Archive of Our Own ^beta

With a quiet dinner party creating background noise, Louis stands on the edge of his rooftop terrace, enjoying the twilight view. He loves this kind of weather. Not too hot, a gentle breeze, just enough to lift the tips of his hair when he faces the west. He takes a sip of his red wine and smiles as he feels the soft breath of his boyfriend warm the back of his neck. He leans back slightly into his body and smiles. 

“Great party, babe,” he says to Evan who is taking his drink from his hand and finishing it off himself. 

“Thank, babe,” he replies, relieving Louis of the body heat as quickly as it came. “But Brian and Carter are ready to go.” 

“I’ll be over in a bit.” Louis turns to smile at Evan who looks slightly tired himself. The bad part of his brain wonders why anyone with Evan’s life would be tired, but he shuts it down as soon as it enters his mind. Louis knows that he’s not the easiest person to live with. Louis is so lucky to have someone willing to put up with this life. He just feels lucky to have gotten where he’s at. 

He doesn’t know what was too much, the wine or the sleeping pill that has recently become a habit more than a necessity, but he doesn’t remember much about the rest of the night past saying goodbye to their best couple friends and shedding the stuffy dinner jacket that Evan insisted he wear. He’s borderline appalled when he finally comes out of the fog of sleep at a little past eleven though and is instantly annoyed that Evan didn’t at least attempt to wake him up. 

Evan never sleeps past seven thirty, even in the early months of their relationship when they would do stupid things like go clubbing or stay up all night talking, and then later staying up all night not talking. He’s a slave to his body and like clockwork would jump out of bed, throw on a pair of short shorts, and head to the nearest gym. 

To Louis it’s one of those things that if you love someone you put up with their annoying habits. To Evan, Louis refusing to go anywhere near a gym and preferring to get his cardio in by pacing the house when he’s supposed to be writing, is his cross to bear in their partnership. 

But Louis should be writing right now. He might not be a drill sergeant, but he does have a schedule that he likes to stick to. Some novelists take years to pick and fret over a book. Louis is known for being more of a conveyor belt as opposed to a craftsman. He needs to get this novel out on the shelves, just like the last five. There’s no ifs, ands, or buts about it. And now he’s running late, so he won’t even have time to pace. 

“Evan, could you get me a cup of coffee?” He yells into the general direction of the main living area. The house is a large, six bedroom, eight bathroom home in Beverly Hills. More than enough space for him and Evan, but almost considered small compared to the giant compounds that seem to surround him. 

His voice seems to echo off the sparsely filled walls, but strangely, there is no response. He takes a quick look at the clock on his phone. It’s nearly lunchtime. They always have lunch together. He ignores the seemingly endless amounts of emails and a missed call and sits down at his laptop. He supposes that lunch can wait until he gets through this tiresome character building. 

Lunch did wait, and so did dinner. Louis was in the zone and barely took a sip of the tepid bottle of water that he had brought into the office from his bedside. His heart jolted a bit as he polished off a chapter and looked up to see that the sky was beginning to turn a haze of reds and orange. His phone sat beside his keyboard on silent, screen black. 

“Evan?” He calls out, not really believing that his boyfriend would have come into the house without Louis noticing. He has been out of it when writing before, but not that bad. Sure enough, there was once again no response. He picks up the phone, more worry than irritation now. Wouldn’t that make a good headline, America’s hottest romance novelist doesn’t notice boyfriend goes missing . God, what if he was in an accident and Louis didn’t answer the phone? Feeling more fearful than brave, he lights up the screen of his phone and sees a couple of missed calls, voicemail, and a few emails. Not an emergency then, he thinks as he clicks the voicemail, feeling once again annoyed at Evan’s lack of courtesy. What if something happened to Louis? Apparently Evan wasn’t feeling too concerned with his welfare either. 

As soon as the voicemail comes on, it’s Evan’s cheerful voice on the other end. 

Hey Lou! I’m sorry I didn’t wake you this morning, but this was all a bit last minute. So I was talking to Carter last night at dinner, and he had mentioned about how great of a time he had in Bali, and I thought to myself that I really feel that I would benefit from being in a place that had such positive energy, you know? I need to grow, Lou. I need to find myself. Anyway, it all happened so fast I didn’t really have time to stop back home. When the wind takes you, am I right? I just knew you would understand. Call me! But not for, like, a day. It’s a really long commute. Ta!

What the actual fuck? Louis hit the key to relisten to the message but it didn’t make any more sense the second time. Or the third. It’s been almost three hours since the message had been sent. He has a whole day before Evan could even answer his phone again. But that doesn’t mean Louis can’t call and leave a message. “Call me the second you get this.” 

He’s impressed that even those words are willing to come out of his mouth. He looks around his office once again, now completely dark from the lack of natural light from the large windows in front of his desk and having not bothered to turn on a lamp. The only visibility comes from the blue light of his laptop screen. He sees the words that he had just placed so lovingly on that screen blurred in a mish mash of black and white and slams the computer closed. It’s easier to pretend he isn’t crying if he doesn’t have to try to see through a blur of tears. 

When Louis finally does get in touch with Evan it’s nearly two days later. Evan sounds so happy to hear from him that Louis, for a moment, wondered if he had been imagining the past forty eight hours. 

“Oh my God, Lou! Hi!” Evan practically yells into the speaker. The background is a large white noise of static. Wind, Louis guesses. 

“Evan, what the hell? You can’t just leave in the middle of a Wednesday for Bali.” He hates it when he sounds like a parent scolding him. It’s one of the very few things that they have ever argued about. 

“I needed this, Louis. I was wilting in LA. That place is so phony, you know? This….this is real. God, you should see the sunsets here. Life changing.”

Louis can’t process even half of the words that are coming over the receiver. “When are you coming home?” 

This time Evan doesn’t answer, and Louis knows immediately what is actually happening. “Are you breaking up with me?” His voice breaks and that makes his anger bubble closer to the surface. 

“Break is such a harsh word,” Evan says, sounding like an overpriced yoga instructor. “I want to think of it as flowing in different directions.” 

I’ll flow him in a different direction, Louis thinks. 

“But essentially, yes. I think this is goodbye. You have found what you love, I haven’t found my passion yet, Lou. I need to spread my wings and fly.” 

Louis feels hurt, not even by the loss of his partner, but by the feeling of betrayal. Everything is going to be a mess, and he doesn’t even seem to care. He takes a deep breath and grits his teeth, willing his emotions to stay intact. He doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction. “Alright, great. Glad we cleared the air then. Have fun in Bali, or don’t. I don’t give a shit. Goodbye.” 

He hangs up and briefly wonders what it would look like if he flung his phone directly through the pane of glass of his balcony door. But he’d rather not lose the phone or have people in his bedroom to fix it, so he settles for screaming into a pillow instead. 

“I can’t believe he just...left. No plan, no notice. No consideration for my feelings.” Louis stabs a fork into his feta salad. He has never been the type to have stress take him off his food. Sometimes he wishes he did. 

Carla and Brenda just shake their heads, tsking quietly behind their oversized shades. Carla takes a sip of her momosa and sighs. “This is all so dreary. Can’t we talk about something cheerful?” 

Louis’ fork does stop at this sentiment. “I’m sorry, Carla. Is the breakup of my relationship of two years ruining your liquid lunch?” 

“Oh come on, Lou. Everyone knows that you and Evan wouldn’t last.” She rolls her eyes and smiles. “What’s the big deal? You’re rich; you're famous. You could have any guy you want. Time to move on.” 

“Well.” Louis suddenly stands up, grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair. “Nice to know where one stands.” 

“Louis,” Brenda hisses, hunching in her seat slightly, but not enough to make herself slouch. “We are in public. There are cameras everywhere.” 

“You are a B list actress in a C list soap opera. No one is looking at you.” And with the look of shock on both of his former friend’s faces, he turns on his heel and leaves. They can pay for his lunch for once. 

He spends the next couple of days in a funk. He isn’t really sure how to feel about Evan’s defect. He knows that he should be heartbroken. They were a team, partners. But what he really feels, most of all, is anger. How dare that little shit just walk out on him. Who does he think he is? Not to mention his so called best friends. Neither of them have contacted him since his outburst at lunch. No problem. He’ll block them both on instagram. See how long it takes them to call him now. 

He throws his phone onto the chair closest to him. He has a pent up frustration building in his chest, and he isn’t quite sure he knows what to do with it. He should write, but he isn’t sure he could sit down long enough. He stares into the darkened room of his office and turns around again. Not today. He picks up a glass of brandy that he had abandoned half an hour ago and smells it. He’s not in the mood for day drinking alone either, probably not a bad thing. 

He throws himself into the chair where his phone had landed and absently flips through his notifications. There’s a text from his sister, a few emails that he has no interest in reading, and a missed call from a number he doesn’t recognise. He picks his sister and texts her back. 

It’s been a long week

I bet

She almost immediately texts back in the unsympathetic way that only a sister can. It doesn’t keep him from flaring back into anger. 

Evan left me, not even a warning. He’s not coming back.  

He looks deep down for the heartbreak that he is sure that he’s merely suppressing. It hasn’t shown it’s ugly face yet. Yet. 

Then get another one and move on. I want to ask you a favour

Is she fucking kidding? He stands again, not even really realising he’s pacing until he nearly trips over a corner of the rug. He calls her number and tries not to grip the phone too tightly as he listens to it ring. 

“What’s up?” She asks him with her usual perky tone. 

“Get another one and move on? Are you fucking kidding me?” He yells. 

“Oh come on. You can’t be that put out. He was a boy toy.” Lottie giggles. “I’m sure there’s already a line at your door to take his place.” 

“He was my boyfriend. I love him. Why can no one understand that?” Tears threaten to spill from his eyes but more from frustration than upset. 

“Oh come one,” Lottie says, sounding incredulous. “You’re a multi millionaire author. You’re famous for your writing and your good looks, for whatever reason, everyone loves you. Everyone wants to be your friend. Your fans are rabid. Who cares if one bozo brushes off? More where that came from. 

“You’re incredible,” Louis says, using every ounce of his body to control his tone. 

“Thanks!” She replies. “So about the favour—you know that new club in hollywood that has a three month waiting list? I was wondering—”

“I have met a lot of people in the town, and in this industry, and I thought I had seen it all when it comes to selfishness and insincerity. I am absolutely floored that I would find the worst of the worst in my own family.” 

“Oh come on Lou—” She has the sense at least to sound somewhat ashamed. 

“I have to go,” he says before hanging up. He isn’t sure he could handle an argument. It would likely end with him writing her out of his will or other things he wouldn’t entirely regret. The phone gets thrown once again, and he starts to think that maybe day drinking wouldn’t hurt too bad afterall. 

He’s behind schedule. He hates that he’s behind. If he doesn’t have his friends, his family, his lover, his novels and his career is all that’s left. All that’s important. He doesn’t want to write. The stinging energy that keeps him from sleeping at night hasn’t yet left him. But it’s been over a week, and he just can’t put it off anymore. 

He powers up his laptop and sees the black and white in front of him. The last time he had sat down he wrote almost an entire chapter. He can barely remember what any of it said now. He didn’t give himself a chance to process it. He decides to read back, but within the first paragraph his stomach sinks a little. 

This story is about his life. He didn’t even realise when he outlined it that it mirrored so much of his own story, his and Evan’s story more like. It’s an established couple living in Los Angeles, trying to navigate the world of expensive dinners and drink parties but still keeping things fresh and interesting between them. 

Jesus, he might as well have just put their own names on the main characters. He continues to skim, feeling exposed. He feels a snag of discomfort every time the main character shows his insecurity toward his partner. Every time his friends brush off his worries. How did he not see any of this before? It’s all laid out literally in black and white. 

More importantly, how will he finish this? And how will he feel with it out in the world? He stands again, running his fingers through his hair. He hasn’t felt like this world was crumbling around him in a long time. He hasn’t allowed himself to lose control. He didn’t like it much the last time it happened and continually takes steps to keep that from happening again. 

Yet here he is, feeling like everything is spinning around him just out of reach. It’s making him feel a little sick to his stomach. 

He’s interrupted from his crisis by his phone ringing. He looks at the screen and sees the same unfamiliar number from a few days before. He frowns as he accepts the call. 

“Louis Tomlinson,” he says, trying to sound authoritative and not as though he’s about to pull out of his hair.

“Hello, Mr. Tomlinson, this is Bank of America. We wanted to alert you to unusual activity on your joint account with a Mr. Evan Reed.” 

Louis’ eyes roll at their own accord from hearing the name. “Yes?” He had all but forgotten that account. It was the only thing that he and Evan had shared. Aside from having a more than generous amount of money coming from his personal account to pad it, Louis doesn’t have much to do with it. 

“It has come to our attention that it has fallen below the required balance to exempt you from monthly fees.” This does surprise Louis. He knows how much money is put in that account every month. His first reaction is to wonder if it has been hacked. Then the other shoe drops. “And as of about a week ago, all of the purchases from the account have been made in Indonesia?” 

Louis grits his teeth for a moment. Evan has drained almost a hundred thousand dollars in less than a week.  Something snaps in his brain and his shoulders relax for the first time in a week. “Thank you for bringing that to my attention. I think the best thing to do will be to suspend the account permanently. Do I need to sign anything? Does Mr. Reed need to be notified?” 

“No sir. A verbal agreement can be made over the phone, and we only need the name of the...main account holder.” That would be him. They’re smart enough to know that at least. 

“And while I’m on the phone with you. There is a payment that is transferred into that account monthly. Will that be cancelled as well?” Louis feels almost limp. Something he can control is finally in his hands again. 

“That should automatically be cancelled, but I will ensure that it is myself.” The voice on the other end of the phone says, sounding almost pleased with their ability to help. 

“That would be wonderful. Thank you so much.” 

“Is there anything else I can help you with today?” 

“Not at all. You have helped me more than you know,” Louis tells them before he hangs up. He walks straight out of his office and into his bedroom. He feels that he could sleep for days now. Maybe he will. 

He sleeps for a full twelve hours. It’s the longest Louis has slept probably in years. He wakes up feeling almost normal for the first time all week. That is until he realises what had woken him to begin with. His phone trills once again and he looks at it to see Evan’s face flashing back at him. That didn’t take long, he thinks. He was likely sleeping when Louis cut off his cash flow. 

