Archive of Our Own ^beta

•••••••••••••••••

Louis taps his fingers on the stainless steel of the table, waiting for the last order to come through so he can start cooking. Luke already told him what it is: two New York Strips, medium-rare. He double checks the ticket when it prints up, nodding to himself and tossing the steaks on the grill. 

Now that the fall semester has started and Ryan’s gone off to college to be a business major, of all things, Louis has to find another cook to work the grill. So far, none of the applicants have been able to properly cook a steak, and if they can’t do that, there’s no way Louis’ll let them attempt anything else off the menu. 

While he waits for the strips to cook, he plates the starch and veg, and wipes down the rest of his station. The kitchen’s been clean for half an hour now, and everyone else has gone home, leaving Niall and Lottie up front. 

After spooning bourbon sauce onto the steaks, instead of calling out, “Table twelve! Order up!” Louis shucks his apron and buttons up a clean chef coat, carrying the food out to the customers himself. He can hear Luke muttering from the bar, and smiles. He’s still pretty new and probably thinks Louis is pissed at him for not picking the food up quickly. 

He drops off the steaks and waits for the customers to cut into them and tell him that they’re cooked perfectly, then Louis steps aside to let Luke refill their wine and water glasses. Back in the kitchen, he hangs his chef coat on a peg behind the door in his tiny office, double checks that everything behind the line is off, and joins Niall and Lottie at the U-shaped bar. 

“Think I scared Luke,” Louis says, tapping his pen on his notebook. “Get him a drink on me, okay?”

Lottie laughs, rolling her eyes as she pours a glass of Chardonnay. “Any luck replacing Ryan?”

“No.” Lifting his snapback, Louis combs his fingers through his hair and turns the hat around backwards. “I just need someone who can cook a goddamn steak. Apparently, that’s too much to ask.”

“Well, so far, you’ve put up one help wanted ad online,” Niall says, and Louis closes his eyes, rubbing his eyelids, and trying his damnedest not to say ‘duh’ when he knows Niall is looking for confirmation, not stating the obvious. Louis nods, and Niall hums. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do.”

Louis huffs, looking at the list of changes he plans to make to the menu. “Thanks, man. You want to head home, go on. I’ll close up.”

“You close every night.” Lottie passes the glass of Chardonnay to Luke, and says, “That’s from Louis. He’s sorry he carried your food to table twelve, and he didn’t do it for any reason other than he was bored and wanted an excuse to put on his fancy chef coat.”

“I did not—” Louis shakes his head. “Sorry, Luke.”

“Thanks, Chef,” Luke says, quickly correcting himself, “I mean, Louis. I’ll get used to you.”

“That’s what you think,” Niall says, flipping Louis’ hat off his head and hurrying for the door. “Alright, I’m leaving. Good night!”

The last table asks Luke to pack up their leftovers, ordering dessert to-go, and soon enough, Louis and Lottie are walking through the restaurant once more before locking up. 

“Want to go get a drink?” Louis asks, immediately wishing he didn’t.

“Nope. It’s late, I’m tired, and unlike some people, I’ve got a boyfriend waiting at home,” Lottie says, elbowing him for good measure. “Want me to drive you?”

“Nah, I’ll walk,” Louis says, stopping beside her car while she unlocks it and climbs inside. 

After she starts the engine, she rolls the window down. “You sure? Front door service?” Louis shakes his head, and Lottie says, “See you tomorrow. Get some sleep, okay?”

“’Night,” Louis says, waving as she drives off. 

It’s not a long walk to his house, and one of his favorite things about living downtown is the proximity to the restaurant. At night, when he leaves work, he considers the few blocks he walks as a sort of transition period. He thinks back over the night, about anything that went wrong, or anything that went particularly well, and then he attempts to let it all go before he unlocks his front door. It doesn’t always happen that way, but he tries. 

Since he passed off the search for a new line cook to Niall, the only thing on his mind is Lottie’s comment. She didn’t mean for it to hurt, and if she’d said it any other time, it probably wouldn’t’ve, but this late at night he’s too tired to keep up his tough exterior. And when he opens the door to his empty house, it gets to him. 

After he opened his restaurant, and it was shockingly successful, he told himself he’d be careful with his money, and he has been. But a few years ago, when the house he’d always called his dream home was listed for sale at much less than market value, he bought it, and renovated it. And now he’s living in his dream home—a three bedroom bungalow on the corner of two tree lined streets—alone. Perhaps he should’ve waited until he met the right guy, but it’s not like he has time to date, no matter how lonely he sometimes feels.   

At least he has a nice shower in which he can feel sorry for himself. While the water heats, he strips out of his clothes, dropping them on the floor. He reaches over to dim the light before opening the glass door and stepping into the spray. With a heavy sigh, Louis turns to let the hot water rain down on the back and shoulders, stretching his neck side to side. He washes quickly, towels himself dry, yawning as he brushes his teeth, and falls into bed with wet hair, cuddling a pillow to his chest. 

When his alarm wakes him the next morning, he rolls out of bed and dresses in his usual restaurant attire: black and white chef pants and a t-shirt with the restaurant logo on the back. All he does is put on deodorant, brush his teeth, and splash some water on his face before walking down to the restaurant. He can have coffee and breakfast while he works.

•••••••••••••••••

They make it through the weekend without a new grill cook, which is probably for the best. The last thing Louis wants to do is train someone on a Friday or Saturday night. Instead, Shawn, the regular dishwasher and sometimes prep cook, joins them behind the line, and helps out with desserts and salads. Liam and Zayn work the grill and fryer, and all four of them wash dishes whenever they have a minute to spare. It’s not fun, but it’s temporary, at least Louis hopes so, and he’s never been more thankful for his decision to keep the restaurant closed on Sundays and Mondays. Sure, he’s still there both days, cleaning and doing upkeep, ordering and organizing, and prepping for the upcoming week, but he doesn’t have to deal with other people. Except, occasionally, Niall.

“Think I found you a grill cook,” Niall says, after busting through the swinging door and scaring the shit out of Louis. 

Louis holds a clarified-butter-covered hand to his chest, then scowls. At least he’s wearing an apron. “Where is he?”

“Ooh, way to assume I found a dude,” Niall says, hands on his hips. 

“Ugh, sorry. Don’t tell Lottie.” Louis wipes his hand on his apron, but it doesn’t really help. He raises his eyebrows and asks, “Where are they?”

“Better. You know you’ve got butter on your hand?”

“Yes, I do know. You came flying through the door and I squirted it all over myself,” Louis says, giving up on wiping his hand clean, and rounding the prep table to wash it off in the sink. Niall cackles, wheezing while he watches Louis soap up his hands twice to get all of the butter off. “What?”

“Squirted. All over yourself,” Niall says, still giggling between words.

“I hate you,” Louis says, drying his hands and going back behind the stainless steel table to finish filtering the butter they’ll use for sauteing during the upcoming week. 

“Not when I tell you that the guy I found not only can cook a steak, but has experience, and won’t be going off to college because he already has a degree in culinary arts and management.”

Louis frowns. “You said ‘guy’ and I don’t need a manager.”

“Just because he’s a guy doesn’t mean you should assume every grill cook’s a dude,” Niall says, stepping up beside Louis and holding the funnel still so he can pour the butter into the squeeze bottles he keeps on the line. “And he didn’t mention the management thing. His mom did.”

“His mom?” Louis scoffs. “What is he, twelve?”

“You’re such a dick,” Niall says. “I was at the Piggly Wiggly buying some beer and ran into Sam, and we were talking. I told him we were looking for someone, and the lady behind me in line said her son’s looking for a job. She told me all of his qualifications, and then he showed up—he’d run out to her car to get her reusable bags—and he, like, downplayed his management stuff. Said he just wants to work in a kitchen.”

“Ugh. Fine. How do you know he can cook a steak?”

“When I asked him, he laughed and said if that was the only qualification, you’d definitely hire him.”

“Well, he’ll need to check his ego, but I’ll give him a shot,” Louis says, carrying the now empty pot of butter to the big sink in the back and setting it down. “You want to wash this?”

“No,” Niall says, reaching for the heavy rubber gloves hanging behind the sink. “But I will.”

With Niall’s help, Louis is able to finish early, and get home before the sun goes down. All that means is that he winds up cutting the little patch of grass beside his driveway and trimming the hedges. Basically, he finds another way to get sweaty, other than cooking. Or sex. 

He misses sex. And then he tries to convince himself he doesn’t actually miss sex at all by masturbating in the shower. Perhaps that’s the wrong way to go about it, because he finds himself missing cuddles afterward. 

•••••••••••••••••

Part of his motivation for closing the restaurant on Mondays was that Mondays were always slow, but he was also secretly hoping that it would make returning to work at the start of the week more tolerable. It did nothing of the sort. All it’s done is make him dislike Tuesdays. 

He gets through the Tuesday lunch shift, and heads home for a quick shower. For the first time in what feels like forever, he thinks about wearing his embroidered chef coat rather than his usual t-shirt, but decides not to. If he winds up hiring this guy, he’ll learn soon enough that it doesn’t matter what kind of degree he has. Louis is the boss. He’s always been the boss. Shaking his head, he walks away from the mirror, thankful that no one can hear him talking to himself. 

Louis pulls one of his dozens of t-shirts on, making a mental note to order more depending on what size the new guy wears. Assuming he works out. He glances back over his shoulder to see the restaurant logo on the back. Zayn and Liam did such a good job designing it. The outline of the twisted oak tree combined with the hand lettering still looks great, despite the beating the shirts take in the kitchen and in the washing machine. He heads back to the restaurant with a smile on his face, determined to have a good night, whether this new guy works out or not. 

•••••••••••••••••

“Zayn, for the fall menu, I want caramel cheesecake, not pumpkin,” Louis says, scratching through Zayn’s writing on his notepad. 

“Fine.” Zayn tosses the can of pumpkin to Louis and says, “But there’s caramel with the apple pie, and there’s Creme brûlée, so I was trying to switch it up.”

“Pumpkin’s too wet.” Louis sets the can back on the shelf. Maybe they’ll run pumpkin cheesecake as a special. “And I want to do a whisky sauce with the pie instead of caramel.”

“Whatever you want, man,” Zayn says, stacking blocks of cream cheese out of the way of the rest of the prep work he needs to do. “You’re the boss.”

“Yep,” Louis says, checking the clock. The new guy is supposed to be there at three, and it’s ten ’til. Might as well be late. 

“Louis, new guy’s here!” Niall calls through the swinging door. “Want me to send him back?” 

Louis looks around the kitchen at everyone working. With the music up loud, there’s no point in interviewing anyone back there. He shakes his head, and takes off his apron, grabbing his notepad and following Niall out into the dining room, and stopping short when he almost runs right into a wide-eyed Lottie. 

“Louis, you—”

“Later, Lots,” Louis says, stepping around her. “There’s a case of wine in the private dining room. Need you to open one of each, so the servers can taste them.”

“Already done,” Lottie says, jerking her thumb towards the bar. “Listen, there’s—”

“Life or death?” Louis asks, and Lottie rolls her eyes. 

“No, but—”

“Then we can talk about it later,” Louis says, lifting his snapback and brushing his hair off his forehead before putting it on again backwards. “I need to meet this cook. See if he can work the grill.”

Lottie hums and nods and waves him towards the bar. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me. Have fun!”

“Right,” Louis mutters to himself. Fun isn't what he’d call it. 

While the restaurant is closed between lunch and dinner, they keep the front of the house lights off to discourage customers from trying the door. He isn’t sure if it works or not, because most days at least one person tries to come inside and someone has to go unlock the door and explain their hours, even though they’re printed on the glass, and ask them politely to come back later. But he likes to leave the lights off anyway. Enough sunlight streams through the windows that face Oak Street, and while it’s probably his mind playing tricks on him, it always feels cooler in the dining room when the lights are off. 

Standing at the front door is a man with short, dark, wavy hair, and he’s wearing black and white checkered chef pants, a black t-shirt, and chef clogs. At least he’s dressed the part. Louis clears his throat, the man turns at the sound, and Louis feels his mouth drop open, mirroring the expression on the face of the man in front of him. A face he hasn’t laid eyes on in ten years. 

“Niall,” Louis says, and sets his notepad on the bar with a little more force than necessary. “What the fuck is he doing in my restaurant?”

“Your rest—” 

“Niall!” Louis cuts him off, turning to look at Niall, who understandably seems a bit puzzled. He’s used to Louis yelling, but that usually happens in the kitchen. 

“Okay,” Niall says, dragging out the word. “Do I need to introduce you to Harry?”

“Niall,” Louis says, then takes a deep breath. 

“This is the cook I told you about,” Niall says, slapping his hands on the bar top. 

“Hi, Lou,” Harry says, lifting one hand to wave unnecessarily, and tucking it right back in where his arms are folded tightly across his chest. 

“Oh, fuck off, Styles. I’m not hiring you,” Louis says, turning on his heel to head back to the kitchen. 

Stalking through the kitchen, Louis goes straight through to the back and pushes open the heavy door, letting it slam shut. He leans against the wall beside the door, patting his pocket for a pack of cigarettes that he hasn’t carried since he quit three years ago. 

“So, Harry’s here,” Lottie says, and Louis clutches at his chest. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Lottie!” No smokes, nothing to calm him down, and now his heart’s racing even harder. Louis turns his snapback so the bill shades his face and climbs onto the low wall of the old brick parking structure that backs up to the alley behind the restaurant. “Next time I ask you if something’s life or death, just include Harry in that, will you?”

“Life, death, or Harry Styles,” Lottie says, shaking her head and laughing. “What’s he doing here?”

“Apparently, he’s back in town. And he’s the cook Niall wants me to hire.”

Lottie laughs harder, letting loose a cackle he’s only ever heard from her when she’s wasted. “Niall doesn’t know Harry? I thought you all worked at Stacy’s together.”

“Niall started about a year after Harry left,” Louis says, kicking at a loose brick and jumping back down. 

“And you never told Niall about him?” 

“Why would I?” Louis shakes out his arms, then laces his fingers together, resting his hands on top of his head. “Fuck, man. Can’t believe he’s back in town.”

“You going to hire him?” Lottie asks. 

Louis balks at the suggestion. “Yeah, ’cause that would end well.”

“Maybe, maybe not, but the fall menu’s been stressing you out, and you do need a grill cook.” Lottie wrenches open the heavy door, and says, “Could be fun.”

“Yeah, for you!” Louis yells after her, rolling his eyes. He follows her back into the kitchen, eyes darting around as if to check for any other ex-boyfriends who might pop out of the woodwork. None do. Not that any of them would have the same effect on him. 

Since he can’t have a cigarette, he’d like to have a drink, but he can’t have a drink either. It’s much too early, and they’re short handed on the line, so he needs to be able to focus. Harry’s already thrown him off. He can’t remember where he was in his mental to do list. If he can’t smoke or drink, he might as well have coffee. 

Louis heads out to the bar, ignoring Lottie and Niall whispering about him at the host stand, and turns on the grinder for the espresso machine. He opens the cooler, reaching in to grab the milk, and when he stands up again, he almost drops it. 

“Lou. Hey,” Harry says, leaning onto the bar top. “Sorry I, um, startled you.”

“What do you want, Styles?” Turning away, Louis pours the milk into the pitcher.

Harry hums, and without looking, Louis can tell he’s sucking his lower lip between his teeth and furrowing his brow. He shakes his head, glancing back at Harry. The lines between his eyebrows are deeper now, and probably don’t disappear completely even in his sleep, the way they did ten years ago. He exhales, puffing out his cheeks, and says, “Didn’t know you worked here or I wouldn’t’ve come in. Just wanted to say sorry if I, like, ruined your day or something.”

“Oh,” Louis says, trying to wrap his mind around not only the sudden reappearance of his ex-boyfriend, but also the truth of the situation at hand. “I don’t work here. I mean, I do. But this is my place. I own it.”

“Really?” Harry’s voice goes up an octave, and Louis raises a single eyebrow. “That’s great. Good for you.”

“Thanks.” Louis tilts his head to the side, eyes flickering to Niall and Lottie, who are doing a very poor job of hiding behind the host stand. Then, against his better judgment, Louis says, “Job’s yours, if you want it. I assume you haven’t forgotten how to cook a steak.” 

“No, um… I haven’t,” Harry says slowly, lifting his hand to his face, and dropping it before he touches his mouth. Someone finally broke him of that habit, it looks like. “Are you sure? Won’t it be weird, like, working with me?”

“Might be. But you wouldn’t be working with me, you’d be working for me,” Louis corrects him, already regretting his decision. Harry watches him for a moment, seeming to ponder his answer. “In or out, Styles. Haven’t got all day.”

Harry groans, but he comes closer, lowering his voice. “I need the job. So, yeah. I’m in.”

“Alright. I’ll show you around. Let me make my coffee,” Louis says, refusing to ask the obvious questions. He shouldn’t care why Harry’s back in town when he knows he’s spent the last ten years in New York, first at some fancy-pants culinary school and then at some upscale restaurants in Manhattan. 

While he steams the milk, he briefly explains that Lottie is the head bartender, but that the waitstaff are expected to be able to make their own drinks and fill in behind the bar as needed. Just past the bar is a short hallway, and on one side is the private dining room reserved for special parties and used for storage space the rest of the time. 

“Bathrooms are at the end of the hall,” Louis says, then points at the back door. “Fire exit.” 

Niall and Lottie are gone when they walk into the dining room. It’s small, with two dozen tables, most of which sit two to four people, though there are a few that seat up to six and one that will fit eight if they need it. Louis shows him the wait station with it’s single tea urn and soda machine, the wine storage area, and the computer where he’ll need to clock in and out, and then he rests his hand on the lightweight swinging kitchen door.

“Wait,” Harry says, and Louis sighs. “No, just… Do I know anyone here?”

“No,” Louis answers, but then he adds, “But there’s a good chance that, in the last ten minutes, Lottie’s told everyone everything there is to know about you.”

Harry balks, peeking through the small window into the kitchen. “Everything?”

“Well, not everything, but… actually, hold on.” Cracking the door open, Louis calls out, “Lottie!”

A few seconds later, Lottie hurries out of the kitchen, coffee mug in hand, eyes wide as she looks back and forth from Louis to Harry. 

“Lottie.” Louis crosses his arms and asks, “How much did you run your mouth?”

“Rude,” Lottie says, rolling her eyes. “Fine. I told… Do you want me to say this in front of him?”

Louis sighs, and says, “Go for it.”

“I told them to brace themselves. That you’d be in a shitty mood. And that you’d never hire him.”

Grimacing, Louis says, “Right, um… Well, I did hire him.”

“Really?” she asks, taking a sip of her coffee. 

“Yeah, and—”

“You didn’t say anything else?” Harry asks, interrupting.

“I’m not a gossip,” Lottie says, though all three of them know she’s lying. She looks Harry up and down. “Not about you anyway.”

“Oh, um, thanks,” Harry says.

“I only gossip about things I care about, you know?” she smiles, though there’s no warmth behind it, and Louis has to bite his lip to stop from laughing.

“Great,” Louis says, mustering some sincerity. “Thanks, Lots.”

“Welcome! Bye!” She takes her coffee and disappears around the edge of the waitstation. 

“Wow,” Harry says, whistling quietly. 

“Yeah, well…” Louis shakes his head. “Come meet everyone.”

