soft and slow, watch the minutes go

Years later, Harry and Louis have kids. As they grow older, Harry struggles with how to be completely honest with them and is forced to accept how his mental health impacts his children.

Notes:

title: 929 - halsey
This is the last part of this series! I hope you enjoyed it -- it took a long time to put together :)
IMPORTANT: there are some poor eating habits due to depression here , though they aren't discussed too in depth:)

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Wake up. Take the dog out for a walk. Wake Louis. He's not good about waking up to his alarm anymore. Hasn't been for about fourteen years. Go downstairs to start breakfast. Wake Erin. Adapt to whatever mood she is in this morning. Go back downstairs to continue breakfast. Wake Alex. Listen to what dreams he had with an attentive smile. Don't forget to hug him before going back downstairs to start breakfast -- he's clingy in the mornings. Greet Louis in the kitchen. Grab the coffee from him. Drink it, until something needs tending to. Feed the dog. Feed the kids. Get the kids dressed and ready for school. Before leaving, say goodbye to the husband and the dog and the cats. Especially Dwight, who's starting to show his age. Tell Erin to stop being mean to her brother. Tell Alex that she doesn't mean it. Tell Erin to tell her brother that she doesn't actually mean it. Finally get them in the car. Talk to them. Try, at least. Don't be bothered when Erin doesn't talk at all and Alex talks a little too much. Get to Erin's school first. Tell her to have a good day. Ignore it when she sighs loudly and rolls her eyes when she says that she never does. Wait a second. Tell Alex that he can't come up to the front seat. Tell him he's still too young. Drive to Alex's school. Sit with him in the parking lot for a bit. Listen to him. A nine year old's brain is interesting. He thinks his dad's is interesting, too. Don't be hurt that that'll change soon. Send Alex off to school. Watch him intently through the mirrors to make sure he gets in the building safe. Wait a second. Leave. Call Taylor. Talk to her. Listen to her. Hang up when the next turn is the flower shop. Don't remember the sarcastic remark Erin made two weeks ago about working here. Stop remembering it. She didn't mean it, even if she didn't ever apologize for it. Park the car. Take a deep breath. Walk inside. Start the day.

It's how every day goes, and he doesn't care that it's tiring all the time and shitty sometimes. All he cares about is that, at six o'clock, he can go home to his kids and his husband and his pets, spend the night with them, and do it all over again tomorrow.

"Can one of you drive me to Katie's on Thursday?"

Louis stops mid-sentence of what he was saying to Harry. He lets out a quiet sigh and glances at Erin, who's standing in front of them with her arms crossed and an expression on her face like they’ve already told her no. Maybe it's because she knows that Thursday won't work, or maybe it's because she knows that when Louis and Harry come out to the patio by themselves and shut the door behind them, it means that they are having private time and don't want to be bothered unless it's important. Or Alex wants a hug. That exception had to be made after a lot of pouting.

"Not Thursday," Louis tells her. "Sorry, kiddo."

She scoffs. "Why not?"

Erin's kind. She really is. Lately, and as in lately he means the last year or so, it'd be hard to believe, but she is. She's sensitive and sweet and laughs a lot. She used to like spending a lot of time with her little brother and her dads. It's changed for now, but not enough for Harry to stop believing that she's anything but kind deep down.

Louis is better at handling her when she's like this than Harry is. "Papa has therapy and I work until seven."

"Well, can't I go after seven?"

"No. It's too late for a school night."

She looks like she's been told the most outrageous thing ever. She throws her arms up, always easy to anger, especially lately. "Well, can't Papa skip therapy?"

Louis' gaze sharpens slightly. She's been cruel to Harry about this sort of stuff. Usually nothing more than little jabs, but something happened last weekend when Harry was out shopping. Erin and Louis had a big fight, and Alex wouldn't tell him anything other than that Erin said something really mean about him and Louis got really mad really fast. Louis won't tell him what she said either. Harry connected the dots a few days ago that it had to with his mental health when Harry said he had to go out to pick up a refill on his meds, Erin scoffed, and Louis glared at her and told her not to start again.

"No," Louis says sternly. "He can't. But you can ask Emily if she can take you. She'll be the one watching you and your brother on Thursday, so."

"Emily's only three years older than me," she says. "It's so stupid that she has to 'watch’ me."

"Darling," Harry sighs, sitting up a little. He doesn't like talking to her when she's like this. Not because he doesn't love her, but because he can't fight with her. He can't. He won't fight with either of his kids. "Ask Emily. If she can't take you Thursday, reschedule. Every other day works this week except for Thursday."

"And Wednesday," Louis reminds.

Harry nods, even though he doesn’t quite remember what Wednesday is. "And Wednesday."

She sighs loudly, like she has anything else to do this week that'd disrupt plans for another day when Harry knows for a fact she doesn't, and turns on her heel and leaves.

It's quiet then. Too quiet. Her acting spoiled and entitled like she sometimes does always leaves Louis wondering what else he can say to her to get her to stop and Harry silently thinking that this is all somehow his fault.

Eventually, Harry asks, "What were you saying before?"

"Oh," Louis says. "Right. I spoke to someone who works at the cemetery earlier, and he said that her headstone is all fixed up now. It was from the storm last weekend. Took a few of them out, not just hers. . . but yeah, it's fixed now."

Harry just nods. He wants to say something like, that's good, or I'm glad to hear that, but it feels so pointless to say. Louis doesn't say anything else about it, just leans into Harry and wraps his arms around one of Harry's. They don't talk the rest of the time they're outside, and they decide to go back in once Alex knocks on the back door and informs them through the screen that their dog Nala peed on the floor again.

Harry's still unsure if he's a good father.

He does all the necessary things, like driving them to school and helping them with homework and making them food every day. Keeps the fridge stocked up for them, makes sure they know they have plenty of people to talk to, ask them how their days are. That sort of thing. He does that, most days, effortlessly. And no, he doesn't want a pat on the back for it, because it's what every parent is supposed to at the minimum. It's the other stuff he's pretty sure he lacks in.

He's reserved from them. He knows it. There are very few times he tells them anything about anything going through his head. They know he's got some issues. They know he goes to therapy and takes medications for said issues. And they know that sometimes they make him really, really quiet or sleep more or cry or need Louis more. They know Harry has anxiety, because that isn't something that can be hidden very easily. But they don't know about the rest. Louis has told them both that if they ever want to know more, then they should talk to them and feel free to ask questions, because Louis isn't keen on the idea of basically hiding things from their kids that are beneficial for them to create sympathy for and an understanding, but Harry doesn't want to go further than that with them. He doesn't even really know why. And he also knows that the only reason why Erin or Alex haven't taken Louis up on his offer of learning more about it is because Harry isn't the one who offered that himself.