“Hello?” he answers, sounding as casual as he feels at the moment. 

“Hi, Lou!” Evan replies as if they were just greeting one another for the day. A surge of annoyance threatens to break through Louis’ small bubble of happiness. 

“What can I do for you, Evan?” He’s more clipped now. Fucking Evan, ruining everything. 

“Hate to bother you really. There just seems to be a problem with our account?” 

This guy has got to be kidding. “And what would be the problem?” Louis asks, just to see where Evan plans to take this scam. 

“It wasn’t working earlier this morning, so I called the bank to see what the issue might be and I was told that the account had been suspended.” Louis can hear the discomfort in Evan’s voice and cringes slightly. He hates confrontation, but this conversation has to happen. 

“Yes, I suspended it.” He leaves off the part where he wants to call him a dumbass. “It was practically empty anyway.” 

“I need that money to live, Louis!” Evan’s tone changes almost immediately. If Louis didn’t know any better he would think that Evan was expecting him to apologise for the careless mistake. “What do you expect me to do now?” 

“What were you expecting to do to begin with? Just let me bankroll your fact finding tour ? Have you learned anything about yourself yet? Aside from which private beach you like to drink on the most?” 

“It’s not like you can’t afford it.” Evan sounds sour now. Louis actually hasn’t heard this kind of venom coming from his mild mannered lover. 

“You’re right. I can afford it. And it likely would have taken me a while to realise that you were leeching off of me, more than you used to. But you were greedy, and now you’re caught. I’m not sure what else to tell you. That money was mine. And while I don’t want it back, I don’t want anything from you, you’re not getting another cent. Not from me.” Anxiety rises in his chest like a slowly inflating balloon. He wants this conversation to be over. 

“I have nothing. I can’t afford to live here,” Evan says, and Louis is amazed to realise that Evan just now figured this out. He cannot believe how stupid this man is. 

“I suggest you sell something. Surely you haven’t eaten or drank or slept away every dollar that you have spent in the last week,” he quips, hearing a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the phone. “Or even better, call Carter. He was so supportive in this adventure. Maybe he’ll sponsor you. Or at the very least get you a plane ticket home.” 

“This isn’t like you, Louis.” Evan accuses. It’s a blatant manipulation tactic. “You’re better than this.” 

“I’m better than you,” Louis replies, feeling at least comforted by the small declaration of self love. “And when I said get a ticket home. I don’t mean here. I don’t ever want to see you again.” 

With this he hangs up the phone. If he knows anything, it’s that he has no interest in anything Evan has to say again. 

But what now? His conscience asks in a persistent, sharp tone. His mind wanders back to his book. He can’t write that anymore. He needs to start from scratch. He needs to work in order to keep his mind centered. But he’s afraid that he doesn’t know anything besides this plastic, fool’s gold life anymore. He feels as though he’s at square one.

Less than two weeks later he’s pacing the house, picking things up and putting them down again. He hadn’t realised until he started to look for things of importance to him how little of himself is in his house. All of the art on the walls, all of the knick knacks and pieces sitting on tables, even the curtains are all Evan’s doing. How did he not notice himself slowly seeping out of his own life? And did Evan do it purposefully? 

He inspects a small porcelain dog that he doesn’t recognise but is sitting on an end table next to his couch and sighs as he sits it back down. 

“Hello?” A soft voice echoes from the front door. Jane, his assistant. He almost forgot that it was a work day. So much has changed for him over the last two days. He forgot that there was one person who would actually care about his major life changes. 

“In here,” he tells her, still looking at his house, his things, as if he’s never seen them before in his life. 

She walks in with her usual tablet, day planner, and smile. He almost feels bad for her. She’s the most organised person he knows, and he’s about to upend her entire week. 

“I have your weekly schedule,” she tells him, handing him a hard copy, no doubt having already sent the digital version to his phone. 

“I’m afraid there’s been a change of plans.” God, he always wanted to say that. What a good line for his more swarthy leading men. 

“I’m sorry?” She replies, not entirely appreciating his flare for the dramatic. 

“I’m moving,” he says, feeling less dramatic now and more panicked. He’s sure he’s making the wrong decision. “To Idaho.” 

“Excuse me?” He can see her short circuit slightly. He can most definitely relate. “You’re...moving? As in away? As in you’re not going to be living here anymore?” 

“Yeah, that is generally how moving works.” Louis grins. He shouldn’t be enjoying her freak out, but she’s the only one in his life that he doesn’t low key despise right now. He’s glad to know that there will be someone that misses him. 

“But why?” She wails and then stops abruptly. The incredulity slides off her face, replaced immediately by sadness. “Oh Louis, you don’t have to move across the country because of that tart.” 

He sighs, picking up the porcelain dog again. “It’s not the tart that is making me want to get out of here. It’s the book. I was writing my own life because that’s all I know anymore.” An all too familiar sickness settles in his gut. All he can do is shrug, giving her as much of a smile as he can muster. 

“You’re quitting your book?” He thinks this might be more devastating to her than him picking up his life. 

“Starting over,” he corrects her, trying to sound confident. 

She just nods, staring at her itinerary. “So…”

“So I’ll need someone here to keep all of my affairs in order. Water the pool and pull out the weeds and whatnot.” He looks at her hopefully. 

A visible sigh of relief escapes her lips. He isn’t sure if she would have come to Idaho with him or not, but he wasn’t about to make her squirm. “I can do that. But did it have to be Idaho?”

“No it didn’t, but it seemed like the exact opposite of here and that I did need.” He claps his hands, psyching himself up. “So how about we make a new calendar? We have a lot to do before Friday.”

“Friday?!” She squeaks again before the familiar determined look flashes in her eyes and he doesn’t seem as scared anymore. 

A big part of Louis’ career was travelling. He never minded it. He would land in a city, or even sometimes a small town if the demand was worth the time and sit behind a desk, signing copies of his book until the line was gone, and he could collapse in his hotel bed. It wasn’t the most glamorous duty. It involved a lot of bad coffee and worse small talk, but he would never complain. People read his book and paid money to read the words he wrote. And they would pay just to spend a couple of seconds with him. He couldn’t even call it a thank you because he wasn’t truly giving back. 

But that is travelling. This is moving. He steps out of his rented black Impala and looks at the house that is now all his. Aesthetically it’s beautiful. A little cabin style house sitting on the banks of the lake. The walls are made of stone and the roof is a dark brown metal. There is green and trees as far as the eye can see. Which isn’t far because the greenery is so thick. He can’t see another house, or another person anywhere. He hugs his laptop case to his chest as though it were a security blanket and grips the keys that had been Fed X-ed to him before he left LA. He will embrace his new life, he will write his new novel, and he will forget about that complete asshole, Evan. He will be happy here. 

So he absolutely hates it here. 

It’s mid June and when in LA he would be well into beautifully hot summer weather, it’s still cool here in his new home, his house more like. The word home isn’t quite right. It’s full of things that belong to him. Beautiful things that he loved when he chose to send them here, but nothing that makes him feel like he belongs. He stares out the large picture windows that take up most of the wall that faces the lake. It’s more beautiful than any picture or painting that could have adorned his LA home, but it doesn’t feel like it’s him. Something is missing, and he wants to gag anytime he thinks that it might be Evan. He can’t possibly miss that airhead. No, he doesn’t think he does. But he might lose his mind over the complete and utter silence. He misses people. Maybe not entertaining, maybe not the gossip that writhes through Hollywood like a swarm of spiders day in and day out. But he misses the noise of people. Jane updating him on his week, his agent calling and asking for just one more meet and greet. Even the weekly housekeeper with her affinity for boy bands and off key singing. He hasn’t spoken to another human being face to face since he stepped into his newly leased car and drove into this wilderness. How is he supposed to write about love and romance if he can’t even have a polite conversation in this place? This was a mistake, and he isn’t quite sure what to do about it. 

“Did you or did you not think that this was a horrible idea when I told you about it?” He says to Jane later that afternoon as he picks at a tuna fish sandwich and stares at the blank document on his laptop screen. 

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” she reprimands him. “I was surprised by the decision, but once I had a moment to process, I thought, and I still think, that this is good for you.” 

“Solitary confinement is what they do to punish prisoners, not rehabilitate them,” he grumbles. He’s been trying to talk her, and himself, into coming back to LA for the last half an hour, and she hasn’t budged. 

“The solitude is completely self induced,” she clips, clearly done with the pity party. “McAll, Idaho is a lovely little town and from what I’ve read there are plenty of community activities that you could use to integrate yourself. Go out, browse around the grocery store. Take a walk down main street. Sit at a coffee shop. Try.” 

“You were a lot nicer to me when you had to talk face to face,” Louis replies, trying to hide the smile through the phone. 

“I wasn’t. You were always just too absorbed in your work to notice my attitude,” she replies, and he isn’t sure if she’s being serious or not, so he just chuckles. 

“Fine. I’ll try. Is there anything work related we need to talk about?” 

“This is work related. You need to find inspiration to start a brand new story.” She sounds just as stressed as he feels about it. “I’m sending you some information about the town, and I want you to really work on getting involved. Challenge yourself.”

He sighs as the email is already through. Pages of links and even some screen grabs that look like people took actual pictures of notices and flyers tacked up on grocery store bulletin boards and posted them online. Seems excessive. “Yes ma’am.” 

“I’m expecting details when I call back,” she says before she wishes him well and hangs up. The silence seems even more defening than it had that morning. He groans and thumbs his phone, scrolling down the pages of the email. Yard sales, bake sales, church dinners. What even is this place? He sees a picture of a piece of paper that is written neat, but all caps letters announcing a clean up of a beach that Louis had never heard tell of. The beach is something that he knows at least. And the notice is for two days from now. Might not be horrible he thinks. It will get Jane off his back at least. 

It’s sunny if nothing else as he pulls into what could be considered a parking lot leading to a large expanse of waterside. But that is just about all Louis can say for this outdoor activity. It’s supposed to be nearly summer but Louis can’t bring himself to turn the heat down in the house or the car. He’s dressed head to toe in the warmest clothes he currently owns. He can’t even imagine why people would want to be near water on such a day. 

But turns out he may be the only one in the town who thinks this as he is met with at least fifty people milling around in shorts and t-shirts, laughing and working their way through trash bags that look to have already been half filled. He’s starting to wonder if this is some weird cult town. No one can be that happy when they’re in the throws of hypothermia. 

All the worse, everyone seems to know each other. He just knows he’s going to be the odd man out. People will stare, or worse, completely ignore him. He knew this was a bad idea from the start. 

He’s just telling himself that he is better off going back home when a knock on his window causes him to punch the steering wheel. They both jump as the horn blares. He takes a few deep breaths before he rolls down the window. 

“Hi!” A deep voice comes out of the wide curved mouth, which is about all Louis can see of him, as he’s looming over the vehicle. 

“Hello,” Louis replies, feeling unsure of himself. 

“I saw you pull in, and wanted to greet you,” the man drawls, clearly stating the obvious. 

“Um, thanks,” Louis replies, feeling that he should probably get out of the car at this point, but is still reluctant. This guy’s aggressive friendliness isn’t exactly making him feel more comfortable. 

“You’re new here,” the man states, and Louis rolls his eyes. 

“What gave it away?” He asks sarcastically, ever so slightly hoping it would be off putting enough to get the guy to back off, so he can go back home. Instead, the man makes a noise that could only be described as a guffaw. It startles Louis into actually trying to get a better look at the creature at his window. Luckily for him, he doesn’t have to strain too hard because the man is literally doubled over. 

“Shit,” Louis says under his breath. Maybe it wasn’t luck. All of the saliva seems to evaporate from his tongue when the man looks back at him. He’s smiling with his entire face, and he’s fucking gorgeous. 

“Are you alright?” The man asks him, and Louis just knows from that smirk that he knows damn well what’s wrong with Louis. 

“Fine, great even,” Louis sniffs. He is definitely not fine. He’s almost uncomfortable with those glass green eyes studying him. He doesn’t even remember the last time he’s felt this kind of jolt of attraction. He thought he was past that actually. He isn’t a teenager with raging hormones anymore. But he can barely look this man in the eye.

“So...are you going to get out of the car?” More smirking. 

“I’m here, I might as well.” Louis tries to sound flippant which just makes the stranger laugh again. He’s embarrassed about how pleased that makes him. “I’m Louis by the way. Louis Tomlinson.” He tries to get out of the car as seamlessly as possible. He’s not trying to be sexy; he is definitely not.

“I know.” The man laughs again. “Everyone knows. They were just too scared to come and talk to you.” 

This throws Louis off. He knows he’s a household name. He knows that his face is on the internet. But he writes romance novels. He isn’t a rock star. He looks back at the crowd again and notices for the first time that most of the people on the beach are either openly watching them or trying to pretend they aren’t while giving them sideways glances. 

“It’s a small town. Not much exciting happens around here,” the man says from beside him. “You are big news.” 

“Why weren’t you scared of me?” This is probably not the question that Louis should ask first, but he can’t change the way his brain works and he won’t apologise for it. 

“Terrified,” the man replies, not sounding at all scared, just matter of fact. “But my curiosity got the best of me, and this is my gig. So if anyone was going to sacrifice themselves it probably should be me.” 

“You organized the clean up?” Louis asks, feeling impressed for some reason. He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know any of these people. Maybe it was the hint of pride in the man’s voice. 

“I did, and a lot of other things here. I’m Harry Styles, mayor of McAll. Nice to meet you.” The man then puts his hand out, suddenly presenting an air of authority, and Louis now knows that he’s well and truly screwed. 

Mayor Styles, or Harry as he pleads with Louis to call him, leads him through the crowd, introducing him to nearly everyone who comes within three feet of them. Louis will never remember all of the names and apologetically says that. Harry doesn’t seem to mind though and chats idly while putting a trash bag into Louis’ hand. 

“So, Mayor.” Louis struggles to keep the conversation moving. He’s not much of a small talk person. “You seem awfully…”

“Young? Inexperienced? Eccentric?” Harry offers, but laughing all the while. Louis blushes as those are the words that instantly come to mind. 