Pushing the swinging door open, Louis leads the way into the kitchen, and for a moment, everyone stills and stares, but then they all go back to what they were doing. Louis grabs his favorite spatula and smacks it against the stainless steel worktop. The clanging gets everyone’s attention.

“Guys, this is Harry,” Louis announces. “He’s gonna be on the grill. Styles, listen up. Only doing this once.”

Walking over to the dish area, Louis pats Shawn on the shoulder and says, “This is Shawn. He’s the backbone of this kitchen. We couldn’t do a thing without him. He was sick a few weeks ago, and the whole place fell apart.”

“Thanks, man,” Shawn says, turning even pinker than he already was from the steam. 

“Welcome,” Louis says, walking over to the prep table where Niall’s sitting. “Shawn’s not normally here this early, but we’ve been short-handed, as you know. So he’s been filling in, helping out with food prep.”

“Cool,” Harry says, extending his hand to Niall, who looks at him through slightly narrowed eyes. “We met already, but…”

“Alright, I’m Niall,” Niall says, shaking his hand. “Front of the house manager. Before that, I managed the bar at Stacy’s.”

Harry stiffens, which is understandable, since it was the last place Harry worked before he left, and where Louis was, at the time, a line cook. Though he worked his way up to kitchen manager not long after Harry left town. 

Trying to keep his tone casual, Louis says, “And this talented gentleman is Zayn. He makes all of the desserts in house, all of the cold foods—salads, apps, etcetera.”

“Hey, man,” Zayn says, wiggling his fingers and going back to his cheesecake. 

“Hi, I—”

“And this is his other half, Liam,” Louis continues, pointing to the always smiling puppy dog behind the line. “Liam is the best fry cook I’ve ever worked with. He and Zayn work apps and salads together, and the past week or so they’ve been doing the grill too. Talented, talented, guys.”

“Hello!” Liam reaches through the server line to shake Harry’s hand, and says, “Good to have you on board, man.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, biting his lip. 

“Servers on tonight are Luke and Pamela,” Louis says, and Harry shakes their hands.

“You done?” Niall asks Louis, hopping down off the prep table. “I’ve got the paperwork and stuff for him to fill out, and then he can get to work. Assuming you want him on tonight?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m done,” Louis says, meeting Harry’s eyes and looking away. 

Niall leads him to the tiny office, and Louis goes behind the line to try to get his mind back on work. 

It’s a typical Tuesday, which means they have a slow, yet steady influx of reservations and walk-in customers, and Louis doesn’t make a single Harry Styles induced mistake. Harry does well for his first night, but Louis would expect nothing less. Despite his culinary school education and whatever experience he’s gained over the last decade, Louis taught him how to work the line and how to cook a steak. 

When the last few orders come in, Louis takes off his apron and tosses it in the bag of dirty linens. Because he managed to get heavy cream on his black t-shirt, he digs through a box in the tiny office until he finds a new t-shirt, then strips out of his dirty shirt and pulls on the clean one, grabbing a couple of the shirts to give to Harry. 

“Styles!” Louis yells, turning around with the shirts in one hand, while he tugs the hem of his own t-shirt down over his stomach. 

“Yeah?” Standing behind the line, Harry has a pair of tongs in one hand, holding a New York Strip in midair, not moving. 

“Styles, plate the food,” Louis says, tossing the shirts onto the clean corner of the prep table. “These are for you. XLs are all we have, but I’ll order some mediums.”

“Oh, um… thanks, Lou,” Harry says, carefully setting the steak on the plate and putting the plate under the heat lamp beside the fried catfish that Liam just finished garnishing. He checks the ticket and calls out, “Table twenty-two!”

Louis takes his notepad out to the bar and sits on the stool closest to the server station on the end, smirking just a little at the knowledge that he flustered Harry a bit and all he was doing was changing his shirt. Back when they were together, and even before, they’d flirt and banter back and forth all night. Sometimes they’d see how far they could push each other, make each other jealous on purpose, do little things they knew would turn the other one on, make inappropriate jokes, and so on. 

One of Louis’ favorite things to do was to bend over at the waist while saying ‘hot oven!’ and opening the oven. Of course, everyone in the kitchen was taught to say that, just like they’re taught to say ‘behind you’ or ‘hot pan’ or ‘eighty-six the grouper’, but Louis would bend in such a way that Harry would look over and groan at the sight of Louis’ ass up in the air for him to see. 

He won’t be repeating that sort of behavior, but it’s nice to know he’s still got it. 

“Hey, Lots, can you pour me a little of that Sauvignon Blanc?” Louis asks, tapping his pen against his notepad. “Need to work on that pairing menu.”

Lottie nods and pours it, passing him the glass. “Sold a few glasses of it tonight. And the Pinot. Luke sold a bottle of the Cab.”

“Any interest in Wine Night?” 

“Yeah. Had some people sign up. You should let Zayn come up with the desserts,” she says, taking a peek at his notes. “You love your goat cheese, don’t you?”

“Shut up,” Louis flicks the back of her hand with his pen, ignoring her suggestion. It’s easier if he does it by himself. “People like it. They think it’s ‘classy’ or like, ‘foodie’ or whatever because it’s not from cow’s milk. But yeah, I do love it. Easy to work with, soft, mild. I can—”

“Jesus Christ, Louis,” Lottie pinches the skin on the top of his hand between her fingernails. “Was fucking joking. Stop waxing poetic about cheese.”

Louis glares at her, then goes back to his list. Wine Night is in two weeks, a Tuesday when they’ll close the restaurant for regular dinner service and do a special, six course meal, with a wine pairing for each course. The rep from the wine distributor will be there to talk about the varietals, and if all goes well, the customers who sign up to participate will also buy a case or two of wine to take home with them. With Harry on the grill, Louis can include the seared tuna and pair it with the rosé. 

While the rest of the staff clean, restock, and break down their stations, Louis works on the menu and the prep list until he has it all figured out. Hopefully, when Wine Night rolls around, it’ll all go smoothly. 

The last customers finish their meal, stopping by the bar to say goodnight to Louis and Lottie, and lingering by the door to chat with Niall for a few minutes before leaving. As soon as the door closes behind them, Niall locks it, turns up the lights, and Lottie changes the music from the quiet jazz they usually play during the dinner shift to an old Prince CD. At the first drum beat, Louis hops off his barstool, singing along and dancing his way across the room to Niall. He reaches him, grabbing his hips, and spinning him around to grind against his ass, just as they both yell along to the lyric, “Sexy motherfucker!” 

Louis pushes Niall away, and talks over the music, “Going to go check on the kitchen.”

He turns around and comes face to face with Harry, stopping short. Harry wipes the scowl from his face. “Hey, um… You want to come check my station?”

Walking around him, Louis asks, “Did you ask Liam?” 

“Yeah, he said it’s fine,” Harry says, following him into the kitchen. 

“Then it’s fine,” Louis says, raising his voice so everyone will hear him, “Anybody need anything?”

An answering chorus of “No!” echoes around the kitchen. 

“Come out to the bar when you’re ready. Want you guys to taste the wines for Wine Night now that I’ve figured out the menu.”

“What’s Wine Night?” Harry asks, tossing his apron into the linen bag. He follows Louis back out to the bar, but thankfully doesn’t sit beside him. 

“Private event. Six courses with wine pairings. Two weeks from today,” Louis informs him. “You have a nice chef coat, Styles? Never mind. Of course you do.”

“I… Yeah, I do. White?” Harry asks, and Louis nods once. 

“So, Harry.” Hopping onto a stool across the bar from Louis and out of his reach, Niall raises his eyebrows and asks, “What brings you back to town? You used to live here, right?”

“Yeah, um… My mom moved to upstate New York with my stepdad. And I really wanted to live somewhere else, you know? Culinary school. Work in different kitchens. That was ten years ago.”

“Right,” Zayn says, and Louis hops off his stool, grabbing his notepad, and heading for the kitchen. The last thing he hears is Zayn ask, “What made you decide to come back?”

The kitchen is clean. Spotless, really, but Louis grabs a dry rag and walks behind the line, wiping surfaces as he goes. Harry’s first night might’ve gone well, and he might be good for the restaurant, but he can’t help but feel like he made a mistake in hiring him. Things are bound to blow up in his face eventually, even if Harry doesn’t up and leave town again. 

Louis checks the pilot lights, and the freezers, making sure the back door is locked before returning to the front of the restaurant. Niall’s alone behind the bar, counting the cash drawer, and most of the lights are off, which means Lottie’s gone already. When Niall finishes, they drop the cash in the safe, and lock the office, turning off all of the lights. 

“You want a ride home?” Niall offers, but Louis shakes his head, like he does most nights when it’s not raining. 

“See you tomorrow, man,” Louis says, waving as Niall pulls away from the curb. 

He crosses the street and starts up the sidewalk on the road towards his house, stopping a moment later when Niall pulls up next to him and rolls his passenger side window down. 

“Hey, man, you wanna tell me about Harry?”

A short laugh bursts out of Louis, and as he starts walking again, he says, “Good cook. Great cook, really.”

“Right. Maybe tomorrow?” Niall lets his car roll forward to keep up.

“Doubt it, man,” Louis says, waving him off. “Go home!”

Niall laughs and Louis can still hear him as he drives away. 

•••••••••••••••••

Over the next two weeks, Harry catches on quickly, learning the rhythm of their kitchen, working nights, but some lunch shifts too. He stays out of Louis’ way for the most part, which is for the best, hanging out with the other guys for a drink after work on Friday and Saturday nights, but leaving long before Louis closes and heads home. 

Wine Night begins with the patrons milling around the bar area, as the servers carry around trays of goat cheese mousse atop house made potato chips, and glasses of sparkling white wine. In the kitchen, they have every item portioned out and ready to go as soon as it’s time for the next course. 

“Ready, Styles?” Louis asks when the servers start bringing back empty trays.

Niall pops his head in, and says, “You’re up, Louis. Everyone’s seated. Kim’s ready to talk to them about the wine.”

“Okay,” Louis says, untying his apron and slipping on his freshly pressed chef’s coat. He takes off his snapback in the office, wishing like he does every time they do something like this that there was a mirror somewhere in the kitchen, as he tries to fix his hair. Stepping back into the kitchen, he catches Zayn’s eye. “How’s my hair?”

“It’s, um…” Harry starts, just as Zayn gives Louis a thumbs up. 

Louis looks to Harry, raising his eyebrows. “What?”

“Just, it’s…” Harry rounds the end of the line, coming to stand in front of Louis, wiping his hand on the clean towel at his side. Reaching up, he gently runs his finger over Louis’ part, moving strands of hair from one side to the other. He meets Louis’ eyes, and Louis feels his cheeks begin to flush. “There.”

“Thanks, Styles.” Louis clears his throat, and Harry turns on the sink to wash his hands. To the rest of the kitchen, Louis says, “Soup course! Let’s go!” 

The dim light of the dining room covers Louis’ blush, and he stands beside Niall to welcome everyone and talk a little bit about the food they’ll be serving, while the waitstaff bring out the soup course. Kim, their wine rep, explains the wines that they’re pairing with the first two courses, and when they’re done, Louis leaves her and Niall to pass out the wine order forms, and goes back to the kitchen, shucking his chef’s coat as soon as he’s through the door.

“Styles, what’s your ETA?” Louis asks, pulling his apron on and grabbing plates from Liam and Zayn as soon as they place the little piles of shaved pickled cabbage in the center. 

“Just flipped them,” Harry replies, and Louis starts lining the plates up on the stainless steel table top, and the food line where they’ve left the heat lamps off just for tonight. 

When the plates are all ready, Louis joins Harry behind the line, and they work together to pull the tuna steaks off the grill, setting them on the sheet tray to rest for just a moment. Side by side, they slice the tuna, and carefully place the slices on top of the cabbage, sending the plates out with the servers as soon as they clear away the soups. By the time they lay the last few pieces of tuna on the remaining plates, Luke is the only server waiting. He takes them and disappears into the dining room.

“Nice job, Styles,” Louis says, wiping down the table and getting ready for the next course. 

Niall rushes into the kitchen, plate of untouched tuna in hand. He rolls his eyes and says in a fake, deep, slow, southern accent, “The senator would like his tuna well-done.”

“Says rare on the menu, Niall.” Louis takes the plate, hands it to Harry, and says, “Just sear the sides.”

“Louis, he asked for well,” Niall says, glancing at the door as Luke walks into the kitchen. “Wait for this tuna and run it right back out to seat four, table forty-two.”

Niall leaves again, probably to go placate the senator. 

“Salad course!” Louis says, clapping his hands, though Zayn and Liam are already plating it. 

“You got the plate?” Harry asks, setting the tuna on the cutting board. Zayn passes him a new plate set with the shredded cabbage, and Harry carefully arranges the fish, drizzling it with sesame oil and handing the plate to Luke, who takes it out to the dining room. “Well-done tuna.”

Before Louis can respond, Niall is back with the tuna again. “Says it’s albacore. Told him it’s yellowfin. He doesn’t want it.”

Louis snatches the plate, and tosses the food in the trash. “Fucking politicians.”

“Wait. For real?” Harry laughs, helping pass salad plates to the servers. “Thought Niall was fucking around.”

“Yeah. He comes in a lot. Always annoying,” Louis says. 

“You’ve got a classy place here, Tomlinson,” Harry says with a familiar lopsided grin, and Louis frowns.

“Why? Because of that dickhead Senator?” Louis scoffs when Harry nods, focusing on the next course. After a moment, he says, “We get a lot of local politicians. Lawyers, judges, shit like that, too. It’s our location, more than anything, I think.”

“It’s good food,” Harry says.

“I know,” Louis says, and Harry barks a laugh.

“Always were a cocky shit. Can’t even take a compliment.”

“It’s not a compliment, Styles,” Louis says, walking around the line to help Zayn and Liam. “It’s the truth.”

The rest of Wine Night goes well. Almost everyone buys at least one case of wine, though most buy two or more, and Kim is so thrilled with the upfront sales, she gifts each of the restaurant employees a bottle of wine of their choice. 

After the waitstaff bring back the last of the dirty dishes, Louis leads the kitchen staff—in their seldom worn chef coats—out to the dining room. He thanks the customers and Kim, and once the guests start to leave, he leads the kitchen staff back through the swinging door to start closing down.

Niall cracks open the kitchen door, and says, “Senator Wilkins is on his way back.”

Louis groans, but finishes wiping down the stovetop before heading over to the sink to wash his hands. 

“Chef Tomlinson, wanted to pop back here and tell you how much I enjoyed tonight,” the senator says, shaking Louis’ hand. 

“Thanks, Senator. Glad you enjoyed it,” Louis says, propping his hands on his hips, and looking around the kitchen. “We all worked hard tonight. Great teamwork.”

“Yes, yes. I’m sure,” Senator Wilkins says, nodding at each of the guys in turn. When he gets to Harry, he asks, “Who’s this?”

“This is Harry Styles,” Louis says, leading the Senator over to the line to introduce them. “New addition to the team.”

Harry waves, and the senator looks around, then asks, “What is it you do, young man?”

“I, um…” Harry lays the scraper down that he uses to clean the grill every night. “I mainly work the grill.”

“Oh! No wonder that tuna fish was off. You’re still learning,” Senator Wilkins says, nodding.

“No, sir,” Louis says, and because he’s feeling confident after the success of the evening, he adds, “The tuna was perfect.”

The senator scoffs. “It was raw albacore tuna.”

“Senator, come with me,” Louis says, leading him towards the office. He grabs the most recent invoice from his fishmonger, and hands it to him. “Take a look at that. Yellowfin tuna. Came in just yesterday from one of the oldest and most reliable fishmongers in the area.”

The senator hums, looking at the invoice. “But—”

“No buts, Senator. I know you like your filet mignon well-done, but not butterflied, and I know you don’t often eat fish if it’s not fried. Albacore tuna is what you find in a can, and we don’t serve it here. Unless…” Louis crosses his arms, and says, “Are you suggesting I’d serve canned tuna in my restaurant and lie about it?”

“No, I… I didn’t mean to imply anything of the sort.”

“It’s fine, Senator. But please understand that I fully trust all of the guys back here. They’re all talented and experienced, and Styles has been cooking almost as long as I have.”

“Right, well…” Senator Wilkins sets the invoice down on the corner of Louis’ desk, and takes a step back out of the office. “I just wanted to pop in and thank you—”

“Senator, I’m afraid I’m not finished,” Louis says, following him back into the kitchen. “I’m going to give you one of my fishmonger’s business cards, and I’d like you to give him a call. Maybe he can arrange a day for you to come down and learn a thing or two about—”

“That’s not necessary. You’re right. I don’t typically eat tuna, especially not raw—”

“Rare,” Louis corrects.

“Rare. Exactly. And I do apologize.”

Louis tilts his head to the side, pursing his lips. He points at Harry and says, “Don’t you think you should apologize to him?”

“Of course. Yes.”

“And anyone else who might’ve overheard your complaints tonight. Your voice does tend to carry,” Louis says, smirking when the senator turns towards Harry and offers his apologies. 

As soon as he does that, he says a loud goodbye, a politician's smile pasted on his face as he leaves the kitchen. 

“Oh my god, Lou,” Harry whispers when Louis joins him back behind the line. “That dude was a dick.”

“He always is,” Louis says. “He’ll be back next month before Election Day.”

“Really? How do you know?”

Louis shrugs. “He’s up for re-election. Likes to make the rounds.”

“Thanks for, um… for sticking up for me. You didn’t have to.”

“Nothing personal. Would’ve done it for any of you guys,” Louis says, untying his apron. He should probably make the rounds himself before all the guests have gone. And he needs to thank Kim again. 

Harry follows him to the office, standing in the doorway while Louis changes into a clean t-shirt. It’s about time he brought some from home again. He turns around, tugging his shirt down, and Harry leans in, blatantly looking him up and down. “Still, thanks. I owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me shit, Styles,” Louis says, pushing past him and leaving him in the kitchen. 

Behind the host stand with Niall, Louis says goodnight to everyone as they leave, scanning over the reservation book between goodbyes. Lottie brings him a glass of wine, and he sips it while he looks over the calendar, trying to determine when would be a good time to do another Wine Night. 

“Did everyone who wanted one get a glass of wine?” Louis asks, and Niall nods. 

“Yeah, Lots passed them out in coffee mugs so there’s less glass breakage.”

“Smart,” Louis says, elbowing him in the side. “You guys should get out of here. Everybody’s gone. I’ll close up.”

“You always close,” Niall says. “Don’t act like you’re doing me a favor.”

Shrugging, Louis says, “Fine. Stay.”

“Nope. I’m going. And I’m taking everyone with me,” Niall says, grabbing his keys from beneath the host stand. 

“Everybody’s gone, except Lottie, I think.”

“Lottie! Let’s go!” Spinning his keys in one hand, Niall flips the dining room lights off.

“Just a sec!” Lottie calls from the other end of the hallway. She ducks behind the bar and grabs her bag and her bottle of rosé. “Was checking the bathrooms. We’re good?”

“Yeah, get out of here,” Louis mutters. “See you tomorrow.”

He follows them to the front door, locking it behind them, and turning off the rest of the front of the house lights. After he counts the cash drawer from the bar, he’ll make one more pass through the kitchen and then he can go home. Louis pours himself another glass of wine, opens the cash drawer, and carries it back to the kitchen. 

