rose squeals from upstairs, and then there’s the sound of tiny feet pounding down the stairs. Louis shuts the door and turns around to see Rose leap from the last three steps straight into Harry’s arms, almost giving Louis a heart attack. “Are we going somewhere?”

“Yes,” Harry smiles, spinning her around and pressing a kiss to her forehead, making her giggle. Louis’ heart melts. “We’re going out to dinner, so tell your Papa to get dressed.”

“Yay!” Rose cheers, before hopping down from Harry’s arms and running to Louis. “Papa, you heard Harry. Go take a shower and put on nice clothes. We’re having dinner.”

“And it’s on me!” Harry chirps. Louis opens his mouth to protest, but Harry gives him a pointed look so he quickly shuts his mouth and doesn’t argue.

Rose is tugging on his hand, demanding in a shrill voice that he move and get ready so they can go already, and Louis sighs, letting her lead him upstairs to his room. He gives Harry a quick kiss on the cheek on the way up and Harry blushes prettily, smile wide enough that his dimple appears.

Exactly twenty-five minutes later finds them in the same restaurant where they had their first date, Louis and Harry sitting around a booth by one of the walls with Rose in between them. After getting their drinks served – red wine for Louis and Harry, raspberry iced tea for Rose – Louis leans over and asks, “Which one is it?”

Harry lifts his glass, takes a sip. “Which one is what?”

Louis rolls his eyes and pokes Harry on the side, making him squeak. Rose looks up curiously between the two of them for a moment before deeming her drink more interesting and going back to trying to suck on a full ice cube through her straw.

“You know what I’m talking about, Styles.”

Harry presses his smile against the rim of his glass, cheeks flushed. He points at the wall directly across from them and Louis turns his head, eyes immediately finding a photo of the setting sun, the waters a near-black kind of blue against the orange sky. There’s a dark figure sitting on the foreground of the photo, their long hair fluttering to the side due to an invisible gust of wind, and it’s such a calming photo to look at, the colors a perfect balance of warm and cold. Out in the horizon is a line of shapes, a stretch of land or buildings lining the other side of the shore.

“It’s beautiful,” Louis says, hearing the sincerity in his own voice, and when he looks back at Harry he sees that his eyes are shining. Louis smiles and reaches behind Rose, fingers finding Harry’s hand, and Harry lets their fingers fall together for a moment.

“Thank you.” He motions back at the wall with his chin, adds, “The other two beside it, too.”

Louis looks back and sees the second photo, this one in black and white. It’s a worm’s eye shot of what appears to be a tall building, the glass exterior reflecting the cloudy sky. The other one is a bird’s eye shot of a stretch of field, also in black and white, little clusters of houses and buildings in the background with the clear sky stretching infinitely above.

He squeezes Harry’s hand, tells him, “You’re really amazing, babe.”

The flush on Harry’s cheek deepens, and he takes a sip of his wine to hide his smile. Rose looks up and tugs at Louis’ sleeve, asks, “What are you two talking about?”

Louis points at the pictures. “Harry took those photos, Ro.”

Rose looks at the wall, eyes wide. “Oh, the black and white ones? Those look so cool! Wait.” She turns her head to look at Harry, grinning. “Does that mean we get free dessert?”

Harry laughs, setting his glass down so that he doesn’t spill his wine. “Yes, Rosie, we get free dessert. In fact, they promised me a free full meal.”

“Awesome!” Rose exclaims, raising her hand for a high five. Harry cheers as he smacks their palms together, and Louis can’t stop his fond smile even if he wanted to.

He can’t help but tease, “Oh, so that’s why you insisted on it being your treat. You don’t actually have to pay.”

Harry easily shoots back, “I paid with art, Louis,” and they smile dumbly at each other.

Their meals arrive a minute later, and they all spend a few minutes just eating in comfortable silence. Rose nearly drops some pasta onto her dress at one point, and Louis hurriedly tucks a table napkin onto the front of her dress while Harry wipes at her mouth with a piece of tissue. Rose smiles and thanks the both of them, before digging back into her plate, and it all feels so natural, the three of them sitting here and having dinner, occasionally attending to Rose.

It feels like they’re a family.

Louis smiles at the thought, smiling at Harry privately when their eyes meet above Rose’s head. Harry just smiles back, easy and soft and natural as anything, and when their dessert arrives – a small chocolate mousse cake with a side serving of vanilla ice cream – there’s a warm feeling that’s completely settled in Louis’ chest, right where the hollowness used to be.

Rose is on her second slice of cake when she suddenly perks up. She turns to Harry, chocolate frosting on the corner of her mouth, and asks, “Harry, Christmas is in two weeks! Do you have any plans?”

Louis tenses a little, immediately catching onto where she’s trying to get at, their conversation from a few weeks ago flashing in his mind. He’s not entirely sure whether he wants to stop her, though, because. Well. He’s not exactly opposed to taking Harry home to Doncaster and introducing him to his family.

But. That would also mean they’d have to define what they are and where they stand. Which, again, is something that Louis isn’t opposed to. He’s pretty much ready to call Harry is boyfriend. They’re basically there, anyway. Still, he can’t help but feel irrationally nervous about all of this.

“Hmm, not really,” Harry says. “My parents have their own plans to go on a trip so I don’t really have to go back to Holmes Chapel, and my sister is coming over here but not till the New Year. Why?”

The best course of action, Louis decides, is to just let Rose and Harry have this conversation on their own. He stuffs his mouth with some cake and avoids meeting anyone’s gaze.

“Great! Because Papa and I are going to Nan Jay’s at Donny, and I wanted you to come with us!”

Louis sees Harry’s gaze snap up to him out of the corner of his eye, slightly panicked. He purposefully spoons ice cream into his mouth and continues avoiding eye contact.

“Um. I’m not sure—”

“Pretty please, Harry? I don’t want you to be lonely on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day and it’d be a great birthday gift to Papa because you get to meet the family!”

Oh, god. Louis shovels even more cake and ice cream into his mouth. He can feel Harry’s stare boring into the side of his head.

“Your Papa’s birthday?”

“On the 24th!!”

“Oh,” Harry says, and Louis downs an entire glass of water. He nearly spits it all out when he hears Harry call him, “Louis.”

“Yes?” he asks, voice pleasant, pretending as though he didn’t hear their conversation at all even though he’s sitting literally beside them, within perfectly good hearing range.

Harry is pouting but there’s also something else in his eyes, a more serious question that Louis knows they’ll talk about later, when Rose is tucked in bed fast asleep and it’s only the two of them awake. “You never told me your birthday was on Christmas Eve.”

“Ah, well.” Louis scratches the back of his head, chuckling nervously. “I didn’t think it would be a big deal.”

“Of course it’s a big deal, Lou! It’s your birthday, and birthdays are important.”

“Yeah!” Rose agrees, lifting her spoon in the air.

Harry pats her on the head. “See, even Rosie agrees with me.”

“Turning twenty-nine isn’t exactly something I like to think about,” Louis whines. He touches his face with a slight frown. “Next thing I know I’ll start getting wrinkles.”

“Silly Papa,” Rose says, like she always does, before spooning ice cream and cake into her mouth all at once. Louis makes a mental note to make her brush her teeth longer tonight.

“So? I’m turning twenty-four on February 1. We’re only getting older, it’s how life goes,” Harry reasons. He looks like wants to say something more, but then he just smiles, small and private like a secret. Louis wants to know all the secrets those lips are keeping from him. Preferably by using his own lips. He pushes that particular thought aside for now.

“And I turn six on May 4,” Rose adds helpfully, before turning to Harry with wide, hopeful eyes. “So are you going to spend Christmas with us? We leave on”—she pauses, scrunches up her face adorably as she thinks—“on the 20th, I think. That’s what papa said.”

Harry looks at Louis, and this time Louis doesn’t look away, gives Harry a small, barely-perceptible nod. Harry catches it though, eyes flickering with an unsure emotion, and Louis reassures him with a smile even though his own heart is racing in his chest at the mere thought of introducing Harry to his family.

Harry keeps his gaze for a bit longer, a silent conversation passing between them, before he turns back to Rose with a wide smile. “I’d love to, Rosie. As long as Louis doesn’t mind, of course.”

Rose makes a happy noise, so bright and genuine (as though Louis could ever deny her anything, as though Harry could as well), and claps her hands together. “He doesn’t mind at all! He actually wants you to come over as well, he’s just being dumb right now – sorry, Papa – and not asking you. But yes, you’re going to love Nan Jay! My aunts, too. And Uncle Ernie.”

“I’m sure they’re great,” Harry agrees, smiling. “Now go finish your dessert before your ice cream is all melted.”

Rose makes a horrified noise when she sees that most of the vanilla ice cream has indeed melted by now, and she starts furiously shoving spoonfuls into her mouth. Louis sees Harry pull his phone out underneath the table, and then a second later his own pings with a text message in his pocket.

He pulls it out and sees a text from Harry that simply says, We need to talk later Lou!!

Oops. Hopefully, he’s not in too much trouble.

*

After reading Rose her bedtime story and making sure she’s asleep, Louis turns the lights off in her room, leaving the string of fairy lights twinkling above her head because she doesn’t like sleeping in complete darkness. Louis looks at her for a moment, smiling softly at her sleeping form. He remembers when she was still a baby, waking him and Alicia at odd hours of the morning with her crying, and he would come stumbling into her room, mind alert but feet still heavy with sleep, before cradling her to his chest and humming to her softly until she stopped crying and went back to sleep. It simultaneously feels like a day and a lifetime ago.

Harry is sitting on the couch when he gets downstairs, the telly turned on but muted. It’s showing some cooking program, but Louis can tell that Harry isn’t really paying attention to the show, mind probably still occupied by the conversation earlier at dinner.

He takes a deep breath and makes his presence known by clearing his throat softly. Harry jumps a little, startled at the sudden sound. He turns his head and blinks at Louis, and there’s a pause, just a short second where they look at each other (and Louis can’t help but think of how Harry just fits in his living room, in his house, in his life, as though he’s a puzzle piece that’s been missing all along – and now that he’s here, Louis just feels complete).

Harry is the first one to speak. “Um, is Rose asleep?”

Louis nods. “Yeah.” He shifts on his feet slightly, asks, “Do you want anything to drink? Tea, maybe?”

Harry shakes his head. “No, I’m – it’s fine.”

“Okay.” Louis steps further into the room. Harry doesn’t move from the couch, so he decides to sit down on the opposite end. “Um, about earlier—”

“Is it really okay?” Harry asks, cutting him off. “Like, are you sure you’re fine with me coming to Doncaster with you and Rose for Christmas? Because if you aren’t comfortable yet with me meeting your family, then it’s fine, really. I can tell Rose I’m visiting my sister or something.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Louis assures. “I mean, Rose and I have sort of talked about it, yeah, but I didn’t think she would go and ask you about it tonight.” He rubs the back of his neck, looks away. “But, like, the same goes to you, you know. If you’re not particularly comfortable with the idea of meeting my family, I’d understand. I mean, you don’t have to say yes just for Rose.”

Harry blinks at that, frowning slightly. “But I – I want to meet your family, is the thing. I just didn’t know whether you were okay with it, because we haven’t really discussed anything that far yet?” He blushes a little, ducking his head in an attempt to hide it. “I’m – you know I’m really serious about us, Louis. But we haven’t really talked about what we are. Like, we’re dating, yeah, but meeting the family is a boyfriends thing, right? And I’m not sure if we’re at that point yet, because that might be moving too fast. Yet at the same time, it just… it all feels right.” A short pause, and then his voice drops into a whisper, “Or maybe that’s just me.”

He’s pulled back a little by the end of his speech, curled up on himself by the other end of the sofa. He seems unsure, like he’s wondering whether he’s revealed too much, and Louis – well, he does the first thing he can think to do, which is close the distance between them and take Harry’s face in between his hands, making him look up so that their eyes meet.

Harry’s eyes are so green, clear and open and honest. Louis wants to get lost in them. He takes a deep breath, and just – opens himself up, completely, all for Harry to see. “I know it’s barely been a month since we agreed on trying to see whether we could make this work, but. I like you so much, Harry, and that’s such an understatement because? I like you, I really do, and you fit right into my life and Rose adores you and you’re so fucking perfect, it’s a little unbelievable how you just seamlessly fell into place here, but you did Harry. You did. You belong here, and I don’t really care if it’s too fast because I’m sure about how I feel about you and I’m willing to take a chance with you. I really am. I want to hold your hand all the time and kiss you silly and take you home to meet my family and introduce you as my boyfriend. I want to be your boyfriend, Harry. I want – I want us.”

And, there, Louis thinks. He’s laid himself out, opened his chest and poured out all the things he’s feeling for Harry, even if he wasn’t as eloquent as he wanted to be. Harry stares at him, really looks at him, and it’s everything else they want to say but don’t have the words for.

“I want all of that, too,” Harry finally says after a while, the whispered admission passing between them with a single breath of air. Louis takes it and keeps it close to his heart, embeds those words into his very being. “I want us, Louis. I want us to work out. For Rose. For you. And for me.”

“Then we’ll make it work,” Louis whispers, and they’ve gotten closer, somehow, bodies pressed together until there’s not a sliver of space between them, Louis fitting himself in between Harry’s legs like he’s meant to be there. “We’ll make it work.”

“We will,” Harry agrees, sincere and soft, even as his hands hold onto Louis with a grip that’s both firm and shaky, as though he wants reassurance, contact, closer. “I want that. I want you.”

The last part is tinged with something else, something that’s verging on need, and Louis responds by pressing their lips together in a slow kiss. He feels Harry’s arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling him in, and Louis briefly thinks back to when they first kissed – Harry beneath him not unlike this time, paint-stained hands touching for the first time, and a moment of clarity. The feeling this time is similar, like Harry’s the answer Louis’ been unconsciously looking for.

But unlike that first time, that moment of clarity will stay. Unlike that first time, no one will be leaving.

When their lips part, the air has settled heavily around them. The telly is still on, the living room lights bright and harsh above them, but all Louis can see is Harry. He leans down, brushes his mouth against the shell of Harry’s ear, feeling the younger man shudder. “Stay the night.”

Harry makes a small noise somewhere from his throat, one that Louis steals with another searing kiss. Louis settles his weight more on top of Harry, and he feels the younger man’s legs wrap around his waist, keeping him in place. They’re still wearing the same clothes they went to dinner in, and Louis wants to press his hands onto Harry’s chest, open the buttons of his shirt so that he can feel the warmth of his skin, explore the parts of him that Louis’ yet to touch and see.

“C’mon, let’s move to the bedroom.”

Harry whines when he pulls away, tugging him down, wordlessly asking him to come back. Louis laughs softly, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of Harry’s mouth before pushing up completely, rolling off of Harry and sliding onto the floor.

Harry lays there on the sofa, looking a bit rumpled and pouty. Louis gets up on his feet and waits for Harry to stand, but when the younger man doesn’t make a move he just sighs and bends down, sliding his arms underneath Harry’s back and thighs.

“What are you—” Harry cuts off in a squeak when he gets lifted up, quickly wrapping his arms around Louis so that he won’t fall. Not that Louis would ever drop him.

“I’m taking you to bed,” Louis offers as explanation, grinning. “It’s supposed to be romantic.”

Harry laughs quietly, pressing his face into the juncture of Louis’ neck. “Just hurry up already.”

“Pushy,” Louis mutters, but he can’t quite hide the fondness in his voice. He takes the stairs one careful step at a time, keeping his hold on Harry secure, and makes sure to keep his footsteps quiet as he passes Rose’s bedroom and slips into his.

He nudges the door shut with his foot, before laying Harry down onto his bed. He brings a finger up to his lips, signaling that they should stay quiet, and Harry nods once before tugging him onto the bed for a kiss. They settle down, Louis fitting into the space between Harry’s legs once more, and this time he allows his hands to explore, lets himself trace and feel the lines of Harry’s body, map out his skin. He feels Harry’s fingers fluttering unsurely near the buttons of his shirt, and he makes a small noise of encouragement.

Harry gets the message, undoing the buttons of Louis’ shirt with slightly trembling fingers. Louis pushes himself up a little and watches the look on Harry’s face as he slowly undresses him, eyes taking in the expanse of skin as it’s slowly revealed, lips parted.

Harry pushes his hands inside Louis’ shirt once all the buttons are undone, the look on his face something like awe as he feels the heat of Louis’ skin beneath his palms. Louis’ heart stutters a beat, and he lets Harry push his shirt off his shoulders. He pulls back just quick enough to shrug it off and toss it aside, then he’s doing the same to Harry, carefully unbuttoning his shirt until his torso is exposed, a stretch of inked pale skin that Louis wants to memorize with his eyes and hands and lips.

They just stare at each other for a moment, and then they seem to move as one – Louis leans down and Harry pushes himself up, and their mouths meet in the middle. This kiss is a little different from the previous ones they’ve shared. It’s more charged, and it sends heat shooting up Louis’ spine, pooling low in his belly until there’s a faint buzz of need in the air, but not to the point where it feels gripping and frantic.

They can’t do much, not with Rose asleep in the room just beside them, but that’s alright because this – exploring each other’s bodies and unhurriedly taking pleasure from the other – this is perfect in itself. Louis doesn’t mind taking slow.

And it seems like Harry’s on the same page, his movements unhurried, like there’s no rush. Like he’s willing to accept whatever Louis decides to give him tonight.

Louis pulls back, watches the way Harry’s eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. It feels like his heart is caught in a tight grip, something squeezing in his chest, like it’s trying to get him to spill everything to Harry even though he already has. He tries to steady himself, focuses on the feeling of Harry beneath him, waiting.

“Louis,” Harry whispers, and the sound of it is heavy, something else hidden between the syllables of his name.