“I was going to say tall.” He averts his eyes at Harry’s knowing smirk. “Are you from here?” It’s an attempt to change the subject and a poorly veiled one at that. It frustrates Louis on a good day how poor he is at face to face communication, but this is ridiculous. 

“Not technically.” Harry stops the slow pace he had set for them down the beach and looks towards the water. “I was very young when Mom moved the two of us out here. All of her family still lives in Florida.” A very brief image flashes through Louis’ head of Harry as a Florida resident. Golden glow, probably sun lightened hair, maybe some really short shorts standing on a surfboard. He feels a little bit of drool form under his tongue. “But I was too young to remember not living here.” 

“And now you run the place.” He makes a sweeping gesture towards the section of beach they have found themselves on. Louis notices for the first time that they have wandered so far that everyone else is only within shouting distance and there is still a considerable amount of trash on the ground around them. 

This comment seems to hit a note with Harry though who burst with a loud and uninhibited laugh. “I do my best to help everyone who actually runs the place.” He settles on. Louis may have underestimated him. It’s the most politician answer he has ever heard. “What about you?”

“Me?” Louis asks, forgetting for a moment that he’s the odd man out in this situation. 

“You were most definitely not raised here. You have no family here. You’re not a tourist unless you purchase houses everytime you vacation somewhere. What’s your deal?” 

The question feels invasive to Louis, but he wonders if it’s only because he doesn’t have a good answer. What is he actually doing here?

“Writing a book.” He settles for the path of least resistance, and he can tell it was the right answer when Harry’s face lights up.

“About us?” 

Louis’ mind whites out for a second before he realises that Harry is talking about the town as an “us” and not him and Louis. “Not specifically. I’m not here to disrupt people’s lives. I just needed a different outlook on life.” A lump forms low in his throat. 

“For the book,” he adds to save face. From who, he isn’t sure.

He wonders for a second if this will disappoint Harry. Harry knows after all that he writes fiction. Surely, he wouldn’t be expecting a documentary style guidebook or anything. But as he looks at Harry’s face, all he can see is a warm smile.

“How are you finding us so far?” Again the “us” throws Louis off, but not as badly this time. 

“Quiet,” he admits honestly. 

Harry shakes his head and waves a hand dismissively. “Psshh, there’s always something to do around here. You’ll see.” It almost sounds like a challenge and Louis doesn’t know if he should be excited or nervous. Harry doesn’t give him much time to think about it though as he leads them back into the crowd.

Louis would consider the outing to be a categorical failure. Who else on this planet would move across the country into a tiny little town and immediately fall in love with the mayor of it? Of all people? No. No, he’s not in love. He can’t be in love. Nor does he want to be. He truly doesn’t. He just sometimes forgets that and somehow gets attached to the first pretty face that smiles at him. He’s been like this since he was a teenager. He falls so easily that it’s almost comical. 

But not this time! He is determined to do something for himself for once in his life. Write the best book he’s ever written, get over Evan, and feel like a human being again. Whatever that means. He considers relaying this all to Jane, who will inevitably tell him where he’s going wrong in his life, but he would rather live in the false sense of security that he’s making good life decisions for a while. 

But at the same time his house sounds even more silent than it did when he left this morning. He’s not the most outgoing person. He loves his quiet time. But the self imposed solitude may just be starting to get to him. Maybe his next trip out will be something easy. Like a trip to the grocery store. Or the liquor store. Something he knows about at least. 

What he needs to do right now though is start his new story. He needs a plot. He needs an outline. He needs a main character. 

He’s glad that he doesn’t have to write on paper like all of the great authors who preceded him. There would be a lot of paper in the trash can. On the other hand, he’s always liked that aesthetic. Louis sits at his typewriter in a dark room only lit by an oil lamp and his cigarette. Crisp white paper lays crumpled around him like the ghosts of novels that could have been he types into his Chromebook before he immediately erases it. It’s kind of a shame as it’s the most he’s written all evening, and all it has accomplished is a sharp and unexpected craving for nicotine. 

He sighs and stretches his back. He’s not ready yet. In his head he knows this but it still pisses him off. It makes his blood boil that Evan took the thing in this world that actually means something to him. 

He needs a distraction, he thinks in the forefront of his mind, while the little voice in the back of his head tells him that he needs an idea. He ignores that one and opens his Instagram. He wakes up the next morning half slumped in his chair, his dead phone perched under his hand on his chest. He actually Instagramed himself to sleep. This is not a high point in his life. There’s also something not right, and it takes a few seconds to realise that there's a knock on his door. 

He has his hand on the door before he realises that he likely has no desire to talk to who is on the other side as anyone he does want to talk to has no idea where he actually lives or is too far away to get here. But he’s here now, and his brain isn’t in full function enough to be reasonable. 

“Oh,” he says at the same time that Harry says the exact same thing.

“Oh?” He asks in response to Harry who just coughs into his hand and averts his eyes. This is when Louis looks down and realises that he’s only wearing a pair of very ill fitting sweats and nothing else. 

“Oh.” He considers trying to cover himself, but it’s a little late for that. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.” Harry is still looking away, but making a very good show of acting like Louis' front step is of great interest to him. 

“Not disturbing, just working,” Louis lies. He doesn’t mention that the work was staring at a blank document and then passing out on the armchair. 

“That would explain the glasses,” Harry says, this time looking Louis in the eye in a way that makes him want to squirm. He instinctively pulls them off his face. The black, thick rimmed frames make him self conscious, and he generally doesn’t wear them in front of people. Still a strange observation on Harry’s part though, he thinks. 

“Please come in,” Louis offers because he has no idea what else to do with his hands or mouth. He’s about to say something stupid just out of discomfort he’s sure. 

“Oh, no thank you. I can’t stay. I was actually hoping you would want to join me.” Harry sounds slightly more himself, if the few hours the day before told Louis anything about him.

“Join you?” Louis feels suspicious. All he can envision is another cold day picking up trash like a criminal. 

“You told me that you were trying to get research for your book. I’m trying to help.” Louis isn’t sure why everything Harry says sounds like he’s being provocative. He isn’t sure why it’s so attractive either, but Harry is smirking at him while Louis stands practically naked in front of him, and he feels like he’s being pulled into some sort of vortex. 

“I do need research,” he says, sounding like a complete fool to his own ears. “How long do I have to get dressed?” 

“All the time in the world,” Harry replies. Louis looks at him skeptically, and Harry flushes. “I need to be there in half an hour.” 

“I’m on it,” Louis says, sounding more confident than he feels. 

“Where are you taking me exactly?” Louis asks as Harry’s silver four sedan brings them closer towards the town’s center. Louis has been into town all of one time and that was the day he showed up. He’s somewhat ashamed to admit that the only thing left to eat in the house is a quarter of a box of dry cereal and three frozen meals. He has no idea why he has been so reluctant to immerse himself back into the public, but as they drive down the quiet streets lined with picturesque wrought iron light posts, his hesitation is starting to feel a bit silly. 

“As mayor it is my duty to make appearances at as many public events as my schedule will allow,” Harry replies. It sounds like a line that he’s rehearsed. This doesn’t really give Louis any sense of comfort. 

“And this public event would be what exactly? And why do I need to be here?”

“For your book, I already said that.” Harry is definitely avoiding the main subject now. Louis looks at him in silence until Harry gives him a sideways glance. “There is a group of seniors opening a club.” 

“Oh God,” Louis flips the visor down and looks in the tiny mirror. “Do I look over sixty five?” He is half joking but honestly wouldn’t be surprised considering the way the last few weeks have been going. 

“No! You don’t!” Harry laughs and shakes his head. All Louis sees is the golden and caramel strands of hair that shine with the movement of his head and the sun shining through the driver window. “I just didn’t like the thought of you sitting in that big house all alone on a beautiful day like today!” 

This takes Louis by surprise in a way that he didn’t even think about. Harry was thinking about him, thinking about his happiness. It hits Louis all at once how long it’s been since someone else took his feelings into account. God, he’s not going to cry in this car. 

“Thanks,” he manages to croak.

“Don’t thank me yet.” Harry’s voice is soft, and Louis can feel his eyes on him even though he can’t bring himself to look back. “There are...activities.” 

Oh Lord. 

He isn’t quite sure how he ended up sitting on a hard plastic chair with a bingo dauber in his hand. He looks around at the eager faces of seniors of varying ages concentrating as if their life depends on the number and letter coming from the mouth of the bingo caller. He knows he’s called a bingo caller because that’s what Harry, the bingo caller, told him when he broke it to Louis that he was going to have to sit alone for this particular activity. 

It could be worse, he supposes. Apparently there’s not much talking in bingo, as opposed to the last activity that was a get to know you warm up. He had to go around the room and share private information about himself with strangers that he is sure not one soul there cares about. Harry keeps looking at him and smiling encouragingly. He wants to leave. But he can’t because he didn’t drive himself here, and he can’t imagine how long it would take him to walk home. He’s from LA. People only walk in LA for their Instagram feed. 

“Bingo!” Comes the banshee screech of a hard faced lady behind him. She’s sporting purple hair, and her face is a shade of red that Louis has only ever seen on one experiencing heat exhaustion.

Harry’s smile never dims as he comes towards her, giving Louis a sideways grin on the way past and confirms that she has in fact won and offers her the assortment of prizes. She begrudgingly takes the stationary set while loudly complaining that she would rather have had the bubble bath that Mildred took the last round.

“Well I’m afraid that was the last round of bingo for the day!” Harry actually looks disappointed. He’s either senile or a great actor. 

“Oh, thank Jesus,” Louis says under his breath. He can finally escape this fresh hell.

“But please stick around and enjoy the lovely cake that Hazel brought for us all!” 

Louis might cry. Maybe crying will convince Harry to take him home. 

“You didn’t have a good time?” Harry actually looks like he doesn’t believe Louis. 

“I feel like it says more about you that you did have a good time,” Louis replies, staring out the window because he feels a full on meltdown on the way and he really doesn’t want Harry to witness that. He doesn’t want anyone to see how easily he lets things get to him. 

Harry doesn’t say anything though to the point that Louis is forced to look back at him out of sheer curiosity. He’s staring ahead, focusing on the road but his forehead is wrinkled in concentration. Louis instantly feels like shit. It’s not Harry’s fault that Louis is the very definition of a party pooper. He’s about to attempt an apology when the look of concentration turns to a smile again. 

“This isn’t over. I will find things about this town that you will love.” Harry beams at him and nods as if the decision has been made. 

“You don’t have to. I’m a moody introvert. There isn’t a whole lot that I like.” 

Harry doesn’t agree or disagree with this, just pinches his lips in a way that makes them slightly swollen and pinker than normal. Louis’ mouth suddenly goes dry. It seems to be a trend. “I’ll find something.” They pull into Louis driveway and suddenly a jolt of disappointment shoots through him. Didn’t he want to be here half an hour ago? 

“I’ll find something about this town that will make you fall in love with it and never want to leave.” 

“You have big dreams, Harry Styles,” he says, getting out of the car. He can’t help but be drawn into the confident smirk that Harry gives him in return. 

“See you soon, Louis!” 

It’s about 4am, and Louis can’t sleep. He’s tried all of his normal tricks. All except one. The one that he has been avoiding for a few weeks now. He looks at the laptop that has been sitting dormant and opens it, allowing his eyes to adjust to the bright screen. It’s a futile endeavor, he knows. He hasn’t had the ability to write even a sentence since the mess with Evan. But he sits down all the same and places his hands on the keys. 

Suddenly, Harry’s face pops into his mind. He is very beautiful in all senses.  He would make the perfect muse for a new leading character. He isn’t sure how Harry would feel about being immortalized in a work of fiction that would be sold worldwide. But he will worry about that later. 

It suddenly occurs to him that he’s already writing Harry’s description on the blank document. It’s not much, but it’s more than he’s written in a while. He calls Harry’s character Howard. He makes his hair a little longer than Harry’s is styled in. He wonders what Harry’s job would be and shakes his head. He’s getting ahead of himself. He needs a plot, a purpose. He needs romance. He types out a few sentences of the man who may be Harry’s type and blushes when it looks suspiciously like himself. Harry Styles self insert fanfiction. This has to be a new low, even for him. 

But he suddenly realises that he’s exhausted and can’t get to bed quickly enough. He flips the laptop closed and collapses into bed thinking about Harry taking his love interest into his arms. He’s not sure why they are in the forest or why Harry isn’t wearing a shirt, but he’s asleep before he can question it further. 

Harry doesn’t call him for a week. Louis knows that he doesn’t need Harry to get out of the house and socialise but he sits in the house all the same, partly writing a few sentences here and there, partly hating himself that the entire story has essentially become an ode to thirsting after a man with green eyes and a flirtatious grin. 

When the phone rings in the early afternoon on a sunny Friday he expects it to be Jane since she’s the only one who ever actually calls him, but he’s pleasantly surprised to see that it’s Harry. 

“I think I found something that you will appreciate,” he says as soon as Louis greets him. 

Louis is glad that no one can see the ridiculous grin on his face. “You said appreciate, not like,” he teases Harry, who laughs lightly through the phone. 

“I did say that. I have no idea if you’ll like it or not, but I think you’ll enjoy yourself more than you did at the seniors club.” 

“You’re setting the bar low, Styles.” 

“That’s my secret to success,” Harry banters back. “Dazzle them with mediocrity.” 

“How is that working for you?” Louis asks. He’s living for the quick wit that Harry is able to throw. It’s a rare ability that Louis appreciates in a person. 

“You tell me.” Louis could swear that he heard Harry’s voice drop a little. No, he’s just imagining things. He’s been talking to himself for too long. 

“To be determined when you dazzle me.” It feels like a scary thing to say out loud. It feels like he’s crossing some sort of line. 

“I’ll pick you up at six,” Harry says, and then he’s gone. Not even a goodbye. 

“I’m in so much trouble,” Louis says to himself as he heads towards his closet to find something to wear to a place that he doesn’t know and for a person that he doesn’t want to want. 

He isn’t sure what he expected when Harry brought him into the center of town, but an actual book store is really low on the list. He looks at the quaint storefront, backlit with a warm yellow glow that contrasts with the harsh daylight that blasts down on them. He looks over at Harry who is looking back with ill reigned delight. 