As soon as Louis walks through the kitchen door, he drops the drawer, the bundles of cash and receipts fall to the ground, and the coins go rolling in every direction. 

“Fuck!” Harry hops down off the stainless steel table, scrambling to pick up whatever he can. 

“Shit,” Louis says, taking a long sip of wine. 

“Oh my god, Lou. I’m sorry.”

“At least I didn’t spill my wine,” Louis says, setting it on the table, and getting down on all fours to retrieve the cash and receipts he can reach. “Lottie’ll kick my ass if I break another wine glass. What the hell are you still doing here, Styles?”

Harry crawls beneath the table, reaching under Zayn’s dessert cooler. “Was waiting for you.”

“Why?” 

“I don’t know… Wanted to thank you again for how you handled that—”

“Man, listen. I don’t know what kind of places you’ve worked, but I don’t let people talk shit to or about my employees.” Getting to his feet, Louis says, “But since you’re here, grab a broom. We’ll sweep this all up.”

“Yeah, good idea,” Harry says, climbing out from under the table. “At least the cash was all bundled.”

Louis ignores him and gets to work. The only positive thing he can see is that the kitchen staff cleaned the floor properly before they left for the night, so at least he’s not sweeping up food and dirt along with the coins. By the time they finish, Louis is sweaty all over again, despite his new, clean t-shirt. And the money is fairly gross, even though the floor was pretty clean. He dumps it all into a five-gallon bucket of hot soapy water and stirs it with the big potato masher, but the prospect of waiting for it all to dry has him gulping the rest of his glass of wine.

“Okay, Styles, you can go. I’m just going to count the drawer and leave the coins for tomorrow.” Louis sighs, sitting down at his desk. 

“I want to help,” Harry says, looking around the tiny room. “It’s my fault you’re still here.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Louis laughs, and says, “Go get a chair from the dining room, unless you want to stand or sit on the floor.”

Harry returns with a chair, sitting right next to Louis, and Louis hands him the stack of bundled twenties. They count the money in silence, and when Louis finishes counting the singles, he goes to the bar for another glass of wine, pouring one for Harry as well. It’s after midnight when they finish, and Louis locks the money in the safe. 

“Thanks for your help, Styles,” Louis says, standing and stretching his arms overhead. He looks down at Harry, still sitting in the chair, head tilted back, gazing up at him. “What?”

“How come you never called me back?” Harry asks, biting the corner of his lip. “You know, after I moved. I called you a few times.”

“I’m not— I don’t want to talk about this right now,” Louis says. He sort of thought they’d continue to ignore their past. It’s worked quite well for the last two weeks. And Harry’s the one who left, after all.

“Okay,” Harry whispers, looking down at his lap. 

“Right. I’ve got to be back here at ten in the morning. I need to get home,” Louis says, hoping that Harry will take the hint and get up and out of his office.

“Is there…” Harry twists his fingers together, lifting his chin and meeting Louis’ eyes. “Is someone waiting for you?” 

Louis snorts and Harry frowns. “No, Styles. You think I have a boyfriend hidden at home or something?”

“Dunno.” Harry shrugs and offers, “Let me suck you off.”

“Jesus Christ,” Louis says, combing his fingers through his hair, and knocking the snapback off his head. “I forgot you were so fucking forward.”

Reaching for Louis’ waist, Harry says, “That’s not a no.” 

“I’m not… Stop,” Louis orders, and Harry stops, hands inches from him. “We’re not, like, getting back together, Harry. I don’t—”

“No! No strings. Doesn’t have to mean anything,” Harry says, blinking up at him. “I just want to.”

“You know I’m sweaty and gross. Been working all day. But… If you must,” Louis says, groaning miserably when Harry wiggles his eyebrows. Letting his head fall back, Louis mutters, “I hate you.”

“I really don’t think you do,” Harry says in a familiar smug tone. He tucks his fingers into the elastic waist of Louis’ pants and briefs, pulling them down at once. 

It’s been a decade since he’s had the pleasure of Harry’s mouth, and back then it was usually preceded by at least one kiss, if not a heavy makeout session on their couch, before Harry would get down on his knees for him. Usually, but not always. This isn't the first time Harry’s offered to suck him off at work, and it’s not the first time he’s done it with zero lead-up or foreplay. Though, back then, Louis could always tell when something like this was about to happen. He’s out of practice or he would’ve recognized the glint in Harry’s eyes earlier in the evening when he said he’d owe him one. 

Louis goes from soft to rock hard in no time in the wet heat of Harry’s mouth, and Harry hums, pink lips stretched tight around him. His hands find their way to Harry’s short curls on instinct, and Harry whines, looking up at him with watery eyes. A barely discernible nod, and Louis shifts his hips forward, fucking into Harry’s mouth. As soon as the head of his cock hits the back of Harry’s throat, he moans, and the vibrations seem to travel through Louis’ body, urging him to thrust faster and harder. He tightens his hold on Harry’s hair, tipping his head slightly, staring open-mouthed as his dick slides in and out, and his looming orgasm makes his stomach muscles tighten. He tries to pull out of Harry’s mouth, but Harry grips the backs of Louis’ thighs, urging him deeper, and Louis comes while Harry swallows around him. 

“Stand up, stand up,” Louis says, yanking his pants back up as Harry does as he’s told, pushing himself out of his chair on visibly shaking legs. Reaching one hand down the front of Harry’s pants, Louis wraps his other arm around Harry’s waist, helping keep him upright while he jerks him off, fast and rough. Harry rests his head on Louis’ shoulder, shaking as he comes over Louis’ fist, getting his underwear wet and sticky. 

As soon as he thinks Harry can stand on his own, Louis steps around him, out of the office to the sink to wash his hands. That wasn’t how he thought the night would go, though he can’t complain. He hasn’t had sex of any kind with anyone in months. 

“Styles?” 

Harry stumbles out of the office, leaning over the sink to splash some water in his mouth. “You should eat more fruit.”

“Fuck you,” Louis says, laughing as he dries his hands. “I was just going to ask if you could give me a ride home.”

“Can’t,” Harry says. “I walked.”

“Where are you staying?” Louis asks, making a last pass around the kitchen. 

“Seventh Avenue.” Following Louis out of the kitchen after he turns off the lights, Harry continues, “Got a little one bedroom on the second floor of that— You know that old house near Main? The white one that’s split into four apartments?” When Louis nods, Harry says, “Apartment three.”

“Then I guess we’re walking,” Louis says, unlocking the front door to the restaurant, and stepping back to let Harry out. He shuts the door and locks it, pulling on the handle and pocketing his keys. 

“You walked to work?” Harry asks as they cross the street, tugging on the front of his pants.

“Every day. Unless it rains,” Louis answers, glancing over at him. “So did we just fuck up our working relationship?”

Harry snorts, shaking his head. “Like I said, it doesn’t have to mean anything. Doesn’t have to happen again either, but I wouldn’t mind.”

“We’ll see, Styles. I’m your boss, for one thing. And I…” Louis sighs heavily. “I didn’t really think about it, but that’s like… pretty stupid of me.”

“Your first time fucking an employee?” Harry looks over, crooked smile playing on his lips.

“Yes, dickhead. I don’t do shit like that. Don’t—” Louis reaches up to adjust his hat and realizes he left it on the floor in the office. He combs his fingers through his hair, and says, “Don’t say it like that. And don’t tell anyone, for fuck’s sake.”

“Yeah, okay. Sorry,” Harry says, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

They walk in silence until they get to Sixth Avenue, and Louis turns left, walking backwards. “See you tomorrow, Styles.”

“Oh, um…” Harry pulls a hand from his pocket and waves. “’Night, Lou. See you tomorrow.”

On the short walk to his house, Louis tries not to overthink what happened with Harry, but it’s difficult. A friends with benefits relationship is how things started between them before, and that left Louis with a broken heart that took years to heal. Of course, back then, they were young and dumb, and Louis had no qualms telling Harry a few months in that benefits weren’t enough for him anymore. Now, he’s older, a little smarter, and knows better to guard his heart. 

•••••••••••••••••

After Wine Night, Harry seems a little more at ease around Louis, while Louis can’t stop second guessing his every move, wondering if he smiled too wide or looked too long or laughed too hard at one of Harry’s stupid puns. He flirts with Louis, but he also flirts with Shawn and Niall and Liam and Zayn. Zayn takes the longest to warm up to him, though eventually Harry wins him over with sincere compliments about his desserts. And Harry holds to his promise that sex between them doesn’t have to mean anything, because it doesn’t happen again. 

Of course, the reason nothing else happens between them is that Louis does everything in his power to make sure they’re never left alone. He feels a little guilty, making Lottie or Niall stay late with him, but having one of them shoo Harry out the door so they can close the restaurant is a lot easier than having to do it himself. Not that he’d be able to say no if Harry asked to stay. And not that he’d be able to stop him if he decided to leave town again.

They make it all the way through October, and at that point, Louis is certain that their shared orgasms in his tiny office were a one-time thing. 

On Halloween, the restaurant is slow, as usual, and a few kids drop by to trick-or-treat. Costumes are optional, mainly because Lottie and Niall like to dress up, but Louis does not. None of the kitchen employees wear costumes when they’d just get in the way. Eventually, Louis sends everyone home. Luke and Pamela stay on because they both have customers still seated in their sections, but even Niall and Lottie leave. One of the restaurant’s regulars, and Louis’ dentist, is throwing a party at his new house, and he invited all of the restaurant staff, so no matter what he wants to do, Louis feels obligated to at least make an appearance. 

“Are you coming to the party?” Harry asks, and Louis jumps, almost cutting himself with the chef’s knife he’s washing. 

“You’re not supposed to be here, Styles,” Louis says instead of answering.

“Yeah, but if you’re going, I thought I’d wait for you.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.” Ignoring Harry’s pout, Louis carefully dries his knife, and carries it back to his station. “Get out of here, so I can close.”

Harry huffs, spinning around and leaving the kitchen, making a racket with the metal door on his way. 

When everything is done, and Louis locks up, he goes home to shower, taking his time because he’d like to spend as little of his night as possible at the Halloween party. It’s not just that he doesn’t want to wear a costume, he actually doesn’t have one. While he’s looking through his closet for anything that might work in a pinch, he finds a Mardi Gras mask leftover from the year that Lottie went through her bedazzling phase and made masks for everyone at the restaurant. 

The mask is a blue and green harlequin pattern, and it’s absolutely covered in glitter and sequins, with artificial peacock feathers on one side. Louis rolls his eyes. His laundry will sparkle for weeks. 

He pulls on an old pair of black skinny jeans, and a sheer black t-shirt, thankful that the weather’s been warm and he doesn’t need a coat, since the party’s within walking distance. Hopefully most of the party will be outside, and it’ll be easier for him to slip away when he’s ready to go.

The noise of the party is enough that Louis hears it before he rounds the corner of the street the house is on, and when the house comes into view, there are lights and streamers and far too many jack-o’-lanterns on the ground and ghosts hanging from the trees. Louis walks around to the side of the house, through the open gate to the backyard where it looks like most of the party guests are gathered. It’s still early, only around eleven o’clock, but there are already people stripping to their underwear and jumping into the pool. 

Louis rolls his eyes and shakes his head. Not too long ago, that would’ve been him. His eyes find Harry almost immediately, and he’s still fully clothed, which is surprising. Standing with his back to Louis, he looks like he’s not in costume at all, with jeans and a t-shirt to match Louis’ own clothes. Hopefully, he’s not wearing a Mardi Gras mask. Accidentally matching costumes would be too much. Louis takes a step towards him, stopping himself, and turning towards the house instead. 

He finds his dentist inside the house, playing bartender while the actual bartender he hired for the night looks on horrified as he pours far too much bitters into a rocks glass and tops it with bourbon without muddling the fruit first. 

“Chef Tomlinson!” his dentist shouts, startling the bartender.

“Doctor Standaland!” Louis shouts back.

“I’ve asked you to call me Ronald.”

“And I’ve asked you to call me Louis,” Louis says, raising his eyebrows.

“Okay, okay. You’re right about that, Louis,” Ronald agrees, teeth actually glowing a bit in the black light when he smiles. “Thanks for coming. Did you see the new pool? There’s an attached hot tub. Some of the ladies are already enjoying it.”

Louis tilts his head, and says, “One of those ladies is my sister, Ronald.” 

“Lou! You came!” Harry—who Louis can now see is made up like a classic vampire, with white face paint, dark eye makeup, and blood red lips, cheap plastic fangs around his finger instead of in his mouth—bumps into Ronald as if he didn’t see him standing there, stopping and frowning at him. 

Attempting to communicate with a clearly drunk Harry through facial expressions only, ends with Harry scowling at him, then turning that scowl on Ronald. 

“Ronald, have you met Harry? He’s one of the chefs at my restaurant.” Louis says, eyes wide as he grabs Harry’s elbow and pulls him away from Ronald. “Harry, this is Ronald Standaland, my dentist, and the host of this party.”

“Ohhh…” Harry shakes Ronald’s hand vigorously, morphing into the politest party guest Louis has ever seen. “You have a lovely home.”

“Thank you,” Ronald says when Harry drops his hand, looking from Louis to Harry again. “Harry?”

“That’s me!” Harry grins and turns to Louis, leaning in too close, and smelling of tequila. “Your mask is really pretty.”

Tightening his grip on Harry's arm, Louis smiles, and says, “Nice talking to you, Ronald. Think I might need to make sure this one sobers up a bit.”

“I’m fine,” Harry whines, as Louis steers him away. 

There aren’t any people in the expensively decorated sitting room, so Louis takes him that way to the front door, opening it and leading him out onto the porch. 

“Ooh! Did you want privacy?” Harry asks, gripping Louis’ hips and pulling him close. 

“Yes,” Louis hisses, taking Harry’s hands from his waist. He crosses Harry’s wrists, pushing them into Harry’s chest. “These people are all customers of mine. Don’t make an ass of yourself.”

Snatching his hands out of Louis’ grip, Harry says, “I’m not!” 

“You just elbowed my dentist,” Louis says, and Harry glares back through the window of the house. “Maybe you should go home.”

“Maybe you should go home,” Harry repeats.

“I’d love to, Styles, but this is part of my job,” Louis says, and Harry huffs, rolling his eyes. “Don’t embarrass me.”

“Whatever,” Harry says, starting down the steps towards the sidewalk. “Maybe I will go home.”

“Be careful,” Louis warns him, though they’re only two streets over from Harry’s apartment, and he’s not completely wasted, since he’s able to walk along the brick pavers lining the flowerbed like a balance beam.

Louis heads back into the house, sure that Harry’s going to be grumpy at work the next day, but that’s a small price to pay for not having to worry about his weird, drunken, misplaced jealousy or the possibility of him drowning in the backyard pool. The jealousy does put a little pep in Louis’ step, not that it means anything, and he adjusts his mask, smiling at the party guests as he makes his way through the house. 

Like he told Harry, most of the people attending the party are restaurant customers, in fact, there isn’t a single face he doesn’t know. He talks to everyone, pushing his mask up into his hair so that he’s easily recognizable, and soon enough, it’s after one in the morning and the party is winding down. 

The house is virtually empty, with what’s left of the party guests outside in the backyard. Some are in the pool and hot tub, some lying in chairs on the deck. 

“Hey,” Shawn says, bumping into Louis by the back door. “You missed it. Harry got in the pool with his clothes on!”

Groaning miserably, Louis rubs his temple, adjusting his mask where it sits on top of his head. “I thought he went home.”

“Yeah, he was on the way home when I was on the way here, so we got to talking, and decided the party’d be better if we were high,” Shawn explains, pointing his thumb back over his shoulder. “So we got high.”

“Are you still?” Louis asks, knowing the answer.

“Yeah…” Shawn laughs, wheezing as he holds his hand to his mouth. When he catches his breath, he says, “But Harry’s so fucked up. Look at him.”

Louis leans to the side to look past Shawn, and yes, Harry is absolutely plastered. He can tell from fifty feet away. Still in his too-tight jeans, but shirtless and barefoot, Harry is lying on the concrete deck of the pool, with his right foot dangling over the side, toes trailing in the water. His left foot is fully submerged in the attached hot tub. 

While Louis watches, Harry rolls to the side, just a little, like he’s trying to talk himself into getting up, but can’t quite follow through. He falls onto his back again, kicking both legs like a petulant child and splashing water everywhere. 

“You leaving?” Louis asks Shawn, and Shawn nods.

“Niall’s gonna drop me off,” Shawn says, heading for the gate and Niall’s car idling at the curb. “See you tomorrow!”

Heaving a heavy sigh, Louis walks over to the cooler, fishing through the melted ice until he finds a couple of water bottles. He carries them around the pool and squats down next to Harry, poking him in the chest. Harry’s eyes fly open, and he blinks, clearly trying to focus.

“Lou,” Harry whispers, squeezing his eyes shut tight, then opening them wide. “I can’t get up.”

“I know. Saw you trying. Pathetic, really,” Louis says, opening a bottle of water. “Want this?”

Harry lifts his head a bit, then lets it fall back onto the concrete. “Ow.”

“If I help you up, you think you can walk?” Louis asks, leaning over to look Harry in the eye.

“If you help me up, I think I’m gonna puke.” He rubs his eyes, smearing his vampire makeup even more.

“If you puke, you think you might feel better?”

“Can’t puke,” Harry says, shaking his head and groaning miserably. “Can’t embarrass you.”

Louis sits down, crossing his legs. “You’d only embarrass me if you puked on me.”

“You said not to make an ass of myself,” Harry says, waving his arm around and almost whacking Louis in the face. “So I’m not getting up.”

“Styles, you can’t sleep by my dentist’s pool. You’d probably fall in and drown. Don’t want that.”

“I can swim!” Harry yells, and Louis jerks back. 

“Right,” Louis says slowly, looking around at the dwindling party guests. The waitstaff that Ronald hired are cleaning up, and most everyone has already gone. “Okay, how about this.”

“What?” Harry whines, patting his bare stomach and drawing Louis’ attention to it. Four nipples, as if Louis could forget. 

“We take it slow. Step by step,” Louis suggests, capping the open water bottle and setting them both off to the side. “Step one: I help you roll onto your side.”

“Are you gonna roll me into the pool?”

“Harry, I just said I don’t want you to drown.”

“Okay, help me,” Harry says, raising his arms straight up in the air. 

Louis grabs Harry’s hand, pulling with the hopes that he’ll at least be able to roll over without a lot of help. He doesn’t.

“Alright, change of plans. Step one: get your feet out of the water,” Louis says, dropping Harry’s hand and patting his thigh. “Bend your knees. Come on.”

One at a time, Harry lifts his feet out of the water, planting them on the concrete. Without prompting, he lets his knees fall to the side, and Louis grabs his arm, helping him roll onto his side. 

“Want some water?” Louis asks, offering the bottle again.

“No,” Harry says, rubbing his hand over his bare chest. “I lost my shirt.”

“I think…” Louis leans over, looking into the swirling water of the hot tub at the black blob stuck to the drain at the bottom. “I think it’s in there.”

“Oh, no,” Harry whispers, and Louis huffs a quiet laugh. He watches as Harry pushes himself up until he’s sitting, still holding his weight up with one arm. 