Louis responds by pressing kisses down the side of Harry’s neck, feeling the flutter of his pulse beneath his lips. Harry gasps quietly. His hands grasp at the sheets, and Louis pins him down with his hips, and there’s a second of blindingly-good friction that causes a shudder to wrack Louis’ frame. He sinks his teeth lightly into Harry’s skin, nips at the flesh until he leaves a mark, and Harry makes an encouraging noise somewhere above him.

You’re so beautiful.

He rocks his hips down, and Harry presses up against him. They move together slowly as Louis sets about leaving more marks all over Harry’s neck and collarbones, and Louis honestly feels like he could stay in this moment forever, lips pressing the words he can’t yet say into Harry’s skin like his own personal tattoo.

You’re perfect.

Harry whines after a while, a sense of urgency in his tone, and Louis shushes him with a kiss. Hands fumble, tug, and grasp – and then Louis’ taking the both of them in his hand, pressing themselves close and tugging to the rhythm of Harry’s heavy breaths.

You’re amazing.

Harry feels hot and heavy against him, and he moves his hips into it, keeping his eyes trained on Harry’s face, taking every expression in. Louis tightens his hand and rocks faster, until Harry’s hitching his own hips up and moving, seeking more, and then Louis flips them over so that Harry’s on top, straddling his hips with a dazed look on his face.

Harry blinks slowly, mouth dropping slightly in surprise at the abrupt change in position, and Louis smiles up at him encouragingly. He holds onto his hips, guides Harry to move against him, and Harry takes the hint and grinds down. He looks beautiful like this, perched on Louis’ lap with his pretty cheeks flushed red and his chest heaving, whimpers falling from his lips as he grinds their cocks together.

How are you real?

Louis fits his hands over the swell of Harry’s arse, kneading at the flesh and causing Harry to moan quietly. “Louis,” he stutters out, “I need—”

Louis tugs him down into a kiss, swallowing all of his sounds. He squeezes one hand between them to take Harry’s cock in his hand, pumping at a feverish pace. Harry whimpers against his lips, his own hand slipping between them so he can do the same to Louis.

When they can no longer continue kissing, they just press their foreheads together, panting as they lock eyes. Louis breathes out a moan when Harry dips his thumb into the slit of his cock, and he responds by twisting his hand when he reaches the head of Harry’s. Harry’s eyes flutter shut, and Louis is suddenly filled with the urge to see him fall apart completely.

I want you to be mine.

“Come on, baby. Come on,” he encourages, and Harry bites his lip. Louis uses his other hand to squeeze at the flesh of his arse, teasing his fingers down Harry’s crack. Harry’s breath hitches, eyes snapping open as the pads of Louis’ fingers flutter near his hole. Without breaking their gaze, Louis rubs his dry thumb over the puckered skin, over and over until Harry’s breath catches in his throat and he’s tensing above Louis, cock kicking in Louis’ hand as he comes with a quiet gasp.

Louis strokes him through it, watching raptly as Harry shudders and exhales, cheeks stained pink and eyes bright and glassy. He pulls his hands away when Harry starts to tremble, probably from oversensitivity, and he’s about to roll them over to get Harry cleaned when Harry suddenly grips his cock again, this time pumping with the sole purpose of pushing Louis over the edge after him.

I want to be yours.

Louis gasps, and it doesn’t take him long before he’s shuddering and spilling over Harry’s fingers. They lay side by side for a few minutes, both of them panting, trying to catch their breaths. When his breathing’s a little more under control, Louis rolls off of the bed and steps into the small bathroom attached to his room, getting a spare hand towel from under the sink and soaking it under the water running from the tap.

When he gets back, Harry has moved nearer the edge of the bed, an arm thrown over his eyes and his legs splayed carelessly. Louis smiles as he starts wiping at the come smeared on Harry’s stomach, the younger man jumping slightly at the sudden contact. He quickly settles back onto the bed and lets Louis clean him up, smiling widely when they make eye contact.

Once they’re both cleaned up, Louis tosses the towel aside and climbs into bed beside Harry. Harry turns onto his side so that his back’s facing Louis, sleepily murmurs, “I’m the little spoon.”

Louis laughs quietly, feeling fond and warm inside. He settles behind Harry and wraps his arms around his waist, pressing themselves close so that his chest perfectly falls in line with Harry’s back. Harry sighs happily, and Louis kisses the back of his neck, whispers, “Sleep now, love.”

Before he drifts off himself, one last thought passes through his mind.

I think I already love you.

*

Waking up wrapped around someone is infinitely better than waking up alone, Louis decides.

Blinking his eyes open, the first thing he focuses on is the feeling of a warm body pressed against his front. His nose is buried against the back of Harry’s head, and he smells faintly of apples and something sweet. Louis is nuzzling his face into the younger man’s hair before his sleep-slow mind can catch up to him, and Harry stirs slightly in his arms, murmuring something in his sleep.

Louis smiles. The room is still mostly dark, the curtains drawn partly in front of the windows. Weak sunlight filters through the gap, and Louis listens for any sign of movement in the house. When he hears nothing but the even sound of breathing, he decides that Rose must still be asleep, so he allows himself to close his eyes once more.

He wraps his arms tighter around Harry’s waist, shifting closer to the younger man so that they’re pressed completely. He hears Harry let out a small sigh in his sleep, unconsciously pressing back against him, and it feels like Louis’ heart is about to leap out of his chest. He can get used to this.

He wants to get used to this.

The next time he wakes up is probably not even an hour later. The room is brighter but he can tell that it’s early still. He yawns, rubs the sleep out of his eyes, and when he turns to look at Harry he sees that the younger man is already awake. He’s lying sleepily on his side, watching Louis with half-lidded eyes and a lazy smile.

Louis can feel a smile slowly forming on his own face. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Harry murmurs back, shifting closer. “Good morning.”

“Hmm,” Louis hums, reaching an arm out to wrap around Harry’s waist. “Mornin’.”

Harry moves towards him, and it’s easy, how their bodies slot together like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And when Harry leans in for a kiss, morning breath be damned, it feels like they’ve been doing this forever.

They giggle breathily in between small pecks, Harry shifting so that he’s hovering above Louis, Louis’ hands a steadying presence on his hips. Louis can’t stop himself from smiling and neither can Harry, not even when they press their lips together for another kiss. The air feels light and happy around them, and Louis can’t help but think of how beautiful Harry looks like this, a stretch of smooth pale skin washed in the early morning light. He looks like art, like he should be in the photos he loves to take.

Louis traces his tattoos, examining each one with curious eyes. He smiles fondly at the giant butterfly on Harry’s stomach, poking at it until Harry is giggling and batting his hand away. He moves his fingers further up next, brushing them briefly over Harry’s nipples (emitting a delicate gasp from the younger man, and Louis makes a mental note to see just how sensitive Harry’s nipples are exactly for later), before he’s tracing the birds on his chest.

“Swallows?” he asks, voice quiet in the still room.

“Yeah.” Harry’s eyes flutter shut when Louis presses on one of the hickeys scattered across his collarbones. “They mate for life.”

“Hmm?” Louis hums, a question hidden in the sound.

“I’m looking for my soulmate,” Harry clarifies, and his cheeks are flushed, eyes shut. Louis’ heart thumps against his chest, and he flips them over so that Harry’s underneath him. He presses kisses all over the marks he left on Harry’s skin, and Harry makes a soft sound beneath him, shifting his body slightly into Louis’ touch.

Screw finding out about it later, Louis thinks, closing his mouth around one of Harry’s nipples. He flicks at the bud with his tongue and Harry gasps loudly, chest arching. Louis rubs over the other one with his thumb, and he can feel Harry’s cock swelling against his thigh. He slips a leg between Harry’s and presses up against him, and Harry takes the hint, slowly rocking against his thigh.

Louis pulls back from Harry’s nipple and blows air over it, watching it harden further beneath his touch. He licks over it with the flat of his tongue, twisting the other one between his fingers, and Harry reacts beautifully – he throws his head back, exposing the line of his neck that Louis wants to mark even further, lips falling open on a moan. He’s rutting against Louis now, and Louis can feel his own cock start to get hard. He shifts so that their hips are aligned, and Harry moans, grabbing at his arse with one hand and rocking them together.

Louis lightly grazes his teeth over Harry’s nipple. “Sensitive?”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes out. “Love having my nipples played with.”

Louis groans, hips stuttering against Harry’s. He pushes himself up so that he’s almost sitting up, grabbing onto Harry’s thighs and hitching them up his hips. He grinds their cocks together, and Harry whines, gripping onto the sheets and tugging, body moving slightly every time Louis rocks down. Like this, it’s so easy for Louis to imagine what it’d be like to be inside Harry, how the younger man would look like as Louis pushes into his body.

The thought makes him squeeze his eyes shut, pausing his movements because the image has heat quickly climbing his spine and he doesn’t want this to be over so soon. Now that he’s allowed himself to think about it, however, it’s hard to get the image out of his head – Harry panting beneath him, cheeks and chest flushed pink, eyes wide and glassy, lips parted in constant moans.

He wants to. But now is not the time for it.

Opening his eyes again, he looks down and sees Harry watching him. He also has a dazed, faraway look on his face, and Louis wonders whether they’re both thinking of the same thing right now.

“Louis,” is all Harry says. Louis leans down to kiss him deeply, breathing his name back against his lips. He resumes rocking their bodies together slowly, and Harry’s hands grip at his shoulders. “Louis,” he says again.

Louis kisses the side of his neck. “Yeah?”

“Wanna suck you off,” Harry breathes, and Louis’ hips stutter and stop.

He groans, pressing his face against Harry’s shoulder. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Harry answers immediately, voice breathy and eager. “Want to.”

“God,” Louis breathes, and then they’re shuffling, sleep-clumsy limbs tangling as they switch their positions. It’s a bit silly and a lot wonderful, Louis thinks as they giggle quietly at each other, how the sense of urgency is slowed and softened by just how much they’re into each other, how Louis feels like this is more than just sex.

And, watching Harry smile lazily up at him from between his legs, Louis knows Harry feels the same.

He’s slow and thorough with it, pace unhurried as he wraps his hand around the base of Louis’ cock and swallows him down inch by inch. Louis leans back against the headboard, sighing as he feels the wet heat of Harry’s mouth around him.

Harry hums, content, and the vibrations make Louis moan softly. He reaches down to tread his fingers through Harry’s hair, massaging his scalp, and Harry’s eyes flutter shut at the movement. He takes more of Louis’ cock into his mouth, twisting his fist around what he still hasn’t fit inside, and his tongue flicks against the underside.

“Love,” Louis groans, tightening his grip on Harry’s hair for a second, and Harry moans in response. “You’re so good at that.”

This seems to please Harry, eyes blinking open to stare up at Louis. His cheeks are stained pink, eyes glazed over, and his hair is sticking to his forehead with sweat. And they haven’t even gotten out of bed yet. Amazing.

Harry nudges his head into Louis’ touch, blinking slowly, dark eyelashes brushing over his cheeks. Louis tentatively places his other hand on Harry’s head as well, and Harry makes an encouraging sound. Louis takes the hint and starts moving Harry’s head up and down his cock, watching as Harry pulls his hand away and lets Louis take over completely, and that’s – that’s.

“Fuck.” Groaning, Louis gives an experimental upward thrust, and Harry makes a small gagging noise in his throat before moaning loudly, the vibrations making heat twist in Louis’ gut. After making sure that Harry is alright with it, he starts moving his hips up in small thrusts, Harry’s tongue flat against the underside of his cock and leaving him wet with spit.

He can see Harry’s hips moving as well, grinding into the mattress, and Louis is mesmerized by the way his arse looks with each roll of his hips. He wants to give Harry a hand, tug at his cock or – fuck – finger him, maybe eat him out and make him fall apart, but Louis’ hands are both occupied and he doesn’t really have it in him to shift their current position, too far gone with the feeling of Harry’s incredible mouth to do much other than moan and give the younger man breathy little encouragements, tugging at his hair every now and then.

Harry’s movements start getting more frantic, and he’s moaning continuously now, like he’s getting so much pleasure out of this as well. The heat in Louis’ lower belly is getting tighter and tighter, and he feels like he’s seconds away from toppling over the edge, Harry’s wet mouth tight and hot and perfect around him.

It’s when Harry lets out a moan louder than before, hips stuttering to a halt against the sheets, that Louis feels himself let go. He pulls Harry’s head down onto him completely, coming down Harry’s throat and feeling the younger man frantically trying to swallow everything.

He slumps back once he’s done, hands falling away from Harry’s hair as Harry licks him clean. After pressing one final kiss against the head, Harry crawls up Louis’ body until their faces are level with each other. “Hi,” he whispers, grinning dopily and looking far too satisfied for someone who’s just had a cock down their throat.

Louis can’t help his fond smile, though, pulling Harry closer to him and reaching between them to confirm that yes, Harry did come just from that. “You’re incredible,” he whispers, and Harry blushes, ducking to hide his face against the crook of Louis’ neck.

“You’re really fit,” he mutters, and Louis laughs, kissing the side of his head.

“Come on, then. Let’s take a shower and make breakfast before Rose wakes up.”

Twenty minutes later, Harry is trying to show Louis more exciting ways to cook eggs (“I saw this video on Facebook and I tried it and it’s heavenly, Louis, like little fluffy clouds in your mouth with bits of bacon and onions.”) because according to him, plain old scrambled eggs are good, yes, but boring. Louis is honestly so endeared, watching Harry rummage in the fridge in search of a water bottle he can use to separate the yolk from the egg white. Louis didn’t even know that was possible.

“Aha!” Harry exclaims, victorious, as he pulls out a half-empty bottle of water he probably found in the chiller or something. Louis isn’t exactly organized enough to remember everything he puts in his fridge. “Okay, have you cracked those eggs already?”

“Yeah.” Louis points at the eggs waiting on the counter, and Harry smiles brightly, cheek dimpling. He kisses Louis on the cheek as he passes by before setting to work, casual as anything, as though they’ve been doing this forever.

Louis smiles, watching Harry work. He’s a wonderful sight to behold – hair pulled back into a bun, dressed in Louis’ sweats and shirt. There’s a soft look of concentration on his face, and Louis can feel his expression helplessly contorting into fondness as he watches the younger man.

A year ago, had anyone told him he’d be standing his kitchen with a boy he’s on the verge of falling in love with making them breakfast, he would’ve never believed them. He had, at that time, resigned himself to the fact that his life would be dedicated to taking care of Rose and keeping her happy until she’s able to take care of herself (and even then he’d never stop looking after her, because she’s the most important person to him), and by then he’d be old and graying and no longer qualified to date, probably.

But now, here he is. Here he is with someone who was a stranger to him not even two months ago, the two of them making breakfast for his daughter. Harry crashed into his life from out of the blue, a force whose impact is so subtle yet so strong, and at first Louis didn’t know what to do about it. He was terrified, but a part of him yearned for it, for Harry’s presence, and hoped that the younger man would embed himself so deeply within Louis’ heart and stay there.

Harry looks up from where he’s whisking the egg white in a chilled bowl, blushing when he sees that Louis is watching him. Louis just smiles and steps closer, asks, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Harry bites his lip, before handing the bowl to Louis. “You can continue whisking this while I chop the bacon.”

Louis blinks. “How do you whisk?”

Harry stares at him for a second, before barking out a laugh. “Oh god, why do you even own a whisk if you don’t know how to use it?”

Louis grins, grabbing the items from Harry. “Mum bought most of the stuff in this kitchen, so.”

“How do you make scrambled eggs then?”

“I use a fork to, like, bat the eggs.”

Harry snorts a laugh at that, this adorable little sound that makes his cheeks flush pink. Louis wants to kiss him, so he does, slow and sweet. Harry makes a small noise of protest when he pulls back, and Louis laughs quietly, indulging him with another slow kiss.

“Hmm,” Harry hums after, eyes half-lidded. “I’ll go chop the bacon now.”

Louis hums back. He resists the urge to draw Harry in for another longer, more through kiss, because Rose might wake up at any minute now and she always looks for breakfast first thing in the morning. She gets rather grumpy sometimes if her food isn’t yet done when she comes down to the kitchen, so they really need to finish preparing.

If only Harry weren’t so goddamn distracting.

They work together quietly for a while, Louis only indulging himself with small pecks on the cheek every now and then. Harry keeps chewing on his bottom lip, but he looks flushed and happy. When they’re waiting for the eggs to cook in the oven and the water for tea to boil, Louis reaches out and tugs Harry’s lip away from his teeth, brushing over it with his thumb.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asks softly.

Harry shrugs, smiling sheepishly. “Nervous,” he admits, “but I’m also feeling really, really good.”

“Nervous about what?” Louis wonders.

Harry picks the whisk up and fiddles with it, probably to give his hands something to do. “Just. I don’t know, I’m nervous about this”—he motions a hand between the two of them, and then vaguely around them—“in general, I guess. Like, I want to make it work out so badly, between the three of us, and I just. I want to make a good impression on Rose.”

Louis blinks at that, slightly surprised. “But Rose already adores you.”

“Yeah, but. I don’t know, I just—”

Louis cuts him off with a kiss, and Harry makes a small noise of surprise. He blinks when Louis pulls away, and Louis smiles, cups his cheek gently, “Don’t think too much about it, okay?”

Harry nods once, slowly, looking like he wants to say something more, but then the kettle whistles and they’re reminded of the breakfast they’re preparing.

Rose comes down just as Harry’s taking the eggs out of the oven, and Louis looks up from where he’s setting the plates on the table. She’s wearing her teddy bear print pajamas and her hair’s a mess, tiny fists rubbing the sleep away from her eyes.

“Is breakfast ready?” she asks, yawning, obviously still sleepy even though it’s already nine.

“Just about,” Harry answers, and Louis watches amusedly as his daughter’s head snaps up, sleep immediately gone as her eyes widen in pleasant surprise.