“A bookstore.” He tries to sound excited. And he would be so happy to be excited if he knew what exactly he was supposed to be excited about. 

If he was expecting Harry to shed some light on the situation, he is sadly wrong. “Let’s go in!” Harry gets out of the driver’s seat and comes to the wide sidewalk that spans the street. 

He tries desperately to tamp down the familiar dread that bubbles uncomfortably in his stomach. He needs to relax. There is probably a perfectly pleasant evening ahead of him. As Harry places a light hand on his back to usher him through the door, he’s almost sure it will be great. 

What he’s greeted with is a small room full of books and people. Not all too unfamiliar, but not bad at all. The part that makes him uneasy is the big paper banner that hangs on the furthest wall. WELCOME TO MCCALL LOUIS TOMLINSON. He surreptitiously looks around the signing table. Did Harry seriously book him an appearance? He's not even going to get paid for it! He’s about to spout these words to Harry before Harry beams a smile at him that can rival the sun. 

“It’s a welcoming party!” Harry is almost jumping up and down. “Welcome to our little town. We are all so happy to have someone as exuberant and charming as you.” 

“Oh wow,” Louis feels like a complete asshole now. “A party for me? Why in a bookstore?” 

“I thought it would make you feel more at home. I don’t know much about you, but I do know books are a pretty big part of your life.” 

Louis feels like an ass. He wonders when he became so cynical. Bitter even. Harry had taken time out of his week to gather people who didn’t even know him, much less give a damn about his happiness, and created something just for Louis. And his first reaction is to be suspicious. 

He notices that Harry is looking at him with open trepidation, and his stomach sinks a little further. He plasters on his best smile. “This is amazing, Harry. Thank you.” 

The transformation between worry and pure delight that comes across Harry’s face makes Louis’ heart stutter. Christ, he’s beautiful. Louis wonders if he knows. He realises that they are staring at one another as if there aren’t a few dozen people staring at them both. It’s almost like a trance that Louis can’t seem to break. Finally, Harry takes a deep breath, cheeks darkening a fascinating pink, and smiles bashfully. “Let me introduce you to some people!” He sounds out of breath, and Louis feels in over his head. 

Harry doesn’t know if Harry had done it intentionally, but the mix of people who Louis meets at the party are an eclectic mix of fascinating characters. He meets a song writer and an actor. He hears all about a film club that meets weekly in town and was shyly invited to a writer’s meet up. Everyone is so nice and polite, and he can’t even count the amount of times he is invited to dinner. He has never felt so welcome in a place since the last time he was in his childhood home. 

It’s nearly midnight when his head leans on the backrest of Harry's passenger’s seat. He’s tired from smiling and standing and eating. So much eating. But he doesn’t feel as tired as he usually does when he’s forced to be social for extended periods of time. He feels sated. He feels like he could melt into the seat of the car and let Harry’s quiet humming to the radio lull him to sleep. He’s almost disappointed when the car comes to a gentle stop, and he has to open the door to the cool night air. 

“Well, I tried,” Harry says to him, giving him a half smile. He looks disappointed. 

“It was a lovely party, Harry.” He smiles. He genuinely means it, but Harry just shakes his head. 

“I know it was a lovely party. I’m the king of lovely parties. How do you think I got elected?” He chuckles, and Louis joins in. “But it wasn’t your thing.”

“No, I guess it wasn’t. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t appreciate it.” 

“So are you going to tell me?” Harry’s letting his head rest against his own seat, looking soft and sleepy. 

“Don’t try to brain pick me. I’m a mess,” Louis says and kind of immediately regrets it. He isn’t sure why, but he wants to tell Harry all of the crap that he had dealt with before he landed in this strange land of the lovely people. He’s sure that Harry couldn’t care less. 

“I won’t try to dissect you. Just give me something. One thing. What would you have loved to do tonight more than anything?” 

Louis looks at him for a second, and makes his decision. “Will you come in?” He asks. Harry has his hand on the door handle before the sentence is even out of his mouth.

They didn’t say much to one another as Louis gathered up a few supplies. A cold bottle of wine, a couple of glasses and a soft flannel throw that was laying at the end of one of the many spare beds in the house. He opens his arm towards the glass door opening onto the dimly lit porch facing the lake. Harry follows and they sit side by side on the deep swing that hangs from the beams above it. He feels every nerve on the surface of his skin as he hands Harry a glass and pools the throw around both of their laps. Harry just watches as if he’s studying an animal in their natural habitat. 

“You have a beautiful view,” Harry says in almost a whisper. 

Louis nods and looks around as if he’s seeing it for the first time. He hasn’t really taken the time to absorb his surroundings since he has come to Idaho. He wonders what he’s been doing with his time and realises painfully that he has been living in his own head for a long time. Bumping along in a fog of self loathing and confusion. 

“So is this part of your process?” Harry continues when Louis doesn’t say anything. “Secluding yourself in the forest?” 

This pulls a laugh from Louis that he isn’t sure of the origin. 

“This is actually the opposite of my process.” The word feels foreign on his tongue. “It’s...complicated.” 

“I see,” Harry says and shifts back. It’s just a few millimeters, but it feels like a cavern between them. “The part where you said you’re a mess—”

“Yeah, that.” Louis stares into the dark burgandy of the wine and takes a drink. “It was a…” What was it, really? A bad break up? Louis doesn’t know if he could even call it that. He was abandoned by everyone he thought he could trust. But God, doesn’t that seem melodramatic? 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Harry offers, and it kills Louis because this is the first time that Harry has ever seemed anything but confident and positive. Now he just looks uncomfortable. 

“I doubt you’re interested anyway, but I’ll tell you.” Louis offers him a tentative smile. 

“I think you’d be surprised by how interested I am.” The flirty smile is back, but Louis forces himself to ignore it in favour of having a listening ear. 

He tells Harry the whole story. Well, from what he knows of it anyway. After spending a few weeks wracking his brain as to how it all went wrong in his personal life, Louis concludes that no one just walks out the door one day without a look back. He’s not putting the blame fully on himself (sometimes late at night when he’s homesick and is sick of the sound of only his inner voice to talk to, but no one needs to know that), but he knows that something went down and he has clearly missed it. That’s on him. 

“That’s a lot,” Harry says when his monologue peters to a stop. Louis agrees by nodding. “All of this happened to you in the last few weeks, and all you’re concerned with is your book?” 

The way Harry says your book plucks a sour note in Louis’ gut. 

“My book,” Louis mocks Harry’s tone with a tad bit of venom. “Is all I have left. My partner left me, my friends only cared about how I made them look to the public, and my sister only talks to me when she wants money. I don’t even have a place that feels like home anymore. My book is…” Louis was about to say that his book is the only thing that hasn’t let him down, but that isn’t true is it? His book doesn’t exist because it was too much a reminder of the life he wasn’t even aware he was living. 

“Your ability to write amazes me,” Harry replies, sounding ever the calm, confident tower of strength. “I don’t know if you realised when we first met how much of a fan I actually am, but I have read everything you have written. You’re brilliant and talented and hard working.”

“Thank you,” Louis says because he isn’t quite sure how to take a compliment like that. He has heard it all from fans, but it has never sounded as genuine as when it comes from Harry’s mouth. 

“But you're not just a book.” Louis is about to argue this when Harry puts his hand up. “You’re so much more.”

“I don’t know if I want to be more right now,” Louis says. The idea of having to be something outside of the safe bubble that he has created is giving him anxiety in a way he didn’t know even existed. 

Harry just nods, ever so slightly at this and settles back into his seat. The blanket slips off his lap a bit, and Louis feels that it’s symbolic to what he’s done to yet another human interaction. “I didn’t mean for this to get so deep,” Harry finally says, staring into the darkness of the lake. 

“It’s not as deep as your voice,” Louis replies without thinking. It breaks both of them out of their own heads for the moment, and Harry laughs loudly. “I appreciate you trying to help me.” 

“I feel like it was accidental,” Harry concedes. “It was more for myself than anything. You’re an easy person to spend time with.” 

“That’s ok. I’m used to that.” Louis gives him a half smile and empties his glass. 

Harry’s mouth drops. “Yeah,” he says before they fall into a silence that is anything but comfortable. 

Louis doesn’t sleep well that night, and he can’t put his finger on why. He can’t put his finger on it because there isn’t just one thing that went wrong with that day before. Louis couldn’t even admit to himself what he was hoping to happen when he invited Harry in, but what he didn’t expect was the fear and almost anger at Harry’s expectation that he exerts himself past what he feels is the most overwhelmed he’s ever been in his adult life. He lost his home, his love, his friends. He lost his will to do the one thing that has always been a constant in his life. Isn’t it enough that he is surviving?

He knows the answer to that of course. This is no way to live, he knows that. But he’s in crisis mode right now. He needs to write this book. 

A very clear and demanding voice that sounds a lot like his mother says from the depths of his mind “Then what?” Even his inner demons are demanding that he makes a plan. Then what indeed. Then he writes another book. The same plan he has had for the last ten years. 

So why does the idea of it make him so tired? A flash of panic bolts through him at the idea of not writing anymore. What would he even do with his life? He instinctively goes to his laptop. The sun is barely rising, shedding a soft orange light through the windows. He stares at his notes that barely would be considered an outline and clicks out of them. He doesn’t want to make notes. He doesn’t want to make a plan. He wants to know that he can do the only thing that he feels makes him a worthy human being at the moment. 

He starts to write.

Louis has been writing things down for as long as he could remember. One of his earliest memories was writing poems for his mother for Mother’s Day. He wrote songs and stories and had a journal that he would hide from his childhood friends for fear of being made fun of. He has written six published books that made him more successful than he had ever been. But he has never written like this. 

It’s frenzied and uncoordinated. He can see the story in his head, but he doesn’t even know how it’s going to unfold until the words flow from his mind to his fingertips, almost without consulting the logical part of his brain. His hands ache and his back aches and he feels dry mouthed from the wine the night before. But he doesn’t stop. Not until the sun is high in the sky and the heat starts to seep in through the open window in his bedroom. Twenty pages of what he is sure is complete nonsense is written into his faithful computer and for a moment he is triumphant. And then he isn’t. 

He’s angry all over again because he isn’t happy, and it’s because of Harry Fucking Styles! Why? Why would his few forgetful words cripple his self worth? His confidence? Why would he now of all times feel like writing isn’t enough anymore? How dare he!

He walks to the kitchen and grabs a bottle of water. The icy cold feels good running down his throat, down his chin. He likes the loud bang the metal of the container makes when he slams it down on the counter. He feels like a man possessed. He sits down at the laptop and begins to write again. 

An image, a vivid picture is starting to form in Louis’ head. A man on a journey through his future lives, almost opposite of the more popular trope of going back and seeing where you have learned from your mistakes. In this story he looks forward to learning what his mistakes were in the first place. Fantasy and science fiction ideas that he would normally not touch with a ten foot pole, but here he is, researching dystopian realms and finding the human element in the unknown. He doesn’t know why he’s writing this. He doesn’t think he would ever publish it under his own well known name. It doesn’t fit his brand at all, but it has seeped out of somewhere deep within him, and he can’t push it back down even if he wanted to now. 

He pushes himself back from his desk like one last push of a marathon runner crossing the finish line. He feels as if he had run miles. His muscles are sore from tensing them and hunching over his computer, but his mind is racing and he’s scared if he stops for too long he will lose what he’s got. 

The windows are black now. There is no sound of birds or distant vessels on the lake. He doesn’t realise how silent the house is until he allows the noise in his head to quiet. 

“I’ll sleep,” he says out loud if only to hear a noise that’s not in his own mind. He strips down to only his underwear in the spot he’s standing and collapses into bed. 

But he doesn’t sleep. He thinks. His mind races. And yeah, it’s this demon story that has seemed to possess him, but what makes him want to punch the headboard with sheer frustration is that it’s also Harry. 

Harry got to him, got in his head, and he wants so badly to be angry about it. But Jesus, all he wants is to see him right now face to face and ask him to make Louis forget all about writing a damn book. He wants Harry to make him forget everything except what it feels like to be in Harry’s arms and the one God damned thing that he tried to avoid when he left LA has transpired. He’s fallen for another pretty face that he has nothing in common with and can’t see past what he can do for them. That part does piss him off. But that’s not Harry’s fault is it? 

He decides as a last resort to do the one thing that will promise him sleep. The problem is that when the release finally comes, it’s Harry’s face in his mind and Harry’s hands in his dreams. 

He wakes up late the next morning. He’s starving and disgusting overall, but his mind isn’t crazed as much as it was the day before. He takes his time making his way to the shower. He makes himself a hot breakfast. He watches hummingbirds dart around the trees outside the kitchen window. And on his own time, with his own free will, he sits down at his laptop and tries to make sense of the mess that he had made the day before. It’s surprisingly not horrible. He likes the premise. And while the subject matter is a bit fantastical, the moral is highly relatable. He says a silent fuck it and starts tapping away, filling in the painfully large holes that he had skipped the day before. 

Harry doesn’t call. Which is fine. He’s glad of it. He isn’t sure what he would say anyway. Besides, he needs to write. He doesn’t have time for parties and openings and whatever fills the mayor’s day. This is a good thing. A positive development one might say. 

He doesn’t call the next day either. Or the day after that. Louis is getting a good amount of writing done, and that’s great. But he’s getting a bit claustrophobic sitting inside on such beautiful days. He takes his laptop out to the porch. He immediately sees the throw sitting on the swing and sits down, pooling the soft fabric around his hips. He picks up a corner and briefly wonders if it smells like Harry. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he says out loud, scaring a nearby squirrel into a fit of rage. He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and stares at it. No calls. Not from Harry, not from anyone. How depressing is that, he thinks. 

He opens a text in Harry’s contact. Why? He doesn’t know. What will he say? He doesn’t know. Does he even want to have a conversation with Harry? He doesn’t know. 

How has your week been?

He types out and sends. Then immediately regrets. He sounds like a granny. And does he even care how Harry Styles’ week has been? Not really because it hasn’t involved a minute of Louis and that is just shit isn’t it?