He also doesn't talk about the bad parts of his childhood whatsoever with them. Unless Gemma or his mum or someone else who knows mentioned something to Erin or Alex, they have no clue about any of it. And it slaps him in the face sometimes, like when Erin asks why he never talks about his parents and Alex asks why they don't see Aunt Gemma that often. When Erin asks accusingly why Harry didn't cry when he found out his mum died. (He did cry later on, but not in front of the kids. Not in front of Louis, either. Because he wasn't really crying because she was dead, he was crying because he always told himself he'd regret not creating a relationship with her before she died, and then that the time finally came.) Louis understands this one more, why Harry doesn't speak on it. There's no real reason to.

The shit thing is, Emily knows most of everything. That's what makes Harry feel beyond guilty. When she asks questions, Harry doesn't really hesitate to answer them. Taylor told him he could tell her whatever he wanted to because she wanted her daughter to understand what other people could be going through. And Harry wants his children to understand that, too, but he can't open up to them about it. He can't admit fault, especially during a time in which his daughter is throwing nasty things at their faces every chance she gets.

He keeps telling himself that when they get older, he'll sit them down to talk about it. Erin's already fourteen, though, and he hasn't even thought about telling her more yet. He doesn't think what he's doing is too awful -- he's not lying to them, not really, they know that he has mental illnesses and they see how they affect him. He just doesn't give them names, and he doesn't show them too much. And his childhood, well. Harry can't see how them knowing or not would matter.

If he gets into it with them about his mental illnesses, he might have to get into it with them about everything else. The drugs, the drinking, the self-harm. He’s pretty sure he will never tell his children about that, even if it is something he struggles with to this day. Someone opening the world of self-harm up to him went pretty shit, and he will not do that to his children. He won’t even put that fucking idea in their heads. And when they ask why he never goes swimming with them, and why he wears pants a lot during summer, or why he wears a rubber band sometimes, he'll always feed them a bullshit answer because the real truth would taste a lot worse.

Harry's relationship with his son is the purest, most heart-warming thing in his life. Alex is such a loving, understanding boy, and he doesn't care about a lot of that stuff that Erin cares too much about yet. And that's not saying Harry likes him more than Erin, because he doesn't. His kids are equally important to him. It's just. He didn't realize how quick Erin would grow up on him, and he wishes he would have held onto her youth more. Maybe, in a few years, when Alex starts behaving like Erin because that's what teenagers do, it'll hurt less.

"Papa?" Alex asks, snuggled into Harry's side as they watch a movie. It's just the two of them. Louis' in the arm chair 'resting his eyes' and Erin is at Katie's.

"Yes, love?"

"Are you very sad that Grandma died?"

Harry doesn't sigh, even though he really wants to. He's so sick of talking about his mum. It sounds awful, but it's true. The only person he tolerates asking how he's doing with it is Louis. It's already been a month. He doesn't want to keep revisiting the same subject.

"Yes, baby. I'm sad."

"But are you very sad?" Alex asks.

"Yes. I guess you can say that I am very sad."

"I'm very sad, too," Alex tells him. He fists the front of Harry's t-shirt, something he does when he's feeling a little anxious. "Erin says she's sad but not very sad. She says we didn't see her enough to be very sad. Daddy says he's very sad, too."

Harry kisses the top of his head before resting his head against Alex's. His son is very strange, sometimes. Much more curious about everything than Erin ever was. He likes to talk a lot, too. Says that thoughts are pointless if they just stay in his head. "It's okay to be sad," Harry says.

"Even if we didn't see her that often?"

Guilt tears through Harry's heart. They stopped by at most holidays. He thought that would be enough for them. "Yes, love. No matter what it is, it's okay to be sad."

"What's going to happen to her house?"

"They sold it, bud. Someone else lives there now."

"But what about her things?"

"Her things aren't there anymore."

"Where did they go?"

Harry closes his eyes. "All sorts of places."

"I think she would be sad that all her things are gone."

"Maybe, darling, but it's what we had to do."

Alex stops his line of questioning there. He takes a few minutes, thinks it all over. Or maybe he lost focus and started paying attention to the movie again. Harry spends the next few minutes thinking of all the things he could have said better.

After the movie's over, Alex sits up next to Harry and says, "I think I will be more than very sad when you die."

Louis, who's no longer 'resting his eyes', looks up from his laptop quickly, looking a little alarmed. He eyes Harry, who tells Alex that he doesn't have to worry about that right now. When Alex nods, Louis asks, "You alright, baby?"

Alex nods some more. "Yeah. I'm okay. Can I eat ice cream now?"

Louis nods slowly, still looking completely confused. Once Alex is gone in search of ice cream, Louis asks him what that was all about, and Harry tells him, and Louis says maybe Harry should talk about it with him more.

"I don't know," is all Harry says, and Louis lets it be.

He's gone through huge depressions in front of the kids before, and it's the most exhausting, defeating things he's ever experienced. He can't exactly do all the things that he did before he had kids to take care of himself, not when sleeping more is never possible and being quiet is always taken as a sign of annoyance and doing quiet things that keep him grounded are almost always disrupted. He went through one a few years back that was so bad that he took some time off from work. Just a little bit. He had to, because he was starting to really lose himself and he needed to figure stuff out. During those times, the kids worried even when Harry and Louis both told them not to.

They've seen him at his worst, even when Harry tried his hardest not to let them. Which is why Harry is so, so confused as to why Erin completely minimizes and almost pokes fun at what he goes through sometimes.

"Can you take me to the mall tonight?" she asks him one night at dinner, not because she wants to spend time with him, but because she wants to spend time with his credit card. He learned that the last three times he took her. And because of that and because he's feeling a little off mentally, and because she already asked Louis enough times that he very sternly told her not to ask again, he tells her no.

"Why not?" she asks. "There's not that many people there right now. So, like. If you're worried that you'd, like, get all weird or something, you probably won't. It's not that busy."

Harry makes a face but doesn't say anything, just sips his glass of wine. She really, really doesn't understand his social anxiety. Completely thinks he's being over dramatic. And to an extent, Harry understands why. She's young and doesn't get nervous about almost anything. She loves things like concerts and fairs and busy shopping malls, and cannot even begin to understand why Harry gets fidgety and quiet and a bit impatient at certain times.

"Erin," Louis says tiredly. Alex's eyes are a little wide as he looks at Louis. He's not a big fan of confrontation of any kind, something Harry's almost certain that he picked up from him.