“Harry!” she exclaims, running into the kitchen and hugging Harry around the leg. “You stayed the night! You’re here! Good morning!”

Had it been anyone else, Louis would’ve felt jealous that his daughter greeted someone first before him, but as it is all he feels is warmth at the sight the two of them present. Harry laughs, the sound warm and soft, and he bends down to pick Rose up into a hug. “Good morning to you too, little Rosie.”

“What’s for breakfast?” she asks.

“Fluffy eggs! With bacon!” Harry cheers, throwing the arm not wrapped around Rose in the air, and Rose copies him, raising both of her arms and squealing.

Louis shakes his head fondly and steps closer, ruffling Rose’s hair. “Papa! Good morning! Did you help Harry make breakfast?” She makes grabby hands at him, and Harry hands her over with a smile.

Louis kisses her on the nose. “I did, darling.”

“Yay! So we’re all going to eat together?” At both their nods, Rose adds, “Great! Just like family!” And then she’s wiggling out of Louis’ hold and taking her place on the table, unaware of the effect her words have.

Louis and Harry stand there for a moment, staring at each other wide-eyed, and Louis can see a question on the younger man’s face. He can’t quite figure out what it is exactly, but it’s like Harry is asking if that was okay, if this is okay.

So Louis nods once, just a slow up and down motion of his head. Then he smiles, trying to communicate that it is. It’s okay. It’s something they’ll have to get used to, but it’s not unwelcome. In fact, it’s a great sign, if anything.

(It feels like the start of everything.)

“Hurry! I’m hungry,” Rose exclaims from the table, snapping both Louis and Harry out of their thoughts, completely unaware of how she just shook the very place they’re standing on for one brief moment with just one simple comment, like the earthquake that she sometimes is.

Reaching over to squeeze Harry’s arm reassuringly, Louis brings their tea to the table and takes a seat across from Rose. Harry sets the food down, sits beside Louis, and then they start eating.

It’s definitely something Louis can get used to.

*

Louis opens the door three days later to blond hair and a wide grin and faded jeans.

“Weyhey,” Niall greets, pushing past Louis and into the house without even waiting for a reply.

“Thanks for agreeing to babysit,” Louis says as he shuts the door. He and Harry planned to go on a walk that afternoon, since Harry feels like it’s about time he took scenic pictures of their little town (“As much as I love the bakery, there’s only so much cupcake pictures I can take before it becomes too much, y’know?”).

“Not a problem,” Niall says cheerfully. “Been a while since I spent time with Rose. And”—he gives Louis a pointed look—“it’s about bloody time I meet your boyfriend. Stop hiding him from me. And Liam. He’s called and asked me when the wedding is and if he should take an off from work so he could come over, like, twenty times now.”

Louis blushes at that, opening his mouth to argue that he wasn’t hiding Harry from Niall or Liam, he was just waiting for the right time to introduce his boyfriend to his best friends, when Rose comes running down the stairs.

“Is that Harry?”

“Sorry to disappoint, love, but it’s only Uncle Niall,” Niall says before Louis can say anything, and Rose lets out a shrill squeal, hopping the final step down and dashing towards Niall.

“Uncle Niall!” She hugs him briefly before immediately pulling him towards the living room, chanting, “FIFA, FIFA, let’s play FIFA!”

Niall laughs, loud and boisterous, letting Rose tug him into the other room. Louis makes sure they’re okay before going up the stairs to finish fixing his hair.

It’s around ten minutes later that Harry knocks on the door, and Louis yelps, running out of his bedroom and down the stairs while simultaneously trying to button up his shirt. Niall gets to the door first, however, and Louis watches with a small amount of horror as his two worlds finally collide.

“Hey!” Niall greets cheerily, in the tone he uses when meeting new people. He purposefully does it to see how someone will react (usually, his over-cheerfulness throws people off – the ones who respond in a similar manner or at least manages to keep up with Niall’s over-enthusiasm are the people he gets along with).

Harry looks slightly perplexed, blinking at the blond tornado that’s greeted him, but he manages a brilliant smile after a second and responds, “Hiiiii.”

And Louis knows, even before Niall claps Harry on the shoulder and motions him inside, that Harry has passed.

“You must be Louis’ boyfriend, then,” Niall says, still sounding cheerful, and Louis can see the way Harry’s cheeks flush prettily.

“Yeah. I’m Harry.” He extends a hand. “You must be the best friend!”

“Niall,” Niall nods, shaking Harry’s hand. “Louis should just be do—oh, there he is! Lou, come down here.”

Harry turns his head and catches sight of Louis, and they both turn bashful for some reason, smiling shyly at each other as though they’re teenagers about to go to prom. Maybe it’s because of Niall’s presence, but Louis suddenly feels a whole lot younger. Or maybe it’s just Harry’s effect on him.

“Harry!” Rose comes running out of the living room. “Can you take pictures of the flowers in the park for me?”

Harry leans down so they’re at eye-level, grinning. “Of course, Rosie. I’ll take as many pictures as you want.”

Louis watches Niall’s reaction to the exchange, sees that the blond is a little surprised at how close the two already seem to be. He hides it with a grin once Harry stands back up and turns to look at him, though.

Louis approaches them, finally, and kisses Rose on the forehead as Harry and Niall chat beside them (they’re talking about golf of all things, dear god, they’re really going to get along at this rate).

“I’ll be back tonight, yeah Ro?”

Rose nods. “I’ll kick Uncle Niall’s arse in the game!”

Louis squawks. “When did you learn to speak like that?” Rose points at Niall, and Louis glares. “Language, Horan.”

“What?” Niall blinks innocently, smiling with both hands held up in surrender. “It was an honest little slip! Might’ve told her how great of a footie player you were for our university team. Kicked the rival teams right in the arse, you did.”

“You were a footie player in university?” Harry asks, wonder and something like awe in his voice. “You never told me about this! I mean, I kinda guessed that you were a player of some sort before, but still.”

Louis flushes at the sudden shift of attention, everyone’s eyes on him. He laughs it off and shrugs, says, “It wasn’t that big of a deal, really.”

“He was the captain during his final year. Girls went absolutely mad for him,” Niall adds, unhelpfully. “A lot of the blokes, too. He was pretty popular back in the day.”

“Yes, thank you for bringing up that irrelevant piece of information, Niall,” Louis deadpans, feeling Harry’s curious eyes on him. “But now Harold and I must get going, before it becomes too dark for him to take any pictures.” Then he says goodbye to Rose once more, before leading Harry out of the door.

The last thing he hears before the door shuts behind them is Niall asking, “I thought his name was Harry?” followed by Rose’s giggles.

*

“So,” Harry begins, just as he stands up from where he’s been crouched over a rose bush. He looks adorable, all bundled up in a thick jacket over an oddly-patterned brown and black jumper, a beanie shoved over his head. “Captain of the university football team, eh?”

Louis groans from where he’s sat on a thick picnic blanket laid out on the grass (the weather is gray and wet, considering it’s halfway through December, but Louis doesn’t think it’ll be raining heavily or snowing anytime soon). He covers his face with his hands. “Bloody Niall.”

He hears Harry laugh somewhere above him, and Louis peeks through the gaps of his fingers to see the younger man pointing the camera down at him. “I don’t get why you’re so embarrassed about it. Personally, I think it’s bloody brilliant that you were captain of the footie team. It’s really hot, you know. Shame I never got to watch you play.”

Louis removes his hands from his face, and the camera goes off. He frowns a little. “It’s not that I’m embarrassed about it or anything. I mean, I love footie, and I’m really happy that Rose is showing an interest in it, y’know? But, I don’t know – it’s just so weird to think about? Like, my life before she came. So I don’t usually talk about it.” He rolls his eyes. “Plus, Niall made it sound like much of a bigger deal than it actually was.”

“Hmm,” Harry hums, taking another picture of Louis. “I just – I don’t know, I wanna know these things. Like, there’s a lot more about you that I still don’t know and I want to know everything, Louis.” He lowers his camera as he says this last part, his face so utterly sincere that Louis’ heart twinges.

“Of course,” he says. “I want to know everything about you, too. And we’ll have all the time to do that.”

It’s a big promise, that, but Harry looks pleased by it as a blush spreads across his cheeks. He smiles, wide and genuine, and Louis smiles back before Harry takes another picture of him.

He laughs. “I thought you were supposed to take pictures of the scenery.”

Harry shrugs and snaps another picture. “You’re beautiful,” is what he says, simple. Honest.

Louis watches as Harry moves around for a while after that – taking pictures of the empty field where Louis takes Rose every other weekend to kick a football around, the old playground where Rose loved to run in when she was three and a half years old, and the small pond where Rose accidentally fell in just last year because she had been running after a stray cat.

Every little section of the park is attached to a memory of Rose for Louis – when he looks at the grass he remembers Rose lying down on it basking in the sun, when he looks at the trees he remembers Rose insisting that Louis lift her up so she can sit on one of the branches, when he looks at the bushes he remembers Rose collecting flowers to put in her hair.

And now here Harry is, standing in front of him and unknowingly fitting himself into Louis’ memories too. It’s so easy to picture him there, encouraging Rose to climb higher on the tree while keeping a careful eye on her in case she slips, making her a flower crown to put on her pretty little head, getting passed a football and nearly toppling over when he tries to kick it back to her.

Louis knows he shouldn’t do that, shouldn’t insert Harry into every little memory he has because if this doesn’t work out, it’ll be harder for him to forget. It’ll be unfair on him and Harry and Rose.

(But Harry is worth the risk. He’s so, so worth taking that leap. He’s worth including in all the memories Louis will make in the future because he’s falling in love, falling headfirst with no chance of him stopping the impact – all he can do is close his eyes and wait for the crash and hope that Harry will be waiting for him at the bottom of the cliff).

Harry sits down beside him, then, camera lifted just above his face. The sun’s setting by now, the cloud-covered sky an even darker gray, and Harry snaps a few more pictures. His nails are painted green today, and Louis smiles to himself at the sight of them.

They’re silent for a moment, and then Louis asks, “Have you ever thought of sharing your photos to a wider audience?”

Harry looks at him. “I have, to be honest. I’ve been thinking of starting a blog.”

“You should,” Louis says, turning his head so that they can properly look at each other. “You take really beautiful photos, Harry. I think a lot of people will fall in love with your work.”

Harry’s cheeks are pink. “Thank you. I was also thinking, um, I kind of want to document my travels? Like, I kept a journal with me and wrote in it wherever I went.” He blinks once, a sudden realization taking over his face. “Hey, if it’s alright, can you look over the stuff I wrote? I don’t know, just to do some proofreading. If it’s not a bother, of course!”

Louis smiles. “Of course, Hazza. I’d love to help.”

Harry’s blush deepens. “Hazza?”

Oops. It just slipped out. But Louis plays it cool, says, “Yeah, Hazza. Harry. Harold. I always give people I like nicknames.”

Harry giggles at that. “I like you, too, Lou.” He shifts closer to Louis so that their shoulders are brushing, expression suddenly bashful. “Maybe you can, I don’t know, write small pieces about this town, too? We can co-own the blog.”

“Hmm,” Louis hums, thoughtful. “Yeah, that’s actually a really nice idea.”

“Yeah?” Harry sounds so hopeful that Louis can’t help but laugh and lean in for a kiss. It’s just a simple press of the lips, but it still leaves Louis’ skin tingling with warmth.

“Of course.”

*

They officially tell Rose about their relationship two days before they’re meant to go to Doncaster for the holidays (Harry’s still a nervous wreck over the idea of meeting Louis’ very large family, regardless of how many times Louis has reassured him that it’ll all be fine. He can’t really blame Harry, though. He’d be scared shitless as well if he were the one meeting Harry’s family, which will also happen pretty soon at the pace their relationship is going).

Rose had simply blinked at them, a little confused, before saying, “I already knew that? I mean, Papa, I told you to ask Harry to marry you!” Then she gasped and asked, “Harry! Do I call you Papa now, too? Or Dad? Daddy? Dada? Papa number two?”

Of course, that almost gave both Louis and Harry a heart attack, but all in all it went pretty well.

And now here they are, putting their bags inside the boot of Louis’ car while Rose bounces excitedly in the backseat. After going through everything they’re bringing with them one last time, Louis nods and motions for Harry to get in the passenger seat. He sends Niall a quick text saying that they’re about to leave, and the blond quickly replies with ‘Sty sfe mate! Give to sum love frm me nd say hi to harry!’

“You all ready?” Louis asks as he slips into the driver’s seat, buckling his seatbelt and making sure that Rose is all settled.

“Ready!” Rose affirms, eyes wide and excited. She’s wearing her favorite dress today, blue like her eyes, with white frills along the bottom of the skirt and short sleeves that have flower stitching along the edge. She’s also wearing Vans and black socks with tiny football prints, and her hair’s in twin braids, looking her absolute best to see Jay. Her jacket’s bundled up beside her so Louis starts the car and turns the heat up, not wanting her to catch a cold in the damp December weather.

He turns to Harry, lifting an eyebrow, and Harry nods, buckles his seatbelt.

And then he’s driving.

Rose fills the first half hour of their drive with chatter, asking things like “Do you think we’ll get snow this year?” and “Do Auntie Doris and Uncle Ernie have new toys that we can play with?” and “Will Nan Jay make her special hot chocolate?”

It helps Louis calm his nerves, because despite his reassurances to Harry, he’s also feeling nervous himself. It’s not that he’s doubtful that his family would love Harry, because he knows they’ll all be over the moon for him, but. He just wants everything to go perfectly because Harry means so much to him and Rose already, and he wants everyone – Jay, especially – to see that and realize that Harry is a very serious thing for him.

He can’t even begin to imagine how Harry must be feeling. He’s been mostly quiet during the ride so far, and Louis wants to talk to him, tell him that he’s fine, that they’ll be fine, but he can’t find the words. So instead he settles for resting a comforting hand on Harry’s thigh, the younger man startling slightly at the touch but settling down immediately. Louis keeps his eyes on the road, but he smiles when he feels Harry’s hand settle over his.

Rose falls asleep an hour later, and Harry turns the radio on, flipping through the stations until he finds one playing a vaguely familiar song. He turns the volume down until it’s nearly just a soft hum filling the silence of the car, mindful of Rose dozing off in the backseat.

He hums along to the song softly, and Louis glances at him quickly before turning his eyes back on the road. Eventually he hears the younger man singing underneath his breath, quiet like he’s not aware he’s doing it, “All we do is drive, all we do is think about the feelings that we hide.”

They’re getting closer to Doncaster now, only about an hour away, and the roads become quieter.

“All we do is sit in silence waiting for a sign.”

Louis thinks about the two of them right now – him driving silently, Harry not saying anything about what’s going to happen and where they’re heading, Rose fast asleep in the backseat oblivious to it all. It’s a little fitting, even if only for this one small moment.

“And California never felt like home to me, and California never felt like home.”

He makes a turn. The sky looks bleak and cold, dark and damp clouds scattered across a colorless sky, but it’s warm inside the car, a small spot of comfort amidst the gray weather.

“And California never felt like home to me until I had you on the open road, and I was singing.”

He wonders if Harry already feels at home in their little town, or if he’s still in the process of really settling in, if he maybe still mostly feels like a stranger in their place. Louis is hoping that isn’t the case. From what he’s seen, Harry has been received warmly by everyone he’s met, and he seemed to fit right in. But on the small chance that he’s still having a hard time finding his place, Louis vows to do everything he can to make Harry feel like he’s at home.

Louis will make this feel like home, for Harry. Wherever they are. He’ll be Harry’s home.

“Are you nervous?” he asks after another half hour of driving. They’re only a few minutes away now, the roads familiar and bringing a bout of nostalgia.

Harry is silent for a moment, before he’s whispering, so quietly Louis almost doesn’t catch it, “Yes.”

Louis turns his hand, palm upright so he can fit their fingers together. “You shouldn’t be, you know. My family is nice, and they’ll be over the moon for you.”

He sees Harry shrug out of the corner of his eye. “Still can’t help but feel nervous, though.”

“And that’s perfectly understandable.” Louis turns into their street. “But I’ll be here with you all night, yeah? I’ll hold your hand whenever you need me to.”

Harry squeezes their hands together. “Thank you.”

Louis hums. The streets are always familiar to him, no matter how long he’s been away. It’s returning to an old home, to the familiar comforts of a loud household and scraped knees from running too fast along the sidewalk and the rough bark of a tree beneath his palm as he tried to climb up and perch himself on a branch. It feels like looking at old photographs, slightly faded and worn around the edges, but the memories are still clear and intact.

He stops in front of a two-storey house, the front lawn alive with flowers even in the winter. Christmas lights line the roof and the front porch and the windows, and it feels a little like stepping into a childhood dream when Louis opens the door and slides out of the driver seat, standing on the sidewalk. He allows himself a second to look, to take everything in, before he’s opening the backdoor and gently shaking Rose awake. Harry unbuckles his seatbelt and slips out of his own seat to get their things from the boot of the car.

“Huh?” Rose mumbles sleepily, rubbing at her eyes, and Louis smiles at her as he undoes her seatbelt and carries her out of the car. He pushes the door shut with his foot and holds her close, Rose waking up more as soon as she realizes that they’re already in Doncaster. “We’re here!” She squirms out of Louis’ grip and runs up the front walk, ignoring Louis calling after her to put a jacket on.

He sighs, and then Harry is there, holding their bags and looking like he’s seconds away from bolting. “Um.”

Louis smiles reassuringly and takes half of the bags, kissing Harry on the corner of his mouth in thanks. He tangles their fingers together and squeezes once for comfort, and Harry gulps, eyes widening even more when the door opens and soft light floods the porch.

“Nan Jay!” Rose squeals, and there Jay is, looking soft and warm and just as Louis remembers.