It has been going well, you? 

Harry texts back no more than five minutes later. Jesus, he sounds more like a granny than Louis. 

Going well. Started a new novel. 

Good for you. That’s exactly what you wanted.

Louis feels like that was a dig. In fact he’s almost certain of it. 

Salty?

He types out with more force than his phone necessarily needed. 

If you’re talking the chip, salty is my favourite. If you’re talking the attitude, just making an observation.

Harry is definitely sniping. Ok, he can play this game. Harry doesn’t know what he has gotten himself into. 

You’re the main character. I haven’t decided yet if he lives

At least you’re thinking of me

“This bitch,” Louis says out loud. Why is this slightly arousing? 

You’re very sassy for a mayor

And you’re very petulant for a writer. Although I’ve never met a writer before, maybe you’re all like that. 

Louis wants to assure him that they are all, in fact, petulant. But he isn’t about to take that comment sitting down. 

Maybe you just bring it out in me

I can bring a lot of things out in you

“Son of a bitch!” Louis says a little too loud. He stares at his screen, feeling his palms start to sweat under it. 

He takes a deep breath before he types again 

Say that to my face

You have to earn it first

How the fuck do I do that? 

It’s not hard to find me Louis. 

And with that Louis instinctively knows the conversation is over. “You’re definitely dying now,” he mutters as he picks his laptop up again and begins to write Harry’s character towards his demise. 

“It’s not hard to find me, Louis,” Louis mocks Harry’s last text in a deep voice exaggerating Harry’s cadence. Harry’s character on the screen navigates through a busy street, somehow surviving despite Louis’ attempts. 

What makes him think that Louis even wants to find him? The arrogance of him, honestly. Except there’s an itch deep inside him that keeps halting the fingers on his keys. He feels a fight deep inside him; an urge to claw back. It’s making him physically unable to sit still any longer, and he closes the laptop again and gets in the car to head to town. 

Harry was right. It’s not at all hard to find him. He’s walking down the sidewalk of Park Street. Power walking, Louis thinks is the proper term, with a group of senior ladies. He’s wearing a pink and black full tracksuit and a headband, and Louis almost veers into oncoming traffic staring. He pulls into the nearest free space on the side of the street and watches them veer off onto a walking trail and disappear from sight. 

He isn’t quite sure what to feel now. It’s hard to be angry with a man wearing a pink headband. But at the same time he’s here, and Harry’s close and before he knows it he’s out of the car and walk/jogging behind them, trying to catch up. 

He doesn’t really know what he plans to say when he catches up with Harry, and it’s painfully obvious when his panting and wheezing catches the attention of the group and they all gather around him. Five looks of concern and one knowing smirk. He uses his obvious need for air in his lungs to collect himself now that he is face to face with the man behind the maddening texts. 

“Louis,” Harry lets the word drip from his lips like it was syrup. “What are you doing here?” 

As if he doesn’t know, the little shit. 

“Oh, you know. Just needed some fresh air. Get the tension out of my...shoulders.” 

Harry lets the corner of his mouth flick upwards ever so slightly. “Ladies, have you met one of our newest residents? Louis Tomlinson?” 

Recognition dawns on all of their faces as they all gasp at once. 

“I love your stories dear,” one of the women says, and he smiles warmly at her. He’s always been soft for little old ladies. 

“Aren’t you cold?” He looks at them all in full sweat gear. One has a light jacket over her sweater. Louis looks down at his own outfit. A thin dark gray t shirt and a pair of jorts that were on the top of the clean pile. It’s easily one hundred degrees outside. Even for a native Californian, it’s pretty warm.

“I was just hoping to speak to Harry for a moment.” Louis glances in Harry’s direction. Harry’s giving him a look that he isn’t familiar with, almost a hardness in his eyes makes Louis’ skin vibrate. 

“Don’t let us stop you, dear.” At this, Harry smiles openly. Louis is sure that this is all planned to humiliate him. 

“Do you know what? Nevermind,” Louis says, losing all of the fight that seems to drag whatever excitement that he had let build inside him with it. 

He turns, making his way back in the general direction of his car. He isn’t fully sure of where he’s at, or where he’s going. But what does it matter? It isn’t like he has someplace to be. Getting hopelessly lost might be the most significant thing that happens to him all day.  

He does not, incidentally, get lost. The trail he’s on is straightforward, and it’s less than five minutes before his car is in view once again, but he’s still in no hurry to get home to his own special brand of silence again so he walks past it and allows himself to take in the sights of the town. The best word he could think of to describe it would be quaint. He knows that’s so cliche. He would never use it in a book, but it’s strangely fitting for this place. 

It unfortunately doesn’t lift his mood a great deal. The stuff with Harry, it just feels like one more failure to notch into his belt. Logically, he knows that not enough happened between them to be called failure or success, but it doesn’t make it sting any less when he thinks of the rejection that gives him a full body reaction. 

He doesn’t even know if Harry is what he wants. Only a few weeks ago he would have been adamant that he was off men forever. He realises that the person with whom he should be angry is himself, but he doesn’t really have the emotional stability to accept that in the moment and so he decides, very actively, to blame it completely and solely on Harry. The resolution puts a bit of pep into his step, a little confidence in his resolve. It almost puts a smile on his face. 

He leans back on the park bench and watches people through his dark, oversized shades. It’s properly hot out and he is thoroughly enjoying the feeling after nearly freezing for the first weeks of being in the state. Everything slows down a little when it’s this temperature. People’s movements are more lazy, the walks get slower. The smiles are easier. 

“Lou,” a deep voice rumbles gruff in his ear. He didn’t even hear Harry coming up behind him. He turns to see the track suit and sweatband replaced by light tan trousers and a light blue button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow. His hair is free of accessories but there’s a couple tight curls at the temples that hint at the headband that was there. He’s once again looking like the vision that Louis wanted to throw all of his physical frustrations.

“You change clothes like you change your mind.” The words spill out of him so quickly that he doesn’t even realise what he’s said until Harry is raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him. 

“I don’t do either until there’s a good reason,” Harry retorts, words and tone deliberate. 

“The tracksuit was a look.” Louis is looking for his buttons and trying to push them all. He hates himself sometimes but knows that he won’t be able to stop until either Harry walks away or shuts him up with his mouth. It’s how he has learned to flirt, and he’s too old to learn any new tricks. 

“It’s just another suit. It helps me look the part.” Harry doesn’t take the bait. “But I do enjoy the pink.” 

“I like this better.” He nods towards the top two buttons of Harry’s shirt that are open, showing a sharp collarbone under smooth, tight skin. He realises he’s staring when Harry speaks. 

“What are you playing at?” Harry asks him. It’s in the same tone that he would have asked what Louis thinks of the weather. But the implications have a lot more bite. 

“I’m not playing,” Louis lies. He knows he’s playing a game. It could be out of boredom, but Louis knows that there’s more than that. 

“I really like you,” Harry says, and Louis doesn’t know why those simple words jolt right through him. “And I am happy to see that you are finding inspiration for your writing. But I’m not a game. I’ll be your friend. I’ll even be your moral support because God knows that you don’t have it anywhere else. But I’m not going to be your toy. You can’t play with me and then toss me in the corner when you get bored.” 

With that, he gets up and walks away. Louis watches him go. He was kind of hoping for the kissing option, but deep down, he knew it would be the walking away instead. He sighs and gets up, disenchanted with the fresh air and warmth on his skin and walks back to his car, eager to close the blinds in his house and shut out the world for a while. 

Louis seriously questions his life decisions when he continues to write his fantasy story. He isn’t even in the fun planning stages anymore but his mind is full of this little world he had created in a fit of desperation and he finds that he isn’t quite willing to give it up. No matter. Creating something that doesn’t seem to make sense is better than creating nothing and living in the very real world that seems to want to kick him to the ground over and over again. 

Harry’s character is also still very much alive, and he is taking simple pleasure in making him suffer as long as he can. One might call him a masochist. He might agree. 

“Lou?” Harry’s voice blasts into his inner thoughts, and he jumps. He turns toward the noise to see Harry staring at him through a window near the kitchen like a creep. When Louis looks at him with what he is sure is horror, Harry waves and holds up a bag. “I brought dinner!” He yells again as if Louis can’t hear him.

“What the fuck?” Louis mumbles under his breath as he unlocks the door and lets Harry, who is burdened down by grocery bags, into the kitchen. “What are you doing here?” 

“Making you dinner,” Harry says as though that will explain it. 

“But you said…” His mind goes to earlier in the day. Harry said that he wasn’t a game. Now he’s here smiling with bags full of delicious smelling food. Who’s playing now?

“I said I like you. And I also said that I wanted to be your friend.” He sets the bags on the counter and gives Louis his full attention. It’s a bit unsettling the way Harry’s eyes settle on his in intense eye contact. “I feel like I was a bit harsh earlier as well, and I wanted to apologize.”

“That’s not…” Louis fumbles. He’s not good with this stuff. He wants to go back to the cheeky flirting that doesn’t mean anything. 

“Let me feed you as an apology, and maybe we can actually sit down and get to know one anothe,” Harry suggests. Louis nods and smiles as if he doesn’t feel like he’s just been thrown into the deep end. 

He sits at the small dining table placed near a window in the kitchen across from Harry who chatters on gleefully about his childhood and his latest vacation and his pet cat, Murray. All Louis has to do is smile and nod every once in a while to encourage Harry to keep going, and he does just that. Partly because he doesn’t really want to have to share this much himself and partly because it’s fascinating watching Harry talk. He’s animated and positive, never letting his retelling dip into anything negative, but he’s also meditative and careful about every word. Listening to him speak is for Louis like listening to the waves of the ocean. It almost puts him in a trance, and he jumps a little when he realises that he’s just staring, fork in mid air, at Harry’s mouth. When he glances up at Harry, he just gives Louis a quick smile but keeps talking. 

“This food is delicious,” Louis says in the first lull in the conversation. It’s probably the first thing he’s said in the past thirty minutes. He can’t be sure, but he sees a flash of disappointment in Harry’s expression before he swallows the food in his mouth and smiles. 

“You’re a tough nut to crack, Louis Tomlinson,” he replies. It throws Louis off. He was expecting a restaurant recommendation. 

“Am I?” 

“I just poured my heart out to you. Told you all of my embarrassing stories. I even told you a couple of secrets that I really hope you don’t decide to express to my walking group.” They both smile at the story he told about secretly vomiting on the side of the road because he drank too much the night before but didn’t want to let his ladies down. They still think that he had a stomach bug. They made him soup and everything. “And you want to talk about the food.” 

“Oh.” He feels ashamed, but he can’t quite put his finger on why exactly. He doesn’t know this man. Not really. He has never expressed his intention to get to know him better. But he feels like he let Harry down, and he doesn’t like it. 

“It’s really good food,” he says and immediately hates himself even more. 

“Oh my God.” Harry throws his head back and laughs loudly. “Ok. I see how it is.” 

Louis expects him to get up and leave and honestly he wouldn’t blame Harry. But at the same time he really doesn’t want him to. But Harry doesn’t leave. He just leans in closer, fixing Louis with that soulful stare that scares him deep down and excites him all over. “Tell me about your book.” 

Jesus, Louis feels like he’s riding a rollercoaster. He doesn’t know where he’s being thrown every few seconds. “My book? Which one?” 

“The one you’re writing right now. Am I still alive?” Harry’s sardonic smile makes Louis’ fingers tingle. 

“Oh, that’s not a book. That’s just…” Louis pauses not really knowing the words for what he is creating. “That’s a bit of distraction.” 

“You’re not going to publish it?” 

“God, I would do well to find someone who would publish it.” Louis laughs and is surprised by the touch of bitterness that seeps into his tone. 

“I doubt that. People fall over themselves to read your books. I have seen it myself. Our local library had a small riot over the waitlist for one of your books a few years back.”

Louis wants to say something sarcastic and self deprecating. It’s his usual go to when someone gushes about his work, but he’s unexpectedly touched by Harry’s sincerity. 

“That is nice,” he says. “You know, in a mildly terrifying way. I hope no one was hurt.” 

Harry laughs that unabashed laugh that always seems to take Louis off guard. “Physically I was fine. Emotionally I was bruised.” 

“Fuck off, it wasn’t you,” Louis snorts and takes a sip of the red wine Harry had brought with him. 

“Honest to God.” Harry holds up one hand and puts the other over his heart. “Gladys was hoarding it and refusing to bring it back, and I had had enough. I created a small committee.” 

“I don’t believe you.” Louis is teasing now and he can tell that Harry knows by the smirk that they exchange. 

“It was kind of what kick started my mayoral campaign. Everyone needs to work together not apart.” 

“Unbelievable.” Louis chuckles. He’s ignoring the fact that the warm glow in his belly is from more than just the wine. 

“So you should publish the book.” Harry’s face turns from the light hearted to serious and encouraging. 

Louis shakes his head. “It’s not the same. I’m a romance writer. This is...something different.” 

“So?” 

“So?” Louis mimics him. “You don’t get it. That’s not how it works. I’m a brand. This is definitely not on brand.” 

“Do you know what I was before mayor?” Harry asks, and it occurs to Louis that he had never even thought of it. “A baker.” 

“Really?” Louis can’t see Harry with an apron on and covered in flour. He would like to see it though. 

“Yeah, and then something happened that made me want things to change. Now here I am. Five years as the Mayor of McCall. In five years who knows where I’ll be.” 

“Not mayor?” 

“Who knows? That’s up to the people. Or maybe I’ll find something that I would rather do.” 

“Not everyone thrives on that much change.” Honestly the idea of not knowing where he would be in life in five years is making his stomach hurt. “One might say that it could be the opposite.”

“That is true. And there’s nothing wrong with finding your forever thing. But you’re here for a change.” Harry looks at him like Louis is supposed to place the rest of the puzzle pieces. Louis does not. “A change was presented to you. You got what you wanted, and you’re throwing it away.” 

“Wow, don’t become a motivational speaker in your next five years.” Louis crosses his arms, holding his insecurities far away from Harry’s scrutiny. 

“I would read your book. Any of them. I don’t read for romance. I read because I like the way you tell stories,” Harry says softly. “And I don’t think I’m the only one.” 