"I'm just saying," she says.

"Yeah, well. Don't."

"What, I can't talk?" she snaps, glaring at Louis. She loves the fact that Louis doesn't let her get away with shit. Harry lets a lot of stuff go, but not Louis.

Louis shrugs. "If you're going to be like that, then no. Maybe you shouldn't."

"Can I talk?" Alex asks.

Harry laughs quietly and squeezes Alex's hand. "Yes, Lex. You can talk. Both of you can. He's just messing around."

"Oh," is all Alex says.

There's about a minute of silence before Erin asks, "So I can't go to the mall?"

"Oh my God," Louis mumbles, setting his fork down and rubbing at his forehead with the back of his hand. "No, you can't. Not tonight. And please, babe, be a little nicer in the way you talk to us."

Erin furrows his eyebrows. "I am being nice."

"No, you're not," Alex murmurs, and Erin shoots a glare at him.

"Shut up, Alex."

"Hey," Harry says sternly, not at all liking how Alex's face drops. He usually enjoys fighting a bit with Erin, likes to stand outside her room and say that he's not technically in her room when she tells him to leave, but he doesn't like it when he thinks she's actually mad at him. "Be nice to your brother. And to your dad."

Again, there's about a minute, silent pause before Erin sighs loudly and says, "I guess I just don't see why I can't go out shopping because Papa doesn't like being around more than, like, five people."

"You can't go out shopping because you're being rude and it's late," Louis says, using his Dad Voice. "And because I already told you no."

Her shoulders slump and she forks at her food lazily. "If Alex asked Papa to take him somewhere, they'd already be out the door."

"That is not true," Harry says, a little quiet. A little docile. He's not good at this. He will never raise his voice at his children. Not ever.

"No? I think it is."

"I'm not taking you because I don't feel very good, okay?" Harry tells her, trying to reason with her. "If Alex asked me to take him anywhere, I'd tell him the same thing."

"What's wrong, Papa?" is what Alex says.

"Oh, you don't feel good? Need Dad to fix it like he always does?" is what Erin says. It's not the first time Erin has expressed annoyance with the way Louis takes care of Harry. She told him a few months ago that Louis shouldn't have to take care of them all. But it always hurts way more than it's ought to, because Harry does feel selfish for taking up all of Louis' time.

"Harry, Alex -- finish your dinner outside or something," is what Louis says, and he's not looking at either of them. He's looking at Erin with so much disappointment that it makes Harry’s stomach hurt.

Alex stands almost immediately, calling Nala loudly and asking her if she has to go potty, while Harry falters for a second.

"Love, go," Louis says. "You don't need to hear all this. Let me just talk to her."

Erin scoffs. Alex goes outside with the dog.

"But maybe I should be here," Harry says, not wanting to be here at all.

"On a different night, maybe," Louis says, "but you've felt like shit all day, so. Take it easy. Go make sure Alex doesn't feed all his food to the dog."

Harry complies, kissing both their heads on the way out. He stands by the backdoor just for a second to try to hear something, and when he hears Louis ask, "Do you have any idea how much you hurt his feelings?", he decides he doesn't actually want to hear any of it and goes.

Alex gets caught red-handed feeding Nala his mashed potatoes, and Harry sighs and smiles at him a little. These are the types of problems he can handle.

Erin is somewhat nicer for the next week or so. Louis seemed to get through to her, at least a little, and the following day, she catches Harry outside smoking pot with his head in his hands. He doesn't smoke a lot, not anymore. And that was purely his choice, because Louis told him the worst it could do was turn their kids into pot heads, which would be mostly okay. But Harry wanted to cut back a lot, didn't want to be stoned in front of his kids constantly, and he has. A lot. He only smokes when he's stressed or overwhelmed or sad, and he's a mix of all three right now. For no real reason, either. Which is where the stress part comes in. It's scary, not knowing if you're having a bad day or if you're about to face a few weeks of depression.

"Alex shut his finger in a drawer," is all she says, although she eyes the smoke suspiciously. "He's fine, but he wants you, so."

"Okay. I'll be right there."

She pauses by the door for a few seconds. "I can tell him you're busy," she says quietly. "If, like. You need space right now or something."

He turns his head enough for her to see his soft smile. She's trying, and that's good. "No, E. It's fine. He's not crying, is he?"

She nods. "Yeah, he is. Like a baby." She doesn't say it meanly, and she smiles a little. Harry sighs, ashes the joint and stands. Erin leads him to Alex, who's in his room bawling while clutching onto his finger like it's fallen off or something. It's a little skinned and red, that's it, but Harry doesn't tell him to suck it up or anything like that. He cuddles him up and tells him he's okay.

When Alex cries slow to sniffles, Harry says, "Dad'll be home in a half hour. He can take a look at it, if you want him to."

"Yeah," Erin says from the doorway. "He can decide if we need to amputate or not."

Alex screeches at her and throws a pillow at her head, and Harry's first reaction is to tell her to be nice, but it gets Alex distracted from his finger. Judging by her laugh and how she doesn't throw the pillow back, he's pretty sure that's what she intended.

Still, when Louis gets home and Erin tells him what Alex did, Alex refuses to show Louis his finger. "You can't cut it off," he says sternly, and Louis laughs loudly, taken aback.

"I'm not going to cut off your finger," Louis tells him, and it takes Alex a few seconds to consider if Louis' worthy of his trust or not. After a few seconds, he does show it to Louis, and the redness has gone down by now and it looks even more okay than it did earlier.

Erin peeks her head around Louis' shoulder. "Want me to get the knife?" she says. "Papa can hold him down."

And then Alex is screeching again and running away from them, and Louis is a bit confused by everything. Alex doesn't actually seem worried, though. If anything, he's having fun with all the attention on him and his barely injured finger.

Erin gets bored and heads to her room, and then it's just Louis and Harry. Louis kisses him softly and asks if he's alright, and Harry nods. He is. Now, at least. He feels a bit lighter all the sudden, and he doesn't think it has anything to do with the weed.

It's been two years since Harry's taken over as manager of the flower shop. Anna opened a new location about an hour away, and she wanted to be there to get things in order. Harry didn't offer to take over, didn't really want to, but Anna asked him and he couldn't say no because she didn't really have anyone else.

The pay's better. The title's better. And he doesn't have to work all that much more, which he was afraid of. The only shit part is now he has to always come in on holidays. It’s limited hours, though, and the kids don't mind.

Jordan became the new assistant manager, and Harry doesn't have anything to say about that except that he maybe doesn't trust her with some of the stuff that Anna trusted him with. She gets nickels and quarters mixed up too often to be trusted to count the till, but she's usually fine at taking inventory, so it evens out.