They walk up the front porch, Jay waiting for them with Rose already perched on her hip. Louis thinks he can feel the frantic beating of Harry’s heart through his palm, and he tries to be as much of a reassuring presence as he can be.

“Louis,” Jay smiles once they reach her, eyes warm. Her gaze turns to Harry. “And you must be Harry. Please forgive me, dear, but I’m afraid Louis hasn’t told me much about you other than you’re his boyfriend and that you’re coming over for Christmas.”

“That’s because I won’t get to shut up about him and we won’t be able to actually catch up over our scheduled weekly phone calls,” Louis rolls his eyes, and Jay laughs.

Harry remains frozen beside him, however. Jay seems to have noticed his nerves because her smile turns softer, aimed completely at Harry now. “Don’t worry, though. You’re more than welcome here, and you can always tell me more about yourself over dinner.”

They all seemingly wait for Harry to say something, but he remains silent and wide-eyed, and it’s only when Rose says, “Your face looks all white, Harry,” that he manages to collect himself and reach a hand out for Jay to shake.

“Uh, yes, hello. I’m Harry Styles. Louis has told me a lot about you. All of you, really.” His cheeks look flushed, and Louis notices Jay holding back an amused smile as she shakes Harry’s hand. “He adores you lot. Talks about you all the time.”

“Only good things, I hope,” Jay laughs softly.

Harry nods solemnly, and Louis tries not to look too amused by this exchange. “Of course, of course.”

“Well, that’s good to know,” Jay steps aside and motions them inside the house. “Now come on in, come on in. Let’s not stand out here in the cold for longer. Dinner’s in an hour and I asked Fizzy to make hot chocolate for us all, so you can all sit in the living room and chat for now.”

“Sure, mum. Are the girls all in there?” Louis asks, leading Harry further into the house with a gentle hand on his back.

“Yes,” Jay nods, and then they’re stepping into the living room and Louis is immediately filled with something like nostalgia.

The girls are all there, Lottie sitting on the end of the couch with Phoebe’s foot in her lap, painting her toenails orange. Fizzy is sitting on the single armchair and flipping through a magazine, Ernest on her lap, and playing with stuffed animals on the floor are Daisy and Doris. The telly is playing a Christmas movie which no one is paying attention to, and there are steaming mugs on the coffee table. It’s such a familiar scene, and Louis’ heart aches a little.

“Girls,” Jay calls, “and Ernie.”

Everyone looks up. And then there are screams varying in pitch and intensity, and Louis removes his hand from Harry’s back so he can welcome all the bodies that practically jump on him, clinging to him tightly in warm embraces and excited laughter.

“Louis! We didn’t hear you come in, what the hell?” That’s Fizzy, who’s managed to get to him first, arms wrapped tightly around his neck. She’s almost as tall as him now at seventeen years old, and Louis kisses her temple fondly.

Daisy and Phoebe are hugging him around the waist, and they’re both chattering away, trying to get his attention. He bends down to kiss them both on their heads when Fizzy lets him go, and then Doris and Ernest are trying to squeeze themselves in, tugging at Louis’ trousers to get his attention. Daisy and Phoebe reluctantly pull back so he can crouch and give the younger twins a hug and a kiss on the cheek each. They both squeal happily and hug him closer, and Louis feels a little teary-eyed.

“You two have gotten so big now!” he says, pulling back and holding them at arm’s length so he can take a proper look at them. “Rose is growing slower compared to you two, I think,” he adds teasingly, earning an indignant ‘hey!’ from his daughter.

That shifts the twins’ attention to her, and they immediately leave Louis alone in favor of Rose. Jay sets her down, Doris immediately grabbing her hand and Ernest the other, Rose’s eyes shining bright (Louis knows the younger twins are her favorites, perhaps because they’re the closest to age).

Louis stands back up, smiling at the sight of them, before turning and seeing Lottie hovering back slightly, like she’s waiting. She’s still the same height as Louis last saw her, but she seems older, more tired but also more put-together. She’s just finished her first term in university, Louis remembers, and it drives Louis a little crazy, just how fast time has flown by. It feels like it was just yesterday that she was demanding him to push her higher on the playground swing, and now here they are – him with a daughter and her studying to get her degree.

He smiles, opens up his arms, and she steps into his embrace. They hug tightly for a minute, not saying anything because they’ve never really had to communicate with words. They grew up close to each other, and even though they occasionally fought like most siblings, Louis knows she’s one of the few people who know him completely.

She lightly punches him on the arm when she pulls back, smiling. “I missed you.”

Louis laughs. “I missed you, too.”

“Who are you?” he hears one of the older twins ask, and shit. Right. Harry.

He turns around and sees Harry standing near the doorway of the living room, eyes wide and looking like a deer caught in headlights (Louis allows himself a second to appreciate that comparison, because Harry does remind him of Bambi sometimes) as Phoebe stares curiously up at him. Suddenly, everyone is looking at him, and Harry stares at Louis like he’s asking for help.

Louis walks over and stands by his side, wrapping an arm around his waist. He sees everyone’s eyes follow the movement, and he smiles as confidently as he can, opens his mouth to introduce Harry to everyone when—

“That’s Harry!” Rose exclaims, running over to them and hugging Harry’s leg. “He’s Papa’s boyfriend.”

Silence falls over the room. Louis can see Jay trying not to laugh, and Louis mock-glares at her. She just shakes her head and smartly steps out of the living room, knowing what’s about to happen next. The second she’s gone, Harry clears his throat nervously, smiles, and says, “Hiiii.”

The room erupts.

“Boyfriend?!” Lottie demands, walking over and stopping right in front of them. She looks Harry up and down through narrowed eyes for about five seconds, Harry fidgeting nervously under her gaze. Then her expression brightens, probably because she thinks Harry is cute, honestly, Louis knows how she is by now.

“Hello, I’m Lottie,” she introduces pleasantly, before turning to Louis and shrieking, “Why is this the first time I’m hearing about a boyfriend?” and then turning back to Harry again and offering a hand, expression polite. “Nice to meet you.”

Harry seems confused and a little bit scared, but he shakes her hand nonetheless. “It’s nice meeting you, too.”

“I’m Fizzy!” Fizzy bumps Lottie aside with her hip, taking Harry’s hand between hers and shaking it. “I’m gonna warn you right now and say that you’re in for a bit of an interrogation later, but we’ll be nice.”

If Harry seemed scared earlier, now he looks absolutely terrified.

“I’m Daisy! And this is Phoebe!” Phoebe exclaims, shoving Fizzy aside none-so-gently, and Louis rolls his eyes.

“Stop confusing him, Pheebs.”

Phoebe giggles. “Okay fine. I’m actually Phoebe. This is Daisy. But it’s alright if you can’t tell right away. It takes some getting used to for new people. But!” She wiggles her fingers, showing off her painted nails. “You can tell us apart by this for now. Daisy still hasn’t gotten her nails done, you see.”

Before Harry can respond, Doris and Ernie are right there, tugging at his shirt. “Hello, hello, we’re twins too. But you can tell us apart because Ernie is a boy. I’m Doris, by the way.”

Harry looks overwhelmed, and the girls (plus Ernie) don’t even give him a chance to respond because then they’re tugging him away from Louis, sitting him down on the couch and talking his ear off. Rose runs after them and joins in on all the fuss, and Louis decides to leave Harry to it for now. He’s gonna have to get used to Louis’ army of siblings, anyway, and what better time than the present.

He turns, about to sneak out and see if Jay needs any help in the kitchen, when he’s stopped in his tracks by Lottie. She looks stern, her arms crossed against her chest. “Talk, now,” is all she says, before turning and heading upstairs. Louis sighs.

Well. It looks like Harry isn’t the only one who’s getting an interrogation tonight.

*

“Wait, just. Let me see if I got this right – you only met him not even two months ago, but you already think you’re falling in love with him?”

“I think I’m already in love with him,” Louis corrects, before shrugging. “But pretty much, yeah.”

Lottie blinks, looking stunned. “The last time you told me about anyone post-Alicia was, what? A year ago—”

“A year and a half.”

“—and you told me Greg was a great bloke and all but you didn’t think you two would work out because of Rose, even though you’ve been seeing each other for, how long was it? Definitely longer than two months, if I remember correctly. And then after you two split you called me and said you didn’t think being with anyone would work out for you ever again. At least not until Rose turned eighteen.”

Louis shrugs, picking at the sheets. He’s sitting on the edge of Lottie’s bed for their talk, Lottie herself standing by the door as though she’s guarding it in case Louis decides to bolt. He’s already told her the story of how he and Harry met, and everything that’s happened between then and now (okay, not everything – he did have to leave out some parts), and it sort of feels like she’s analyzing it all, trying to decide what verdict she should give.

“Listen,” Louis says, when she just keeps on silently staring at him. “I thought a lot about this. I wouldn’t have continued dating Harry if I didn’t think it would work out, okay? I really, really like him a lot, and I know he feels the same about me, so—”

“And Rose?” Lottie asks, lifting an eyebrow. Louis knows she’s not being mean, she’s just looking out for both her brother and her niece, but still. He can’t help feeling a little defensive on Harry’s behalf.

“Rose adores Harry, and he adores her just as much. They’re really close.” Then he adds, just in case he hasn’t gotten his point across, “Harry’s really, really great.”

Lottie stares at him, as though she’s looking for something. Or trying to see through him. Eventually, her shoulders slump forward with a sigh, and she pinches the bridge of her nose. “Wow,” she breathes out. “Okay. Shit. You really went and fell in love, didn’t you?”

Louis shrugs, cheeks pinking slightly. “I guess I did.”

Sighing, Lottie walks over to him and sits down on the bed as well. She throws an arm around him, leaning against his side. “Well, I’m here to support you, big brother. If he makes you – and Rose, of course – if he makes the two of you happy, then I’m happy, too. As long as you’re sure.”

“Of course,” Louis says. Then, “Thank you.”

“It’s whatever,” Lottie shrugs. “I’m your sister. Sort of my job to poke my nose into your business and make sure you know what you’re doing.”

Louis laughs, and Lottie does as well, and that’s that.

*

When they get back downstairs, Louis is surprised but also glad to see that Harry seems to have gotten over his initial bout of nerves, and has now comfortably settled down in the middle of their living room floor. The coffee table has been pushed back to make more space, and all the couches are empty since everyone’s opted to occupy the floor.

Fizzy and Phoebe are busy with Harry’s hair, giving him tight braids on the side while Harry talks to Daisy and paints her toenails. His own nails are coated in pale yellow, which hasn’t been there before they got here. Rose is casually leaning her weight against Harry’s side while she plays with Ernie and Doris, and it’s such a heart-warming sight – Harry surrounded by Louis’ siblings, idly chatting with them and giggling every now and then – that Louis’ chest aches with it in all the best ways.

It’s just – Harry fits. No matter which aspect of Louis’ life he introduces the younger man to, Harry just seamlessly falls into place like he’s always meant to belong there. His initial nervousness at meeting Louis’ family now seemingly gone, Harry has managed to win over all of Louis’ siblings in a matter of minutes (and really, it shouldn’t be a surprise anymore considering how Harry managed to do the same with Louis and Rose).

Lottie seems bewildered by this turn of events, too, and Louis catches her giving Fizzy nonverbal cues from across the room. Fizzy just shrugs, grins and shoots a thumbs up, before returning to where she’s pulling Harry’s side braid around his head and tying it with the other by the back.

“I…” Lottie trails off, and Louis feels a smug smile forming on his face. Lottie catches his look and playfully shoves him on the shoulder, before walking out of the living room and saying, “I’m getting us more hot chocolate.”

“And we’re done!” Phoebe exclaims just as Fizzy finishes clipping the ends of the braids together. At the same time, Harry adds a final layer of red nail polish on Daisy’s toes, making her cheer.

“Thank you, Harry! Phoebe, we match now!”

Phoebe grins and pats Harry on the head. “Well done, Harry.”

Fizzy grins, pats him on the head as well. “Yes, well done.”

Harry flushes prettily in response. Rose, probably upon seeing that Harry is now unoccupied, scrambles onto his lap and demands some cuddles. Ernie and Doris follow after her, and Harry looks perplexed at all of the kids that are suddenly trying to fit onto his lap, wide-eyed and pink-cheeked.

Louis stands back and watches the scene unfold, chest warm. Someday, he thinks fleetingly, this could be him and Harry with Rose and her own siblings. He and Harry could be parents together, with a family just as big as this.

Harry looks up once everyone has settled, and he catches Louis’ eye. His cheeks turn a darker shade and he looks away, almost-bashful, biting down on a smile. Louis wants to kiss him.

So he approaches Harry, sitting down on the floor beside him. He pulls Ernie onto his own lap so Harry doesn’t get too uncomfortable with all the weight, and Harry shoots him a quick smile.

Louis kisses him on the cheek. “You feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” Harry whispers, nodding almost imperceptibly. He looks beautiful, the braids keeping his hair back while the rest flows down his shoulders. “I mean, once I got over how nervous I was, everything went okay.”

“I can see that,” Louis says, glancing quickly at Fizzy and the older twins who are now busying themselves with whatever’s playing on the telly. Lottie returns, then, balancing three mugs on a tray, and she offers one to Louis and the other to Harry, keeping the last to herself. She sits back on the couch and flips through a magazine, pretending to be disinterested.

Louis leans closer to Harry. “That one’s probably going to pretend to be snobbish, just a warning. Don’t let it get to you, though. It’s just her weird way of seeing whether you’re a good person, or something.”

Harry swallows once, suddenly looking nervous even as he nods. “Did you two talk? You were gone for a bit there.”

“Yeah, we did,” Louis whispers, glancing quickly at Lottie before turning back to Harry. He moves his face closer so he can whisper even lower, but Harry’s breath hitches at the feeling of his lips barely brushing over his ear and Fizzy throws a pillow at them.

“Control yourselves!” she shouts, but she’s grinning. “There are children in the room!”

“We were just talking!” Louis protests, trying to hold back his laughter.

Rose looks up at them curiously. “What are you two talking about?”

“About how much we love you,” Louis tells her, leaning down to give her a kiss on the forehead.

“Liar,” Phoebe accuses.

Louis squawks. “I’m not! Tell them, Harry.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, playing along. “We were talking about how much we both love little Rosie.”

“Good,” Rose says, nodding once. She looks satisfied. “I love the both of you, too. Now all we need is for you two to say it to each other.”

Louis’ heart does a backflip in his chest at that, and Harry squeaks, cheeks turning red. Everyone else in the room has fallen silent, but before Louis can think of anything to say, Jay unknowingly comes to the rescue and calls for all of them to come into the kitchen and help set the table for dinner.

*

“So, Harry dear,” Jay begins ten minutes into dinner, and Louis feels Harry tense slightly beside him. He places a hand on Harry’s thigh under the table, squeezing reassuringly, and he feels Harry relax, albeit only slightly. “What did you go to uni for?”

Harry perks up slightly at the question, nervousness diminishing. Louis smiles into his glass as he takes a drink. He knows how much Harry likes talking about what he does.

“Photography, but I took a minor in media and film studies as well.”

“Oh,” Jay says, clearly interested. “And what do you do now, dear?

“Um. Nothing much, to be honest,” Harry admits sheepishly. “But I’m thinking of starting a blog to maybe get my photos out there more, and I’m also considering looking for local magazine firms who might want to hire me. Maybe even apply to the local paper if they have an opening for photojournalists.”

“He takes really lovely photos, mum,” Louis adds in, smiling at the way Harry blushes and ducks his head. “Gorgeous, really. You should see them for yourself.”

“I brought my camera with me…” Harry says, trailing off. Everyone’s looking at him curiously now, though they’re not openly staring. Louis keeps his hand on Harry’s thigh. “If you want, I can show you some of my pictures.”

Jay smiles kindly. “Of course. I’d love to see them.” She takes a sip of her own drink, before asking, “But where do you work at the moment?”

“I work at a bakery,” Harry admits.

“It’s the one Agatha and Richard own,” Louis adds. “Harry is a brilliant baker as well.”

Harry lightly nudges him on the shoulder, laughing. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“You’re making me blush.”

“You’re already blushing, love,” Louis points out. “And besides, it’s true. Your cupcakes are to die for.”

“Well, then I say Harry must help me bake for our Christmas dinner,” Jay says, smiling a little wider. “It’s a perfect bonding opportunity, too.”

Harry smiles as well, although shyly. “I’d love to help.”

Jay glances at Louis, something like mischief twinkling in her eyes. Louis mock-glares at her, shifting his chair closer to Harry’s. He mouths, ‘Be nice,’ and Jay just blinks innocently in response. She’s nice and looks out for Louis, really, but she also tends to overshare information about Louis (most of them embarrassing stories from his childhood and teenage years) whenever she manages to trap his potential partners in a one-on-one conversation. She also asks for too much details sometimes. She can be particularly mischievous when she wants to be, which is where Louis got his own mischief streak from, really.

Looking at everyone else sitting around the table, Louis realizes that it definitely runs in the entire family.

“Louis mentioned earlier that you’ve done some travelling?” Jay prompts after a while.

“I did,” Harry nods. “Southeast Asia and Europe.”

“You’re a bit of a wanderer, aren’t you, dear?”

“Yeah. I used to dream of photographing wildlife or maybe working for National Geographic.”

“What made you change your mind, then?”

Harry glances down at his almost-empty plate, shrugging. “I realized that it’d mean I’d be far away a lot, and I’ve always wanted to settle down. Be domestic and all, once I met the right person. I love photography, I really do, but I don’t want to, like, have it get in the way of spending time with my future family.” He looks back up, smiles softly. “After I graduated, I figured I’d want to see some of the world before I – I don’t know. I think I was doing a bit of searching back then, but I think I’ve had more than enough of it.” He blushes once he’s finished talking, looking back down and fidgeting slightly.