“Well, thank you for the input.” Louis thaws a bit. He realises probably too late that Harry isn’t on attack mode, just being friendly. A friend. Christ, it’s been a while since he’s had a friend that actually took an interest in his life. How fucking depressing is that? “I will take it into consideration.

“Really?” Harry’s face lights up like the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree. “Can I read it?” 

“No!” Louis bursts and almost slaps his hand over his own mouth from how loud he was. “No, not yet. Please. But...when it’s finished I’ll give you the first look.” He regrets the statement instantly from the sheer joy in Harry’s face. There’s no way he’s finishing whatever weird story he’s working on. This is just going to end up in disappointment and guilt. But he smiles anyway and decides that it’s a problem for future Louis. No sense ruining what is turning out to be a pleasant evening. 

Louis is disappointed when Harry leaves. The house is quiet which is one of the many reasons he chose this place, and he normally thrives on the peace, but Harry takes a light out of the space when he leaves. Louis doesn’t quite like it. 

It’s late, and he knows that he should just go to bed. It would save him from over thinking every word he and Harry had said to one another. But he can’t keep his eyes from zeroing in on his laptop, sitting dormant in the corner where he left it when Harry interrupted his focus. He knows that he could write for a few hours with all of the colourful images flashing in his mind. He blames Harry. Harry was never built for a typical romance novel, but Louis can’t help but write him and the only place that he can think to put him is in a place where he can shine so brightly that everyone can appreciate his light. 

God, he is ridiculous. Next thing he knows he will be spouting poetry. And despite his better judgement, he sits down at the laptop and continues to write. It’s almost frustrating how easily it all comes through his fingers onto the screen. Writing has never been this easy for him, even when he was young and passionate. It feels like a waste to focus this newfound attention on something that he would normally deem drivel. 

His phone lights up on the desk beside his keyboard. It almost startles him. 

Can I see you again?  

The text from Harry reads. Louis is embarrassed by how quickly his heart jumps to this throat. 

I haven’t become invisible in the past couple of hours, so I’m assuming yes.

Smartass

I really like you Louis. I know I said that I didn’t want to play games...

Who said it was a game. It’s not a game.

Louis holds his breath. He doesn’t know where this is going because he refuses to play out the many scenarios in his head that are threatening to break through his mind.

Can you at least be serious for a second and tell me if you feel at least somewhat the same?

God, Louis hates himself. His mind is screaming that he has never been so serious about anything in his life, but he just can’t seem to type the words out. He can’t seem to give that part of himself away. He takes a deep breath and tries his best. 

You’re still alive. In my story

He sighs and stares at his screen for a response. He sees that Harry has read it but no dots appear on the screen. He forces himself to breathe. Then he forces himself to look away and focus on the laptop. It’s only about five minutes, but it feels like an eternity before the phone lights up once again. 

Please don’t hurt me

Can Louis agree to that? Hasn’t he hurt Harry enough by being so standoffish when Harry was just trying to be a good person? He doesn’t know if Harry’s willingness to lay it on the line is something that he envies or something that frightens him senseless. Probably both. 

All I can promise is that I will try my best

His heart races as he presses send. It feels like too much. Too soon. He barely knows this man. He barely knows himself. 

That’s a start. Goodnight Louis.

“Goodnight,” Louis says into the empty room, but he leaves the phone alone and lets his emotions dissolve into words on his computer screen.

The next time he sees Harry is actually unintentional. A few days after the dinner with Harry and the frankly terrifying text exchange, Louis has been buried in his fantasy world. It’s almost like an addictive drug at this point. He knows it’s wrong, he knows he needs to open a new doc and start a real novel, but he can’t and every time he tells himself he’s going to stop, he feels physical withdrawals. 

He’s feeling these withdrawals right now actually, but he’s out of just about everything. There was no milk for his tea this morning and he almost called Jane to beg her to come and take care of him. He didn’t realise just how much she did for him in LA. He doesn’t remember the last time he did actual grocery shopping. He has a moment of disgust for the person he has become and swallows it down and braves the produce aisle. 

This is where he finds Harry. This time he’s dressed in a short sleeve button up shirt over a white t-shirt. The sleeves of the shirt are rolled even tighter than originally intended as are the skinny jeans that are hiked up to his toned calves. He’s so distracted by the calves and biceps that he almost doesn’t notice the tan fedora perched on his unruly curls and the neon green sneakers on his feet. 

Louis’ breath actually catches as Harry holds a lemon in each hand, weighing them in his hand as if the rest of his life depends on choosing the right one. His rings on his left hand glint under the light of the cooler, and he’s wearing a watch on his wrist. Louis feels faint. 

As if Harry can sense Louis’ stalkerish stare, he turns, and his face lights up with recognition. 

“Louis!” He comes straight over to Louis’ cart with a bright smile and arms wide open. 

“Good morning.” Louis’ tongue feels thick, all the commentary that’s still running rampant in his mind refuses to transfer out of his mouth. God, that watch is doing things to him. 

“Good morning to you. Doing some grocery shopping?” 

“Well, I’m not here to apply for a job,” Louis says and then clamps his mouth shut as the light fades in Harry’s eyes ever so slightly. “I haven’t grocery shopped in years. How pathetic is that?” 

“Not pathetic,” Harry’s shoulders sag a little, but he softens and looks at Louis with something that borders on pity. But it isn’t pity exactly. Just...a softness that Louis isn’t used to. “Do you want some help?” 

Louis wants to say no so badly that his mouth is forming the words. He refuses to let the sound come out though and forces an unsure, “Yes, please,” out of his mouth. This seems to be the right answer as Harry smiles brightly again and brushes past him to take control of the cart. Their hands touch on the handle and it’s like lightning passes through every nerve in his body. He feels like a complete fool, but he’s starting not to care very much at all.

“We should do this again sometime,” Harry says as he sets the last of Louis’ grocery bags on his counter. Louis had insisted that he could probably manage once they got to the cashier line. Then he insisted that he could get them to his car, and then he definitely insisted he could get them into his house. 

“Grocery shopping a prefered activity of yours?” Louis asks, feeling uncontrollably soft for reasons he can’t explain.

“I don’t hate it,” Harry muses, leaning casually on the counter, hat tipped up high. “This was a particularly stimulating adventure.”

“Stimulating,” Louis repeats and licks his lips because he’s out of control of his own body. 

“You have kept me on my toes since the moment you’ve stepped foot in this town. Today was no different.” 

“It’s not my fault that you weren’t prepared for a confrontation about avocado toast.” Louis smirks, leaning on the counter opposite Harry so that their hands are almost touching. 

“I didn’t even say that I liked avocado toast. I just said, ‘Hey look. There is avocado toast.’” Harry reciprocates the smirk. 

Louis feels like they are in on a secret that the rest of the world doesn’t know about. He realises that they are just staring at one another, the smiles never dimming on either of their faces. “That hat is ridiculous,” he says and reaches up to touch it, tilting it back even further, so that it is just balanced on the top of Harry’s loose curls. 

“You love it,” Harry says, leaning in even closer as though drawn to Louis’ attention. 

“I hate that I love it.” 

“Mmm..” Harry tilts his head ever so slightly. “Do you hate that you like me?” The question should have taken Louis off guard but it doesn’t. He wants to give a sassy answer. Something that might make Harry laugh, but he doesn’t. 

“I hate that you might think that there is something wrong with liking you.” Harry’s smile drops for a moment. He was clearly waiting for the snippy answer as well. “My mouth can get me into more trouble that I would like to admit.” 

“I didn’t mean…” Harry hesitates, moving to lean back. Louis grabs his wrist and keeps him close. 

“I say things that are stupid and flippant because it makes me really uncomfortable to let people know what I’m really thinking. This is your chance to get the real me, what’s inside my head. I don’t hate that I like you. I want to go grocery shopping with you again. I want to go on a date with you again. I want to…”

He stops. He has to because Harry has stopped him by kissing him. How had he not seen this coming? His whole body feels on fire. 

“Lou,” Harry says, lips still against Louis’. “You’re not kissing me back.” 

“Sorry,” Louis says quickly, allowing his body to catch up to his brain. He melds his lips against Harry’s, and it feels so good. So right. He puts his hand on the back of Harry’s neck just to get him a fraction closer. His fingers run through the hair on the back of his neck, and he curls his fingers into them making Harry groan. The deep vibration sends alert signals to every nerve in Louis’ body. 

Harry is the first to pull back, and Louis is thankful that the counter is still between him. He’s got a raging erection as if he were a fifteen year old boy again. He forces himself not to look at Harry’s situation. He will tell himself it’s out of respect, but mostly it’s fear that he didn’t affect Harry that way Harry affected him. 

“Sorry,” Harry says. 

“I know, that was terrible,” Louis replies, and thank God Harry knows it’s a joke and laughs. 

“That was not part of the plan.” Harry wipes the side of his mouth with his thumb, and it makes Louis want to devour him inch by inch. He looks away. 

“You had a plan?” He grabs the nearest bag and starts pretending that he even knows where most of the stuff Harry talked him into buying even goes. 

“Yes, a ten step plan to make you fall for me.” 

“Ah.” Louis can’t stop the gleeful smile spread across his face. “And what step was kissing?” 

“Five, no six,” Harry says, and Louis can see on his face that he’s bullshitting. Louis is probably more impressed by that than the kiss. Which probably says a lot about the type of therapy he should be getting.

“Shame,” Louis plays along. “Does this mean you’re going to have to start over? What’s the protocol here? I can pretend to not like you for a few more weeks if that makes you feel better.” 

“I’m sure I can rework the numbers and work with what I’ve got.” 

“Flexible.” 

“I am.” Harry crosses his arms, and Louis’ mouth goes completely dry. 

“You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?” He manages to croak as he grabs his water bottle from the fridge and takes long pulls of the cold water. 

“I’m not,” Harry says. He takes the bottle from Louis’ hand and moves around the counter so that they’re face to face. Body to body. He dips his head and kisses Louis again. His warm lips feel almost hot after the cold of the liquid, and Louis practically melts into it. “Go to work. Write your story, so I can read it. I’ll be back in a few hours.” 

And then he leaves. Louis watches his car navigate down the drive and can still almost feel Harry’s touch on him. He feels like he doesn’t have a choice. He leaves the rest of the groceries on the counter and sits at his desk. Like he’s hypnotised, he begins to write.

“So you’ve been writing.” Jane’s voice sounds on the brink of frustration. Louis has been giving her the run around. He knows this. She knows this. But he’s too ashamed to admit it, and she’s too professional to call him out. 

“I have been writing a thing.”

“So you have something to show your agent.” 

“No.” 

“Because…”

“It’s not a novel. It’s not a Louis Tomlinson . It’s just something.” Louis shrugs even though no one is physically there to see him. 

“So you’re not writing a new book?” He can hear the tension in her voice. He’s lucky enough to be the type of successful author that he doesn’t work around his editors' deadlines. But on the other hand he is a high demand celebrity and in order to keep his name on people’s tongues, he has to be a presence. Sitting in the wilds of Idaho is not a way of doing that, Louis is sure. 

“I’m trying. I promise I am. I just need...more time.” 

“Louis, I’m not here to pressure you to write. I’m not here to cheerlead you. I’m here to organize your life. And if you want me to do that, I need to know what’s actually going on in your life,” Jane scolds him. 

He knows why his first thought is Harry but he will not bring Harry into his professional messes. It’s not Harry’s fault that his brain isn’t functioning properly. “What do you need from me?” He asks as sincerely as he can muster. Jane is right. She’s trying to work with him, not against him. 

“You’re not ready to write this book.” It’s a statement, not a question. Louis knows that she’s right, but he still wants to protest. He doesn’t though. There would be no point. “And I think that you need this time away to get your head on straight.” She pauses. Louis is tempted to fill the silence with promises of twenty five pages by the end of next week but he bites his tongue. “You’re officially on hiatus, Louis. I’m notifying everyone on this end. I don’t want to hear a word about a book until you’re at least half way done. Just you and your laptop. That’s all you have right now.”

This panics Louis. “You’re cutting me off?” 

“No, I’m here for whatever you need, but I don’t want to talk about books until you have a book. You’re under way too much pressure, and you have been for a while. You don’t need to write this book right now, and I don’t want you to. Until you’re ready. You’re not hurting for either money or exposure. Your last book is still charting. You’re fine. Well, your career is fine. You aren’t. Take a break. Get a tan. Fall in love.” Louis is suspicious about the way she said that last sentence, but he’s too scared to argue with her now. He’s on his own. Officially. 

“Okay.” It’s all he can manage to say before she gives her ever perky farewell and lets him go. 

He wants to convince himself that this is a great decision. That he’s free to be creative and there’s nothing better than going back to his roots. Just him and his laptop against the world. Instead, he picks his phone back up and dials. 

“Harry?” He practically whispers into the phone. 

“What’s wrong?” Harry asks immediately. 

“Want to come over?” It’s a plea for mercy more than a casual question but he can hear a screen door slam shut before the sentence is even out of Louis' mouth. 

“Be there in ten minutes,” Harry says and hangs up the phone. Louis just sits on the couch. He eyes his laptop. Them against the world he thinks again. Except the laptop just sits there, not being supportive at all. 

Harry arrives later than the ten minutes he promised, but he also has alcohol, so he’s immediately forgiven. 

“What happened?” Harry asks, passing him the bottle of wine. “I just left you a few hours ago.” 

“My assistant thinks I need a break,” Louis says.

“Okay.” Harry looks confused. 

“She put me on hiatus. She doesn’t want to hear about a book until I am actually ready to write a book.” He takes a mouthful of wine and doesn’t even taste it before he gulps it down. 

“Can she do that?” Harry looks part concerned, part incredulous. 

“Like, no.” Louis laughs because it does sound incredibly silly thinking about it from an outsider’s perspective. “But also, if you met her, you would know why she also can.” 

“She’s trying to do what’s best for you?” He still sounds slightly upset by someone upsetting Louis, and it makes him feel a warm glow that’s not just the wine. 

“She is. And she’s the only one who ever does, so I have to listen to her.” He sighs, his chest starts to loosen a little. 