He's not upset with the fact he's still working here. He's not, not at all. It doesn't embarrass him, nor does he think it should. He has put blood, sweat and tears into this job, and he's been rewarded for doing that. He's helping support his husband and his kids. That's all that matters to him. And now that Emily works here, it means even more to him. Erin likes to fuss that it's unfair that she can't work there but Emily can, even though the age limit is sixteen and Erin would most definitely be humiliated by working with her father.

He loves Emily like one of his own, and he loves her working with him. The only downside is that she texts her mum whenever she thinks he's a little too quiet or moody. Like today, Harry's hidden away in his office because he's feeling like shit. While he's creating next month's schedule, he gets a text from Taylor that reads, Ems said you haven't come out of your office in ages. You dead in there?

She's joking, and Harry smiles, and he never tells Emily that Taylor tells him that she gives updates on him to her mum because he's pretty sure Emily would be mortified if she found out. He does, however, make sure to leave his office for a few minutes every half hour or so after that.

Another plus side is that he can take the fucked up bouquets that are going to be tossed, make them pretty, and take them home and give them to Louis. Or Erin, and sometimes Alex, but Louis is the one who appreciates them the most, even though Harry's been giving him flowers for decades. Louis always tries his hardest to keep the flowers pretty in their vase, and watching him tend to them every morning makes Harry happy.

He brings home a slightly squashed bouquet of pink roses, and while he puts them in a vase for Louis, Alex watches him and asks him all sorts of questions.

"Are those for Daddy?"

"Yes, love."

"Why?"

"Because it's important to show those who you love how much you care about them."

Alex stares intently at the flowers. "And flowers do that?"

"They can, yeah."

"Were they expensive?"

Harry snorts. "Yes, bud. So expensive." And Alex is too young still, or maybe just too naive, to pick up on sarcasm all the time, so he nods slowly like he's impressed.

"Will Daddy like pink?"

"I think so."

"Are there really pink flowers, or are they dyed?"

"They're real, Lex."

"Why does Erin say Daddy takes care of you too much?" Alex asks next, tone matched to all the other questions, like it's not all that important. Harry pauses, glancing at Alex, who's still staring at the vase intently. When Harry doesn't respond right away, Alex looks at him, eyes wide. "She says that you're selfish, but if you get Daddy flowers, that's not selfish, right?"

It feels like he got kicked in the chest, and he forces himself to make himself look busy with the flowers as he tries not to react to that outwardly. Erin's been kind to him this last week or so, this isn't what he wants to be hearing. Not now. Not from his son. "When did she say that, hmm?"

"I don't know. A few days after Grandma's funeral, I think." He adjusts himself on the chair so he's leaning all his weight on the counter, still looking at Harry with wide eyes. "It was after you got upset with Daddy for trying to help with the dinner."

That kicks up his anxiety even more. That's -- no. He doesn't want his kids remembering or hearing shit like that. He doesn't want to turn into his father. His voice is choked when he tries to explain something to Alex, but he fights through it. "You know that even when me and your dad don't agree on everything, we still love each other very much. You know that, right?"

Alex nods easily enough.

"Good," Harry whispers. He fumbles with the stem of a flower. "That's good to know. Don't forget that."

"You seem sad," Alex says quietly. "Did I make you sad?"

"No, Lex, no, just -- " he smiles stiffly at him, trying to count in his head and take equal breaths at the same time. It doesn't really work. "I'm not sad, baby."

"I thought you said it was always okay to be sad."

And this is when Harry decides he needs to step back, take a breather, and then he'll make it right with Alex later. He quickly says to him that it is, it always is, and that he's going to take a quick shower right now and he will talk with him later. Alex frowns, looking unsettled, so Harry asks him to continue making Daddy's flowers look pretty, something that makes him perk up instantly.

He cries a lot in the shower. Too much for it to be just over what Alex said Erin told him. But he manages to pull himself together before getting out of the shower, and when he finds a pink rose sitting in front of the bathroom door, he has to take a few more deep breaths and stays in his room for another few minutes.

Erin's in the kitchen talking to Alex when Harry gets back, and it sends too much anxiety rattling in his stomach. Seeing his daughter shouldn't make him feel that way. It's just. . . he doesn't know where he went wrong with her. And whatever he did to make Erin think less of him -- will that happen with Alex eventually, too? He hopes not. God, does he hope not.

He knows he needs to talk with Erin. She needs to tell him what she wants from him. At the very least, they need to have an open dialogue between the two of them, not through Louis or Alex. And he'll do that, he will, but not until he at least talks to Louis about it.

"Hey, Papa," Erin says when he walks in, smiling at him. It looks genuine, too. "Dad texted me. We're having pizza for dinner."

Harry just nods once, trying to give her a smile of his own. He hopes it's as convincing as hers was.

"I'm telling you, H, it's just how kids her age act."

"I don't think it is."

Louis gives him a tired look over his shoulder. "I grew up with four sisters. I think I'd know." He slides his pajama pants on and finally gets into bed with Harry. They're both going to sleep earlier than normal -- Erin's still awake downstairs -- but Harry wanted to talk before bed.

"Plus," Louis continues, propping himself up on his pillow. "You know how it is, like. Your parents seem like the worst thing when you're a teenager. I snapped at my mum all the time. I'm sure you did too."

No, he didn't. Not when he was a teenager, anyway. The only time he ever got smart with his mum was when he was still hurt and angry in his adulthood, which eventually fizzled out into nothing. And he never got that way with his father, not ever, so no. Harry doesn't know how it is.

Louis must realize this, because he sighs. "Trust me on this, babe. Please. She's just pushing buttons because she found out how hard they can be pushed, and she likes the fight."

"I don't think it's that," Harry says again. "I don't think it's because, like, she's still going through puberty and things are changing. I don't think it's that."

"Why?"

Louis' got that tone of voice that he does when Harry's stressed about something and Louis asks him why, exactly. Usually, that leads to Harry realizing he doesn't have a very good reason, and it helps thaw away the stress, but this is different.

"She never goes after you," Harry says, and Louis scoffs, shaking his head. Before he can argue, Harry continues. "No, Lou. She doesn't. Not as meanly. And yeah, sure, she baits you a bit, but usually it's about small, random things. She continuously talks shit about the way I depend on you and my mental health. I think. . . I don't know if she believes in it."

Louis' quiet before he says, "I don't think she understands it."