A hush has fallen over the table. The younger ones are unaware of it, scooping more pasta onto their plates, but they’re alert enough to notice that the atmosphere has shifted into something more serious so they remain quiet. Fizzy is trying to pretend she isn’t intently listening, lightly twirling pasta onto her fork, while Lottie is staring. Louis himself is feeling a little taken aback, because he’s heard some of this before, yes, but not all of it. He finds himself wanting to ask, Have you found it? Have you found what you were looking for? Have you found someone to give you enough reason to settle down?

But he doesn’t, because that’s a conversation meant only for the two of them.

Jay seems to be thinking of the same thing. She smiles softly, eyes warm. “And do you think you’ve found it, whatever you’re searching for, love?”

Harry glances quickly at Louis, then at Rose. Under the table, Louis feels fingers slip between his where his hand is still resting on Harry’s thigh.

“Yes,” Harry admits, smiling. “I think I have.”

(Later, Jay will quietly pull Louis aside. She won’t say anything, just nod and smile at him with soft, warm eyes, before pulling him in for a hug.)

*

“Domestic?” Louis asks in a hushed whisper later that night, as he pulls Harry’s shirt over his head. The two of them are sleeping in Louis’ teenage bedroom, a small and narrow stretch of a room that’s just big enough to fit a bed, a closet, and a table for his old textbooks (his original childhood bedroom was passed onto Lottie and Fizzy, and when Daisy and Phoebe turned five it was their turn to use it – now it serves as Ernie and Doris’ room, where Rose would be sleeping in for the duration of their stay).

“Yeah,” Harry breathes out, biting his lip to keep himself quiet as Louis pulls his own shirt off and tosses it aside. “Since I was sixteen.”

“I should’ve known,” Louis laughs quietly, leaning down to press a kiss against the flutter of Harry’s pulse by his neck. “And settling down? Why didn’t you mention it to me sooner?”

“I thought I’ve pretty much implied it,” Harry responds, arching his neck so that Louis has more room. Louis bites his neck, and he gasps. “I – when I first came to town, I wasn’t sure what it was I wanted to find. But now. I think I’ve been looking for something to call home all this time.”

Louis pulls back and pushes himself up, staring down at Harry, who blushes and falters slightly. He tries to look away, but Louis catches him, holding his face by the chin gently. “No, go on.”

Harry bites his lip and glances off to the side, before looking back. “Holmes Chapel is my home. It’s where I grew up and where my family is. It’ll always be the place I go back to, because most of the things attached to my early life is there. It’s home.” He pauses, blinks once. “But I want to find a home for myself, somewhere that I can really call my own and not just because it happens to be where I was born. I love Holmes Chapel, I really do, but it’s not – it was just there, you know? Like I wasn’t really given a choice and it’s, like, expected of me to call it my home. So I thought I needed to look for somewhere else, all on my own.”

Louis understands that, he thinks.

Harry takes a deep breath, eyes falling shut. His voice is significantly softer when he says, “And I – I think I’ve found it.”

Louis’ heart stops. The air in the room seems to have stilled. In the house, everyone else is already sleeping, and it’s so quiet Louis can almost pretend that they’re the only ones in it. He doesn’t dare make any move or sound, wide eyes fixed on Harry’s flushed face and parted lips, and he waits.

Finally, after a while, Harry lets out a small, shuddery breath, one that seems to wrack him from the very core. His eyes flutter open again, slowly like the first beating of a butterfly’s wings, and when their gazes meet once more, it feels like time has completely come to a halt.

“I found you,” Harry whispers, voice small. He sounds scared at the admission, but it’s honest. It’s the most honest thing Louis’ ever heard.

“Harry,” Louis hears himself say, voice breaking slightly, and it seems to push Harry on.

“I found you, and you’re worth staying for. You’re more than worth staying for. You and Rose, you’re everything to me, and it terrifies me how much I feel for you already but it’s – it’s also the only thing I’m completely sure of. I’ve never been so sure of anything but this.” Harry sucks in a breath, and Louis can feel the way his chest rises with it. “It felt like I was lost for a while, you know? Going to all those places was liberating in a way, yes, like I was taking control of my own life and steering my own ship wherever I wanted to go, but – but I wasn’t, not really. I was stumbling, more like. Alone. Looking in the dark.”

He lifts a hand and gently cups the side of Louis’ face. He’s trembling, Louis realizes. “But then I found you here and I don’t know how or why, but I’m glad. You – you’re enough. You’re what I’ve been looking for.” His voice cracks slightly, and he whispers so lowly Louis wouldn’t have caught it if he weren’t paying close attention (which he always is, always attunes himself to everything Harry does and says), “I realized that we could be enough.”

Louis does the only thing he can think of in that moment – he kisses Harry, chest full and threatening to burst. He’s so overwhelmed with emotion, and there’s a moment of pure clarity, a simple realization that makes itself known amidst everything he’s thinking and feeling. I do love you. I do. I do.

The words build up in his throat and push forward onto his tongue, until his lips are practically begging him to spill them out, to open up his heart and pour out everything the same way Harry did. Instead of saying that, though, he presses his mouth below Harry’s ear, tries to wordlessly communicate how much he’s feeling right now.

“I promise,” he whispers, holding Harry close to him. “I promise, I’ll make this feel like home. I’ll make sure you feel like you’re not lost anymore.”

Hands grip onto his shoulders, and Harry turns his head, presses his own lips onto Louis’ skin. His touch is searing – Louis never wants him to let go. Harry’s voice, when he speaks, is barely above a whisper, and it sends Louis diving headfirst without any inhibitions left, accepting his fall and inevitable crash with his arms and eyes wide open.

“You already have.”

*

Dan arrives two days later from a business trip. He trudges through the driveway, pulling his luggage behind him, while four different bags hang from his other arm. Louis sees him through the window and throws a jacket on, before running out to help him carry all of his things.

It’s barely snowed, the ground frozen in a thin layer of ice and making the cemented pathway leading up to the door slippery. The air is cold and wet, and Louis’ teeth chatter as he carefully steps down the front porch and meets Dan halfway.

“Louis!” he calls, smiling. “Been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he smiles back, taking some of the bags from Dan. He peeks inside and grins at all the wrapped boxes. “Good luck hiding these from the girls and Ernie once we get inside.”

Dan laughs. “Christmas is in two days, I think they can wait.” They start walking back towards the house, where Jay and Harry are starting with lunch.

“I doubt it,” Louis laughs in response. “I had to hide our presents under the bed.”

Dan pats him on the back, grinning. Louis holds the door open as he waits for Dan to haul his luggage up onto the porch, panting slightly in exertion. He smiles in thanks at Louis as he steps into the house, leaving his wet boots outside. “How have you been, by the way?”

“Very well.”

“Good to hear.” Dan shrugs his jacket off and hangs it behind the door. “And Rose?”

“She’s doing splendidly.”

“That’s wonderful. She starts school next year, doesn’t she?”

“She does,” Louis nods. “I’m quite terrified, if I’m going to be honest. But I’m also excited for her. I know she’s been looking forward to it a lot, and I can work again some more once I get more time to myself. It’ll take some getting used to not having her around all the time, though. Hopefully I don’t get too lonely in the house.”

“Ah well,” Dan begins, grinning. “You’ll have the boyfriend to keep you company.” Louis blushes and coughs a little, and Dan pats him on the back. “Your mother called me, you know. Now help me hide these presents so you can go introduce us.”

Fifteen minutes later finds them in the kitchen, Harry shaking Dan’s hand as Jay fusses on with lunch in the background after greeting her husband a welcome home. Louis walks over to the fridge and pulls out a pitcher of water for himself, taking a glass from the dish holder. He half-listens to Dan and Harry talk about Germany (which they’ve both been to, apparently) and pours himself a glass, peeking at whatever’s cooking on the stove.

“You know,” she begins, glancing quickly at him before turning back to the white sauce she’s mixing, “Harry is also an excellent cook. He’s promised to help me prepare Christmas-Eve-slash-your-birthday dinner.”

The 24th of December is a loud and grand affair for them every year, most of Louis’ relatives still living in Doncaster (and some who even go out of their way to travel from wherever it is they’re living now) coming over for a very large dinner. Jay starts cooking as early as ten in the morning, and Lottie and Fizzy take over preparing the living room and the dining room to somehow fit in everyone who’s coming.

Louis likes it. It’s become tradition, having everyone over and catching up. “That’s good,” he tells Jay.

Jay nods, glancing over her shoulder where Dan and Harry are talking about sausages, of all things. She turns back to Louis with a look. “Harry is wonderful,” she whispers. “Definitely a keeper.”

Louis can feel himself smiling. He already knew that, of course, but to hear it coming from his mother, one of the most important people to him whose opinion he values – it’s a great feeling. “He really is,” he whispers back, glancing over his shoulder quickly. Harry and Dan are still immersed in their conversation, so he turns back to Jay and adds, “Everyone will love him.”

Jay nods. “You’re really serious about him, then?”

“Yes,” Louis answers immediately, and it’s the surest he’s sounded since Alicia asked him if he could handle the responsibility of getting custody over Rose. “I’m really, really serious.”

Jay watches him for a moment, and then she smiles. “Good. You look a lot happier, by the way. I can guess why.”

Louis feels his face flush a little, and he shrugs, smiles. “He really does make me happy.”

Behind them, Harry laughs his full-body, barking laugh that he likes to cover up so much, probably at something Dan said, and Louis smiles to himself. He can get used to hearing that sound for the rest of his life, to be honest.

*

Louis wakes up on the morning of his birthday with Harry lying half on top of him, tracing patterns lazily on his bare chest. He smiles, catching Harry’s wrist in his hand, and Harry startles slightly before glancing up.

“You’re awake! Good morning,” he greets, smiling. He pushes himself up and kisses Louis softly, adds in a murmur, “Happy birthday.”

Louis pretends to groan, pulling Harry on top of him completely with an arm around the waist. “Don’t remind me. Twenty-nine years old, honestly. I’m one breath away from being thirty.” Harry giggles, and Louis pokes him on the side once. “Really, Harry. I’m getting old. How can you still want me?”

“Don’t be silly,” Harry nips at his chin playfully. Louis should probably shave. “We’re all getting old. And besides, you’re still very, very fit and very, very attractive.”

“Glad to know you only want me for my face and body,” Louis says flatly.

Harry giggles, lightly swatting him on the chest. “Silly. I’d still want you even if you’re wrinkly and graying and all your hair’s falling off your head.”

Instead of laughing, Louis’ heart does a skip at that. Harry seems to have realized the implication of what he said a second later because his eyes widen and he pushes himself up slightly, looking a little panicked. He opens his mouth to say something, but before he can Louis asks, “Do you mean that?”

Harry shuts his mouth. Then he nods once, just a quick up and down movement of the head that sends his hair flying slightly. He bites his lip, suddenly looking shy, and Louis can’t help but tug him down for a kiss. Harry seems surprised but he goes with it, melting against Louis’ body and shifting so that they’re slotted together more comfortably, his thighs on either side of Louis’ hips.

“You’re the sweetest,” Louis murmurs once they pull apart, and Harry blushes prettily.

They kiss for a few minutes more, until the sounds of feet coming from downstairs becomes too loud and they hear the bedroom doors down the hall open and slam shut. Louis knows that in a while, his siblings will be storming into his room and screaming their greetings at him, and even though he knows Lottie and Fizzy would have enough sense to know not to disturb him while Harry’s in the same room, he can’t say the same for the rest of his siblings and he doesn’t want them seeing him and Harry in a compromising position. Rose would definitely demand that she go see Louis immediately, as well, so Louis reluctantly pulls back.

He smiles at the way Harry chases after his lips, leaning in with his eyes still closed. He presses a finger against Harry’s mouth, stopping him, and Harry’s eyes flutter open. He pouts.

“Based on experience, we’ve got about maybe ten minutes before my siblings and my daughter all come barging into this room.”

Harry’s pout deepens. He pushes himself up into a sitting position, perched atop Louis’ lap in just his boxers with his hair a tangled mess. He looks unfairly beautiful like this. “But the door is locked.”

“Harry,” Louis begins, lips quirking half-fondly, half-amusedly, “they’re gonna be banging on that door until we open it. Bit of a mood-killer, don’t you think?” He pinches Harry on the side, causing him to shriek. “And besides, my daughter would want to see me.”

Harry bats his hand away, still pouting. “Fine,” he eventually agrees, before his expression turns into something more mischievous. “Shame though, I was gonna give you one of your presents early. But I guess it’ll just have to wait until tonight.” He punctuates this with a downward roll of his hips, grinding his arse onto Louis’ clothed crotch, and Louis’ eyes flutter shut with a groan. He’s suddenly assaulted with images of Harry flushed and sweaty on top of him, panting as he bounces on Louis’ lap with his thighs on either side of Louis’ hips, much like right now. He pushes those thoughts away, files them to the back of his mind for later.

He opens his eyes again when he hears Harry giggle, narrowing them playfully. “I didn’t expect you to be a tease.”

Harry shrugs. “Sometimes I am. Most times, though, I just want to please.”

He’s going to kill Louis if he keeps talking like that. And on my birthday of all days, what a way to go, Louis thinks.

He shoves Harry off of him before things get further out of hand (by pushing his hips up so that Harry falls over with a surprised squeak, obviously) and quickly gets up to dress himself. Harry pouts from the floor and Louis lovingly tosses a bright red Christmas sweater at him, and just as they finish getting dressed there’s a series of loud, excited knocks coming from the door.

“Told you,” Louis tells Harry, to which the younger man just pouts again. Louis ruffles his hair and kisses him on the cheek, before he’s opening the door and being swarmed by seven pairs of arms.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY LOUIS!!”

Louis laughs, picking Rose up from the group and holding her close. She squeals happily and nuzzles her face into his neck. “Happy birthday Papa!”

Louis kisses her on the head. “Thank you, sweetie.”

She passes her to Harry when his siblings start demanding his attention, and he goes to hug them one by one with a smile. Lottie ruffles his hair and Fizzy clings around his shoulders, while the older twins hug him around the waist, Ernie and Doris tugging at his hand. He sees Harry watching them with a soft smile as Rose chatters into his ear and tugs at his hair, and it’s so easy for Louis to imagine a future like this with the two of them – him waking up on his birthday, inside their own bedroom in their own home, their children greeting him with birthday wishes while Harry watches fondly.

The thought makes Louis’ heart swell in his chest. He wants to have that so much.

“Mum’s making you breakfast,” Daisy says. “She won’t let us have any until you’re down there so we can all eat together.”

“And we’re hungry, so come on,” Phoebe finishes, tugging on Louis’ hand. Rose squirms in Harry’s arms until he sets her down, and then she’s pulling on Louis’ shirt and silently demanding him to go down with wide eyes, always excited for breakfast.

He lets himself get dragged out of his room, laughing. Lottie and Fizzy hang back, though, and Louis hears them say, “Come on as well, Harry. Can’t start Louis’ big day without the entire family down for breakfast.”

He doesn’t get to hear Harry’s response because by then he’s too far from the room and everyone is talking excitedly about his birthday and Christmas tomorrow, but his chest clenches at his sisters’ words. Family. Harry is really starting to feel like Louis’ family.

Jay pulls him in for a giant hug once he steps into the kitchen, wishing him a happy birthday and kissing him on the cheek. Dan pats him on the back and ruffles his hair. He’s made to sit by the head of the table, and Rose immediately claims the seat to his right. Everyone else settles around the table, and Louis notices that they leave the chair to his left vacant.

When Lottie, Fizzy, and Harry finally enter the room, the girls immediately sit across Ernie and Doris. Harry looks around and blushes once he realizes where he’s meant to be, and he shyly takes his seat, keeping his head lowered.

Louis immediately reaches for his hand under the table, and Harry’s lips quirk up into a small smile. Louis squeezes his hand reassuringly, before turning to everyone sitting around the table. “Alright, I know you’re all just dying to give me your birthday wishes and tell me how I’m such a great son, brother, and father—”

“And boyfriend,” Lottie mutters under her breath, Fizzy snickering into her hand.

“Yes, thank you for that, Lottie,” Louis says flatly, nudging his foot with Harry’s underneath the table. Harry bites his lip to hold back a smile. “Now, where was I – oh, yes! I know you all want to tell me how great I am, but let’s just save it for tonight’s dinner because it is way too early for me to get emotional already and my daughter looks like she’s seconds away from swallowing her plate whole.”

“I’m hungry!” Rose protests, reaching over to poke Louis on the arm.

“I know you are,” Louis grins, poking her back. “Let’s eat.”

It’s a really good breakfast. Jay, who’s occupying the chair beside Harry, finalizes their plans for dinner in between bites of omelets. Rose is being even sweeter than usual, piling bacon onto Louis’ plate and asking him if he wants more tea (even though Louis wouldn’t let her touch a kettle yet). The older twins are loudly talking about how excited they are to open presents, while the younger twins poke and prod at Dan into spilling what the gifts he got for them are.

All the while, Louis keeps his foot tangled with Harry’s underneath the table. They keep giving each other quick little smiles, and Louis can’t remember a time he’s felt this happy. Of course, he’s had a lot of shining moments – getting his first writing offer, holding Rose for the first time in his arms, getting his own place with Rose – but they’d all been tinged with something else for Louis, this small niggling worry in the back of his mind. Looking back at those memories, he feels like there’s always been this melancholic cloud looming over him, a small sense of dread he didn’t want to acknowledge. He had always found himself thinking, What if I’m not good enough for any of this? What if I’m not good enough for Rose?

This moment isn’t like that. Right now, his chest feels completely light. Right now is nothing but pure happiness, eating breakfast on his birthday with his entire family and seeing everyone get along.

And Louis thinks – has a feeling – that this is only the beginning of many more memories like this.