“But you’re writing. So it’s not really an issue right?” 

Louis freezes a bit. He thought they had already gone over this. “I’m writing something. But it’s not…” He wants to say it’s not good enough. But that’s not it. It’s not bad. It’s just not right. “It’s not ready.” It feels like a lie because it is. He’s never going to show that story to Jane or anyone else. He doubts anyone besides him and Harry will even know it exists. No, he has to start writing something real, something that he can sell. He needs to prove that he’s still capable. 

Harry gives him a lopsided smile. Louis can’t tell if he believes Louis or not, but he doesn’t push it, so that’s something at least. “Well now you have lots of time to make it right!” 

“I guess I do.” For some reason this makes Louis feel better. He does have time to make it right. He has time to make the best novel he’s ever written. He just needs to focus, get his head in the game. 

“So now that you have all this time, I won’t feel guilty for taking up all of your attention.” Harry leans into Louis’ space and curls a long piece of Louis’ hair around his finger. He could melt from the heat that radiates through his body. Harry isn’t going to make any of this easy on him. 

“Good,” he breathes as if he has forgotten how to form words. He takes another mouthful of wine and tries to calm his jittering nerves. Harry has leaned in and started exploring Louis’ neck with his mouth. He reacts as if someone has jolted him with a bolt of electricity. He cranes his neck giving Harry more space to roam.  He knows what comes next. He’s not completely out of touch. But how did they get here so fast? Shouldn’t they talk about it? He feels like he’s too far gone to stop it as Harry’s tongue runs lightly on his exposed collarbone. 

Suddenly the lovely feeling stops, and Louis feels the cold from where Harry had been ministrating. “Get out of your head.” He looks at Harry who is still so close that Louis can count the flecks of gold in his eyes. He opens his mouth to reply but finds that he’s rendered speechless. “Am I moving too fast?” 

Louis wants to say yes. He wants to say no. He wants to curl himself into Harry’s lap and set up camp permanently. Before he can say any of those things though, Harry is pulling back and taking his hand instead. Bringing it to his lips and kissing the soft skin of his wrist. Louis feels almost ashamed that this move gives almost the exact same results as the more sensual kisses that Harry had been giving him only moments ago. 

“I’m moving too fast,” Harry answers his own questions. He looks disappointed but not upset, and Louis breathes a very discreet sigh of relief. It’s not that he doesn’t want all that Harry has to offer. And he means all of it. But wow, he’s a lot all at once, and Louis doesn’t even know what to do with his own hands when Harry is this close to him. 

“I’m moving too fast.” That’s what he finally comes up with. And it’s true. Louis should know his own limits. He’s not a casual sex guy, never has been. “I need to communicate better.”

“I need to keep it in my pants,” Harry retorts with such a dry tone that it takes Louis by surprise. It also overwhelms him with an urge to kiss Harry, and so he does it. 

He feels as nervous as he does excited, but Harry immediately reciprocates, putting his large hands on Loui’s back to steady him. When he pulls back he can’t look Harry in the eyes, it’s too intense, Harry’s too intense. “Don’t keep it in your pants. Just... give me some warning.” 

“Warning,” Harry’s voice is deep and lower than even before like pure sex oozes from his pores. “I can do that.” 

“I’m not a casual sex kind of guy.” He feels the flame of heat on his cheeks as he says it. How corny can one person get? 

“There’s nothing casual about this, Louis,” Harry says immediately. Louis tilts his head up to meet Harry’s eyes and can see in the intense gaze that he’s being honest. 

“How are you so sure about everything you do?” 

“I trust myself,” Harry says, the sexiness being replaced by bright sunshine. 

“Is it that simple?” He sounds like a pitiful beggar, pleading for a scrap of hope. 

“No, not simple. But it’s worked for me. Maybe I’m lucky.” He squeezes Louis a bit when he says that, and Louis can’t describe how warm it makes him feel. “Maybe I don’t let my insecurities dictate my life. Maybe I’m just optimistic.” He shrugs casually. 

It gives Louis a lot to think about. He pulls out of Harry’s arms again, albeit reluctantly. Harry lets him go without protest. “We are very different people,” Louis says, attempting a joke. 

“I know.” Harry nods. “But that’s ok. I like you anyway.”

Louis laughs. “Thanks.” 

“I want to take you on a date. A real one.” 

“Okay.” Is this the warning Louis was asking for? 

“Tomorrow night? Six O’clock?” 

“Okay” 

“Okay.” Harry nods, seemingly satisfied. “See you tomorrow, Louis.” 

“Okay,” he says for the third time. It makes Harry laugh, and he’s glad that Harry thinks it’s a joke as opposed to being the only thing that he can formulate into words. 

He refuses to even look at his laptop and internally scolds himself for the itch his fingers feel to type. He really needs to decide what he’s doing with his life, and he’s quite sure what’s turning out to be a sci-fi YA novel isn’t it. He’s going cold turkey, and that’s all there is to it. 

Except he has a date in an hour and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. How has he gone so long without television? And Netflix? What has he been doing with his life? His eyes slide involuntarily to the laptop as if it had spoken to him. Oh yeah. He’s been writing. 

He figures if he paces through the living room or opens the fridge door one more time though, he may actually lose his mind. So he sighs and opens his laptop. He’s definitely opening a new tab though. 

“Romance, romance, romance,” he repeats, trying to focus as he stares at the blank screen. Harry’s face pops into his head once again. “Not that you helped me last time.” 

He tries to envision any of the prompts that he likes to use to get his imagination flowing. Cowboys? Roommates? Historical? No, none of those are going to work. He needs a little pizazz. A kidnapping? That might be interesting. A secret identity? He could totally make that work. Except he doesn’t want to. The fake hype doesn’t work, and he feels more disappointed than when he started. The tab for his other story is still on his browser. He feels like he should close it. He clicks it, and before his mouse can go up to the x in the top right corner, his eyes catch a few words, and he begins to read, almost involuntarily. 

He’s jolted out of it when there’s a knock on the door. He looks at the clock at the bottom of his screen and sees that he has spent the last hour editing the YA story. He didn’t even realise he was doing it until he started rewriting paragraphs. He looks behind him and sees a corner of Harry’s face through the window in the door. It’s definitely him though. He doesn’t know if he will ever forget the curve of that mouth.  He quickly closes the laptop and rushes to let Harry in.

He doesn’t ask Harry where they are going and surprisingly a normally chatty Harry doesn’t offer any suggestions. He does know that they seem to be heading out of town. Harry seems deeply interested in the road in front of him, so Louis takes advantage of his distraction and watches his face. In the low light of the setting sun, what he has heard some people call the golden hour, Harry looks almost ethereal. His skin glows golden, emphasizing the almost otherworldly green of his eyes. His wide mouth always seems curved into a slight smile, even when he’s trying to be serious. A single curl threatens to tickle the sensitive skin of his ear, and Louis is tempted to reach out and tuck it back into place. But at the same time he gets the overwhelming feeling that he would miss it if it behaved itself and conformed with the rest of it’s mates. 

Tonight Harry is wearing a simple white button down shirt and makes it look anything but simple. He fills it out as if someone had designed the shirt onto his body. Even though he paired it with a simple pair of blue jeans it makes Louis feel terribly underdressed. 

Suddenly, Harry smiles and slides his eyes towards Louis, not moving his head though. “Like what you see?” He asks. The arrogance is almost annoying. But Louis is nothing if not honest. 

“I do. A little too much for my liking.” He stares out his own window, hiding the very apparent blush that has risen on his cheeks. Harry chuckles though making Louis smile involuntarily. 

“You might change your mind when we get to our destination,” he says as he pulls onto a side road, almost as though he had timed it. It’s frustrating how he always gets his way. 

“Pretty confident there Mr. Styles,” Louis quips, refusing to bow to Harry’s perfection. 

“Mmm, talk dirty to me,” Harry says, and while Louis takes it as a joke, the undertone in Harry’s voice affects him in a way that maybe he struck a chord there. Interesting. 

It’s not pitch black when they get to the building. But the lack of lights coming from the large wooden lodge indicates that it is certainly not open for business. 

“I think we’re too late,” Louis says, for what they are late he doesn’t know. 

“Just in time I think.” Harry gets out of the car, and Louis does the same. Just then a man comes from the lodge and saunters nonchalantly towards them. 

“Harry!” The man says with a big smile and a hand thrust forward. “It’s been too long.” 

“Sorry about that.” Harry takes the man’s hand and brings him in for a half hug half handshake. “Mayor stuff.” 

“Right,” the man says with a laugh as though there’s an inside joke there that Louis isn’t privy to. “Who’s your friend?” 

“Ah, right.” Harry seems almost flustered at the question. Louis wants to question him about it but is being full on hugged by the stranger, and it’s throwing his senses off. “Louis, the man physically harassing you is my childhood friend, Niall Horan.” Harry’s tone is dry but he can hear the fondness he has for the man.

“Nice to meet you?” He doesn’t mean to phrase it as a question, but this is not how he saw this date going. 

“It’s really not,” Harry interjects, and Niall laughs loudly, finally releasing Louis. 

“It’s really nice to meet you,” Niall says to Louis, again with the undertone that there’s a joke there that Louis isn’t privy to. 

“Niall manages the ski resort,” Harry tells Louis, which doesn’t really give him any more information about what they are all doing there than before. But he nods along, feigning interest. He’s not a barbarian; he does have some manners.

“Harry called in a favour, and I told him that he could use the facilities for the evening.” Niall looks like his face is about to break, he’s grinning so wide. “Told me it was special—”

“Thank you, Niall.” Harry stops him with a glare. It does make Niall stop talking but not stop grinning. “I think we’ve got it from here.” 

“Whatever you say,” Niall practically giggles and goes back from where he came. Louis and Harry are once again alone, and he almost feels awkward. 

“So that was Niall.” Harry is as nervous as Louis, he can tell.

“I’ll have to get him alone sometime and let him tell me all of your embarrassing stories,” Louis teases. It makes Harry go red, so Louis feels like he did his job.  

“As you can see, he would be happy to tell you.” 

“So are you going to tell me what we’re doing at a closed ski resort at the end of June?” Louis finally asks, curiosity getting the best of him. 

“Why don’t I show you?” Harry asks. Instead of leading for Louis to follow, he takes Louis’ hand. It’s a simple gesture. Not in any way explicit or forward, but it gives Louis a lurch in his chest that he didn’t see coming. He wraps his fingers around the palm of Harry’s hand, and Harry squeezes back, and they head out past the lodge and into the darkening mountain side. 

Louis has seen some beautiful things in his life, but he doesn’t know if any of it could even compare with the sight before him. They’re ascending the mountain of the ski resort on a chair lift that cozily fits two just as the sun sets and fills the peaks and gullies of the hill and valley with shades of reds and oranges that he doesn’t know if he has ever seen so vibrant. In contrast, the trees in the valley below that they are leaving behind look like silhouettes of themselves. Louis feels as though he is in a moment that he will never forget. 

“This is amazing,” Louis says to Harry who seems equally in awe of the scene surrounding them. 

“It is,” Harry replies in a whisper that is almost carried off in the increasing breeze. “I’m so glad that I got to show it to you.” Harry lets his legs swing a bit, and it gives him a child-like air of innocence that contrasts the sharp line of his jaw and the almost dangerous glint in his eyes. It makes Louis smile. 

“You did good,” Louis tells him. “Any normal person would have run as far from me as his legs would take him.” 

The serene smile on Harry’s face is replaced by a frown. Louis assumes that he said the wrong thing...again. He gets ready to apologise, or more likely to make another off hand quip that will make any situation worse. “Who said I was normal?” Harry asks, and the glint is back, a flash that makes Louis feel like fire is licking up and down his insides. 

He puts his hands up in mock surrender. Maybe it’s actual surrender, he doesn’t know. “I would never.” He doesn’t know what does it, but Harry kisses him like Louis is oxygen, and Harry is drowning. Louis feels like Harry is owning him, and he wants nothing more than to give himself away. 

He wraps his arms around Harry’s neck and gives whatever he has to Harry through his actions. It’s more than any words could accomplish. It’s not until the lift comes abruptly to a stop that they break apart, each gasping with both need for air and arousal. “Finally,” Harry says, eyes dark and hungry. 

“Finally what?” Louis asks, voice weak with want. Why aren’t they kissing again? 

“You’ve finally decided that you want me back.” Harry's finger is tracing patterns on the back of Louis’ neck, and it’s intoxicating. 

“I’ve decided that I can’t resist anymore,” Louis says truthfully. He has given up on so much over the past month. Why not his heart? Even as the words come out of his mouth though, he’s convinced that it will be broken into a thousand pieces. What Evan had done to him didn’t even feel a tenth as bad as how Louis feels when he worries about Harry losing interest. What did him and Evan even have? A fulfillment, he supposes. Having Evan in his life meant that he didn’t have to wonder if he was undesirable. He didn’t have to seek out a partner. He didn’t have to get his heart broken for real. But now…

“Lou.” It breaks the cloud of doubt that he had crawled into for a second. He looks at Harry and wonders how many times he had said his name. “I’m not ever letting you go.” 

It startles Louis. The fear doesn’t go away, but it does answer a question of what Harry’s intentions even are. “That’s a very creepy thing to say, Harry Styles.” 

“Do you want me to stop saying them?” Harry quips back, but with a significant air of sincerity. 

“No,” Louis says and this time he kisses Harry. He feels as if he’s jumping off a cliff, relying on faith alone that he will survive the fall. 

They get off the ski lift, and there is a small dining scene waiting for them. If Louis wasn’t hungry to get his hands on Harry, he would definitely give him shit for the cheesy romanticism. Apparently though he can’t turn his face off even if he can turn his words off because Harry bursts out laughing, breaking the thick air of lust that had enveloped them. 

“Too much?” He asks, taking in the scene of candles and wine in a bucket of ice. 

“Don’t even stop being yourself. Not for me or anyone,” he says to Harry, not even looking at the giant blanket that they have there, presumably to picnic. Apparently it’s the right thing to say though because Harry practically tackles him onto that blanket in a fit of kisses and giggles. 

“Can I please take your clothes off and show you how much what you just said did to me?” Harry asks although he’s already tugging at the hem of Louis’ thin blue t shirt. 