“Don’t move,” Louis orders, shaking a finger at Harry until he agrees. Looking around, Louis sees the leaf skimmer for the pool hanging on the fence just a few feet away. He gets to his feet, keeping one eye on Harry while he takes the skimmer down and fishes Harry’s t-shirt off the bottom of the hot tub. 

“My shirt!” Harry sits up the rest of the way and takes the soaked shirt off the end of the skimmer pole, holding it over his head in victory and letting it drip in his hair. “It’s wet.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, hanging the pole back on the fence. He squats down again, offering Harry the water bottle once more. “Drink up.”

“Ugh, I’m gonna puke, Lou,” Harry complains, wrinkling his nose and pressing his hand to his stomach. “Don’t make me drink it.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” Louis asks, voice quiet. When Harry nods, cupping his hand to his ear, Louis lies, “I puked in the bushes over there.”

Harry gasps dramatically, mouth open wide. “Louis!”

“Yep. So, I think, if you need to puke, it’s okay,” Louis says with an easy shrug. For a moment, Harry studies him through narrowed eyes, and Louis hopes he’s drunk enough not to realize that he’s completely sober. 

Finally, Harry says, “Okay, but don’t make me drink the water.”

“Whatever you want, Styles,” Louis agrees, shoving one of the water bottles in the tight back pocket of his jeans. When Harry reaches for him, Louis hooks his hands under his arms, and stands up out of his squat, helping Harry to his feet. Harry immediately wraps his arms around Louis’ neck, smacking him in the back with his wet shirt, and resting his forehead on Louis’ shoulder, breathing hard, and probably getting makeup all over him. “If you puke on me, I’m throwing you in the pool.”

“Not gonna puke. Promise,” Harry says, taking a deep breath in and letting it out slowly. “Just breathing.”

Louis snorts, patting Harry’s back. “Think you can walk?”

“Maybe,” Harry says, lifting his head and squinting at Louis. They’re the only ones left outside, so at least there’s no one around to witness it if Harry does throw up. 

“Where are your shoes?” Louis asks, peering into the pool.

“Over there.” Harry points at the pile of abandoned shoes near the pool ladder.

“One step at a time,” Louis says, turning in Harry’s hold so that they’re side by side. He takes Harry’s wet shirt and throws it over his shoulder. “Ready?”

“No,” Harry says, stomping his foot. “Okay, yeah. I’m ready.”

“Let’s go, then,” Louis says, lightly squeezing Harry’s bare hip. 

Gradually, they make their way around the pool to the ladder, and Harry shoves his feet into a pair of black Vans that Louis isn’t sure actually belong to him. At the back door of the house, just a few feet shy of the gate, Harry burps, clapping his hand over his mouth. “Oh, no.”

“There’s a trash can right—” 

Pitching forward, Harry pukes into the bushes, hardly a foot away from the trash can. Louis manages to keep him from falling by moving fast, stepping behind him, and holding him up with both arms wrapped around his bare waist. When Harry’s stomach is empty, Louis helps him stand again and hands him his wet t-shirt. He wipes his mouth with it, then starts to bend over, and Louis figures out what he’s trying to do a split-second before he can do it.

“Leave it!” Louis snatches the shirt out of his hand before he can attempt to clean up his mess. “It’s supposed to rain tomorrow. Just… Let’s go.”

Harry straightens up, rolling his shoulders back. “I feel better.”

“I bet you do,” Louis says. “Can you walk on your own?”

“No. Yes. No.” Harry frowns, pouting like he’s really not sure.

“That is… not an answer.” Slipping his arm back around Harry’s waist, Louis drapes Harry’s wet shirt over his head, and Harry squawks, pulling it off and hitting Louis with it. “Don’t get your puke on me, Styles. I’ve had enough of that for one lifetime.”

“Oh,” Harry says, voice soft like he’s disappointed that Louis doesn’t want his vomit on him. They get through the gate and onto the sidewalk without incident, and once they’re moving in a somewhat straight line, Harry says, “I can walk.”

Louis lets him go, but he stays close enough that he’s pretty sure he could catch him if he falls. Or at least slow him down. At the corner, where they need to turn onto Seventh Avenue, Harry stops, checking for traffic going both ways down the dark and empty street. 

“I don’t know which way to go,” Harry says, whining up at the sky. “My jeans are wet. I want to lay down.”

“No, no, no,” Louis says, hurrying to grab him and trying to stop him from sitting down on the sidewalk. “Your apartment is right there. Look.” 

Harry looks where Louis points, and his apartment really is right there. Less than half a block away. He stops trying to wriggle out of Louis’ grasp and let’s him help him again, losing any steam he might’ve picked up on the walk so far. He trips over the uneven sidewalk almost every other step, holding onto Louis like a lifeline. 

“Do you have your keys?” Louis asks, because the last thing he wants to do is turn around and haul Harry all the way back to Ronald’s house to look for them.

“Yes!” Harry pats his left front pocket. “Keys.” He pats his left back pocket. “Phone.” Right back pocket. “Wallet.”

“Did you swim with them?” Louis asks and Harry tsks. 

“I did not. I’m not stupid.”

“No, but you’re drunk as fuck.” Louis laughs when Harry scoffs, like he hasn’t witnessed the last hour of his own life. “And high, according to Shawn.”

“Oh, yeah…” Harry giggles and then stops, sucking in a sharp breath. “Are you gonna fire me?”

“For smoking weed?” Louis asks, and Harry whips his head around as if someone might overhear him. “No, Styles. If you don’t show up for work tomorrow, maybe.”

“I’ll be there,” Harry says, pulling his keys from his pocket as they approach the front door of his building. “You’ll get home okay?”

Chuckling quietly, Louis says, “I’m fine. Let’s just get you inside. Put you to bed.”

“Are you staying?” Harry asks, sounding far too excited about the idea. 

“No,” Louis says. “Just helping you home.”

“I'm good. I’m good,” Harry insists, fumbling with his keys. “You can go.”

“Please. I didn’t half-carry you all the way here to let you fall on your way up the stairs,” Louis says. “Give me the keys.”

Harry hands over his keys, and Louis unlocks the main door to the house, helping Harry inside, and closing it quietly behind them. When he turns around, Harry is midway up the stairs, so he hurries after him, and just in time too. As soon as Louis is two steps below him, Harry catches the toe of his shoe on the next step and, instead of falling forward, he overcorrects and starts to fall backwards. Louis gets to him before he can topple down the stairs. With both hands on Harry’s bare shoulders, Louis guides him up the rest of the steps and unlocks the door to his apartment. He hesitates, then continues inside, trusting that Harry at least knows the way to his own bedroom. 

Once Harry is in his bedroom, he shoves his jeans and briefs down, and because they’re wet and he’s wasted, they get stuck around his knees. He throws himself onto his bed, bare ass wiggling as he tries unsuccessfully to kick his pants off. 

“Jesus Christ, Styles,” Louis mutters, grabbing Harry’s pants and yanking them off. 

As soon as he’s free, Harry crawls up his bed, starfishing across the mattress with only one foot under the covers. 

“Cuddles,” Harry demands.

“Nope,” Louis says, taking Harry’s wallet and phone out of his pockets, and they’re both wet, so it’s likely that he actually did go swimming with him. He puts them with his keys and the water bottle from his pocket on the bedside table. 

Harry mutters nonsensically into his pillow, rolling over onto his back, and Louis shakes his head, looking away from Harry's dick and pulling the blanket up to cover it. “What do you use to take this shit off your face?”

“Stuff,” Harry says, waving at the bedroom door. “In the bathroom.”

Stuff. Louis flips on the bathroom light, rummaging through Harry’s medicine cabinet. He finds Vaseline, some sort of lotion, and toothpaste. A million years ago, he was in a high school production of Grease, and they used Vaseline to remove their stage makeup, so hopefully it’ll work. He grabs a roll of toilet paper too, and when he plops down on the edge of Harry’s bed, Harry jerks back awake. 

“What’re you doing?” Harry asks.

“Apparently, I’m taking this vampire face off of you,” Louis says, smearing Vaseline over Harry’s forehead.

“Oh my god, Lou, what… Is that Vaseline?” 

“Yeah, it’s working,” Louis says, “So shut up.”

Harry jerks his head from side to side. “That was in the cabinet when I moved in!”

“Too late now,” Louis says, holding his head and rubbing it over Harry’s cheeks. “Calm down. It’s a brand new package. Had to peel the foil off and everything.”

“Free Vaseline,” Harry says, settling down. 

“Yeah, I suppose.”

While Louis works, Harry watches him through half-closed eyes, but he stays still, letting Louis cover his face in Vaseline and wipe it off. It takes most of the roll of toilet paper to get Harry’s face clean, and even then there’s still white makeup along his hairline and in his eyebrows. His eyes are ringed in black, and his lips are a much darker pink than usual.

“Miss you, Lou,” Harry whispers, closing his eyes, and rolling onto his stomach, already snoring.

“Good night, drunky.” Sighing quietly, Louis takes a moment to look at him. Physically, he’s changed so much from the twenty-three year old who left so long ago, and he wonders what else is different, and what’s the same. 

Louis locks the doorknob on the way out, pulling the main door to the building shut and hoping Harry doesn’t get in trouble with his landlord for not locking it. It’s after three by the time Louis gets home. When he brushes his teeth, he notices the white makeup on his shirt, his forehead, and in his hair. There’s glitter all over him. He doesn’t know what happened to his Mardi Gras mask. 

•••••••••••••••••

The next morning, it’s pouring rain, and when Louis climbs into his truck to drive to the restaurant, he’s already decided to swing by Harry’s place to see if he needs a ride. When he stops at the end of Sixth Avenue, he sees Harry walking under a rainbow umbrella, shoulders hunched, face pale and drawn. 

He pulls up alongside the curb, and Harry leans over, looking resigned and miserable when he sees Louis behind the wheel. But he climbs into the passenger seat, apologizing before he even shuts the door.

“I’m sorry about last night,” Harry says, stowing his wet umbrella on the floor between his legs. “I never drink like that. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“I’m surprised I didn’t have to bang on your door to wake you up,” Louis says, peering through the heavy rain as he drives them to the restaurant. 

“Woke up at like seven to throw up again, so I went ahead and showered ’cause I knew if I let myself go back to bed, I’d probably sleep through my alarm. But my phone’s shot anyway. Got wet, I think. Not sure.”

“You swam in the pool with it,” Louis says, and Harry groans, letting his head fall back against the headrest. “So you had four hours of sleep? I had five. And mine were solid, sober hours. You’ll be fun today.”

“Sorry,” Harry says again, rubbing his eyes. “I’ll try not to fuck anything up.”

“Good luck,” Louis says, pulling into the alley behind the restaurant. He parks right outside the back door to the kitchen so he only gets a little rained on while he’s unlocking the door. Harry rushes inside after him.

“Left my umbrella in your truck.”

“Don’t worry about it, Styles.” Louis flips the overhead lights on, squinting as they flicker and illuminate the kitchen. “Don’t know about you, but I need coffee.”

“Yes. Coffee. Please,” Harry says, following Louis out to the bar and sitting on the barstool closest to the espresso machine. He watches while Louis grinds the beans and brews the espresso, and when Louis pours it into a mug, topping it with hot water, Harry sighs, resting his head on his arms. “Thanks. I can’t handle milk right now.”

“I know,” Louis says, steaming milk for his own latte. He spoons the foam on top, drizzling caramel over it, and digs around under the bar for the sugar caddy. “Here.”

“You’re the best,” Harry says, taking two packets of sugar and dumping them into his mug. 

Unsure how to respond, Louis nods, sipping his latte. “Alright. Let’s go. Zayn’s working lunch today, and he’ll be here shortly. Liam’s off, but if it’s slow, I’ll let you go early.”

“Thanks, but you don’t have to do that.”

“Don’t worry about it, Styles.”

Lunch prep is less complicated than dinner, and they work in silence with the music low, and when everything’s ready, Louis sits down at his desk with the office door half-closed so he can keep an eye on everything while he does paperwork. Zayn isn’t scheduled until a few minutes before they open the doors, and the first thing he says when he walks into the kitchen is, “You look like shit, Harry.”

“Thanks,” Harry says. “Feel like it. Got so wasted last night. I’m too old for that.”

“Don’t tell Louis,” Zayn says, and Louis sits up straighter in his chair, listening. 

“Why?”

“Last time I came in with a bad hangover was the only time I came in with a bad hangover. He made me miserable the whole shift.”

“Yeah? How?” Harry asks, and Louis closes his eyes, rubbing his forehead.  

“Oh god, it was awful,” Zayn says, laughing quietly. “Lunch special was fried catfish—that was before he put it on the menu. Let Liam go early. Made me work the fryer and the cold station, so I had double the responsibilities.”

“You had to stand over the fryer and smell catfish all day?”

“Yep. And I’ve never come to work that hungover since,” Zayn says, “A little hangover? Sure. Feeling like death personified? Nope. I just don’t drink much on nights I know I have to work the next day.”

“Sounds like a good plan for the future,” Harry says. “Maybe he’ll take it easy on me. Since I’m new.”

“Maybe. But I doubt it.”

Louis drops his head onto the desk. Five years ago, he might’ve done the same to Harry. Or worse. Hopefully Harry’ll keep his mouth shut, and they can continue pretending… whatever they’ve been pretending.

The storm keeps the customers away, and Louis spends most of the lunch shift in his office or out at the bar, avoiding Harry at all cost. When lunch is over and the kitchen is clean, Louis waits until Zayn leaves, then leads Harry out to his truck. 

“Don't say anything,” Louis says, backing out of the alley. 

“I won’t.”

He drops Harry off in front of his building, and says, “If it’s raining, I’ll pick you up at three.”

Harry nods, and Louis drives away. On his way into work that night, the sun is out, and Louis walks to the restaurant alone. 

•••••••••••••••••

After that misstep, which is how Louis views his treatment of Harry on Halloween and the day after, he goes back to doing everything he can not to be alone with him. It doesn’t change much. Harry is a natural flirt and naturally charming, winning over all of the other employees, and customers when he hangs out at the bar on the nights he gets off early. Even Lottie softens towards him, which only irritates Louis. 

Thanksgiving is one of the days that Louis has always closed the restaurant. There’s no point in being there for only a few customers, and he’d rather spend the time with his family. Not that he particularly enjoys the holiday itself, but his youngest siblings are out of school, the older twins are home from college, and someone else does the cooking. He wouldn’t mind helping out, but his grandparents don’t want him to, and he’s not about to argue. And when they reopen the restaurant the following evening, it’s always busy. 

Living in the same small town that he grew up in means that, even as a successful chef and business owner, Louis is often seen as the same pain in the ass kid who used to ride his skateboard around the K-Mart parking lot. He gets a lot more of that when he goes to events like the Main Street Thanksgiving Day Parade, but this is probably the last year Doris and Ernie will be interested, so after the family meal, they walk down to Main Street to watch. 

“Hey,” Harry says, and Louis jumps. One day, maybe, he won’t react that way to his voice.

“Styles,” Louis says, glad his grandparents have already gone back home. 

“Who are you?” Doris asks, hands on her hips.

“Don't be rude, Doris. This is Harry. Harry, Doris,” Louis says, waving a hand in the air between them. He reaches his arm out and circles it around Ernest, pulling him backwards. “And this is Ernest. Ernie. Ern, Harry. Harry, Ern.”

“No way,” Harry says, clasping his hands to his cheeks. 

“Yeah, but who are you?” Doris asks, still scowling at him.

“I’m, um…”

“Harry works for me at the restaurant,” Louis explains, messing up her curly hair. “If you came to see me more often, you’d know that.”

“Nice to meet you,” Harry says, offering his hand. Ernest takes it, but Doris makes him wait while she looks him up and down, clearly judging his baggy brown trousers and cardigan sweater. 

“Nice to meet you, too,” she finally says, shaking his hand. 

She turns back to watch the parade, and Harry catches his eye. “They’re so grown.”

“Almost teenagers,” Louis says, wondering what Harry’s thinking. They were two the last time he saw them, at the park, playing airplane with one twin under each arm and spinning in circles. 

“Crazy,” Harry says, shaking his head.

They watch the end of the parade, and Louis taps the twins on the tops of their heads. “Let’s go. Dan’ll be waiting.”

“Is he here?” Harry asks, looking around.

“Yeah, he went to get the car a while ago. It’s parked at my house,” Louis says, giving Doris and Ernest each a good natured shove so they’ll start walking. He glances over at Harry, who’s apparently decided to come with them. “What’re you doing?”

Harry shrugs. “Dunno. Had a late lunch with my mom and Robin. Didn’t realize there was a parade.”

“There’s always a parade,” Louis says, waving at the car flashing its headlights at them. 

“Yeah. Just wasn’t thinking. Went out for a walk and sort of got caught up in the marching band.”

“Only you, Styles.” Waving again as Dan pulls up beside them, rolling the window down.

“Thanks, Louis,” Dan says, eyes flickering to Harry. “Hope they behaved themselves.”

Crossing his arms, Louis says, “No. They were awful. Hated every minute.”

Dan gasps dramatically, and Doris says, “You’re such a loser, Achoo.”

“I was wonderful,” Ernest says, grinning as he opens the car door. “Doris was horrible.”

“I was not!” Doris pushes his bum as he’s crawling into the backseat, and climbs in after him. “Tell him, Harry!”

“I… I don’t…” Harry clears his throat, and says, “I really can’t say. I just got here myself.”

Doris huffs, offended, and Dan says, “Thought that was you, Harry. What… Good to see you. Hope you’re well.”

“Yeah, I’m good.” Harry tips his head towards Louis and says, “Working for Lou. My mom and Robin are back, too. Living at Robin’s river house.”

“Really? I’ll have to give them a call,” Dan says, turning around to shush the twins. “Just a sec, guys. Harry, is your mom’s number the same?”

“Yeah, think so.”

“Great. Thanks. Good seeing you, Harry.” Reaching his hand out of the window, he makes a fist and bumps it against Louis’ knuckles. “Thanks, Louis. See you soon?”

“Yeah, I’ll come around for lunch,” Louis says, waving as Dan drives away. 

“He, um…” Harry falls into step beside him, and asks, “Did he remarry?”

Louis looks over at him and nods. “Last year. Met her at a grief group a few years after mom died. Took some time for the twins to adjust, but Dan was good about it. Lots of therapy for everyone.” 

“That’s good. Dan’s a good guy,” Harry says, and when Louis glances at him, he’s biting his lip like he wants to say something else. 

When he doesn’t speak up, Louis asks, “What?”

“Where are you going?”

“Home.”

From the corner of his eye, he can see Harry nodding and tugging on his lower lip. “Do you have plans?”

“Yeah, to go home.”

Harry laughs quietly, and asks, “Do you want to hang out?”

“What are you doing here, Styles?” Louis asks, stopping at the corner and turning to face him.

“Dunno,” Harry says, scuffing his loafer on the sidewalk. “Just thought we could hang out.”

“Are you looking to get laid or something?”

“No!”

Ignoring Harry’s protest, Louis says, “There are apps for that, you know.”

“I do know.” Crossing his arms, Harry says, “I’ve used them.”

“Good for you,” Louis says, stepping into the street and walking faster. One more block and they can go their separate ways. 