Not liking that, Harry sits back against the pillows and sighs. Maybe he's right, though. Maybe Erin just doesn't get it. "So, what?" he asks. "You want me to tell her that I've got a list full of mental disorders, and that I struggle with self-harm, and -- "

"Don't," Louis says quickly, shaking his head. "Not about the self-harm. Not until she's older. And not while you still struggle with it so much, I don't. . . I don't want her to have to worry about you in that way."

Harry started cutting again just after Erin's twelfth birthday. She wanted to start shaving, and Louis and Harry agreed mostly because they're both men and aren't going to tell her what to do with her body when, and they wanted to implement trust with that sort of stuff. (Erin swears she still hasn't started her period, and both Louis and Harry have the fear that she's lying because she's too uncomfortable to go to them for the things she needs. And, to be fair, Harry thinks it'd be a pretty awkward conversation no matter how hard he would try to make it the opposite.) And Harry bought her a pack of razors, and when she got through those, he went back out for more, and it just happened. Really, it just happened. And he only kept with it for two weeks, and then he forced himself to quit again.

Right after his mum died, though, he picked back up the method of wrapping his hands around too-hot coffee mugs and testing how long he could hold his hand against the stove or a hot pan before he had to pull away. He fucked up with that, because he once accidentally properly burnt his hand. Alex bawled and Erin was grossed out and Louis knew it wasn't an accident, so he was so, so disappointed.

"So what do I tell her?" Harry asks, feeling like a fraud.

"Everything that's easy for her to understand at her age." He makes it sound so fucking easy, and it's not. "Don't mention anything that might, like, too serious."

Harry just nods, not knowing what that means at all.

He doesn't end up talking to Erin about everything. He was planning to after that conversation with Louis, but it's just -- that's too stressful, and he's sure Erin would agree. She's never been one who enjoyed long, serious talks with them about anything. It's what he tells himself to convince himself that this can be put off longer.

It becomes a problem, though, because Erin's still cranky and prickly and Louis' starting to get frustrated by Harry running away from responsibility and Alex is still his sweet, little Alex, so he usually sticks around him or the pets instead of Louis or Erin. Alex loves any sort of attention, so he preens under Harry's extra love, which makes Erin more aggravated, which makes Louis more frustrated, and it's getting increasingly irritating and hard to ignore. They're still functioning as a family -- Harry's confident they're all mostly happy and that nobody is taking the slight tension between everyone to heart -- but sometimes, usually late at night when he can't sleep, he wonders if that's enough.

And knowing Louis is mad at him for any reason freaks him out. Sincerely, it makes Harry feel on edge and like a failure. He loves Louis so fucking much. Idolizes him, practically. So knowing that Louis is disappointed in him enough to show it outwardly sends him scrambling, a bit, and he tries clinging to the moments where Louis' leaving it be or too tired to bring it up.

"Alex starts football next month," Louis says one night, voice quiet and tired. They're lying curled up on the couch, too tired to go to their room, with Patch licking himself by their feet. "We have to get him new shoes."

Harry just nods against Louis' chest. Louis will probably be the one to take Alex out to the shop for shoes, anyway. Not that Harry doesn't do that type of stuff -- he does -- but Louis usually handles the footy stuff. Harry's only interest in that sport is how cute Alex looks in his uniform.

"And Erin has that dance next weekend," Louis says. He's either thinking out loud or too tired to realize they've already talked about all this stuff earlier. Harry doesn't mind. "You're taking her, right?"

Again, Harry nods.

"Stupid that I couldn't get the night off," Louis huffs, running his hand down Harry's back. "I work all the fucking time, you'd think the one time I ask for a day off that they'd give it to me, but no. And now I'm gonna miss her all dressed up."

"I can take pictures," Harry promises. He doesn’t like missing that type of stuff, either. Usually he doesn’t have to, but sometimes he does. They’re always there for the super important things, though, so he tries not to feel so guilty. He can’t be there for everything.

Louis nods and leans down to press a kiss to his head. “Yeah, you better,” he says as he pulls back and settles against the couch again. He exhales slowly before saying, “She’s going to be off at uni if four years already, Haz. And knowing her, she’s going to want to go to, like, America.”

Harry snorts. “Like you did?”

“Shut it,” Louis mumbles. “I just don’t know where the time went. We’re old now.”

“We’re not even fifty yet,” Harry disagrees, sitting up a bit. Louis smiles warmly at him as he sets his palm on his cheek. “That’s not old. And Erin will be fine at university.” Anxiety and doubt pulls at his stomach as soon as he says that, so he leans into Louis’ palm and says, “It’s a few years off, anyway. It’ll be fine.”

“I hope so,” Louis whispers before biting down on his lip. “I mean, who knows if she’ll even want to go. She brings up the fact that you didn’t finish university every time I mention it to her.”

She’ll want to go. Harry knows she will. She won’t want to end up like Harry, he’s sure of it. He doesn’t exactly have any proof of it, but it feels true in his gut. “She’ll go,” Harry says, trying to sound comforting. “She will.”

Louis nods and sighs again before pulling Harry back down to his chest. It’s cozy and warm against Louis, and he feels his eyes start to get heavy. He’s not sure which of them fall asleep first.

Emily and Taylor’s relationship is one that he’s not sure if he envies it or is glad that his bond with his own kids looks different from it. Either way, he respects it and knows it works for them. They’re both loud and happy and get caught up in little side conversations that Harry doesn’t understand and watches with an amused, warm smile.

The three of them try to go out together at least once a month, something they’ve done ever since Taylor moved back here. Taylor wants Harry as a permanent, trusted figure in Emily’s life, and he’s pretty sure that’s been successful. Emily has told him a few private things in confidence, things that she wasn’t sure how to talk about with her mum at first. Harry tried to do the same with his kids and Taylor, but Erin is always busy or not in the mood and Alex is too focused on everything else to really care about whatever Taylor would have to say. Both his kids love and admire Taylor, they do, but their bond with her is different than Emily’s bond with him. He supposes it’s okay; Erin knows that if she ever has any “girl questions” as Harry so stupidly put it once that she doesn’t want to go to them with, then she can go to Taylor, and really, that’s all Harry can hope for.

“So, has my mom told you about that new guy she’s seeing?” Emily asks after a small stretch of comfortable silence. Her accent is a bit all over the place, which Harry usually takes the time to pick on her for, but no, he didn’t know Taylor was seeing someone else. And he also doesn’t know why that makes him feel so protective over her. It’s pretty dumb, isn’t it. Harry doesn’t have half the strength Taylor does.

Taylor shoves at her shoulder and takes her milkshake from her before turning to Harry. “Ignore her,” she says, shaking her head. She takes a long sip from Emily’s straw before Emily takes it back. “It’s new, and, like, probably not going anywhere, so I didn’t mention it. Plus, you’ve been dealing with your own shit. Didn’t feel like the time.”