*

Louis knew he wouldn’t get to spend a lot of time with Harry today, mainly because he’s promised to help in the kitchen and Jay won’t let Louis step even a foot inside. Louis doesn’t understand why (though that’s a lie, because he does understand – he’d steal bites from everything Jay is making and probably only serve as a distraction for Harry, and they have guests coming in about six hours; still, it’s Louis’ birthday and he’s being denied, so he’s gonna pout about it).

On the upside, though, Rose hasn’t left his side since they finished breakfast. Ever since they got here, she’s been spending most of her time playing with Ernie and Doris, which is understandable. Since she hasn’t started school yet, she rarely gets to interact with children her age. Her only playmate apart from Louis is Niall, really, and some of the neighborhood kids when they feel like having a friendly game of footie in the park, though that’s rare.

But today, Rose is practically attached to Louis’ hip. Right now, she’s having a little nap on Louis’ lap, wrapped in a Christmas sweater she got from Jay. Her hair’s falling out of its loose bun, head cradled against Louis’ chest, and he brushes the fallen strands away from her face, gently so as to not disturb her sleep. Rose stirs slightly but settles again, curling up and unconsciously clutching onto Louis’ shirt.

Louis smiles. He loves her so much, is the thing. From the moment he first carried her, he knew she would be her entire world. They’ve always had a close relationship, despite his not-so-ideal situation with Alicia back then. Louis would travel to the moon and collect stars if she asked (she once nearly did, but then she changed her mind and just asked for a jar of glitter instead).

For the longest time, Louis had convinced himself that his life would revolve around only her. And he was fine with that. He got used to that mindset. Which is why it was so terrifying for him at first, having Harry stumble into his life like the clumsy, endearing mess of a boy that he is. Louis doesn’t think he believes in a god, hasn’t really given much thought about it, but he’ll admit that at the start, he had prayed for Harry and Rose to get along.

And he’s so happy that they did. That they do. Rose and Harry, they clearly adore each other, and seeing them interact makes Louis’ heart swell to five times its size. He had worried that maybe Rose was just acting that way at first because she sensed that Louis wanted Harry around, but he quickly realized that Rose wanted Harry’s company just as much. She probably still doesn’t understand the magnitude of what it’d really mean to have Harry stepping in and being her second parent, but she seems very willing to accept it. Embrace it, even.

Louis is so thankful for her. So thankful for having such a bright, considerate, and loving little girl as his daughter. Sometimes, he can’t help but bitterly wonder how Alicia could’ve given this up, how she could be content with getting only glimpses of Rose’s growth, but he quickly pushes those thoughts away with a guilty flush whenever they appear. It’s not her fault that she wasn’t ready to be a parent yet, and it’s not her fault that she would probably never be. She’s talked to Louis about it, a long and tear-filled conversation about how she never saw herself raising a child and how people gave her shit for it, and then suddenly she woke up one day and realized she was pregnant and it was like all her fears caught up to her all at once. Louis can’t even begin to imagine how that must’ve felt for her.

But Louis is different. He’s not shaming Alicia for never wanting children, no. He respects that, and he’s just eternally grateful that even though that’s how she felt, she still decided to go through with the pregnancy and give birth to Rose.

But Louis, he’s always wanted children. Perhaps it’s largely due to the fact that he grew up taking care of four younger siblings, but he’s always had a soft spot for kids. So when Alicia came to him crying about being pregnant, Louis only had a small moment of apprehension, of doubt and hesitation. He knew, almost immediately, that he would take care of the baby.

Because Rose, she’s a gift. She’s Louis’ world.

And Louis had been convinced that he’d never meet someone who could see Rose the same way he does, until Harry came along. Louis can see just how genuine the younger man is whenever he interacts with Rose, how much he truly cares for her as well, and it’s all just perfect, really, how Harry and Louis’ paths have crossed that one Halloween night. Louis’ never really given much thought about fate, but he thinks he won’t be so skeptical about it. After all, he has Harry now.

Rose suddenly stirs on his chest, and Louis is snapped out of his thoughts. He blinks, shaking his head slightly to himself, before stroking his daughter’s hair and pulling her closer to his chest. Rose murmurs something in her sleep and clutches tighter onto his shirt, and then she’s relaxing again, settling back against him while her breaths even out once more.

“I love you,” Louis whispers to her, and she sniffs, her eyelashes fluttering slightly. Louis wonders what she’s dreaming of right now.

He wonders whether she can feel just how happy he is.

*

The house is full and noisy, aunts who want cheek kisses and uncles who want footie conversations and cousins who just want to catch up all stopping Louis in his tracks every other minute. They all greet him a happy birthday and coo over Rose who he’s carrying against his hip, before their eyes slide over to Harry who’s practically glued to his side in barely-concealed curiosity.

“This is Harry, my boyfriend,” Louis introduces every time, and Harry always smiles this smile that’s half-shy, half-charming. They’re all nice, welcoming Harry with warm hugs, and as time passes Louis feels Harry relax more and more. He still clings to Louis’ side, though, and Louis can’t help but think how they must look to everyone else – all three of them attached to each other like a close, tight-knit little family.

It warms his chest.

It’s when Mark arrives that Harry becomes slightly nervous again. Louis can feel it in the way he tenses slightly when Louis leans in to whisper, “There’s my dad.”

“Louis!” Mark greets as soon as he sees him, arms open. He hugs Louis and Rose at the same time, and Rose squeals a “Grandpa Mark!” and clings around his neck. “Happy birthday, lad,” Mark greets him once they pull back, and Louis’ smile feels like it’s about to split his face in half.

“Thanks dad.”

Mark smiles, and then his gaze falls on Harry who’s taken a step back, shifting unsurely from one foot to the other. “And you are?”

Harry immediately snaps to attention at being addressed, extending a hand stiffly. “Harry Styles, sir. Pleasure to meet you.”

Rose snorts and even Louis giggles at how formal Harry is being. Mark seems slightly amused as well, accepting Harry’s handshake firmly. “Pleasure to meet you as well. I’m Mark Tomlinson, Louis’ first stepdad.”

“My dad,” Louis corrects softly. “He raised me and took care of me like his own, so. He’s my dad.” He slips an arm around Harry’s waist and pulls him in against his side, adding, “Harry is my boyfriend.”

Mark’s smile softens. “Your mother did mention someone over the phone.” He places a hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeezes once. “You take care of the both of them, yeah?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry nods quickly, cheeks slightly flushed.

“Please, call me Mark,” Mark laughs. “Now, I gotta go see my daughters. I’ll catch you later, Louis, Harry.” He leans down to kiss Rose on the head. “You too, Ro.”

Harry’s shoulders sag once Mark is gone, and Louis smiles at him amusedly. “What’s up with you?”

“That was your dad, Lou,” Harry mutters. His cheeks are pink and he’s leaning his entire weight against Louis’ side. “I wanted to make a good impression.”

“You did fine, babe,” Louis assures, kissing him on the temple. Rose reaches over and pokes Harry on the cheek, making him pout. Louis giggles at the look on his face and Rose immediately follows, her eyes crinkling as she puts a hand over her mouth. Harry holds his pout for three more seconds before he breaks into giggles as well, wrapping an arm around Louis’ shoulder and leaning further against him.

They probably look like a mess, all three of them laughing in the middle of the room for no apparent reason and leaning onto each other, but Louis knows they look lovely as well. Like a little family. He wants to turn to everyone and make sure that they’re all looking at them, that they’re all seeing just how happy they are and how perfectly they fit. But at the same time, he wants to keep this small moment private, just between the three of them, tucked away safely inside his chest.

When Jay announces that dinner is ready, everyone cheers. People file into the dining room, and Louis is immediately assaulted with the delicious scent of roasted meat and mashed potatoes, Jay’s homemade gravy and a container filled with chopped vegetables, peas and corn and carrots diced into small cubes, a bowl of mixed fruit, and pasta that Louis knows Harry made. There are little gingerbread men and biscuits in the shapes of Christmas trees and stars and candy canes in a little bowl, an array of pies and a giant chocolate cake sitting on the counter. There’s hot chocolate for the kids and red wine for the adults and apple-honey iced tea for everyone else, and the table is filled to the brim with so much food that Jay and Harry have spent the entire day making.

Everyone crowds around the dining table excitedly, and Jay steps forward to stick a candle into the center of the cake. “Just one, because Louis here doesn’t want to be reminded of how old he’s actually turning,” she says as Mark lights the candle with a lighter from his pocket, and everyone laughs.

Louis rolls his eyes, passing Rose to Harry so he can blow the candle out. Everyone starts singing and clapping, and Louis leans down, smiling. A hush falls over the room after a round of ‘Happy Birthday’, and Louis closes his eyes as he makes his birthday wish.

He blows the flame out after, and everyone cheers. Jay starts passing plates and Harry sets Rose down so she can get her own food. Louis helps her put pasta onto her plate, and she looks curiously into the bowl of fruit. Louis asks her if she wants to try, and Rose nods, says, “Harry says fruit is good for you.”

“Oh god,” Louis pretends to groan, “he’s gonna have the two of us eating healthy.” He glances over his shoulder to see where Harry is, and he frowns when he doesn’t see him in the room. He turns back to Rose. “Do you know where Harry went to?”

“I think he went upstairs to get his camera!”

“Oh, I see,” Louis says, glancing over his shoulder one more time. “Do you want the fruit now or after?”

Rose thinks about it for a moment, before deciding, “After, I think.” She purses her lips, nods once. “Yeah, after. For dessert. Can I get it with the pie and a cookie? Harry told me he made the sweets.”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

He finishes putting food onto her plate, and she scurries off to sit with her aunts. Louis gets two plates and starts piling food on both, scooping some peas and corn beside his mash after some thought because Harry would like that. He pours an unhealthy amount of gravy over his plate and just a bit on Harry’s, and when he turns around he sees that Harry has returned.

He did get his camera, and he’s now taking pictures of everyone. Louis smiles fondly, watches him work for a moment. When Harry turns and finds him through the lens, though, he makes a silly face, and Harry snaps a photo of him like that. He lets Harry take a few more silly pictures of him, before he lets his expression fall into something softer, more natural.

He sees Harry’s finger falter over the button for a second, before he hears the click of the shutter. He watches Harry look at the photo, a small smile on his lips.

“Harry,” he calls, “come eat before the food gets cold.”

Harry nods, letting his camera hang around his neck before approaching Louis. He smiles when he sees the two plates. “You got that for me?”

“Of course,” Louis smiles, offering him one of the plates. “Wasn’t sure how much gravy you’d want.”

“This is just enough, thanks.” Harry narrows his eyes at Louis’ plate. “You, on the other hand… isn’t that a bit excessive?”

Louis just shrugs, grins. “It’s a bit crowded here, don’t you think? Want to eat in the living room?”

Harry nods, and they sneak out of the dining room after Louis makes sure Rose is eating with her aunts and uncle. Louis grabs two wine glasses the way out and Harry sneakily picks up one of the wine bottles resting on the edge of the table, and they quietly giggle at each other as they make their way into the living room. They decide to sit on the floor, setting their food on the coffee table.

“This good?” Louis asks as he makes himself comfortable, and Harry hums, nodding. They open the bottle and pour themselves a glass, and then they start eating, Louis moaning the moment he shovels a spoonful of mash into his mouth. “God, Mum’s cooking is to die for.”

Harry makes an appreciative noise of agreement beside him. “She’s an excellent cook. I bet she’s excellent all-around, too. Mums are amazing”

“They really are,” Louis agrees. “And she really is. Excellent all-around, I mean. She’s such a family person, you know? Raised us well, even though we could be menaces sometimes.”

“I think it runs in the family,” Harry says, just a touch teasing, and Louis grins.

“We’re nothing if not mischievous,” he agrees. He takes a sip of wine, shifting a little closer to Harry. “We should go back in there for dessert, though. Your baking is also to die for.”

Harry blushes, pleased. They eat in silence for a while, feeding each other spoonfuls of food. They giggle giddily for no reason every now and then, hiding their smiles when they catch the other watching, and Louis feels like there’s a fire blazing in his chest, keeping him warm. He’s so fucking happy.

“There you are!” someone exclaims a while later, and they both jump in surprise. They turn around and see Rose hurrying towards them, carrying something. “I didn’t see you in there and people were starting with dessert so I got us some.” She puts down two plates, one filled with three slices of cake and gingerbread men, and the other with pie and biscuits. She then wiggles into the small space between Louis and Harry, and Louis laughs, settling her half on his lap and half on Harry’s.

“You comfortable, love?”

“Very much, thank you for asking,” Rose nods. “I like it here. Let’s eat dessert.”

Harry giggles and Louis smiles. Rose is so thoughtful and bright, especially for her age. Sometimes he can’t help but think that she’s growing up too fast, but then again, that’s just life, isn’t it? People grow up and grow old. People make mistakes. People learn. People leave.

But sometimes, people stay.

They share the food and Rose pouts when she gets crumbs on her pink dress, so Louis brushes them away gently. Harry wipes chocolate from her mouth with his thumb and makes sure she doesn’t spill anything else on her dress, and Louis gets this feeling of certainty in his chest that his birthday wish would come true.

I wish Harry would stay with me and Rose. I wish we would truly be a family.

*

The sheets feel cool against his overheated skin and Louis feels like sinking into them, further and further and further down until he can’t emerge, but Harry is warm and solid and reassuring above him. Like an anchor keeping him steady, or a ship keeping him afloat.

Almost everyone has gone home by now, save for Mark and a few other people. Louis can faintly hear them having a conversation from downstairs, holiday music filtering through the radio and mixing with the sounds of wine glasses clinking and slightly-tipsy laughter. The younger kids are all tucked into their beds, Lottie and Fizzy being the only ones who stayed up with the adults, probably watching a Christmas film or gossiping about him and Harry.

Normally, Louis would be joining them, but Harry had been giving him these looks throughout the night and Louis only has so much self-control. Jay had raised an eyebrow mischievously at them when Louis thanked everyone and announced that he’s feeling knackered so he’s heading up to bed, and Lottie had rolled her eyes while Fizzy openly snorted. Everyone else snickered and told them to have fun, and Harry buried his red face against Louis’ shoulder, totally giving them away.

But he doesn’t really care about that right now. He can deal with all the teasing and mischievous looks tomorrow morning. Right now, what matters is feeling Harry completely bare against him, hearing his small gasps and soft moans whenever Louis tugs at his hair or bites at his neck, seeing his flushed face and the way his eyes flutter shut every now and then. He looks utterly beautiful, and Louis doesn’t know how he managed to find him, but he’s glad.

Louis wraps his arm tightly around Harry’s waist, cradling the back of his head with his other hand, before flipping them over. Harry lets out a surprised gasp at the sudden shift in their positions, staring up at Louis with wide eyes. Louis just smiles, quick and sharp in the dark room, before leaning down to trail kisses all over Harry’s chest.

“Lou,” Harry breathes, and he sounds a bit petulant. Louis can’t help but laugh quietly against Harry’s collarbone. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be doing stuff for you. It’s your birthday.”

“Stuff,” Louis repeats, giggling. “Can you clarify, love?”

Harry whines and shoves lightly at his shoulder. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not,” Louis says, even though he’s still giggling. Harry pouts at him and Louis kisses it away. He doesn’t respond at first, acting stubborn, and he lasts about four seconds before he gives in and kisses Louis back. Louis feels his legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer so that their hips press together, and they both moan at the contact. He pulls back, rocks his hips forward slightly. “I kinda want to do it like this the first time, wanna see you.”

Harry moans loudly, pushing his hips back. He’s pouting again, though. “But – you’re ruining my plans, Lou. I’m gonna ride you. You’ll still see me.”

A stab of heat goes through Louis at that. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry nods, “we can do it like this after.” He unwraps his legs from Louis’ hips and wriggles underneath him, says, “Now get off so I can get to it.”

Louis laughs, even though there’s heat twisting in his belly and his cock is aching for contact. “Let me make you feel good first.”

“Louis, really, what part of today being your birthday do you not understand?”

“Exactly, it’s my birthday, which is why you’d let me do this,” Louis grins. “I want to make you feel good. Then you can make me feel good. It’s supposed to be a two-way thing, a give-and-take, you know?”

“Trust me, having you inside me is more than enough of a give for me,” Harry mutters, eyebrows furrowed. “Why are we even having a conversation right now?”

“Shh,” Louis hushes, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Kids are sleeping.”

Harry lets out a loud moan at that, and – and Louis realizes what he’s just said sounds like. He gets an image of him and Harry in the future like this, making love quietly inside their own bedroom in their own home, their children sleeping a few rooms down, and. And that’s.

“Louis,” Harry whines, snapping Louis out of his thoughts. He shakes his head to himself, slaps a hand over Harry’s mouth when he keeps on whining without really thinking about it, and Harry’s eyes widen and glaze over at that, and – okay, this is too much for Louis to process right now.

He pulls his hand away immediately and presses a finger to Harry’s mouth, silently telling him to keep quiet, and Harry nods slowly, looking a bit dazed. Louis kisses him below the ear, down the side of his neck, continues peppering kisses down Harry’s body until he reaches where Harry is hard and flushed against his stomach.

Louis closes his lips over the head, suckling lightly and making Harry arch his back with a quiet moan. He sinks further down then pulls immediately back up, pressing open-mouthed kisses down the length of Harry’s cock and mouthing at his balls. He can see Harry’s fists clenching at the sheets, and he grins, continues trailing his mouth lower until Harry makes a confused sound and his lips are pressed against Harry’s inner thigh.

“Louis, what—”

Louis pushes Harry’s thighs up against his chest, cutting Harry off when he strokes his tongue over Harry’s rim in one flat stripe. He hears Harry’s breathing hitch, feels his body tense up slightly, and he keeps licking over him in quick, firm strokes until Harry lets out a breathy moan and his body’s relaxing, melting back into the sheets.