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Harry says, hurrying to keep pace with him. “I just… I thought we could hang out. Watch a movie or something.”

“Or something.”

“Yeah, well, sorry. I don’t exactly have a lot of friends here.”

“You used to,” Louis says, because it’s true. Harry was friends with everyone. 

“Well, now I’m the new guy. Everybody’s married or moved away and I don’t know anyone anymore.”

“You’re the one that left, Harry.”

“That’s not fair,” Harry says, grabbing Louis’ arm and jerking him to a stop. Maybe it’s not fair, but life’s never been fair and Harry should know that by now. 

He shouldn’t have mentioned it because he doesn’t want to talk about it. Louis sighs, and gives in. “What are we watching? Not Love, Actually.”

“I’ve been wanting to watch this documentary on farming,” Harry says, pursing his lips.

“Ugh. Fine. But I’m not cooking,” Louis says, and then he adds, “And I’m not having sex with you either.”

“Okay, okay.” Harry waves his hands in surrender, and they walk the rest of the way with Harry telling him what he has in his kitchen that they could possibly eat. 

Harry sets up his laptop on the little kitchen table, so they can watch while he makes their meal—crispy chicken legs with acorn squash and collard greens. They don’t talk much, both of them actually focusing on the documentary. It’s interesting and Louis has been meaning to watch it. Maybe one day he could rip out the lawn that came with his house and plant a garden. There are probably regulations about using home grown vegetables in the restaurant, but it’s something to look into. 

“That was good,” Louis says, washing his plate and handing it to Harry to dry. “The food and the show. Been meaning to watch it.”

“Yeah? What about the company?” Harry asks, smirk tugging at his lips.

“Styles…” Louis shakes his head. 

“What?”

“I don’t know, man. Why don’t you tell me?” Louis asks, draining his wine glass. “What am I doing here?” 

“Hanging out?” Harry nods and then says more firmly, “We’re hanging out.”

“And when have we ever done that?”

Rolling his eyes, Harry puts their dishes into the cabinet, and Louis can see he only has those two plates, along with two bowls, and two mugs. A new set of cheap dishes. Maybe they came with the apartment. “We’ve hung out tons of times, Lou.” 

“We’ve never ‘hung out’ except maybe when we first met, but I think even then you were trying to get in my pants,” Louis says, leaning against the kitchen counter. “So, I’ll repeat: What am I doing here?”

Harry sighs, tossing his dishrag on the counter and dropping into the chair at the little dinette table. “I don’t know how to talk to you, Lou.”

“Fucking talk,” Louis says, sitting across from him. “It’s not that hard.”

“You’ve told me multiple times that you don’t want to talk about… about us.”

Huffing a little laugh through his nose, Louis says, “You left. It’s been ten years.There’s no us, Styles.” 

“I didn’t leave. I moved. Like we’d planned.”

“Plans change.”

“You didn’t change your plans until the last minute, Lou! And you— You hardly spoke to me for like six months before that anyway.”

“My mom had just died,” Louis says, stating the obvious. And he hardly spoke to anyone during that time; Harry wasn’t the exception. 

“I know that! I was there! You— You shut me out. You stopped talking to me. And I didn’t know what to do other than keep doing what I’d been doing.” 

“Is this why you’re here? You moved back here to— to argue about a breakup that happened a decade ago?”

“No, you dick. I moved back here because I wasn’t happy there. I’d wanted to come back for a while, but I… I didn’t know how, and then the opportunity came along and I took it. I lived with my mom and Robin for a bit when we first got here, and used my savings to rent this place.” Harry looks down at his hands, twisting his fingers together. “This is home anyway.”

“If you weren’t happy there, why’d you stay?” Louis asks, not really wanting to know the answer.

“School. School was fun. Had a few decent jobs, too. Made some friends, and like… I loved the city, but it’s not for me. Nice place to visit, etcetera, etcetera.” Harry reaches across the table and pokes Louis’ knuckle. “I don’t want you to hate me, you know?”

“Nah, Styles,” Louis says, sitting back in his chair and pulling his hand away. “Never.”

“Yeah, but you like, never called me back. I called and texted you and—”

“I was mad at you!”

“So fucking what! I was mad at you too! Still am!”

“Fuck you,” Louis scoffs, pushing his chair away and standing up. “You have no reason to be mad at me.”

“Seriously?” Harry stands too, stepping closer. “We had plans, Lou. To like, be together, and go to New York together, and you’re the one who—”

“Don’t!” Louis turns, ready to leave and walk home before they say things they can’t take back.

“Fine! I won’t say it, but you could’ve asked me to stay. I would’ve waited. We could’ve waited and gone later, but you…” Harry sighs, pushing past him to the door. “Maybe I should look for another job.”

“What?”

“You broke my heart, Lou, and you won’t even talk to me about it. I—”

“You broke mine, too! You think you’re the only one? You think I wanted you to leave? No! But I wasn’t going to ask you to stay, Harry. Don’t be ridiculous.” Leaning back against the door, Louis closes his eyes, thinking of how hard it’ll be to find another grill cook, but not wanting Harry to be uncomfortable. He blinks open his eyes, and says, “If you don’t want to work for me, I get it.”

“You don’t get it,” Harry says. He surges forward and kisses him, banging Louis’ head against the door. Cupping Louis’ face in his hands, Harry licks the seam of his lips, and Louis lets him. 

Their first kiss almost fifteen years before was tentative, sweet, and careful. Two boys still figuring themselves out, kissing in the dark of their apartment while the television flickered in the background. This kiss is rough and desperate, teeth bumping and noses nudging each other’s cheeks. But it’s Harry, and Louis falls into it easily.

He tips his head, and grips Harry’s hips, digging his fingertips into the lovehandles that used to be one of his favorite parts of Harry’s body, and kisses him back. There’s no use fighting it. Louis knows where this is going. With his hands at Harry’s waist, he walks him towards the bedroom, keeping their mouths connected. Harry stumbles backwards through the doorway, tripping over clothes and shoes, and falling onto the bed. He pushes his pants down, kicking them off while taking off his cardigan and t-shirt, and Louis follows his lead, yanking his sweatshirt over his head and stripping out of his sweatpants and boxers before climbing onto the bed over top of him. 

For a second, their eyes meet, and Louis makes himself look away. He can’t watch Harry watching him, looking at him like this means something, when they’ve both said that it doesn’t. Settling on top of Harry, he tries not to think about how familiar it is, how well he fits between Harry’s legs. He sucks the crook of Harry’s neck instead of his lips, nips at his collarbone instead of the spot at the hinge of his jaw, avoiding the places he used to think of as his. 

Sliding his hands over Louis’ back, Harry cups his ass and squeezes as he bucks his hips, hardening cock rubbing against Louis’ stomach. They rut against each other, dicks sliding in the gathering sweat between their bodies, until they’re both hard, and Harry pants into his ear, “Fuck me.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, nodding and pushing himself back to kneel between Harry’s legs. “Turn over.”

Harry rolls over, getting on all fours, and reaching for his bedside table. The drawer sticks, so he pulls harder, and it comes loose, the facing breaking off as it falls to the floor. He rifles through the mess, but quickly finds a condom and lube, tossing them on the mattress.

Before his hands get messy, Louis opens the condom and rolls it on, wetting his fingers and giving Harry’s rim a perfunctory swipe before pushing one inside. As soon as he feels Harry’s muscles relax around his finger, he pulls back to add another.

“No, just fuck me,” Harry says, spreading his legs wider. “You know I can take it.”

“Jesus. Okay,” Louis agrees, drizzling lube in his hand and stroking himself a few times to make sure he’s slick enough. With his thumb, he pulls Harry’s cheek aside, lining up and taking a deep breath before pushing the head of his dick inside. He tries to give Harry time to adjust, needing a moment for himself, but Harry shifts backwards with a hiss, taking inch after inch at his own pace. 

The heat and pressure enveloping him take his breath away, and Louis has to close his eyes. Harry circles his hips, grinding back against him. “Come on, Lou.”

“No,” Louis says, dropping his hands from Harry’s waist. “Do it yourself if you’re in such a hurry.”

“Fuck. Okay,” Harry whines, but doesn’t stop his movements. He rocks forward slightly, then back, slowly fucking himself on Louis’ cock.

He’s incredibly tight, and Louis wonders how long it’s been since he’s been properly fucked, if it’s hurting Harry to take Louis’ cock after so little preparation. With his eyes locked on Harry’s ass, his rim stretched obscenely, Louis palms his cheeks, pulling them apart and dicking in hard. Harry grunts loudly from the unexpected thrust, falling forward, and Louis pushes him down the rest of the way, hand between his shoulder blades as he speeds up. 

“Quiet,” Louis says. “Neighbors.” Harry nods, burying his face in the pillow.

Louis lifts his knee, planting his foot on the mattress to get a better angle, pistoning his hips, and sliding his hand up into Harry’s short curls. The faster and rougher he is, the harder it is to think, and the last thing Louis wants to do is think while he’s fucking Harry into the mattress. Reaching around, he jerks Harry off, thumbing the slit the way he knows Harry likes, and Harry comes, clenching around him, body shaking with the force of it. 

As soon as Louis finishes working him through his orgasm, he drapes himself over Harry’s back, his weight taking them both down to the mattress. Holding onto Harry’s shoulders, Louis chases his own release, forehead pressed to Harry’s back. He drives forward again and again, heat curling in his belly, until he comes, pulsing inside of Harry, trembling as he fills the condom.

Gingerly, he pulls out, rolling off of Harry and onto his back. Before he can come down, his mind is already racing, and he rushes to get up and go to the bathroom, shutting the door. After he disposes of the condom, he cleans himself up as well as he can with the washcloth hanging in Harry’s shower. He rinses it, and rings it out, taking it back to the bedroom, where he finds Harry still sprawled on the bed on his stomach, watching him. 

“Heard the door and thought you’d left,” Harry mumbles.

“Without my clothes?” Louis laughs, shaking his head and holding the washcloth up for him to see. 

“Wasn’t exactly thinking clearly,” Harry says, taking it and tossing it onto the floor without wiping himself clean.

“Yeah, well…” Sighing quietly, Louis stands, and collects his things. He steps into his sweatpants, patting the pockets to check for his keys, and says, “I should get going.” 

When Harry doesn’t respond, Louis pulls his hoodie over his head, shoving his boxers and socks into the pocket. Lifting a hand in a wave, he backs out of the room, grabbing his shoes on the way. He needs to get out of there; he needs to be the one to leave.

Luckily, he doesn’t run into any of Harry’s neighbors, and when he gets home, he turns his shower as hot as he can stand it.

•••••••••••••••••

Thankfully, the next night is busy. They’re slammed from the moment they open the door, and before that everyone is working in the tight quarters of the kitchen to get set up for the evening, so even if they’re uncomfortable standing side by side behind the line all night, they’re wordlessly uncomfortable. Louis avoids any opportunity to be alone with Harry, thus avoiding conversations about what happened the night before, and what that might mean for the future. He doesn’t have a clue what it might mean, and if Harry does manage to get him alone long enough to ask, he doesn’t know how he’d answer. 

While he cooks, he thinks about it. Words and feelings tumble about inside his head, but they don’t make much sense. It was amazing, of course. The sex between them always was, and Louis imagines it probably would continue to be, if they decided to do it again. But he can’t figure out a way in which they might continue to sleep together without developing feelings again. In fact, he knows that’s impossible, because every time he looks at Harry, his heart does a little leap, and then his stomach sinks, and he recognizes that combination. 

Louis makes it through the weekend and most of the following week without talking to Harry about anything other than business, though he can tell by the way Harry frowns at him that he wants to talk about something else. It’s a Saturday night, a week before the employee Christmas party, that Harry confronts him.

In the winter, Louis still walks back and forth to work. He just wears a coat. And in the kitchen, he switches out his snapback for a beanie. Since he typically stays at the restaurant long after everyone else has gone, when he’s standing on the sidewalk, locking the door, and Harry clears his throat, Louis jumps and squeaks. 

“Can you stop fucking doing that?” Shoving his hands in his coat pockets, Louis strides off down the sidewalk. 

“Stop avoiding me,” Harry says, walking fast to keep up. 

“Did you wait out here like a stalker?”

“Fuck you.”

Louis scoffs loudly, shaking his head, but then he says, “If that’s what you want.”

“I want to talk to you,” Harry says, crossing his arms and hunching over. 

“About?” Louis glances at him, and he’s shivering. “Have you been waiting since you clocked out?”

Harry nods.

“Idiot.”

“I… I… I think that, if you’re not going to give me a chance to, like, talk and explain and stuff,” Harry says, rubbing his hands over his arms. “And like, if you’re not going to forgive me, then I am going to look for another job.”

“Great,” Louis says, trying to walk even faster, but Harry keeps up easily. Stupid, long, Bambi legs.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Harry says, crossing the street to walk on the other sidewalk. 

“What?” Louis asks, raising his voice, but hopefully not enough to disturb anyone. “What’d you think?”

“You don’t give a shit about me. Or my feelings. It’s all about you, and how I hurt you. And really, the only thing that’s important to you is your restaurant,” Harry says, words ringing out in the empty street. “Consider this my two weeks notice.”

“Are you serious?” 

Harry flips him off instead of answering, and Louis stops, watching him go. There’s no point in talking to him now, even if he wanted to. Once Harry’s mad, he won’t listen to reason. At least he gave two weeks notice. 

•••••••••••••••••

Despite giving his notice, Harry doesn’t act differently at work the following week. He jokes around with Liam, and studies Zayn while he makes desserts. He gives Shawn a hand with the pots and pans at the end of the night on Saturday, and when he leaves, it’s with Lottie, and she laughs at his bad pun about an Elvis Presley themed steakhouse. 

After Niall locks up, Louis says, “I’ve been putting it off all week, but I need to find another grill cook.”

“What are you talking about?” Niall asks, pulling the cash drawer. He starts for the office and Louis follows.

“Harry gave his notice last week,” Louis says, biting his lip as he waits for Niall to ask him why.

“Fucked that up, have you?”

Offended at the accusation, Louis holds a hand to his chest. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Sure. Whatever,” Niall says as he starts to count the drawer. “Just go do what you need to do to finish up, so we can get out of here.”

•••••••••••••••••

Every year since the restaurant opened, on one of the first Sundays of December, Louis has all of the employees over to his house for a Christmas party. The first few years, he did all of the cooking, but eventually people started asking if they could contribute, and it’s not like Louis minds—it’s not the restaurant—so it’s turned into a Christmas potluck. 

Everyone comes over, they drink and eat, and sometimes dance, and occasionally people will sleep over in one of his guest rooms if they can’t make it home. It’s very laid back, and exactly the way he likes a work party to be. Christmas bonuses go in the paychecks from the previous week, so that’s not a question. He always hated that, having to wait to see what his boss would give him, and sometimes not getting so much as a bottle of house wine from behind the bar. 

Unfortunately, it rains all day Sunday, and when people start arriving, they’re all dripping wet. Louis grabs a stack of towels and sets them by the front door, handing them over as people come inside. When Harry finally shows up, he’s soaked to the bone.  

“Did you walk?” Niall asks, draping a towel over Harry’s shoulders. Harry nods, and Niall says, “Jesus, dude. You’re shivering. Louis!”

“I’m right here, Niall,” Louis says, arms full of damp towels. 

“You got something he can wear?” Niall pulls Harry’s coat off of him, and takes his hat and scarf too, wrapping another dry towel around him. “I’m going to hang this by the fire. Louis, take care of this one. He’s going to catch his death.”

“Come on, Styles,” Louis says, grabbing his elbow and steering him back towards his bedroom. “Why didn’t you get a ride with Niall? Or call me?”

“Didn’t want to bother anyone,” Harry says, sniffling as he lets Louis push him through his bedroom to his bathroom. “Thought I’d be okay, but my umbrella got blown inside out and it ripped, but by then I was halfway here.”

“Get in the shower and warm up,” Louis says, standing in the doorway. “I’ll throw your clothes in the dryer.”

Standing there shivering, dripping on the bathrug, and not getting in the shower, Harry says, “You bought your dream house.”

“Yeah, I did,” Louis says.

“I didn’t recognize the address, but I… You did a lot of work on it.”

Louis nods, not sure what else he’s supposed to say. It wasn’t just his dream house. It was theirs. Though, back then, it was only pretend, two boys driving around town late at night because they weren’t ready to go home, and making up stories about the old houses they passed. The one across the street belongs to a vampire, and the big one on Twelfth Avenue is haunted, and the pink house by the park was Harry’s dream house before they went from friends to boyfriends, and decided that they should share a fantasy future home. 

“Get in the shower, Styles, or Niall might kill us both,” Louis says.

“Just a sec,” Harry says, and then he shuts the bathroom door in Louis’ face.

“Seriously?” Louis whispers, shaking his head. A moment later, Harry cracks the door open a few inches, passing his wet clothes to Louis. He takes them, and Harry shuts the door again. 

His dryer is full of his own clothes, so he empties it into a basket, and throws Harry’s clothes inside. He’s still folding his laundry when Harry finishes showering, poking his towel wrapped head out of the bathroom. “Hey, sorry. Do you have something I can wear?”

“Right here, man.” Louis pats the pile of clothes he hasn’t folded yet, and says, “Have at it.”

“Oh, thanks,” Harry says, and then he walks out of the bathroom bareass like he wasn’t just hiding behind the door to get undressed five minutes before. 

Averting his eyes, Louis continues folding his clothes while Harry gets dressed. He glances over when Harry sits on his bed to pull some socks on. 

“Damn it, Harry.” Louis snatches the sock from his hand and whacks him in the head with it. “That’s my shirt.”

“Duh,” Harry says, taking the sock back and putting it on. 

“I’m just saying, don’t think I’m letting you leave with it.”

“Whatever. Can I borrow a sweatshirt or something?” Harry asks, standing and tugging at the hem of the t-shirt. Because Louis is a nice person, he passes Harry the still warm, bright blue Adidas hoodie from his laundry pile. He smirks as Harry pulls it on over his ‘not heartbroken’ t-shirt, leaving the hood on over his wet hair. “Thanks.”

“Listen, um…” Louis looks to make sure they’re still alone, and then he closes the bedroom door just to be sure. “I need to apologize.”

“Really?” Harry sits back down on Louis’ bed.

“Yeah, I…” Louis pushes his laundry out of the way, and sits beside him. “I haven’t been being fair. I kind of feel like I’ve taken advantage of you.”

“How?”

“You know, with the sex and stuff,” Louis says. 

“And stuff?”

“No, just the sex.”

“Right, well, no,” Harry says, tugging on the strings of his hoodie. “I wanted it. Both times. So don’t apologize for that.”

Louis stops himself from reaching over to tie the hoodies strings in a bow. “But, I—”

“You can apologize for, like, not talking to me. Or avoiding me. Or leaving immediately after fucking me. Or treating me differently from the other guys in the kitchen, acting like I…” Harry looks away, fiddling with the handle of Louis’ bedside table. “Like I matter, when I clearly don’t.”

“Harry,” Louis says, grabbing Harry’s wrist when he stands up, and pulling him back down onto the bed. “Come on.”