“My mum died months ago,” Harry says, confused. “It’s -- I mean, I’m not over it by any means, but don’t you think it’s been long enough for you to trust me with the fun stuff?”

Taylor stares at him blankly, like she’s trying to figure out if he’s being serious or not. Emily shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

“It’s not just about your mum, though, is it,” Taylor says gently, shrugging. “Louis, um. Louis mentioned you’re having issues with Erin. Still.”

“Me and Erin are fine,” he snaps, maybe a little too hotly. He sighs and picks up a fry off his plate. “It’s -- it’s not a big deal, alright? She’s still happy. Maybe not really with me, but I don’t think she cares that much.”

Taylor shrugs her shoulder. “You know better than anyone how much it sucks having a bad relationship with your parents, is all.”

Harry scoffs at her. “And you know better than anyone that the last thing I need to hear is that I’m anything like either of my parents.”

“I think Mom’s just saying that if Erin’s not happy with you, she’s probably not happy at all,” Emily says slowly, like she’s testing the waters. It’s smart; Harry’s feeling a bit attacked right now. “I mean, having your parents mad at you sucks. A lot.”

“I’m not mad at her,” Harry says incredulously.

“Does she know that?” Emily asks, looking guilty as she does.

Harry tosses the fry back on his plate and sits back against the chair. They’re not attacking him, he knows that, it’s just -- not how he wanted to spend his time with them. “I think so,” he mumbles.

“You should probably find out,” Taylor tells him. “And the only way to do that is to talk to her.”

Harry sighs and doesn’t say anything, which they let him get away with. They probably recognize that this isn’t easy for him and that he doesn’t want to talk about it. Apparently, he’s just shit at talking.

They finish up lunch in somewhat tense silence, but when they go back to Taylor’s, any awkward tension is gone, and Harry finally gets to hear more about whatever bloke Taylor is seeing.

As if the universe is giving him yet another reason as to why he needs to talk to Erin, she gets mad at him that night. The way she lashes out is direct, too; it’s not hidden under a different problem or the silent treatment or any of that. She flat out gets pissy with him about going out to lunch with Emily when he hasn’t taken her out to lunch “like, ever,” as she put it.

“I’m sorry,” he said, frowning. “Babe, it’s not like -- it’s not anything. Me and you can go out next weekend, if that’s -- “

“Forget it,” she snapped, shaking her head. “I’ll just ask Dad.” And then she stormed up to her room and Alex glanced at him worriedly. His worry deepened when Harry told him he was going to relax in his bedroom, because somehow the kids have picked up on the fact that Harry likes to be alone when he’s sad. Of course they did: they aren’t stupid.

Louis is annoyed with him when he gets home. Harry is still sitting in bed, playing with the cats as he watches a movie on the TV when Louis opens the bedroom door and sighs at him and says, “Why did Alex just tell me that you’ve been in here for hours because you and Erin got into it again? I mean, haven’t we talked about how you can’t just hide to avoid confrontation with them?”

Harry blinks at him, partially confused and partially knowing Louis’ right. He knew that he shouldn’t have gone to the room before he did, but he went anyway. He should’ve known Louis would have gotten annoyed at him for it.

“Sorry,” Harry says after a minute. “I just -- no, I’m sorry. You’re right.”

Louis sighs and shuts the door. He pets the cats and presses a chaste kiss to Harry’s temple before changing out of his scrubs. “You know how Alex gets when he thinks either of us are upset,” Louis mumbles, taking his shirt off. He lets out another loud sigh. “Why’s Erin mad now, anyway?”

“Apparently I don’t take her out enough,” Harry says, crossing his arms protectively over his chest. “And apparently I take Emily out too much. I don’t know. She’s probably right, too.”

“No, you can take Emily out as much as you want. She doesn’t get to tell you what to do,” Louis says, digging through their drawers. “Just, I don’t know. Take her out sometime soon and she’ll get over it. She’s probably not that upset about it.”

“I don’t know. She seemed pretty angry.”

Louis makes an annoyed sound before turning to Harry and saying, “Yeah, well, the only way to figure out how mad she actually is is if you'd talk to her, which you won’t, so. Guess we’ll just have to ignore it for now. See if it comes up again.”

Harry stays silent, unsure of how to respond to that. Louis’ right, even if he’s maybe being a little harsh about it. Louis hates coming home to unhappy kids or an unhappy husband, and he’s got a mix of both right now, so Harry understands his frustration. He’ll cool down, and then they’ll talk about it calmly later on. Or maybe they won’t, because clearly Louis is tired of talking about the same thing over and over again, which Harry completely understands.

He’s not sure why talking to his own daughter seems so scary. Maybe he’s scared to figure out just how much she’s mad at him. Maybe he’s scared to hear her say something she can’t take back. Maybe he just doesn’t want to talk about his mental health with her. Whatever it is, he needs to figure it out and fix it, and he needs to do it soon.

“Come here,” Louis says, holding an arm out towards him. Harry crawls across the bed and stands so he can wrap his arms around Louis and press his face against Louis’ neck, and he only feels a little pathetic about it. “You’re fine. You’re a good dad. I love you like crazy. We’re fine, alright? You just need to check yourself a bit sometimes. Erin’s not mad anymore, I don’t think. She was telling me about her friend and stuff. And Lex is fine, too. He’ll probably want a hug from you, but that’s it. Nobody hates you, okay?”

What a small little affirmation. It shouldn’t make him feel so much better.

“How’d your lunch with Taylor and Em go, then?”

“Fine,” Harry mumbles, not really wanting to talk about that. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “I’m going to talk to Erin tonight, okay? I will.”

He doesn’t. He tries to, he goes to her room and everything, but she smiles at him when he opens the door and she starts to tell him about what her and her friends are going to do next weekend, so he thinks he can leave it for now. What’s the point, he thinks, when she’s not angry right now.

Alex has a friend over when Gemma calls him a few days later. Louis is home, too, so Harry can step into the other room without having to worry that Alex and Jackson are going to light anything on fire or something. He absolutely hates taking care of playdates by himself; something about it makes his anxiety act up like crazy.

“Hey, Gems,” Harry answers as he shuts the door to his bedroom. As he talks to her, he’ll put away some laundry, he decides. Louis couldn’t find a specific pair of pants this morning and about ripped the drawers off the hinges to find them. He promised to fix up the room tonight, but Harry figures he can just do it now. Take something off of Louis’ to-do list.

“Hey, H.”