“I think i’d be offended if you didn’t, to be honest,” Louis replies, lifting the shirt cleanly off his head and laying back onto the soft ground below him. Harry practically growls, and it’s both endearing and so sexy that the sound goes straight to his cock. He kisses him again as Harry unbuttons his own shirt. Louis almost wants to tell him to slow down, they have all the time in the world, but at the same time, Harry’s urgency is making him harder than he feels that he can handle. That’s when it hits him, so suddenly that his lips stop moving mid kiss. “I wrote this.” The ski lift is definitely original, but Louis has most definitely written the mountainside picnic that also most definitely lead to the two main characters having a passionate night of sex. Harry’s face pulls away from him and goes from blank to hugely embarrassed. 

“Is this weird?” He asks. He thinks about it. He thinks about the fanatic fans who think they are actually the characters in his books. The ones who think that Louis is secretly writing about fans being in love with him. The ones who would wait for him after signings to get closer to him. The ones that made him feel uncomfortable in his own skin. Then he thought about the fans who would have book clubs and dress as their favourite characters and tag him on twitter. The ones that would recreate a meal that he had painstakingly researched in order to include in a storyline. The ones that would make small pilgrimages to real places that he would mention in the book. 

“You’re a weird man, but that’s what I love about you.” Louis shrugs. Harry is definitely the latter of his fans. 

“You…” Harry swallows visibly. “Love things about me?” 

Louis would think that he had done something wrong save Harry’s painfully hopeful face. “You’re annoyingly loveable.” He smiles at Harry and pulls him down to the ground once again. “I can’t really help myself.” 

“You’re killing me tonight.” Harry kisses down the side of Louis’ neck and onto his chest. The sharp contrast of the heat of Harry’s breath on the chilling night air causes Louis’ nipples to harden. When Harry’s hand rubs over his chest, one catches on Harry’s pinky, and Louis almost orgasms instantaneously. 

“I don’t think I can make this slow and romantic,” he manages to say in the midst of moans caused by Harry taking greater interest in his tight nipples and simultaneously slipping a leg between Louis’ to put pressure on his erection. 

“What’s more romantic than getting your dick sucked on a mountainside?” Harry asks as he makes his way down Louis’ torso. 

“By the mayor of the town no less,” Louis half jokes, but only to hold off long enough to get said dick sucked. But Harry stops, head popping up from Louis’ lower belly. 

“You realise that the…” He can’t see Harry’s face, but he can almost feel the heat of his embarrassed blush on his bare skin. “Details of this night are between the two of us. I still have to show my face in the town.” 

“Harry.” He tries not to sound like he’s gritting his teeth. “Who in this town knows the importance of discretion more than I do?” He has to actively concentrate on not guiding Harry’s kiss bruised lips to his crotch. “And it wouldn't matter who you are. This is for us, you and me.” 

“Fuck, why does everything you say tonight sound like pure sex?” Harry starts unbuttoning Louis’ jeans. He’s regretting that he went for the slim fit option. They may make his ass look fantastic, but they’re a bitch to get off. 

“Commitment turns you on?” Louis says and gasps when Harry’s mouth is finally on him, taking him practically whole in one go. 

“Fucking right it does,” he mumbles before taking him again, this time holding Louis in his mouth, letting his cock hit the back of his throat unti they’re both squirming. 

Louis’ brain scrambles for ways to make Harry as affected as Louis feels right now. It’s partly because he feels amazing and wants to share in his joy, and partly his incessant need to get under Harry’s skin. At least in this format it benefits them both. “I want you to be mine,” he whispers. 

Harry moans appreciatively. “I want to be yours.” 

His brain stalls. He remembers back to the car ride here. “I want to surrender to you.” 

“Fuck.” Harry pulls off of Louis and gasps before going down on him again, doubling his efforts and bringing Louis to the brink of climax and seemingly holding him there for longer than Louis thought imaginable. This is when they lock eyes. Harry looks wrecked, but at the same time hungry for something, hungry for Louis, he assumes. Then suddenly he’s moving at an impossible speed, and Louis can’t hold back anymore. He releases into Harry’s waiting mouth, gripping the opened shirt that never quite made it off of Harry’s shoulders. He feels like his orgasm comes straight from the bottoms of his feet. Every muscle in his body contracts before all relaxing at once as he melts into a puddle of Harry. 

“Wanna make you come,” he speaks into Harry’s hair even though he isn’t entirely sure how he’s going to summon the energy to do so. 

“You’re going to have to wait. You already made me come,” Harry murmurs back. It stuns Louis into silence. Harry already came? From blowing him? From the words he was saying? “You surrendered to me. You let me take all of you. You want me,” Harry says, affirming Louis’ curiosity. He meant all of it, but he didn’t think for a second that it would have that much effect on Harry. 

“I do. I will again,” Louis says, suddenly feeling the need for an emotional connection that he had never craved in a sexual partner before. Not even the one he lived with for years. 

“And I will to you,” Harry replies, stroking Louis’ chest with a light touch, just enough to make gooseflesh pop up. “Once I find the will to leave this spot that is.” 

“Sometime next year then,” Louis says, making them both chuckle. He feels like a weight has lifted from his shoulders. He didn’t expect to come into this date and leave with a new sense of peace. Maybe it’s just the epic release that Harry had given him, but he doesn’t think so. 

“You’ll be here next year?” The question is perfectly innocent, but something in Harry’s tone makes it clear that it’s a question that had been on his tongue for a long time. 

“Yeah,” he says, not wanting to be flippant. “I’ll be here next year. And the one after that as well.” He feels the tension leaving Harry’s shoulders that he didn’t even know he was holding. 

“Let’s go home, so I can make love to you in a bed,” Harry says, not moving. 

“Let’s go home, so I can sleep next to you,” Louis counters. It makes Harry curl around him tighter, but they both move to get up, hand in hand, hip to hip. Louis doesn’t want it to ever be any different. 

You’re lucky that you’re really good at sex, or you never would have seen this,” Louis says as almost a warning as he passes his laptop to Harry. 

“I suspected as much. Good thing I took those classes,” he jokes to get a rise out of Louis, but he’s also grinning like a kid at Christmas. He practically claps when he reads the first line. Which is ridiculous as the first line is literally describing Harry himself. 

“I can’t be here for this. I’m going to the porch,” he says. Harry looks at him with sympathy, but doesn’t stop him. Louis would be more upset if he tried, honestly. He goes to the porch swing and stares at the lake below. August is promising to be as hot as the rest of the summer had been, but if he really pays attention, he can feel a slight crisp of the air. He had wondered if the colder weather, especially this early in the year, would make him miss LA. He’s glad to know that it doesn’t. Nothing does. Except Jane that is. 

Shit, that’s the next step. He told Harry, promised him even, that if Harry liked the book, he would send it to Jane. He knows it’s pointless. Jane will laugh him out of the country. It’s YA fantasy! How far away could one get to his normal genre? He feels stupid most days for even finishing it. He feels ridiculous for writing any of it at all. 

He’s tempted to look through the window. Harry is right on the other side. He pictures his face lined with confusion or concern. He pictures a frown and thinks he might actually deflate into the swing if it’s what he actually sees. So he forces his eyes on some early morning boaters and that’s what he thinks about. 

He gets so good at that game that Harry takes him by surprise when he sits down next to him and makes the swing sway to and fro. He can’t register any sort of emotion from him because the second his face is turned, he is being kissed, hard and passionate. If this is consolation for being the worst novelist in the world, he can deal with it. 

“I am begging you, no, demanding that you send that to Jane. Or anyone. Literally anyone will want this,” Harry says. Louis is sure he’s fever dreaming. He didn’t even realise how much Harry’s opinion of the story meant to him until now. 

“Really?” He asks, sounding pitifully hopeful and needy. He would never admit how much a compliment soothes his ego. A thing that has been beaten and bruised lately. 

“Really,” Harry says and his eyes are so full of love that Louis starts to wonder if Harry has a fever. “And if she doesn’t like it, fire her because then you will know for sure she has no clue what is up from down.”

“It’s just a stupid little story.” Louis doesn’t know why he’s clinging to the notion that it’s not good. He wonders why he almost wanted it to be. But Harry’s shaking his head. 

“It’s like nothing I’ve ever read, and I don’t ever want to read anything else.” Harry is practically hugging himself. Louis isn’t sure what is happening. “Louis, you created a universe where there is hope in a time of despair. You’ve given power to those in need, and you’ve brought down their enemies that I didn’t even know were threats because you humanised them in a way that everyone was making good and bad decisions. I was on a roller coaster but felt so satisfied when the good people got the good things. And the imagery was so vivid that I feel a pang of grief that I will never see it in reality. I’m not fully back in my own world yet, and I don’t really know what to do with that feeling.” He looks down towards the boaters as Louis has been doing for the last couple of hours. Or has it been longer? It was morning when he came out onto this porch, but the sun is well beyond the highest point. He’s gone so far into his own head that he may have lost a few hours.

“But it’s not what I write.” Louis’ last attempt at an argument sounds weak even to his ears. 

“Then start,” Harry puts it bluntly, clearly done with Louis’ self doubt. “You created that. I will never be the same because I read that story Louis. Please.” He pauses, and Louis wonders if he’s going to cry. “Please, I beg you. Share it with the world.” 

Shit, he is going to cry. Louis doesn’t know what to do with this. He instinctively reaches for Harry's hand, and Harry grasps it like he’s looking for a life line. If Louis’ being honest, most of the writing of his story feels like a bit of a fever dream. Sometimes it feels like someone else wrote it, and he just put the words in the computer. Can he take credit for something he doesn’t really remember doing? 

“Okay, I’ll send it to Jane,” he says, feeling like it’s more as consolation than confidence. 

“You won’t regret it,” Harry assures him and kisses him once more. If this is his reward for doing terrifying things, he could probably live with it.

Jane sits on the other end of a video call silent and face impassive. It’s actually the least animated Louis has ever seen her. He promised himself when he sent her the doc that he didn’t care about what her opinion of it is. He’s confident that the whole thing is pure crap, and no one will like it. He’s not even entirely convinced that Harry is being truthful about how wonderful he thinks it is, despite the actual argument they had when Louis brushed off his compliments. 

He can feel Harry twitch beside him. He’s not sure this call will end well if she hates it. 

“You wrote this?” She asks finally. It’s not exactly what he was expecting for her to say. 

“Yeah,” he replies, not sure whether to feel apologetic or proud. She’s still giving nothing away. “I know it’s not what I normally write, but it’s been a weird month.” 

Harry elbows him lightly in the side, but he thinks it’s more playful than reproachful. He can’t look at him, he’s too nervous. His emotions are too close to the surface. 

“This is….” She pauses and looks down at her laptop. It gives him a strange, sick feeling to know that she has it right there in front of her. He feels exposed somehow. “I like your writing, Louis. Love it even, but this is something else.” 

“It’s bad. That’s ok. I’ll just...” He goes to end the call. He feels drained of energy. He doesn’t even have it in him to say farewell. He can feel Harry’s hand on his thigh, squeezing to a point that should almost be painful, but he doesn’t feel it. 

“Jesus, no!” Jane laughs, actually laughs out loud. He'd be hurt if he could feel anything at all right now. 

“No, Louis,” she says, calming down. “This is another level of writing. The emotion and depth you’ve put into these characters, to the storyline itself. I’ve never seen you dig so deep before in anything you’ve written. I’m actually still in a bit of shock from reading it. This story has affected me. It’s incredible.” 

Louis stares at her now, expressionless and without words until Harry pipes in. “Oh, her you believe.” 

“She’s not trying to get into my pants,” he quips without even thinking. She makes a face at them both. 

“More importantly, my job relies on Louis being a successful writer. And if he decides to publish this, it's going to keep me employed for a long, long time.”

“If he decides?” Harry asks. “He’s got to do it. Tell him he has to do it.” 

“That’s up to you Louis.” She doesn’t push further, but her face is clear. She thinks he’s crazy to even consider not doing it. 

“Thanks, Jane. I’ll call you tomorrow.” He smiles at her, and she gives them both a look that is something between knowing and exasperation, but she waves and ends the call. 

Louis looks at Harry, finally able to compose himself. The story is good. It needs a ton of work, but it’s good. Harry is looking back at him expectantly. “You’re going to publish it.” It’s not a question, and Louis wants to pat his cheek like he’s comforting a child. 

“If I do, and if it’s as good as you two say it is, I will have to promote it and tour. And I’ll be all over the place. Including back to LA for a time.” 

Harry’s face dawns in realisation but stays determined. “That shouldn’t stop you.” 

“I like you,” Louis says. The big L word hasn’t been said yet and now isn’t the time, but it’s definitely going to happen soon. “I’m not sure I’m ready to say goodbye yet. Even if it’s for a business trip.” 

Once again it occurs to him that he had never been bothered about leaving Evan for any amount of time. He wishes the parasite that is that man would leave him for good. 

“Then I’ll come with you,” Harry replies without hesitation. The idea of it is preposterous to Louis. 

“You can’t just pick up and leave the town in which you’re mayor for six months or longer.” 

“Elections are in May. I won’t campaign. Let someone else be Mayor.” 

“What will you do?” Louis can feel himself tense up. There’s definitely a right and wrong answer to this question. 

Harry pauses to think before his eyes light up, and he smiles like a Cheshire cat. “I have a little nest egg put away. I’d like to go back to school.” 

“School? On the road?” 

“Yeah, why not? Distance learning is a thing. It’s the twenty-first century.” He pauses and his face sombers a bit. He takes Louis’ hand and rubs the back of it with his thumb. “I can make my own way, Louis.” 

“That’s not…” Louis is about to protest, but what’s the sense? It’s exactly what he was worried about. Maybe now is the time to say it. “I love you.” 

Harry’s face lights. “Yeah,” he says as if he’s known all along. Maybe he has. “I love you, too.”

“So we’re doing this?” It’s not just him against the world anymore. He can feel the shift in his universe as if it were an earthquake that only he can experience. 

“I think we are.” 

They stand in his living room, in his home that feels like home, with the man that feels like home. He can see the rest of his life before him and he can’t wait to get started.