“Oh, oh god – Louis,” he moans, and Louis pulls back, shushes him gently. When he goes back at it, a loud moan rips from Harry’s throat, and he stops, sits up. “No, no,” Harry whines, “come back.”

Louis strokes over his thigh reassuringly, smiling. “Can you get on your stomach for me, baby?”

Harry quickly does as Louis asks, turning over and lifting his hips up slightly. Louis moans quietly at the sight of Harry’s arse, kneading at his arsecheek before pulling him apart and exposing his puckered hole. He rubs his thumb over Harry’s rim, slightly wet from his spit, until he hears Harry’s breaths begin to stutter.

He leans down and traces his tongue around Harry’s rim, fitting his mouth over him and licking over his hole until Harry’s shuddering and melting into the sheets. Once he thinks Harry is relaxed enough, he starts pushing his tongue inside, and he sees Harry’s shoulders tense. He lifts a hand and rubs over Harry’s back, keeping him spread open with his other hand.

Finally, after a few more licks, Harry lets out a breath and relaxes again. Louis pushes his tongue inside, relishing Harry’s small whimper, and then he’s licking in as far as he can go. He moves his hand from Harry’s back, slipping it underneath Harry to wrap a hand around his cock. He’s hard and heavy in Louis’ hand, head leaking, and Louis makes a mental note to wake up early tomorrow so he can throw the sheets into the wash.

He gives him a few strokes, Harry bucking into his grip before pushing back into his face. Harry whines quietly when Louis pulls his hand away, but then it turns into a moan when Louis’ fingers brush over his rim.

Louis licks over him once more. “Please tell me we have lube.”

Harry’s arm flies out and starts reaching underneath the bed, fumbling for a few seconds before pulling out one of his smaller bags. Louis picks it up and rummages inside, finds a small bottle and a bunch of condoms inside. He pulls the lube and a condom out, before dropping the bag back down onto the floor.

“Prepared, aren’t we?” he teases, pulling Harry’s hips up higher. Harry shuffles onto his knees, arching his back, and Louis groans at the sight he presents. “God, you’re gorgeous, Harry.”

He sees Harry’s fingers clench at the sheets for a second, before letting go. He sounds a little shy when he murmurs, “So are you.”

Louis smiles, kisses the back of Harry’s thigh. He opens the lube and pours some over his fingers, rubbing them together until it feels warm. Harry’s body jumps slightly at the first touch of a finger against his slightly-loosened hole, but he relaxes immediately and welcomes the press of Louis’ finger inside him. He sighs, sounding content, as Louis’ finger slips in entirely, and Louis watches in something like awe as Harry shifts back into it.

He pulls back, crooks his finger on the way out, before slowly pumping it back inside. He’s mesmerized by the line of Harry’s body, the arch of his spine and the way his shoulders are bunched slightly. It doesn’t take long for him to add a second finger, pulling out and rubbing over Harry’s rim a few times before pushing back in with two. He scissors them, feeling Harry’s walls loosen around him.

“Feel good?” he asks, eyes fixed on the way Harry’s arse pushes back onto him.

“Yeah,” Harry breathes out, shuddering. Louis presses in deeper, crooks his fingers, and hears Harry’s gasp when he touches that spot inside him. “Oh, oh god. Louis.”

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Louis breathes, rubbing firmly over Harry’s prostate until Harry’s trembling, clenching around him tightly. Louis rubs his side with his free hand, his back, his thighs, before he’s pulling Harry’s arsecheek aside to see better. He can’t stop himself from leaning down and licking around where his fingers are disappearing into Harry’s body. Harry mewls, before it gets abruptly cut off, probably biting the pillow. Louis makes another mental note to throw the pillow cover into the wash along with the sheets tomorrow.

That’s the least of his concerns right now, however. He slips in a third finger, feels the slight resistance of Harry’s body for just a second before giving into the stretch. He fucks his fingers inside, avoiding Harry’s prostate this time and just focusing on loosening him enough. He still feels so tight and hot, and Louis’ cock throbs at the thought of feeling that heat around him.

“I’m – Lou, I’m ready,” Harry manages to get out after a while, and Louis pauses the movements of his fingers.

“You sure?”

“Yes,” Harry wriggles his arse, and Louis pulls his fingers out. Harry whines at the loss but immediately rolls over and gets on his knees, waiting. Louis kisses him once before shifting on the bed, leaning back against the headboard and watching Harry slide onto his lap with dark eyes.

Harry takes a moment to gather himself, before he’s picking up the condom and ripping it open with shaky hands. He rolls it down onto Louis’ cock and slicks him up with lube, tugging at him until he’s fully coated. Louis groans, having gone without being touched all this time.

His hands find Harry’s hips, gently holding on. “Steady, love.”

Harry nods, taking a deep breath. He reaches behind him and wraps a hand around Louis’ cock, lifting his body and pressing the head against his rim. They both moan at the contact. Harry takes another breath, steadying himself, and then he’s pushing back, sinking down onto Louis’ cock as his mouth drops open.

Louis’ grip tightens on Harry’s hips for a moment before relaxing again, but he can’t help the way his hips buck up slightly, the squeeze of Harry’s body tight and perfect around him.

“Louis,” Harry gasps, eyes wide. He falls forward slightly, hands finding purchase on Louis’ shoulders. He’s almost got Louis’ entire cock inside, and Louis lets him take his time, rubs small circles on his hips and murmurs reassuringly into his ear.

After a minute, Harry straightens himself, and there’s a look of determination on his face. He pushes himself further down until he’s fully seated on Louis’ lap, and Louis lets out a groan. “Harry, you feel so good.”

Harry smiles shakily at that. He rolls his hips slowly, like he’s testing the feeling, and Louis just lets him, enjoying the feeling of Harry’s body clenching and unclenching around him. When he gets used to it, he starts lifting himself up about halfway before pushing back down, riding Louis in small, quick movements.

Louis lets his hands wander, tracing up Harry’s back and feeling the way his muscles shift with each movement. Harry’s moved his grip onto the headboard for support, now used to the stretch. He pulls off almost all the way with each rise of his hips, cheeks pink and eyes squeezed shut in pleasure, and Louis is mesmerized by how he looks – the way his body arches forward, his neck stretched as his head tips back slightly, his lips parted on a constant stream of moans and his chest flushed, thighs straining. Louis can’t look away.

“You’re so beautiful,” he hears himself whisper, awe clear in his voice, and Harry moans softly in response. He moves with more purpose now, riding Louis steadily, and Louis starts moving his own hips, fucking up into Harry in small movements.

Harry cries out suddenly after a minute, body trembling. Louis shushes him gently, mindful of the other people in the house. Harry can’t seem to stop the sounds from spilling out of his mouth, though, so Louis does the only thing he can think of and slips two of his fingers into Harry’s mouth.

Harry’s eyes shoot wide open, and their gazes lock on each other. Harry’s hips stutter, and Louis holds him steady by the waist with his free hand. He gives a thrust up at an angle, and Harry moans, muffled by Louis’ fingers in his mouth.

“Right there, love?”

Harry nods, eyelids fluttering when Louis fucks up into the same spot. He fights to keep his eyes open, though, and Louis doesn’t look away, even as he starts thrusting up steadily into Harry. The room feels hot despite the chill in the air, and their movements are slow, steady, their sweat-slick bodies moving together.

Harry’s eyes have gotten this glazed-over look, and Louis glances between them, sees how hard Harry is. He carefully pulls his fingers out of Harry’s mouth and trails his hand between them, gripping Harry’s cock and tugging slowly in time with the rolling of their hips. Harry lets out a soft moan and Louis kisses him, unable to resist with the way Harry’s mouth looks pink and wet.

They’re both sweating furiously, heat building up between them slowly. They kiss lazily, and then Louis rolls them over after a moment, making sure Harry’s settled comfortably against the pillows. Harry gasps against his lips, grips onto his shoulders, and Louis starts fucking into him, deep and steady.

“Louis,” Harry whimpers softly. “You feel so amazing.”

Louis presses their foreheads together in response. Harry’s legs have moved to wrap around his hips, but Louis wants them closer, as close as possible. His chest feels tight with emotion, threatening to burst out of him, and his tongue feels heavy with the words that he’s been keeping hidden away, wanting to spill out. He wants to open himself up completely.

“Harry,” he begins, feeling frantic, thoughts running wild, “Harry, I—”

He doesn’t get to finish, though, because Harry is the first to tear his own chest open and spill everything he’s been keeping inside. “I love you,” he gasps, voice nearly a sob as Louis pushes right against his spot, and then he’s shaking, spilling between them with barely any friction on his cock.

Louis gasps, hips stuttering to a pause, Harry’s words warming him inside out. “Harry…”

Harry’s eyes are wide, lips parted as though he can’t believe he’s just said that. And maybe he didn’t mean to, maybe it was an in-the-moment thing, but Louis knows. “Louis, I – I mean—”

“I love you, too,” Louis cuts him off, and Harry’s eyes widen even more. Louis grabs his hand, kisses his knuckles. He can feel the flutter of his pulse where his thumb presses against his wrist, and he presses down for a moment, as though to reassure himself that this is real. “I love you, Harry. I love you.”

Harry’s eyes shine in the dark, and Louis kisses him, overcome with emotion. He feels Harry pull him closer, reach for whichever part of Louis he can touch. Louis never wants to leave.

“I love you so much,” Harry whispers when they break for air. Louis can see that he’s crying, silent tears making his eyes shine even brighter. “I love you.”

Louis kisses the corner of his mouth, words too big for his tongue. “I love you.” He’s still inside Harry, and Harry shifts his hips, silently urging Louis to continue moving.

Louis kisses the side of his neck, asks, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” is Harry’s immediate response, breath hitching slightly. “Please, Louis.”

Louis nods. He keeps his mouth pressed against Harry’s skin and slowly rocks forward, into the tight heat of Harry’s body. He listens closely to the small noises Harry makes, lets them push him closer and closer to the edge. The heat in his stomach twists, tighter and tighter, until it feels like just a single touch would make it uncoil and burst inside of him.

It doesn’t take long for him to topple over the edge, and he comes with a muffled moan against Harry’s shoulder. He feels Harry’s hands rub up and down his back, registers Harry’s croaky voice murmuring in his ear. He pushes himself up slightly, and Harry pulls him in for a short, slow kiss.

Louis pulls out after a while and cleans the both of them (fortunately, Harry packed some tissues in his bag – going for a trip to the bathroom might be a bit awkward, considering Louis can still hear his relatives talking downstairs). He lays down beside Harry once he tosses the crumpled tissue and tied-off condom onto the night table, crinkling his nose and making yet another mental note to throw it all away properly tomorrow.

“Cuddles, please,” Harry murmurs, already lying on his side.

Louis laughs softly, pulling the sheets over the both of them as he tugs Harry to his chest. He softly kisses the back of his neck. “You feeling okay?”

“Fantastic,” Harry sighs happily.

“Good.” Louis presses his smile against Harry’s skin. Then, just because he can now, “I love you.”

He feels the shudder that goes through Harry’s body as if it were his own. Harry settles further against him, places a hand over Louis’ where it’s resting on his stomach. Louis lets Harry tangle their fingers together, feels him lift their joined hands up and brush a kiss over the back of his hand.

His voice is the softest and most honest Louis’ ever heard when he whispers, meant only for the two of them to hear, “I love you, too.”

*

Christmas morning is both a quiet and chaotic affair. After sneaking downstairs and throwing the sheets into the wash, Louis and Harry share a long shower and wash each other’s hair while trading small pecks on the lips. Once they’re dried and dressed, they walk into the kitchen and Louis puts the kettle on for tea. Harry rummages in the fridge and reheats some of the leftover pasta, and Louis takes the bowl of biscuits out and munches on them as they quietly make breakfast.

Harry hops onto the kitchen counter once the pasta is hot again, and Louis steps in between his legs as he hands him his tea. Harry smiles in thanks, and they eat breakfast like that, feeding each other bites and smiling quietly in between sips of tea.

Louis has never felt so at peace before. He’s always felt like an ocean during a storm, dark waves crashing against rocky shores and disrupted waters, while Rose has been his constant guiding force, the sun that’s always there, just hiding behind the stormy gray clouds.

But now, the waters are calm. The overwhelming feeling of drowning that Louis sometimes gets when things become too much isn’t there, either.

He smiles, lifting a biscuit to Harry’s lips. Harry takes half of it into his mouth but doesn’t break it off, wiggling his eyebrows, and Louis rolls his eyes but leans in anyway and takes the other half into his mouth. Their lips barely brush, and Harry bites down, breaking the biscuit in half. Louis swallows his half after chewing, before flicking his tongue out and playfully licking at the crumbs on Harry’s mouth.

Harry makes a face and pretends to push him away, but Louis catches his wrist and pulls him in for a kiss. They’re both smiling too much to actually kiss properly, but Louis’ chest feels light. If it weren’t for Harry anchoring him down, he would probably be floating right now. Harry just makes him feel like he can fly. Not that it’d matter if he could, because he’d always be coming back here. To Harry and Rose. To his home.

“I love you,” Louis whispers.

Harry’s cheeks are flushed, eyes bright and happy. “I love you, too.”

Louis smiles. Christmastime has always been special to him, and not just because of his birthday. Growing up wasn’t exactly easy for him, having to look after four siblings while Jay worked long night shifts in the hospital and Mark went away on business trips. They weren’t really well-off, and he’s had to pick up a few shifts himself once he turned fourteen. Early on, he’s learned how to manage money and suppress his urge to splurge, buying things that he only really needed.

But Christmas is when things are different. It’s when his relatives come over and Louis gets showered with gifts and Jay goes all out with her highly-anticipated Christmas Eve dinner. It was the only time, as a young teenager, when Louis didn’t have to worry about anything at all. All he had to think about was how much fun he was having.

Of course, things have changed now. They’re doing better, with Dan’s job being big enough to support all of them and even spoil the kids from time to time. Jay doesn’t work anymore, but Fizzy has picked up a job at a music shop and Lottie works shifts at her university library as a student assistant. Louis helps whenever he can, as well, though Jay rarely accepts because she insists that Louis has Rose to look after now. That still doesn’t stop Louis from sneakily slipping money into Jay’s wallet when she’s not looking, though.

But Christmas is still the same. And this year, he got to share it with the man he loves.

It’s about half an hour later when Jay enters the kitchen, and she looks a little surprised to find the two of them already up. “Oh, hello there. A bit early to already be awake, isn’t it?”

Louis just shrugs, grinning. “There’s some water in the kettle left, it’s probably enough to make yourself a cuppa. Also, happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas,” Jay says in return, smiling softly at Harry. “I hope all of the people didn’t overwhelm you last night, dear.”

Harry blushes, pressing his smile against the rim of his mug. “It did, to be honest. But I got through okay, I think. Louis and Rose kept me calm, and everyone was nice. Lovely family you have, Jay.”

“Thanks, dearie. They all loved you, by the way. You totally charmed everyone.”

Harry’s blush deepens, and he hides his face against Louis’ shoulder.

The house wakes up not much later, excited screaming and the sound of feet running coming from upstairs. The tree is loaded with gifts, and Louis sits in the living room with Harry and Jay, waiting. Sure enough, Louis’ siblings and daughter come running into the living room, followed by a sleepy-looking Dan, and the next few minutes are a whirlwind of torn gift wrappers and squeals and laughter.

When it’s Rose’s turn to open her presents, she plops down onto the couch between Louis and Harry. She gets a new dress from Dan and Jay, this lovely lavender piece with a flowing skirt and flowers embroidered along the collar. Lottie gives her lip gloss and a new nail polish set, and Fizzy a dragon coloring book and a watercolor set. The older twins give her hair ties, and the younger twins a drawing. She gives everyone a kiss on the cheek in thanks, and she lets out an excited squeal when she gets handed the last present from Louis and Harry.

She tears the wrapper open excitedly, Louis smiling a little nervously when she finds the book hidden inside. She looks up at Harry then at Louis, curious, before she opens the book and gasps at what she sees inside.

On the first page is a picture of a rose bush, the flowers in full bloom and a vibrant red against the green leaves. She stares at the picture with wide eyes, and then Harry nudges her gently on the shoulder, says, “Remember when you asked me to take pictures of flowers for you?”

“You took these?” Rose asks, clearly awed. She flips through the pages excitedly, looks through the pictures of their little town – the bakery Harry works at, their house taken from the backyard, the empty football field – and then the pictures change into them, more personal ones taken during their sleepovers and dinners.

“Do you like it?” Louis asks.

“I love it,” Rose nods, turning the next page of the book and seeing that it’s blank. “Why’s this one empty, though?”

“Because it’s your turn to fill them,” Louis explains. “This is a memory book, I guess you can call it. Kinda like a diary, but in pictures.”

“Oh, I see!” Rose’s eyes look bright. “This is so cool.”

“But,” Harry says, pretending to furrow his brows. Louis subtly pulls out the box he’s been hiding, squeezed between his thigh and the arm of the couch, and puts it on his lap. “How can you take pictures without a camera?”

Rose tilts her head. “I borrow yours?”

“You could do that,” Louis says, bringing her attention back to him, and he lifts the box. “Or, you could just have your own camera.”

Rose’s eyes widen, and she throws herself at Louis, hugging him around the neck and asking, “Is that a camera? Is that really for me? Is it? Is it? Is it?”

Louis laughs, bright and happy. “Of course, love. Me and Harry bought it for you.”

“Oh my gosh!” Rose exclaims, and then she’s reaching behind her with one hand, blindly searching for Harry. “Harry! Come here! Group hug!”