They exchange the normal small talk for a while. How are the kids, how’s the spouse, how’s the job, how’s the weather. They talk more frequently now, even if it is usually about the smaller things in life. The last time they talked was about a month ago, though, because Harry absolutely ripped into her when she tried forcing him to talk about their mum. He regretted it, and he did apologize over voicemail, but he also understood that maybe she needed some time.

“So, at the risk of you flipping out on me again, how are you doing?” Gemma asks after about a half hour. “About Mum, I mean. How are you handling everything?”

He hasn’t told anyone about how fucking guilty he feels about that whole thing. She died thinking he hated her, probably. She died without having had a phone call from him in nine months -- he checked. They texted around the holidays, but that’s not enough. It wasn’t. He should’ve done better, and now there’s not a goddamn thing he can do about it.

It’s startling how quick the tears are to jump to his eyes. He tries to blink them back, but it doesn’t really work. “Um,” he starts, and then lets out a choked laugh. “It is what it is, I guess.”

“No, it’s not,” she says quickly. “You talk to me. I don’t want you feeling alone in this. Louis told me that you haven’t been the most open to him about it, either.”

He grabs a pair of Louis’ pants off the ground and sets them in the right dresser. He goes to do the same with another, but stops when the tears get harder to ignore. He sits down on the edge of their bed and takes a deep breath.

“I don’t know, Gemma. I really don’t. I don’t know how to feel.”

“She loved you,” she says, and her voice sounds strained, too. “She loved you like mad. You were her baby. And she knew that you loved her, H. She did, I promise you.”

“I was such a dick,” he whispers. He has to squeeze his eyes together to try not to cry. He doesn’t want to let himself cry over this.

“You can’t feel guilty for how you felt when what you felt was completely valid,” she tells him sternly. “Mum fucked up a lot. We both know that. And you had to protect yourself from that, okay? You don’t have to feel sorry for that.”

But he does. He really does. Because yeah, his mum messed up a lot and she defended his dad too much and he still fully believes that she picked him over Harry, but that doesn’t seem worth ignoring her for now. Now, when it’s too late to go back. He should have realized he’d feel this way -- no, he knew he would, he knew he’d regret it, and he didn’t stop himself. That’s why he’s so pissed at himself. He always told himself that he’d regret it, especially these past few years, and yet here he is. Here he fucking is.

“You’re going to be fine, right?” Gemma asks. “You’re going to be okay?”

“Yeah, Gem,” he says. He will be. Probably. He can’t let this hurt him so much, not when there’s nothing he can do about it and when he has kids now. It’s why he’s been trying not to give it any attention, why he has pretty much refused any conversation about it with Louis. He laughs sadly and says, “I kind of have to be.”

They talk for a bit longer before Gemma has to let him go. He quickly puts Louis’ clothes away before going back downstairs. Even if listening to Alex and Jackson bump around and screech is a little irritating, he adores his son anyway and he doesn’t want Louis to handle everything by himself. As soon as he gets downstairs, Alex grabs his hand and guides him under their fort that they’ve created in the last fifteen minutes. Harry’s much too tall for it, and he has to slouch down so far that it kind of hurts, but it’s alright.

On Monday morning, Harry wakes up with his anxiety through the fucking roof. It’s so bad that he lays in bed with his head spinning and wonders if he should even try to go to work. He wishes he understood why some days he feels mostly free from it all and then the next he feels like his whole day is about to be ruined for something he can’t fucking control.

He goes through his morning routine quietly; he doesn’t want to accidentally snap at anyone or show how drained he’s feeling. It’s stupid how he has to maneuver through his own emotions like he has no control over them because he does, to an extent, it’s just. . . easier for everyone if he keeps his mouth shut when he’s like this.

Harry’s almost out the door with the kids when Erin realizes she can’t find her history notebook. It was in her backpack all weekend, apparently, and the only person who would have taken it was Alex, according to her. And then Alex gets all annoyed for being accused of stealing something that he wouldn’t want anything to do with. So now Harry has two angry kids on his hands while Louis is still in the shower, and Harry does not want Louis to have to come downstairs and smooth this over. Harry needs to do it himself.

He tries and fails, kind of miserably. He asks Alex to please stop getting Erin even more riled up and to finish up his breakfast, and Alex completely ignores him, telling Erin that maybe she wouldn’t have lost her book if she more responsible, and then Erin is shouting at Alex and calling him stupid. Harry sighs, tries to get Erin to calm down, which is nearly impossible because she seems to think she has every reason to not be calm.

Harry’s on his hands and knees looking for the notebook under the couch when Louis comes downstairs and fixes everything almost immediately. Alex stops meddling because he knows Louis will get on him about it, and Erin hurriedly explains the situation to him (and throws in a, “Papa isn’t helping at all”) and then Louis is telling her to check her backpack again.

“It’s not in there, I would have seen it,” she huffs, throwing her hands up. Louis very calmly tells her to just double-check, which she does, even though she makes a show of how unhappy she is about it, only to find her history notebook tucked into her English folder, for some reason.

“Alex must’ve put it there,” Erin says half-heartedly, at least having the decency to look apologetic. She mumbles something sarcastic-sounding under her breath before saying she’s going to go upstairs and finish getting ready.

Louis comes out to the living room and huffs out a laugh at Harry, who’s still sitting on the floor. “She does that all the time,” he says, smiling softly, as he leans down to kiss Harry. Harry kisses him back and gives him a small smile in return. Part of him feels like it’d be nice to talk to someone about how hazy his head feels, but the other part of him is reminding him that Louis doesn’t need to handle anything else, especially not after he just had to stop Erin and Alex from losing their shit at seven in the morning.

The kids finish getting ready, and then they’re out the door and piling into the car. It’s peaceful for a minute, just a minute, and then --

“I can’t believe you said I stole something when it was in your own stupid backpack,” Alex huffs from the backseat, kicking at Erin’s seat weakly.

Erin’s face lights up with anger as she whips around to say something nasty to her brother, and before she can, Harry asks her not to. “Please,” he says quietly. “Don’t fight. It’s all taken care of now, right? There’s no need for it.”

“Yeah, Erin,” Alex teases.

“Hey, I was talking to you, too,” Harry says, glancing at Alex using his mirror. Alex pouts. “No more arguing for both of you, alright?”

Erin shifts in her seat, her eyes focused intently on her phone. He doesn’t even think she’s paying them any attention, until she mumbles, “Papa not taking Alex’s side? Unheard of.”