“No, Lou, you…” Sighing, Harry pushes the hood back off his head, combing his fingers through his wet hair. “I made a mistake thinking I could work with you. We’re barely talking to each other, and I…”

“Don't quit,” Louis says, eyes traveling over Harry’s face, wishing he could smooth the line between his eyebrows away. “I’m sorry for— for the way I’ve been acting. I don’t know how to be around you. It’s hard.”

“No kidding.”

“Just, um… hang around tonight. I’ll drive you home after the party. We can talk more when everyone leaves.”

Raising his eyebrows, Harry asks, “Talk? Or like, ‘talk’ with our clothes off?” 

Louis swats at his arm, and stands, pulling Harry up after him. “Clothes on.”

They get a few odd looks when they come out of the bedroom together. Especially Niall, who narrows his eyes, and slowly turns his entire body as he watches them walk through the kitchen. Louis shows Harry the food, and offers to make him a drink, just like he does for everyone else, usually. And then he sends Harry into the living room to join the party. 

It’s not a loud affair. The music is at a reasonable volume. No one gets naked. Louis makes Shawn take his vape out into the backyard. There are no accidental fires. It is, by all accounts, a very tame party. And when everyone leaves, it’s just Louis and Harry. 

Harry shakes out his coat, smoothing his hands over the fabric. “Almost dry.”

“Good,” Louis says, hanging the coat again, a little further away from the fire. He points to the couch. “Want to sit?”

“No, I think it’s better if I stand,” Harry says, taking a step away from the fire and tugging Louis’ hoodie off. “Here.”

Louis takes the sweatshirt, admiring the way his grey sweatpants encase Harry's thighs, and avoiding looking at the way they fit so snugly elsewhere. “Do you want to start or…”

“I guess I should.” Crossing his arms, Harry ticks his chin to his chest, taking a deep breath, then looking up to meet Louis’ eyes. “I didn’t come back here thinking we’d be… anything, really.”

“I know,” Louis says, but Harry shakes his head. 

“I know you know Gemma and Lottie keep in touch, but she doesn’t talk about you. I don’t know if Lottie asked her not to or if she just assumed I wouldn’t want to know. But I… I knew you were okay. I knew you were here, and that you were still cooking. But that’s it.”

“Okay…” Louis frowns. 

“I didn't hear about Fizzy—”

“Harry, I don’t want to—”

“You said I could talk,” Harry says, clenching his jaw. Closing his eyes, Louis nods. “There was kind of a perfect storm of things going on. I had an ear infection. I didn’t find out what happened until later. And then I didn’t know how to get here. Or even if you’d want me here. I couldn’t fly with my ear and I—”

“It’s okay, Harry,” Louis says, staring into the fire. “It’s been eight years.”

“Did you know she called me after I left?”

Shaking his head, Louis says, “No. Sorry if she was—”

“Told me she thought we’d work things out. Told me to keep trying to talk to you.”

“Did she really?” Louis asks, looking up at the picture of her on his fireplace mantle. 

“Yeah,” Harry says, voice soft as he moves closer. “I loved her too, you know.”

“I know, Harry, I’m—” 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” Harry says, but the words come out broken. 

Louis blinks rapidly, surprised at first, but then he steps into Harry’s space, taking him in his arms, and cradling the back of Harry’s head. “Harry, baby, shh…” 

Shaking his head, Harry buries his face in Louis’ neck, wrapping his arms around Louis’ waist, and tears fill Louis’ eyes. They stand beside the fire, holding each other and not speaking, for quite a while. 

One of the hardest things about losing someone is that other people seem to think he wants to forget or ignore it. Maybe it’s their own discomfort, but he’s found that people often think he doesn’t want to talk about them, when sometimes he does. And when they do want to talk about his mom and sister, it’s usually generic well-wishes lamenting their loss. 

Sometimes he wants to laugh about the way his mom always enunciated the word ‘statistics’ or how Fizzy made the world’s worst scrambled eggs. It’s a good thing, having such a big family, because they’re able to share the grief and the memories. 

Finally, Harry lifts his head, and says, “Sorry. I know you don’t want to talk about—”

“I don’t mind,” Louis says, untangling his fingers from Harry’s curls, and loosening his hold, resting his hands on Harry’s shoulders instead. “I miss her. I miss them both. Love talking about them. Learning new things.”

“Yeah?” Harry clears his throat, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. 

“Yeah, I do. Like, being sneaky and calling you in New York when she knew how pissed I was…” Louis says, with a watery chuckle. “That’s such a Fizzy thing to do.”

Laughing while still sniffling, Harry says, “She said she wanted to come and visit. That was her main reason for calling. ‘I want you and my brother back together, but I want a free place to stay in the city’ and I was so offended.”

Louis chokes out a laugh. “I’m offended on your behalf.”

“She would’ve hated my roommates.”

“I bet,” Louis says, looking over his shoulder at the couch. “You sure you don’t want to sit?”

“No, I, um… I want you to go out on a date with me.”

“Styles,” Louis says, crossing his arms. 

“What?”

“I don’t have time for dating. Or relationships,” Louis says, repeating the same words he always says when someone asks him out. “My commitment is to the restaurant.”

Narrowing his eyes, Harry slowly says, “Right.”

“Plus, you’re an employee. That would be—”

“Unethical?” Harry offers, pursing his lips and tapping his chin. “Which is different from just fucking an employee how?”

“I was going to say it would be weird,” Louis says, huffing a laugh. “And I’m serious. I haven’t really dated since starting the restaurant because I don’t have time.”

“What if we don’t date?” Harry mimics his posture, crossing his arms and widening his stance. “What if we’re just two dudes who get off together sometimes?”

Louis snorts loudly, covering his face with his hands. “Two dudes.”

“What?” Harry asks, biting his lip, and Louis can tell he’s fighting not to laugh. 

“You’re ridiculous, you know?” 

“I am,” Harry agrees with a quick nod. He taps his toe against Louis’ calf and says, “Come on, Lou. It can be a secret. No one will know.”

“It’d have to be like that, Styles.” Louis sighs, remembering the few dates he went on before the restaurant took off. Even then, it felt like a fish bowl. He doesn’t know how famous people handle it, when a small town chef couldn’t go out for drinks without the whole world knowing about it the next day. “Everyone who works at the restaurant is in my business anyway. And half the customers too. You’ve seen how the gossip goes. It’s like poorly scripted reality TV.”

“I don’t know about you,” Harry says, “but I’m fully invested in Real Tennis Wives of Our Very Own County.” 

“God, I know. Me too,” Louis says, thinking of the gossip he’s overheard recently, and wondering what people are saying about him now. They’ve probably already started the rumor mill spinning about him and Harry. “Is that really what you want though? No commitment. No relationship. Just sex.”

“I mean, I’ll take what I can get, Lou,” Harry says so sincerely that Louis has to stop himself from promising him everything he wants and more. 

“But it can't be more than that, Harry. I don’t want you to—” Louis closes his eyes, wondering how he’d handle it if Harry left again. “To get hurt.”

“Funny how you didn’t seem too concerned about that until now,” Harry says, turning and picking up his coat. 

“I said I’m sorry about all that, and I am,” Louis says, looking at the embroidered words on Harry’s chest again. “I just mean, like, now. If we agree to this.”

“How about this, then?” Harry tosses his coat on the couch, and says, “Don’t fucking ignore me. Don’t avoid me. Treat me like a normal person, Lou. Talk to me, and we shouldn’t have a problem. I’ve done friends-with-benefits before, and no one got hurt.”

“Yeah, but we wound up—”

“Not with you,” Harry says, looking him in the eye. 

Jealousy flares in his chest and his stomach twists, making the decision for him. “Oh, um… Take me to bed, then.”

“You sure?”

“Are you sure?” Louis asks, and when Harry nods, Louis says, “Wait. I have to clean up first.”

“I’ll help,” Harry offers, heading straight for the kitchen. 

Louis picks up the mess in the living room, which isn’t much. Everyone did a pretty good job of cleaning up after themselves, so there are only a few beer bottles and bits of trash here and there. He carries it all to the kitchen where Harry stands in front of the sink, rinsing dishes and putting them in the dishwasher. 

“This is way nicer than my kitchen,” Harry says.

“It is,” Louis agrees, pulling out some containers to store the leftovers. “Wish more people would take food home.”

“They take what’s left of whatever they bring. That’s how a potluck works, isn’t it?”

“I guess? Didn’t realize there were rules or whatever.”

Working together, it doesn’t take long for them to finish up, and it reminds Louis of their first apartment together. Back when they were still just roommates, but he’d already wanted so much more. It’s confusing, especially when Harry grins at him like he’s trying to decide whether or not to eat him alive, which should be creepy, but it’s not. 

Thunder cracks and lightning illuminates the pouring rain outside the kitchen window. Harry rubs his thumb over his lower lip and asks, “Are you gonna drive me home after?”

“I can,” Louis says, hesitating for just a second before adding, “Or you could stay.”

Harry just looks at him, eyes wide.

“I’ll take you home in the morning. Whatever you want,” Louis says, waving a hand dismissively. “I have to go into the restaurant tomorrow for a little while. Could drop you off on the way.”

“Okay,” Harry says, sucking his lower lip between his teeth. He looks Louis up and down, and the next thing Louis knows he’s upside down over Harry shoulder, and being carried to his own bedroom. 

“Styles, I—” Harry smacks him on the ass. 

“We’re about to have sex,” Harry says, turning his head and kissing Louis’ bum through his jeans. “Call me Harry.”

“Fine,” Louis grumbles, and Harry tosses him onto the laundry still piled on the bed. He pushes it out from under him and some of it falls to the floor. “Ugh I just folded all this.”

“I’ll help you do it tomorrow,” Harry says, shoving the rest of the clothes off the bed, and crawling overtop of him. “Hello.”

It’s impossible not to smile back at Harry when he’s smiling down at him, but Louis makes sure to roll his eyes before tangling his fingers in Harry's hair and pulling him into a kiss. 

“What do you want?” Louis asks, kissing beneath Harry's ear and nipping at his earlobe. 

“You.” Harry circles his hips, grinding against Louis’ hardening cock where it’s trapped behind his zipper, and Louis slips his hands beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. 

“That’s vague,” Louis says, tracing along the top of his crack. 

“No, I mean,” Harry pushes himself up, meeting Louis’ eyes. “Want you to decide.”

“Ahh… Okay,” Louis says, giving Harry’s ass a quick squeeze. He knows exactly what he wants, since he thought about it earlier that evening when Harry bent over to pull a beer out of the cooler and Louis realized he didn’t have on underwear beneath his sweatpants. “Not doing anything with clothes on.”

Harry rolls off to the side, shoving his sweatpants down his legs and kicking them off the bed. He sits up to pull off his socks, tosses them to the floor, and yanks his t-shirt over his head, looking at Louis with wild eyes and messy hair. 

Laughing from his place on the bed, Louis says, “That’s one of us.”

“Oh!” Harry kneels beside him, biting his lip as he pops the button on Louis’ jeans and lowers the zipper. Cupping Louis through the fabric first, he traces around his dick, and then hooks his fingers in the belt loops, working them down his legs. They join the rest of the clothes on the floor, and Louis sits up to pull off his sweater and t-shirt, leaving his boxers on. Harry pouts, and says, “You’re still not naked.”

“That’s okay,” Louis says, climbing off and walking around to the foot of the bed. “Want you on your hands and knees.”

“Gonna fuck me?” Harry asks, getting on all fours.

“Knees further apart,” Louis says, ignoring his question, and Harry rushes to comply, looking back over his shoulder. His face is already flushed pink, and Louis moves to the side of the bed, grabbing Harry's chin and kissing him, licking into his mouth, and pulling away, leaving him panting. “Head down, ass up.”

Harry folds his arms and rests his head on them, wiggling in anticipation, and Louis wonders if he knows what’s coming. He must. It was always his favorite thing, to the point where he’d expect it on special occasions. Louis gives his bum a smack, just to see his pale skin turn pink, and Harry wiggles harder until Louis grabs him with both hands, digging his thumbs into his cheeks, spreading him open, and Harry stills. 

Gathering spit in his mouth, Louis leans down and licks over his crack, getting him wet all over before focusing on his rim. He traces over the puckered skin with the tip of his tongue, and Harry pushes back against him, trying to get more. Feeling a bit guilty for the fuck and run, and everything else that’s gone on since Harry showed up at his restaurant, Louis lets him get away with it. He buries his face between Harry's cheeks, rubbing his beard over Harry’s sensitive skin. 

Everything else falls away as Louis eats him out. It gets him hotter than anything, making Harry desperate with nothing but his mouth, and he’s already rock hard inside his boxers. He palms himself, then gets back to it. Leaning down to tongue at his balls before messily licking his crack, he pulls at Harry’s rim with his thumbs and fucks the tip of his tongue inside. Harry trembles, moaning when Louis reaches between his legs and jerks him off slowly. 

He goes back to licking him, scratching his skin with his beard, and Harry fucks into his hand, hissing when Louis digs his fingernails into his ass cheek. It doesn’t stop him. If anything, it spurs him on, and he shoves his ass back against Louis’ mouth. Louis gives him what he wants, slipping a finger in beside his tongue, and stroking him faster, until he grunts, muscles tightening around Louis' finger as he comes, dripping onto the sheets while Louis works him through it. 

Falling to the side, Harry reaches for Louis, who goes easily, pushing his boxers down while he crawls up the bed and lays down facing him. As soon as he’s within reach, Harry kisses him, tasting himself in Louis’ mouth, and taking Louis’ cock in hand. He strokes him fast, sucking on Louis’ tongue, and warmth swirls in Louis’ stomach. The pleasure rises and peaks, and Louis bites Harry’s lip as he comes over his fist. 

Lying there in the dark, Louis pants against Harry’s neck, catching his breath. When his heart rate slows, Louis rolls onto his back. “Ah, shit. Right into your come.”

“Yours is all over my hand, so…”

“Yeah, I’m getting in the shower,” Louis says, forcing himself off the bed, curious if Harry will follow. The shower is much bigger than the one they shared in their old apartment, but their movements are familiar as they take turns stepping in and out of the water to wash and rinse. 

When they’re clean and dry, Louis pulls a clean fitted sheet from his linen closet, tossing it to Harry, and strips the dirty one from his bed, carrying it to the laundry room and dropping it in the washing machine. While he walks around his house, making sure the doors are locked and the lights are off, he laughs quietly to himself, remembering how many times they slept with a towel on the wet spot or on a bare mattress because the only sheet they owned was dirty. 

“Are you sure I can stay?” Harry asks the second Louis walks into the bedroom. 

Louis nods. “Yeah, I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. And if you don’t want to sleep in here, you can stay in the guest room.”

“It’s weird that you have a guest room,” Harry says, climbing under the blankets.

“I actually have two.”

“Even weirder.”

“Yeah, I know. I suppose I could’ve set one up as like, a game room or some shit,” Louis says, lying down on his side of the bed and pulling the blankets up. “But I don’t see the point. At least the beds have been used a time or two.”

“Could’ve made one a home office.” Harry rolls over onto his stomach, facing away from him, but Louis can tell he’s pouting. 

“There’s an office, too. I think the people who owned this house before had a library in there ’cause there were built-in shelves,” Louis says, gaze trailing over the muscles of Harry’s back. “The guest rooms came in handy the past few years after the Christmas party. And the twins have spent the night a few times. Oh, and Lottie stayed here for a few days when the air conditioner in her apartment crapped out last summer.”

Harry shifts, turning his head, blinking slowly at Louis, who reaches over and turns off the lamp. “Is it okay if we cuddle or is that like… If you’d rather sleep alone, I—”

“Love a good cuddle,” Louis says, scooting forward, and Harry inches his way back towards him until they’re sort of spooning, the way they used to, with Harry on his stomach and Louis draped over his side. 

As he always did when they were together, Harry falls asleep first, and it’s the familiarity of his quiet snore that brings the turmoil inside him to a head. He lies awake wondering, not whether he’s made a mistake, but how big, if he can keep his distance emotionally when he’s already started to let Harry back in, and how he’ll handle it if Harry decides he’d rather take his chances in another big city. 

It’s the best sleep Louis has had in years. He wakes up the next morning when Harry stirs, and Louis gets out of bed, pulling on some boxers and going to the kitchen to start coffee, and throw his sheet in the dryer. When he comes back to the bedroom with a mug of coffee for Harry and his dry clothes, he finds him standing by the bed, still naked, folding Louis’ laundry. 

“Your clothes are dry,” Louis says, passing them to Harry, and setting the mug on the bedside table. “I made coffee.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, folding Louis’ t-shirt and adding it to the stack on the bed. 

“I, um… I have to go to the restaurant in a few,” Louis lies. He usually doesn’t go until around lunchtime, but this is too domestic, too comfortable. 

“Yeah, okay. I’ll get dressed, if you don’t mind dropping me off,” Harry says, picking up his underwear and stepping into them. “I just wanted to help you with this.”

“It’s fine, Styles. I can do my own laundry.”

Sitting down on the edge of the bed to put on his jeans, Harry says, “Thanks for letting me stay.”

“Of course.” Louis finds a pair of sweatpants on the floor, not realizing they’re the pair Harry wore until he already has them on. He shakes his head, grabbing one of the restaurant logo t-shirts and pulling it over his head. “Drink your coffee, then we’ll go.”

•••••••••••••••••

After that, Louis tries to treat Harry the same way he treats everyone else, with spectacularly awful results. He flirts with Zayn, so he flirts with Harry, except when he and Zayn flirt, it’s obvious and a little over the top. When he and Harry flirt, sometimes he has to make up an excuse to leave the kitchen. 

It’s not his fault that Harry knows exactly how to push his buttons, though to be fair, at least he can do the same. Harry walks out into the alley one night after Louis changes into a clean t-shirt, standing in the open door of the office. Before he pulls off his sweaty shirt, he makes sure his pants are slung low to show off the curve of his ass, and then he faces away at an angle, arching his back a little. It’s funny until he puts on a clean shirt and finds Zayn watching him curiously. 

“What was that?” Zayn asks, looking towards the back door of the kitchen.

Louis plays dumb, not that he thinks Zayn’ll fall for it. “What?” 

“Right,” Zayn says slowly, narrowing his eyes. “So what’s with Harry? Thought he was quitting.”

“He told you that?”

Shaking his head, Zayn says, “No, Niall did.”

“Oh, um… Just a misunderstanding,” Louis explains, because that’s sort of true. He wipes his hands on his side towel and says, “Be right back. Want coffee?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Zayn says, going back to his station, but Louis can feel him watching as he leaves the kitchen. 

Louis tells Niall to call off the search for another grill cook, and ignores Niall’s queries about what he did to appease Harry. He makes himself a latte, and makes one for Harry too, carrying them back to the kitchen, and setting Harry’s by his work station, just as he returns from his little break in the alley.

“Hey, where’s mine?” Liam asks, pouting as Harry picks up his coffee and takes a sip. 

“I, um…” Louis hides behind his cup, and Harry turns so that no one else can see him, facing Louis and scrunching his nose. Rolling his eyes, Louis offers, “You want one?” 

He winds up making lattes for the entire kitchen staff, Zayn included because he says he feels left out, and then he makes them for the servers because Harry says he shouldn’t show favoritism. But he draws the line at making one for Lottie or Niall. They can make their own goddamn coffee. He has work to do. 

•••••••••••••••••

“So, we’re open on New Year’s Eve?” Harry asks, moving the salmon to the cooler part of the grill.