Harry laughs and shifts closer to them, and Rose throws an arm around his neck, keeping the other around Louis’. She’s screaming excitedly, thanking them over and over again. After she’s settled down somewhat, she takes the camera out of the box with a wide, excited smile. It’s a Polaroid, one they found in this odd little shop when they were looking around the town center for presents, and she gasps appreciatively.

Harry teaches her how to use it and Rose pays close attention, listening intently and nodding. Once Harry’s done explaining, she takes the camera and hands it over to Lottie, who’s been watching the entire exchange fondly. “Aunt Lottie, can you take a picture of us three? I want that to be the first picture I add to my memory book!”

“Sure, sure,” Lottie agrees easily, giving Louis a quick look. It’s not the usual worried or judgmental look that she often gives Louis, but rather a soft, genuine one. Something that seems to say, I’m happy that you’re happy. Louis smiles at her.

Rose sits between them, and Louis and Harry lean towards each other, the three of them already smiling. Lottie lifts the camera and counts to three, and Louis can’t help but think, nothing could be more perfect than this.

The shutter goes off, and the picture slips out.

Rose

DECEMBER 31, 2018

11.30 PM. Just another half hour left before the New Year.

Rose stares at the clock with furrowed brows, willing time to move faster. She’s excited for the fireworks. She’s excited for the loud music. She’s excited for whatever her Papa had planned and is keeping a secret from Harry.

She grins at that last one. Just the other day, she caught Louis pacing in the living room while Harry was working (at a local magazine now, Rose thinks, just a small business that recently opened about two years ago). He had been talking to Niall on the phone, and he sounded slightly panicked, so Rose asked what was wrong. Louis had jumped and gave her this look like he’s been caught doing something bad, and Rose had narrowed her eyes suspiciously, demanding to know what was going on.

“Um,” was Louis’ initial response, before he brought a finger to his lips. “I’m planning a surprise for Harry. Please don’t tell him.”

“I love surprises!” Rose exclaimed. “What is it?”

“It’s, uh. A secret.”

Rose had pouted, but eventually agreed to keep quiet. She’s pretty excited, though. Her dads always surprise each other (and her) with gifts, because they’re sweet and gross like that, but this one seems really big. Rose hopes it all goes well. She thinks it will, considering everything that’s happened between then and now.

Over the last three years, life has been like one amazing ride, she thinks. Harry came into their life, and Rose had welcomed him with open arms. Rose loves him a lot. He’s nice and caring and he makes Louis happy, which in turn makes Rose happy. Harry, he’s family.

It’s a bit odd, because some of the people in her first grade class last year (because she goes to school now, just how awesome is that?) kept insisting that only people with the same blood can be family. Meaning, since she isn’t biologically related to Harry, he’s not her family. Rose had flipped out at that and almost started a fight, screaming, “Take that back! Take that back! Harry is my family!”

Louis and Harry had been called to the principal’s office after that incident, and Rose had initially thought she’d be in trouble, but then when they got home Harry gave her a giant hug and almost cried on her shoulder.

“Thank you,” is what he said.

She had given him a pat on the head and told him, “You’re my family, Harry. And family stick up for each other.”

He cried a little harder at that, and Rose just held him back while Louis watched on, eyes misty. Her classmates backed off after that, and Rose moved onto second grade and joined the football team. Louis had been really happy with her decision, but he made sure to ask if she really wanted to do it for herself and not just because she feels pressured to. Rose rolled her eyes and called him silly and told him of course she wanted to. She loves footie (it’s in her top five list of things she loves, along with dragons and makeovers and food and, of course, her dads).

So she joined the football team, and she’s the only second grader to get accepted. Her teammates were all in their fourth grade at least, and at first they were treating her like a kid (which was dumb, because they were all kids, technically) but then she scored three goals during a practice match and everyone shut up. She played at every game from then on, and both Louis and Harry attended every single one of them. They’re very supportive parents, really.

Once, they made a banner that said GO ROSE! #04 with pink glitter, and Harry had brought pompoms. That was her best game yet. She scored two consecutive goals and assisted their winning one, ending the game in 3-1. Harry was jumping at the sidelines, and Rose remembers that his hair had been in space buns. That was cute. That’s one thing Rose loves about Harry, really – he’s quirky and not afraid to be himself and show it. Confident, Rose thinks the word for it is. Harry’s confident.

She knows that the other kids on her team get embarrassed whenever their parents show up at matches and cheered for them, but Rose doesn’t feel like that at all. Seeing her dads supporting her so openly and so loudly makes her happy. So after their team hug, she made a dash for the sidelines and threw herself onto Louis and Harry.

It was one of Rose’s favorite days. She made sure to ask someone to take a photo of them so she could put it in her memory book.

And speaking of memory book, she has quite a lot of pictures in it now. Another one of her favorite days was last Halloween. They went as a fairy family, and the evening was filled with glitter and sparkles and, of course, sweets. Harry and Louis had dressed in similar white shirts with ruffles lining the collar and the buttons, the sleeves slightly puffed up. The only difference was that Harry’s shirt was sheer, and he had about half of his buttons undone. Rose remembers noticing how flustered his Papa had looked when he first saw Harry. She still doesn’t get why exactly, but it had been funny.

Rose herself had a sparkly almost-silver dress on, with a billowing skirt and a matching wand. They all wore transparent fairy wings and Rose had a flower crown on her hair, while Harry had tucked a single flower behind his ear. She has a picture of them pasted on one of the pages of her memory book, the margins decorated in glitter and ‘BEST HALLOWEEN EVER!!!’ scrawled below the picture in sparkly pink pen.

She also got a lot of candy, which was a big plus.

So far, though, among all the pictures she’s put in her memory book, nothing beats her eighth birthday. Louis and Harry threw her a surprise party and invited everyone over – her friends from school, her teammates, and some of the neighborhood kids she played with on the weekends. Nan Jay and all her aunts and uncle drove over to be there as well, and even Aggie and Rich from the bakery (who gives her an extra cupcake every time she drops by with either Louis or Harry) were there. Uncle Niall and Uncle Liam too (who drove all the way from Manchester!), and Perrie and her girlfriend.

Anne and Gemma were also there. Christmas of 2016, they broke tradition and spent the holidays with Harry’s family instead. It was really fun. Anne reminds her a lot of Nan Jay, because they’re both sweet and caring and they have this look in their eyes that’s soft and very motherly. Gemma is really cool, and Rose liked her right away. The first time Rose met her, she had half-black, half-red hair. During her birthday, she had purple hair. She’s very pretty, too, just like Harry, and she banters with Louis as though they’re old friends.

Harry had baked an enormous cake for her birthday, chocolate with strawberry filling, and it felt like she got presents from literally everyone in town (she keeps most of her stuff in a spare room now, and it’s where she spends most of her free time in, just playing with her dolls and action figures or painting mermaids with the art set Liam gave her or coloring in her dragon book). That was the best day ever, really, and Rose doesn’t think anything will be able to top it soon.

So all in all, the last three years have been great. She doesn’t remember much about her life when her biological mum, Alicia, was still there. Sometimes she visits, but that’s rare – mostly Rose spends a weekend with her every few months. She’s a busy woman, a field journalist who does a lot of traveling, so she rarely has the time. Sometimes Rose feels sad about it, but not too much. Her conscious memories of growing up started after the divorce, so she was used to just having her Papa around and she loves him very much.

But with Harry now in their family, life is even more amazing. The house is always filled with someone’s laughter and everyone is constantly smiling. There have been bumps, sure, like sometimes Harry gets pouty when Louis doesn’t put his shoes away properly or forgets to buy groceries or sometimes Louis gets huffy when Harry gets home late and forgets to text, but they’re nothing serious. Rose thinks it’s because they love each other too much to really get angry at each other.

That thought makes her smile. She’s glad that her Papa has found someone to love, someone who’ll love him back. Before, she feels like her Papa has been hiding something behind his smiles, this sadness that Rose couldn’t quite grasp but was aware of. She knows Louis loves her and is happy raising her, but it was like something was missing in the picture. And now she knows what that something was. Or who, really.

Turns out, her Papa just needed someone to fall in love with. And Rose is glad that it’s Harry, because she doesn’t think she’d get along with anyone else. They obviously love each other very much, and Rose is a little confused as to why they haven’t gotten married yet. Like, that’s what people who love each other very much do, right? And besides, getting married means having babies, and Rose definitely isn’t opposed to the idea of having a younger sibling. She’s always wanted one (or a bunch) because her Papa has six and he’s told her stories from his childhood about all the shenanigans they would get up to.

Hmm. Maybe Rose can ask later.

Right now, though, there are only fifteen more minutes left before midnight. Which means fifteen more minutes before the fireworks start and her Papa reveals his surprise.

The streets outside are already noisy with chatter and music. The neighborhood throws one giant New Year’s party every year, and in a while they’ll be heading outside as well to join everyone else in watching the fireworks and sharing food. The only problem, however, is that both Louis and Harry are nowhere to be found and Rose is starting to feel a little anxious because she can hear the shouts getting louder now.

Huffing, she hops down from the sofa and stomps across the living room. She checks the kitchen and finds it empty, the food they’re going to share with the neighbors (chocolate chip muffins, because everyone in town loves Harry’s baking) cooling on the counter. There’s some of the wine stuff in the bottle and Rose crinkles her nose at it, not particularly fond of the strong smell.

She checks the backyard next and finds it empty as well. So that only leaves the rooms upstairs or her Papa’s office to check. She goes to the office first, a small room with a computer and a bookshelf. There’s a copy of the novel Louis wrote sitting in a glass case, with picture illustrations by Harry, and Rose smiles at the sight of it. It got published just three months ago, and she’s been told that it’s inspired by all of Harry’s travels. It’s the story of a man who goes on an adventure and falls in love over and over and over along the way, with the world, with life, with the places he visits, and eventually, with the person meant for him. Rose swears she’s going to read it once she’s old enough to comprehend the language.

She closes the door, now certain that they’re upstairs. She goes up, glancing at the clock and seeing that they only have less than ten minutes left before the fireworks. Biting her lip worriedly, she hurries along and finds Louis and Harry’s bedroom door open. She can hear voices coming from inside, but then she stops in her tracks when she hears someone sniffling.

Is that – is someone crying? But there shouldn’t be any tears on New Year’s!

Oh no, she thinks, now worried. Are they fighting?

Anxious, she decides to listen in. She knows her Papa told her that it’s rude to eavesdrop, but this is important. She needs to know what’s going on.

Making sure to keep her footsteps light, she creeps closer towards the door, until she can clearly hear what they’re saying. It’s Louis who’s talking, and his voice sounds oddly choked as well.

“I just, I’ve never been more certain of anything else, you know?” he’s saying, to which Harry only responds with a sob. Oh no. What if – what if they’re breaking up? Rose gasps quietly in horror at the mere thought. “And I don’t know why I even waited this long to tell you, to ask you. But, I guess I was scared that maybe you’d say no?”

“Lou,” Harry chokes out, and he’s definitely the one crying. “Are you stupid? What ever made you think I’d say no?”

A chuckle, but it sounds off. Like it’s nervous. “I – oh, I don’t know, Harry. But it’s a bit scary, okay? No matter how certain you are about this kind of thing, you can’t help but doubt, even just a little. I can’t help but think of the what if’s. Like, what if you’re not ready for full commitment? What if you think I’m moving too fast and—”

“Louis,” Harry cuts him off. “Honestly, how often do I talk about settling down and being domestic and taking care of kids? Which, I know we’re already doing right now, but – but not officially. Either way, just how often do I talk about it, Louis?”

“Just about every day,” Louis answers.

“Exactly,” Harry says, and he sniffs. That’s true, though. Rose hears Harry talk about those things a lot. Like, maybe all the time. “And how long have we been together?”

“Three years.”

“See! Three years! Lou, other people do this even way before their first anniversary. This isn’t moving too fast, you dickhead!”

Rose gasps at that, and then giggles. Harry just called Louis a dickhead. She shouldn’t find it funny, especially if they are fighting, so she stops herself from giggling and puts a hand over her mouth.

Louis laughs again, and Rose feels a little braver so she steps closer and peeks through the door. The lights are off but the room isn’t that dark, the curtains by the windows pulled back to let the light from outside stream in. Louis and Harry are standing, facing each other, and her Papa is clutching something in his fist while Harry furiously wipes at his face.

“You really couldn’t have waited to do this until after the New Year party, could you?”

Louis shrugs, smiling. “Figured I wanted to start the year with you as my fiancé.”

Fiancé. Rose’s eyes widen, and she feels her lips tug up into a smile. She knows that word! It’s what you call someone you’re engaged to, and being engaged means getting married after. Oh gosh, her Papa’s surprise was proposing to Harry! And he didn’t tell her about it! Rose isn’t sure if she should be mad that Louis kept this a secret from her or happy that they’re finally doing it, but right now all she feels is this light giddiness and excitement. Oh gosh. Harry’s really going to be her other dad now. This is the best news ever.

“Fine then,” Harry sniffs one more time, seeming more composed now. “Let’s do a retake, because that first one was too messy. Promise I won’t cry as much this time, so ask me again.”

Louis laughs but does as told. Just like in the movies, Rose watches as her Papa gets down on one knee and looks up at Harry. His face looks soft and open, like he adores Harry completely, and Rose figures that that’s one thing she doesn’t really see in the movies no matter how good the actors are. They don’t quite capture how love really looks like.

“Harry Edward Styles,” Louis starts, and Rose straightens, watches with wide eyes. “The moment Rose and I knocked on your door three Halloweens ago, I figured that something big would happen. I was doing fine on my own, raising Rose by myself and getting by everyday with only her by my side, and ending the day alone in a cold and empty bed. I got used to it. But then you came along with your clumsy legs and endearing laugh and everything changed. For the first time, I wanted to take a risk.”

Harry sniffs, but doesn’t say anything. Louis continues, “It was terrifying at first, letting someone else in. I didn’t only have myself to protect and look out for, but Rose as well. I had to make sure that she won’t get hurt, even if I did. But you were – you’re so lovely, Harry. You’re the most wonderful person I’ve ever met and I trust you completely with my life. And you were more than worth taking the leap for.”

Harry is crying again, totally breaking his promise. Louis looks like he’s crying as well but he braves on, a determined look now on his face. “I love you. I love you with everything I’ve got.” He chokes on the last word and he pauses, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I love you so much, Harry Styles. And I know everyone who’s ever seen us probably already knows that, but I want them to be certain of it. I want to have you in my life forever, for as long as we can, and I want us to be a proper family.”

With trembling hands, he opens the small box he’s been clutching in his fist, revealing a small ring resting inside. It glimmers in the moonlight, and Rose’s breath catches in her throat, awed by the sight.

“So Harry,” Louis says, voice so soft Rose almost doesn’t hear him. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” Harry chokes out, full-on sobbing now. Louis slips the ring onto his finger, only shaking slightly, and then he’s standing up and pulling Harry into a tight hug. They’re both crying, and Rose forgets about everything else – forgets about the fireworks and the neighborhood party and the food – because this moment right here feels special. It feels like everything.

She decides to make her presence known then, pushing the door open completely. Louis and Harry startle apart, looking at her with wide, teary eyes, and Rose doesn’t even realize that she’s crying as well until she opens her mouth to say something and all that comes out is a shaky sob. It’s only then that she registers the wetness on her cheeks, and Louis crouches down, opens his arms for her to run into.

So she does.

“You’re getting married!” she says when she can finally find her voice, clutching onto her Papa. “You two are getting married!”

Harry laughs, joining them on the floor. They probably look like a mess, all three of them slumped on the floor and crying, limbs tangled together, but Rose doesn’t care. They’re family. They always have been, but now it feels like nothing can ever break them apart.

“I’m going to have two dads now! Like, for real!” she says, and holds onto Harry tightly.

She feels someone press a kiss to her head, then hears her Papa ask, “You don’t mind, sweetheart?”

She pulls back slightly and glares at her Papa with misty eyes. “Of course I don’t mind, Papa! I was the one who told you to marry Harry, like, three years ago! I was waiting for this to happen!”

Harry laughs, kissing her on the temple. “Your Papa can be a bit dumb sometimes.”

“Tell me about it,” Rose agrees, nodding seriously.

“Hey,” Louis protests mildly, “don’t bully me.”

Rose opens her mouth to say something back, but it’s then that she hears the countdown starting outside. They all look at each other, suddenly remembering the occasion.

“Ten!”

“Um. Should we go outside?” Harry asks.

“Nine!”

“Like this?” Louis blinks, looking at all three of them in turn. “We’re a mess. No way is anyone seeing us like this.”

“Eight!”

“How about after? Like, let’s take a moment to get ourselves back together.”

“Seven!”

“That’s fine with me,” Rose agrees, wiping her eyes and grinning.

“Six!”

“You sure, love? Don’t you want to see the fireworks, though?”

“Five!”

Rose shrugs. “We can always watch through the window. And besides, I have you two here. No better way to start my year than that.”

“Four!”

“You’re going to make me cry again,” Harry whines, and they all laugh.

“Three!”

“The muffins are probably cold by now though.”

“Two!”

“We have an oven for that.”

“One! Happy New Year!”

The street outside erupts in cheers and shouts, the sky exploding with fireworks. Rose can see the colors dancing in the shadows, lighting up the room in reds and greens and blues. She leans up to press a kiss to her Papa’s cheek, then Harry’s (who she’s now figuring out what to call, maybe dad) and hugs them tight around the neck. “Happy New Year,” she tells them.

She gets a kiss on either side of her head in response, arms holding her close and making her feel safe and loved and protected. “Happy New Year,” they greet her back.

Rose heard someone say before that how you start your year would indicate what you’d be doing for the rest of it. At first, she’d been anticipating spending it laughing and dancing and watching the sky, which would mean her entire year would be bright and happy, but she figures this is okay. This is better, even.

And this definitely beats her eighth birthday for her most favorite memory ever.