“Yeah, closed the next day, but it’s reservation only, and we do a set menu, countdown, champagne toast. Stuff like that,” Louis says, checking that he hasn’t overcooked the grouper. “Used to be closed, but Niall suggested it, got Lottie on board with the idea. We’re the only party in town, really. Everyone who volunteers to work gets a bonus.”

“That’s nice, Lou,” Harry says, setting two plates on the line. “I volunteer.”

“I already put you down to work,” Louis says, checking the grouper again, though he knows it’s ready.

“Oh, um… Okay.” Smirking, Harry plates the salmon, adding starch and veg to both entrees as soon as Louis slides the grouper out the pan. “You just assumed or—”

“Knew you’d want to work,” Louis says, and adds, “Shut up.”

Harry holds up his hands in surrender, and while it’s still slow, Louis goes to the office to work on the New Year’s Eve menu. He’s frowning at the paper in front of him, when the office line rings.

“Twenty-Eight Oak,” Louis says, assuming it’s someone calling for a reservation. 

“Chef Tomlinson, please.” The voice is low and gravelly, like they’ve been a pack-a-day smoker for forty years. 

“This is Louis Tomlinson.”

“Chef Tomlinson, this is Alfred Francis, kitchen manager at Juniper Road. Calling for a reference for one of your employees.” Louis searches his mind, but the name of the restaurant doesn’t ring a bell. “Harry Styles, according to his resume, he hasn’t worked there long, but…”

As soon as Alfred says he expects Harry will be moving back to New York since that’s where the restaurant is located, Louis stops paying much attention, though he gives Harry a glowing reference. Louis tries to focus on the New Year’s Eve menu, but his anger and disappointment keep him from thinking clearly. 

Harry pokes his head into the office. “Hey, can I talk to you about the New Year’s menu? I was thinking we could do flank steak instead of filet mignon.”

“No,” Louis says, shaking his head and clenching his teeth. 

“Seriously?” Harry huffs, crossing his arms.

“Ringing in a twelve top! Lots of steaks!” Luke calls through the kitchen door.

“Not now, Styles. Looks like you’ve got work to do,” Louis says, standing and pushing past Harry into the kitchen so he can look over Luke’s order when it prints up. “Juniper Road called. Gave you a great reference. They want you to start ASAP.”

Furrowing his brow, Harry doesn’t say anything, which doesn’t help Louis’ mood. He snatches the ticket as soon as it prints, and reads over it. 

“All grill. Do your job, Styles,” Louis says, hanging the ticket in the window, and walking off the line. 

He goes to the dining room, needing to get out of the kitchen, as temporary as it might be. Even with Luke’s twelve, the restaurant isn’t busy, so when he finishes looking over the New Year’s Eve reservations, he sits at the bar. It’s not that he didn’t think Harry would go back to New York, but he expected him to keep him in the loop. If he was really planning to leave, he should’ve said so. Despite going out to the front to cool down, Louis stews in his anger. 

“So, I was thinking about pink champagne,” Lottie says, and while it’s not out of left field for her to think about booze—it’s her job, after all—she doesn’t typically start conversations that way.

“What were you thinking about it?” Louis asks.

“Well, I was actually thinking about rosé champagne for New Year’s Eve,” she starts, holding up one of the wine distributors’ catalogs, but then she raises her eyebrows and looking pointedly at him. “Why aren’t you interrupting me?”

“Preoccupied,” Louis says.

“Oh? Good for me, then,” Lottie continues, opening the catalog and turning it so he can see. “These are actually slightly higher cost than what we normally get for New Years, but I think we’ll sell more. People like the novelty of it, ’cause it’s pink.”

Louis rubs his temples, closing his eyes. “Can we do both?”

“I don’t know…” Lottie takes a step back, snatching the catalog away, and narrowing her eyes. “Can we?”

“I mean, I assume we can order—”

“You’re going to let me?” she asks.

“Yes,” Louis says, as his phone vibrates in his pocket. “Don’t get used to it.”

He unlocks his phone to see a single message from Harry that reads, “In the alley. Come talk now.”

“Order the rosé champagne,” Louis says, “And I’ll get some winter strawberries.”

The same twelve top is in the dining room, along with a few deuces, and Louis checks that there aren’t any orders waiting before asking Liam to keep an eye on things. If Harry wants to talk now, then they’ll talk now. 

Louis pushes open the heavy door, stepping into the alley, ready for a fight, ready to tell Harry that he isn’t even surprised by the news. 

The second Louis sets eyes on him, Harry says, “I applied for like a hundred jobs after I gave notice. Was I supposed to call them all and say I changed my mind?”

“Oh…” Louis shuts his eyes tight. 

“I’m not leaving,” Harry says, stepping closer. 

Louis nods, wanting to believe him. “Sorry. I—”

“I get why you think— Lou, I understand why you don’t trust me.” Harry hooks his finger under Louis’ chin, and whispers, “I’m sorry.”

“No, I— I’m sorry. I should’ve talked to you instead of assuming,” Louis says, taking Harry's hand and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. And then because he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore, he adds, “I’ll make it up to you.”

Harry laughs. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“What?”

“You’re thinking you’ll suck me off or something, but I want something else,” Harry says with a smirk. “Listen to my idea for the New Year’s menu.”

Tipping his head down, Louis slowly blinks up at him. “I’ll listen.”

“That’s all I ask,” Harry says, grinning. “Right, so flank steak is obviously cheaper, but also, I think people will like this. We always have tenderloins, so I can cut filets if there are customers who really want them, and you upcharge. But the flank steak is served sliced, and with the lobster tail on the surf and turf, it’ll look really nice.”

For a moment, Louis looks at him, doing the math in his head, trying to figure out the food cost and the pricing, but when Harry bites his lip and widens his eyes, Louis says, “I like it, Styles.”

“Ahh, Lou!” Harry claps, and then he leans in and whispers, “Going to ride you hard tonight.”

“Jesus,” Louis squeaks. “Back to work.”

It’s all well and good until Harry tells Zayn about their conversation. Not five minutes after they head back inside and Louis goes back out to the bar, Zayn appears at Louis’ side, scowl in place.

“You’re letting Harry help with the New Year’s Eve menu?” 

“I…” Louis frowns. Clearly, he didn’t think this through. “Well, I—”

“I’ve worked for you for four years, man. Four.”

“Shit,” Louis says, pulling off his beanie and scrubbing his hand through his hair. 

“Harry’s been here since September. Less than four months, and you’re letting him add to the main courses?” Zayn asks, sounding understandably offended. He whispers, “That’s fucked up.”

“Zayn, listen—”

“No way, man. I’m pissed.”

Louis growls, dropping his head onto the bartop. “You can do the desserts.”

“What?” 

“Do the desserts. For New Year’s,” Louis says, scribbling out part of his list. “Just… You know how I feel about molten chocolate bullshit.”

“Yeah?” Zayn asks, sounding hopeful.

“Yeah, but please keep the creme brulee. People really love that,” Louis says, and Zayn leans and kisses him on the cheek. 

“Love you, man,” Zayn says, squeezing Louis’ shoulder. “You won’t regret this. Promise.”

“Do a good job, and maybe I’ll let you help with the spring menu,” Louis says, surprising himself with the offer, but he means it. Zayn deserves it. And maybe Louis deserves to take a little pressure off of himself.

•••••••••••••••••

Harry stays until everyone else leaves, and they walk out together. The streets are mostly empty and quiet, and when they get to the corner where, if Harry decides to go to his apartment, they’ll split off in opposite directions, they stop. 

“Thanks for letting me do the surf and turf,” Harry says, and then he laughs. “Zayn was pissed. I didn’t realize you did all of the menu planning by yourself.”

Louis shrugs, bumping his shoulder into Harry's. “I might have a little, teeny, tiny issue with control.”

The bark of laughter that bursts out of Harry is loud enough to startle Louis. When Harry claps his hands over his mouth, but fails to quiet his giggles, and bends over in the middle of the sidewalk to rest his hands on his knees, Louis hauls off and smacks his ass as hard as he can. 

Harry yelps, and Louis takes off running down the sidewalk, not stopping until he gets to his front door, where Harry slams into him, both of them panting as their lips meet in a bruising kiss, while Harry reaches around to grab Louis’ ass in both hands and pick him up. 

Thankfully, Louis already slid the key into the lock, so the door opens easily, and he finds himself being held against the other side of the door while Harry sucks kisses underneath his ear. 

“Bedroom, Harry,” Louis says, tangling his fingers in Harry’s curls and pulling to get his attention. “Come on. We need to shower.”

Nodding, Harry lets him down, and as soon as Louis’ feet hit the floor, Harry turns and runs through the house for the bathroom. Louis rolls his eyes, locking the door, and following him. When he gets there, Harry’s already in the shower, shampooing his hair, and by the time Louis gets undressed, Harry’s almost finished washing. 

“Got someplace to be?” Louis asks, stepping into the warm water and wetting his hair. All Harry does is raise his eyebrows as he takes Louis’ place, rinsing once more before leaving Louis alone in the shower. 

In the bedroom, Louis finds Harry laying on the bed, knee bent, hand between his legs. He’s already worked himself up to three fingers, and his dick is hard and flushed, laying against his stomach. 

“What are you doing?” Louis asks, though it’s fairly obvious.

“Said I wanted to ride you,” Harry says, slipping his fingers free and reaching for the towel around Louis’ waist. He wipes his hand, tossing it to the floor, and grabs the condom from the bedside table. 

“Okay…” Louis crawls onto the bed, sitting in the middle, up against the headboard. When he starts to stroke himself to hardness, figuring Harry’s in a hurry, Harry shakes his head, kneeling between his legs, leaning down, and sucking Louis’ dick into his mouth. He presses his tongue against the underside, and keeps his lips tight around him, playing with his balls, and using every trick in his very dirty book. In no time, Louis is hard, but he has to pull Harry off of him with his hand in his hair. “You’ve got a one track mind, I swear.”

“Sorry,” Harry says, wiping away his drool with the back of his hand. He climbs into Louis’ lap, cradling his jaw, and kissing him sweetly, before rolling the condom on and slicking him up with lube. “Hold your cock for me, Lou.”

Louis wraps his hand around the base, holding his dick steady, and Harry circles his fingers under the head, lining up, and lowering his hips until the first few inches slide inside. Moving his hand out of the way, Louis rubs over Harry’s sides, then his chest, thumbing at his nipples to distract him while he adjusts and works himself down untils he’s taken all of Louis’ cock. 

Being ridden by Harry is like a wet dream. He’s focused on his own pleasure, but he knows that it gets Louis off to see him like that, so he never knows exactly how much of it’s for show. When Harry lets his head fall back, whining quietly and rolling his hips, Louis pinches his nipples, and Harry gasps, pushing against Louis’ hands. As he lifts and lowers himself, getting into a rhythm, Louis holds his nipples between his fingers, digging his fingernails into the sensitive skin and twisting. 

Harry leans forward, using Louis’ shoulders for leverage as he rides him faster, thigh muscles straining from the effort. For a moment, Louis watches him work for it, circling his hips while he fucks himself on Louis’ cock. 

When he loses momentum, Louis grips his waist, thrusting up hard, bodies slamming together. Harry comes first, almost as soon as Louis wraps a hand around his dick, stroking him fast, and barreling towards his own orgasm. While Harry’s body tightens around him, Louis bucks his hips, and before Harry finishes dripping over his fist, Louis’ comes, pulsing inside of him.

Falling forward, Harry knocks their foreheads together. “Oops,” he says, pouting and rubbing his head.

“Hi,” Louis says, reaching up to touch his own. “You okay?”

Harry nods, and this time he carefully rests his forehead against Louis’ and says, “I’m tired.”

“I bet.” Louis laughs, sliding his hands around to squeeze Harry’s ass and lift him up enough to let his dick slip out. “That’s a workout.”

•••••••••••••••••

They may be open on New Year’s Eve, but they’re closed for Christmas, starting the day before Christmas Eve. Or Christmas Eve Eve, as Fizzy liked to say. Louis spends that day wrapping presents, and Christmas Eve cooking a meal to feed his entire family. His grandparents might host Thanksgiving, but Christmas Eve is his birthday, and he likes to do it his way. And his way means that he hangs out in his sweatpants, cooking experimental dishes and hoping for the best, while cleaning his house from top to bottom. 

Everything is ready to go on time, and Louis takes a long, hot shower, shaving his face for the first time in what feels like forever. He splashes a little aftershave on, and gets dressed in a cozy red sweater and dark jeans, wearing thick wool socks to keep his feet warm. All of his siblings come to Christmas Eve, and Dan comes in to say hello when he drops off Doris and Ernie. 

“Where’s Harry?” Dan asks, stepping back from hugging Louis and looking around the kitchen. “Want to say hello.”

Louis sputters, eyes darting around the room, but Lottie definitely heard him. “He’s not here. Why would he be here?”

Pressing his lips together, Dan stifles a laugh. “Sorry for assuming. But Robin and Anne went to visit Gemma and her family.”

“Oh, I didn’t know they—”

“And I just figured he’d be here, you know, with you,” Dan says with a shrug. “Gifts are under the tree, and I’ll be back at ten to pick up the twins.”

Dan turns to go, and as soon as he does, Lottie takes his place. “Right, so I’m gonna text Harry, tell him to come over.”

“What? Why?” 

“Because he’s probably alone on Christmas Eve? And I’m not an asshole?” She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, typing out a message on her phone. “Neither are you, by the way. You’re just an idiot. But that’s normal for you when it comes to Harry.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means that you know damn well you’d invite anyone else over if you knew they were alone today, but because it’s Harry, you’re more concerned that someone might find out you guys’ history or like, your present.”

“My present? I didn’t get him a present,” Louis says, because he didn’t. He did buy a new bottle of lube and a package of condoms, but that’s just good sense. They agreed not to do presents.

“Your present,” Lotties says, still staring at her phone. “As in, whatever is going on between you and Harry now.”

“What?” Louis asks, voice way too high. He clears his throat, and asks again, much lower and slower this time, “What?”

She turns her phone to face him, and he reads the text from Harry that says he’ll be there ASAP, scowling at her when he sees the one above it where she says ‘Louis forgot to invite you’ followed by the eye roll emoji. “Sorry, Louis. I know you’ve been trying to keep it a secret, but you two are so obvious.”

“We are not!” Louis yells just as the oven timer goes off. He opens it and pulls out the cookies, ignoring Lottie’s laughter when his grandmother yells back to ask what’s wrong. “Nothing, Nan! The cookies aren’t done! Everything’s okay!”

Laughing, Lottie hops up onto the counter, and says, “It’s okay, you know? If you guys are back together.”

“We’re not,” Louis says firmly. “So don’t say anything to him or anybody else, okay?”

“Sure, whatever,” Lottie agrees, pulling her feet up and crossing her legs. 

“You can clean those counters when you get down,” Louis says, changing the subject, and moving the cookies onto a cooling rack. He spins slowly around, but the cookies were the very last thing he planned to make. “That’s everything, I think.”

“You gonna go change clothes?” Lottie asks, and Louis smacks her knee. 

“No,” he says, though he was thinking about styling his hair, which he definitely won’t do now. “Just going to pee. Hold down the fort.”

Louis disappears into his bedroom, locking the door, and pulling off his sweater. He tosses that onto the bed, and pulls his t-shirt away from his body, hoping to stop his nervous sweat before it starts. But it’s already started. He throws the t-shirt on the bed too, and locks himself in the bathroom, wetting a washcloth in the cold water and wiping down his face and neck. After fanning himself for a moment, he wipes his chest and what he can reach of his back as well. He puts on extra deodorant, and opens the bathroom door to find Harry sitting on the edge of his bed.

“I locked the door,” Louis says, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Lottie unlocked it. There are these little key things on the top of the door frames,” Harry says, eyes traveling over Louis’ bare chest. “She said you needed help with something?”

“I don’t.”

“Oh.”

“She seems to have figured out that we’re, um…” Louis bobs his head from side to side.

Harry hums, nodding knowingly. “Think Niall might know something’s up, too.”

“Why?” Louis whines, pulling on his t-shirt and sweater, and ignoring Harry’s pointed looks at his stomach. He’ll never understand that obsession. “What’d he say?”

“Nothing, really. Just… He asked me what I got you for your birthday,” Harry says, falling onto his back, but keeping his feet on the floor. “And then I told him you asked me not to get you anything.”

Louis puts his hand on Harry’s knee, and squeezes hard. 

“Ouch, you dick. I hate it when you do that,” Harry says, pinching the back of Louis’ arm. 

“That’s why I did it,” Louis says, laying down beside him and watching his ceiling fan spin. 

Harry sits up again and leans over Louis. “You look nice. Red sweater. Christmasy.”

“You look horrible. Really awful. Hate to see that happen when you used to be so handsome,” Louis says, attempting to sound convincing, though he knows he fails when Harry grins and moves in closer until the tips of their noses touch. “Why didn’t you tell me you were gonna be alone for Christmas? Thought you’d be with your mom.”

“Didn’t want to, um…” Shrugging and looking away, Harry says, “Didn’t want you to feel like you had to invite me.” 

Louis searches his face, wishing they had more time to talk, but his family’s waiting. “Stay over tonight. Want you to fuck me.”

“Was planning on it,” Harry says, gently kissing him, but pulling away before Louis can kiss him back. 

“How were you planning on it?”

“I know what you like on your birthday. As soon as Lottie texted me, I figured I’d spend the night.”

“I’m that predictable?” 

“Nah, not predictable.” Harry shakes his head, pushing himself off the bed. “But, you know, some things don’t change. Be thankful I didn’t tell Niall.”

Louis laughs, cheeks heating. He stands and says, “I haven’t had birthday sex in years. Too much trouble with the family here and… I don’t know. Everything.”

“No, really?” Harry asks, biting his lip, and grabbing for Louis’ hips. He slides his hands around to Louis’ ass, pulling him close and digging his fingers into the muscles. “Promise to make it good.”

“Know you will, Styles,” Louis says, pushing him away, and opening the bedroom door. “Behave yourself in front of my family.”

Harry trails behind him out to the living room, where everyone is sitting, and they all turn to look at them as one. 

“Harry!” Lottie hops out of her chair, and says, “Time for dinner, yeah?”

“So nice to see you, Harry,” Louis’ Nan says, hugging him tightly. She pinches his cheek and purses her lips, giving him an air kiss before passing him off to Louis’ Grandpa. 

“Harry, my boy,” Grandpa shakes Harry’s hand, clapping him on the back. “Really glad you’re here. And glad you’re back with Louis. Welcome back to the family.”

“I, um…” Harry frowns, looking to Louis.

“Grandpa, we’re not—”

“They’re not really telling anyone just yet,” Lottie says, smiling and showing too many teeth. “But isn’t it great?”

Louis nods, heading for the kitchen, and passing Lottie on the way to whisper, “What did I do to you?”

“Aww, Louis, I love you too,” she says, patting his cheek before pushing him into the kitchen. He turns to say something and sees her pushing Harry after him. 

“What is happening?” Harry asks in a whisper. 

“Lottie is evil,” Louis says, staring at her and trying to force her to spill her glass of red wine on her ivory sweater dress using only the power of his mind. It doesn’t work. She just smiles at him and then winks before slinking out of sight in the dining room. 

“She told them all we got back together?” Harry asks, picking up the platter of roasted carrots. 

“Yes, because she hates me,” Louis says, grabbing the rice pilaf. 

“Is it really that bad, the idea of us?” Harry bites his upper lip, looking at the dish in his hands. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Louis says, keeping his voice low so that no one overhears. “I just meant, she did it to be a pain. It’s my birthday. And now I have to either convince you to lie to my family or tell them the truth, which will lead to a million questions.”

“Oh,” Harry says, nodding. “I don’t mind pretending.”

“Okay, good. Because clearly I don’t know what Lottie is capable of.”

“I thought you’d have ham and stuff. It’s Christmas,” Harry says, eyeing the large pot on the stove. 

“They do traditional Christmas dinner tomorrow,” Louis says, grabbing a utensil crock full of small short knives. “I do something different every year. Tonight, I roasted oysters.”

After the sides are on the table, Harry helps Louis carry out the pots of oysters, setting one on each one of the table and one in the middle. There are large bowls on the table as well, for tossing shells once they’re empty, and Lazy Susans with sauces and spices and melted butter. 

Dinner is delicious, as Louis knew it would be, but he’s distracted the entire meal, thanks to Lottie and her big, lying mouth. Harry sits beside him, and acts the part of Louis’ boyfriend so well that Louis would think he was in on some evil plan of Lottie’s, except he keeps checking with Louis to make sure everything he says and does is okay. 

Finally, Louis puts his hand on Harry's thigh, and says quietly in his ear, “Relax. Whatever you want to do is fine.”

“So, Harry,” Grandpa says, shucking an oyster for Ernest who was starting to get frustrated with them. “Tell us about New York.”

“Oh, um… It was great. I enjoyed my time there, but it wasn’t home.”

“Missed Louis, didn’t you?” Nan asks sweetly. 

“Of course, but we actually got back together accidentally,” Harry says, glancing at Louis, who pipes up. 

“Harry came to work for me, but he didn’t know it was my restaurant,” Louis explains, finding it easy to lie when it’s so close to the truth. “He needed a job, I needed a cook, and we worked it out eventually.”

“Took some time. He wasn’t interested at first.” Harry smiles at Louis, adding, “But I won him over with my charm.”

“So you didn’t like New York?” Nan asks. 

“No, I did. I loved culinary school. Learned a lot. But like, it’s a lot harder to be successful as a chef there. And I didn’t have the best success with roommates.”

“I thought you lived with your mom,” Lottie says, and Louis frowns. He was sure she’d already given Harry the third degree. 

“No, um… She and Robin lived upstate. I lived in the East Village for a while. Williamsburg for a while,” Harry says, and seems to realize most of the people at the table have no idea what he’s talking about. “The city. Manhattan. And then Brooklyn.”

“Ahh, I see,” Nan says, nodding as she pries open an oyster. 

“Lots of boys in New York,” Lottie says, and Louis stiffens in his chair, oyster halfway to his mouth. He forces himself to chew and swallow. “None of them wanted to come back with you?”

“None of them were Louis,” Harry says, and Louis reaches for his wine as Lottie finally changes the subject. 

When dinner is over, everyone helps clean up in the kitchen, while the younger twins clear the table and start pulling presents from under the tree. Harry stays close by Louis, acting the part, bumping their hips together, leaning in to speak softly about everything from questions about recycling the oyster shells to complimenting Louis’ jeans. 

After Louis’ siblings and grandparents open their Christmas gifts, they all give him his birthday present. A gift certificate, written in calligraphy, for ‘All the help you need to turn your backyard into a garden ~ Redeemable whenever you’re ready’ from his grandparents, brother and sisters. 

“That’s such a great gift, Lou,” Harry says, propping his elbow on the back of the sofa so that his hand rests on the back of Louis’ neck. He combs his fingers through Louis’ hair and Louis closes his eyes. 

“I only mentioned it once, in passing, to Lottie,” Louis says, letting his head rest against Harry’s shoulder. “I thought it’d be too much for me to do alone. Or that I’d start and never finish.”

“I’ll help, too,” Harry says, kissing Louis’ temple. “We had a garden at school. I actually enjoyed it a lot. It’s fun cooking with food you grow yourself.”

“I thought it might be cool to grow some stuff and use it at the restaurant,” Louis says, eyelids starting to feel heavy. He definitely ate too much. “Like, even if it’s just herbs.”

The doorbell rings, and Louis jerks upright, then pushes himself off the couch and away from Harry, “Kiddos, that’s Dan. Let me grab the food I packed up for him.”

Louis grabs the containers from the fridge, and goes to meet the twins at the door, but they’re standing by the couch with Dan, who’s talking to Harry. Rather than interrupt, Louis makes sure the twins have all of their gifts, and as soon as he starts picking up discarded wrapping paper, everyone else gets up to help. Within a few minutes, he and Harry are saying goodbye to Louis’ family at the door, and they're alone. 

“Do you want me to take you home?” Louis asks, sticking his hands in his pockets and looking at the fire. “I’m tired, and I’m not really feeling up to, you know…”

“Oh, um… Yeah, I ate a lot.” Harry rubs his hand over his belly, turning to the side and purposely making it poke out. “Didn’t think I’d get so full from oysters, but I just want to sleep.”

“You could, um… You could just sleep here?” Louis offers, shutting his eyes tight as soon as he says it, which doesn’t stop the blush from creeping up his neck. 

“Yeah, that’d be nice,” Harry says, and Louis opens his eyes. “You making me pick a guest room or can we share?”

Louis chuckles quietly, reaching out to rub Harry’s food baby. “We can share.”

There isn’t much left to do since Louis’ family helped clean up after dinner, but Harry helps, turning off lights, picking up bits of wrapping paper. With the fire and the tree still lit, it really looks like a Christmas card in his living room, and Louis stops to admire it. 

The first Christmas he hosted, he didn’t put up a tree, and the younger twins were so upset—not because they wanted a tree for themselves, but because they thought Louis not having one was a sign that he wasn’t in the Christmas spirit. In reality, it seemed like such trouble that he hadn't bothered. That year, they’d all gone out and bought the first tree they’d found and it was the shabbiest, little, Charlie Brown tree. Working together, they set it up in Louis’ living room, and he’d climbed into his attic to find a box of decorations that he hadn't opened in years. Inside were some of his mom’s favorite ornaments that he thought had gotten lost or ended up at Lottie’s house. Now, his siblings come over to help, and it’s turned into sort of a tradition. 

“Bed?” Louis asks, turning off the gas fireplace, and reaching for the switch to turn off the tree. 

Harry yawns in answer, grinning while he does, and Louis leads him to the bedroom. They undress, and take turns in the bathroom after Louis finds a new toothbrush for Harry to use. There’s an odd moment once they’re in bed, where Louis finds himself automatically moving to cuddle Harry like they’ve been doing after sex, and stops himself, but then Harry wiggles towards him, still on his stomach, and Louis drapes his arm over Harry’s back. 

•••••••••••••••••

Christmas morning, Louis wakes up first, still surprised every time it happens because Harry’s always been an early riser. But he’s not accustomed to another person in his bed, no matter how comfortable it is to sleep next to Harry. He carefully climbs from beneath the blankets, and goes to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. While Harry sleeps, Louis jumps in the shower, washing thoroughly in anticipation of what he hopes will happen. It may no longer be his birthday, but it’s still Christmas. 

Before he finishes washing, Harry joins him, and they brush their teeth, laughing as they spit foam onto the shower floor. They kiss beneath the spray of warm water, hands roaming over wet skin until they’re both hard. Harry runs the tips of his fingers over Louis’ rim, groaning when he pushes one inside effortlessly. He has to know what Louis was doing with how loose he already is. Fitting two fingers is almost as easy, and he pumps them in and out until Louis stops him. They have to get out of the shower or else risk fucking in there and falling. That’d be one way to end Christmas.

“You still want…” Harry trails off, biting his lip and watching while Louis crawls onto the bed, laying on his stomach and spreading his legs. He keeps his eyes on Harry the whole time, and when he’s comfortable, after adjusting his dick so it’s trapped between his belly and the sheets, he nods again, and Harry climbs up between his knees. 

He cups the back of Louis’ thighs, warm hands massaging the muscles, working his way up to Louis’ ass, but not stopping. As busy as he is, a boyfriend isn’t the only thing he doesn’t have time for. Masturbation has been a dick in hand event for a long, long time. He hasn’t actually been fucked in years, and he debates telling Harry that. 

“Relax,” Harry says, rubbing his thumbs along either side of Louis’ spine, as Louis inhales and exhales slowly. He reaches for Louis bedside table, humming happily when he finds the condoms and lube. 

Hiding his face in his folded arms, Louis curls and uncurls his toes, impatient for Harry’s touch, but unwilling to say anything. Finally, Harry drags a slick finger down Louis’ crack, circling his rim. He adds more lube, but doesn’t push in right away, teasing him with the tips of his fingers until Louis can’t stand it and wiggles his ass. Harry laughs, easing two fingers inside. 

“So tight, Lou,” Harry mutters, slowly pumping his fingers. “Gonna come like, the second I get inside, I swear.”

Louis giggles, body shaking with it, and the movement causes Harry’s fingertips to brush against his prostate. He gasps and stills, spreading his legs even wider. With his single-minded way of focusing, Harry’s quiet, holding Louis’ cheeks apart with one hand, while he fits a third finger alongside the other two. It stings, making his muscles tense, but he waits, letting Louis adjust to the intrusion. Carefully Harry spreads his fingers, then fucks them in and out until Louis is grinding against the bed, and he slips his fingers free.

“You ready?” Harry asks, and Louis nods, but instead of the blunt press of Harry’s dick, he feels Harry move over top of him, and he lifts his head to look. Dipping down, Harry captures his lips in a kiss, licking over his lips, and humming as he pulls away and crawls back between Louis’ legs. 

Harry’s cock was always a lot to take, and the first time Louis bottomed he thought he might not be able to handle it. But even back then, Harry had been patient and gentle, past the point that Louis wanted him to. Years later, and the same feeling of uncertainty looms in the back of his mind. 

It feels impossible, when Harry pushes the fat head of his dick past Louis’ tight rim. He’s already full, already stretched past his limit, but little by little, Harry shifts forward until every inch of him is buried inside of Louis. It burns as he gets used to the feeling, and the ache seems to expand throughout his entire body. 

Harry lays down on top of his back, softly kisses his ear, and whispers, “Breathe.”

Nodding, Louis inhales, and when he exhales, his body slackens, and the pain lessens to a dull throb. Harry circles his hips, grinding against Louis’ ass, rubbing against his prostate, and the intense pleasure overshadows any pain. 

With Harry’s weight holding him down, Louis can’t move, forced to take what Harry gives him. It’s the only way he can really let go. Harry slides his hands up the side of Louis’ body, over his ribs, tickling his underarms and making him jerk away from the touch.

“Hate you,” Louis mumbles as Harry trails his fingertips over the back of his biceps.

“You did,” Harry says, lips brushing Louis’ ear, a note of sadness in his voice. He laces his fingers between Louis’, holding his hands.

Louis shakes his head. “I didn’t. Don’t.”

When Harry nods, his forehead bumps against the back of Louis’ head and he laughs, their bodies bouncing with it. It’s enough of a distraction, and Harry lifts his hips a little, thrusting back inside. He works up to a steady rhythm, and his slow strokes and the constant pleasure have Louis trembling, feeling his orgasm approach. Harry kisses the side of his neck, his shoulder, his back, and the pressure within Louis grows. He starts to move with Harry, rocking his body, seeking friction from the mattress and Harry’s cock. 

Harry pushes his upper body off of Louis, resting on his forearms and thrusting faster, forehead between Louis’ shoulderblades, panting against his skin. He dicks in deep, and stays there, grunting as he comes. Louis clenches around him, and Harry’s hips stutter, the head of his cock bumping Louis’ prostate. Gingerly, he pulls out, rolling Louis over and sucking him into his mouth. He comes when Harry pushes two fingers inside, pressing against his prostate, and his muscles twitch as Harry swallows his release. 

They lay there, Louis on his back, with Harry between his legs, head on Louis’ stomach, as they catch their breath. 

“You okay?” Harry asks, kissing Louis’ belly button.

“Might never walk again, but it was worth it,” Louis says, and Harry pinches the inside of his thigh. 

Christmas morning is spent in bed, with Louis pretending that there’s nothing unusual about a holiday with his ex-boyfriend who just happens to be his employee and also his sort of friends with benefits. As long as no one mentions it, it’s fine. They skip breakfast, eating leftovers for lunch, and then Harry drags him outside to take a look at his backyard. By the time the sun goes down, there are sketches and measurements and lists of possibilities for Louis’ garden, as well as some information on getting certified and licensed to serve whatever he might grow. He takes Harry home before he can invite him to stay for dinner. 

That night, Louis unlocks his phone to text Harry more than once, but locks it again, because he doesn’t know what he would even say. Come over. I can cook for you. You could cook for me. We could make dinner together. Or breakfast. Watch a movie. Cuddle on the couch in front of the fire. Fuck on the couch in front of the fire. 

When he wakes up the next day, he decides that, as friends with benefits, they really should hang out without the expectation for sex. He invites Harry over for lunch, which turns into an afternoon watching movies and cuddling, followed by dinner, and Louis realizes while they’re washing dishes side by side, that he does expect Harry to stay over, despite his original intentions. 

He’s so lost in his own head that he almost misses it when Harry says, “I want us to be together, Louis. I want to be with you for real.”

It’s such a surprise that Louis can’t respond at first.

“I came back here because… It didn’t matter if I liked it there. I didn’t have you. And I… I didn’t expect our paths to cross the way they did, but I hoped they would. I was going to look you up, like, after I got a job and got settled.”

“Harry…”

“I didn’t think you’d give me the time of day, but I knew I’d have to take the chance.” Harry leans his hip against the counter. “I can’t change what happened, but I can promise that I’m not leaving again.”

Louis brushes his hair off his forehead, not sure how to react. He might want to try again, but the pressure of everyone at the restaurant knowing and possibly finding out about their past is daunting. 

“And we don’t have to tell everyone at the restaurant, at least not right away. I know it’s weird, with our history and since I work for you. And I know how you feel about people knowing about your personal life,” Harry says, as if he can read Louis’ mind. He takes Louis’ hands in his and lifts them one at a time, pressing kisses to the backs of his knuckles. “But it’s what I want, and if it’s not what you want, then… that’s okay, too, I guess.”

“This could, um…” Louis clears his throat, squeezing Harry’s hands. It’s such a risk, giving Harry his heart again. “This could all go to shit, Styles.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think it will,” Harry says, tipping his head to the side and pursing his lips. “Are you saying you want what I want?”

Louis nods, but before he can say anything, Harry kisses him senseless. When Harry finally lets him breathe, Louis says, “You really don’t mind not telling people?”

“Nah, I kind of like the idea of a secret romance,” Harry says, leaning down to suck a kiss in the side of Louis’ neck. He doesn’t want to keep it secret as much as he needs to be sure it’s real. “Plus, that won’t last forever. You’ll probably slip up next week and call me baby in front of everyone.”

“I won’t, Styles,” Louis insists, though he’s already been struggling with that. 

“Sure,” Harry says, narrowing his eyes and smirking. “Want some coffee, baby? How’s that filet coming, baby? Baby, hand me those tongs. I know how you are, Tomlinson.”

“Ugh, you’re the worst,” Louis says, but he doesn’t mean it. 

Harry stays over all weekend. When they reopen on Tuesday, there are only a few days until New Year’s Eve, and Harry spends all of those nights in Louis’ bed. It’s the happiest Louis has been in years.

•••••••••••••••••

Twenty-Eight Oak runs like a well-oiled machine on New Year’s Eve. Everyone on staff is in a good mood, the prospect of the coming year and all that it could bring makes even Lottie smile. Though, since Christmas, Louis has been doing everything he can to piss her off. 

She sneaks sips of pink champagne to the waitstaff and kitchen staff thinking that Louis doesn’t know, but he’s not stupid, and while she might be a decent liar, Liam isn’t, and neither is Luke. He’d know they’d all been drinking on the clock, even if Harry didn’t corner him in the back of the kitchen where no one else can see them, and kiss him up against the shelf of dry goods. 

“You taste like champagne,” Louis whispers, stepping sideways under Harry’s arm, and continuing to do inventory. He glances over at Harry, and Harry raises his eyebrows.

“Mad at me?” Harry asks quietly.

Louis shakes his head, keeping his voice low. “I trust you not to get wasted at work, Styles.”

“Not about that, about kissing you,” Harry says, biting his lip.

“No,” Louis says, tapping his pen against his clipboard. “Call it an early midnight kiss.”

“Oh.” Pouting, Harry crosses his arms, and Louis rolls his eyes.

“What?”

“I just… I didn’t think about it,” Harry says, peaking around the edge of the freezer that’s blocking them from view. “Thought maybe we could sneak into the alley or something.”

“Nope.” Louis pushes past him, heading for the office. He looks over to make sure no one’s looking, catching Zayn watching them, so he waves Harry off. “Later.”

Harry huffs, scowling as he walks away. 

For most of the night, they’re so busy that they don’t talk about anything other than cook times and plates and table numbers all night. After the dinner rush, they stay open for drinks, and music—a local band Louis has seen a few times, and who were eager for the exposure a New Year’s gig might provide. But the kitchen stays open, making snacks and appetizers until just before midnight. 

Trading his apron for his nice chef coat, Louis fiddles with his hair where it sticks out of his beanie, then rolls his eyes. No one cares what he looks like. Well, Harry might, but he’s still in the kitchen, and Louis is already in the dining room. The rest of the kitchen staff follows a moment later, gathering with the waitstaff in the back, near the waitstation and the kitchen door. 

In the middle of the room, Louis holds a glass of champagne aloft. “Another year, come and gone! I want to say thank you to everyone who’s here tonight, and also thank you for everyone who comes in throughout the year. Twenty-Eight Oak wouldn’t be here if not for you. I need to say a massive, massive thanks to my staff. I wouldn’t be able to do this at all without every single one of you. Happy New Year!” 

There’s a polite round of applause, with some louder whistles and shouts from a few, and Lottie turns up the television in the bar so that everyone can count along as the ball drops in Times Square. As the crowd of customers counts down from ten, Louis looks around the restaurant, grateful for his success, for his family, for his friends, and for Harry. The last thought hits him hard, and his eyes find Harry without trying. 

It seems to happen in slow motion, and Louis can’t stop himself. Before the clock strikes twelve, he crosses the dining room to stand in front of Harry. While the people surrounding them kiss, and toast, and drink champagne, Louis steps into Harry’s space, and says, “Kiss me.”

Harry’s eyes go wide and his mouth drops open, he glances at Louis’ champagne glass. “Are you drunk?”

Laughing, Louis shakes his head, and says, “No, baby, I’m in love with you.” 

Cupping Louis’ cheek in one hand, Harry loops his other arm around his waist, pulling Louis to him, and guiding him into a kiss. He tastes of pink champagne, and Louis smiles against his soft lips.

“I love you, too,” Harry whispers, leaning down to hide his face in Louis’ neck. “You just kissed me in front of everyone.”

“I know,” Louis says, circling his arms around Harry’s waist. “Want them all to know you’re mine.”