It’s annoying, her continuously insinuating that Harry plays favorites, because he really doesn’t. He doesn’t. He very intentionally tries not to, and Louis has also said that that’s not true. She’s just doing it to wind him up, and it fucking works; it’s too early and he’s too tired and his head feels weird, and it’s -- she needs to learn when to stop.

“I said stop it, okay?” Harry says harshly, on the verge of snapping at her. “So stop it.”

Alex kicks at her chair again. “Yeah, Erin, stop it.”

“Both of you fucking stop it,” Harry snaps, his fingers curling tightly over the steering wheel. He regrets it immediately, raising his voice like that. Not so much the cursing part -- Louis curses in front of them all the time on accident -- but definitely for getting angry. “I’m sorry,” he says immediately, but he’s already got both his children staring at him like he just killed something.

He doesn’t yell. He just doesn’t. Louis gets loud sometimes, but not Harry. Never Harry.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says again, feeling a little breathless and absolutely terrible. The hot dread in his stomach only strengthens as the minutes pass by and neither of them say a word. Erin says a quiet goodbye as she gets out of the car, and Alex does the same with a quiet apology attached at the end.

“Don’t be sorry, bud,” Harry whispers, hating himself so much. “You’re just a kid. You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

“Okay,” Alex says. He still sounds sad. “Bye, Papa. Love you.”

He closes the door softly, paying extra close attention to it to make sure he doesn’t slam it, and Harry hates it.

There are a lot of problems that he has developed from how he was raised. A ton -- you probably couldn’t even list them all. But the one that he struggles with a lot ever since they adopted their kids is the guilt. He hates disciplining them, hates it with everything he has in him, and no matter how gentle or reasonable he is in doing it, he feels completely guilty for it and like he has to make up for it.

He spends the next few days being overly lenient and careful and calm around the kids, way more than he usually is, which. . . is saying a lot, because he’s always lenient and calm around them, so much so that Louis has to remind him that they aren’t made of glass.

“You snapped at them,” Louis tells Wednesday morning, when Harry’s on the second morning of putting way too much effort into breakfast, “so what? They deserved to get snapped at. And they’ve probably forgotten about it already.”

“You don’t really forget when your parents snap at you,” Harry mumbles as he pours pancake batter into a pan. “I never did, anyway.”

Louis sighs quietly and leaves it at that. They’ve had these talks so many times over the years; Louis always tells him not to use his childhood as a comparison to their own children and parenting methods because they don’t and shouldn’t look anything alike, and Harry always tells him that he doesn’t have much else to base off what’s right and what’s wrong aside from his personal experiences.

“We should take them out for dinner tomorrow night or something,” Harry tells Louis a few minutes later. He just has a feeling that Alex is still upset about it. “They’ll like that.”

Louis exhales slowly and nods. He gives Harry a tight smile and tells him, “Sure, if that’s what you need.”

Because this is about Harry, not the kids. All these little things Harry’s doing to make sure the kids aren’t mad at him are for more of his sake, not theirs. He needs reassurance, not them.

“We don’t have to,” Harry says quietly, feeling stupid.

Louis shakes his head and sips his coffee. “No, love. We can. It’ll be nice.”

“Okay,” Harry agrees. “I’ll tell them in the car. Let them pick where.”

The idea was great in theory. Ideas are always great in theory, aren’t they. But when Harry finds himself sitting in a crowded restaurant when he could be at home with his cats and his dog, he’s antsy and uncomfortable. He barely says a word the entire time, because he can’t stop listening to the couple at the table behind theirs who is bickering about something the male did. Harry’s waiting for it to escalate, waiting for the bloke to start really giving it to her, because he can hear the edge to his voice -- he wants to snap. He’s struggling to keep his voice down. He keeps throwing his hands up. His swearing becomes more frequent as time goes on.

Of course, Louis and the kids probably don’t even notice the couple behind them. They’re too busy talking and eating. Harry’s barely touched his plate, but that’s not that uncommon with him. They’ll take it to go and he’ll eat it at home; it’s so normal that it doesn’t even bother the kids anymore. He usually only orders fries and drink if he’s feeling this overwhelmed, but he wanted to fake happy for the kids.

And the kids are having fun, they are. Erin is even putting up with Alex’s pleas to play a new round of I Spy every three minutes. Louis seems pretty happy, too, which Harry was worried he wouldn’t be because he worked all day. He has a firm hold on Harry’s hand on the table and keeps stealing the kids’ food.

In social situations, usually Harry finds it that he can’t join in even if he really wants to. Usually, the conversation is too fast paced or he doesn’t know the people well enough or he’s worried about looking dumb. Right now, though, he could probably easily join in if he wanted to, but it doesn’t exactly feel like he deserves to. Like if he were to say something, the fun would all halt and everyone would be upset and quiet and Harry doesn’t want that, he doesn’t, so he sits there on the sidelines and listens to the couple behind them so he can let everyone else have their peace. That line of thinking is wrong and delusional and kind of worrying, because maybe that means that he’s doing bad again.

He knows he’s doing bad when Alex says he has to pee and Louis gets up to take him to the bathroom and Harry’s reaction to being left alone with Erin is a fucking blast of anxiety so strong that it blocks out any new thoughts and makes his whole body go hot. He loves Erin, he loves her so much, and he enjoys spending time with her, so this is -- this is stupid. This makes him feel like a terrible father. He shouldn’t feel this way about being around someone he loves so much.

“You like your sandwich?” Harry forces himself to ask. It’s stupid, considering her plate is almost empty. He shouldn’t have asked her that. He should’ve asked something else. Or maybe he shouldn’t have said anything at all, he doesn’t really know.

“Yeah,” she says, smiling. She doesn’t look uncomfortable or like she wants him to shut up, but how is he supposed to know for sure? “Want a fry?” she asks, taking one off of Alex’s plate and handing it to him. It makes him smile, and he nods as he takes it from her.

“Thanks,” he mumbles. They sit in hopefully comfortable silence until Alex and Louis come back, and as Alex starts to demand another game of I Spy and Louis’ hand grabs for his again, Harry sinks back and starts listening to that couple again.

Things continue to be normal and relatively smooth for a while. A month later, Alex is in football and Erin is still hot and cold with him and Louis has been looking after him a bit more as Harry gets shaky sometimes. He had a huge panic attack in the middle of the night last week and it was absolutely awful. Louis was so worried about him after that.

Harry’s sitting at the kitchen table sorting through new flyers he ordered for the store. He’s tired and he has a headache and he’s busy. Those are his only excuses for why he completely blocks out the loud argument Alex and Erin are having in the living room only a few feet away. He knows he should intervene, especially when it escalates to the point that Alex calls Erin stupid and Erin calls him a dickbag, but. . . He’s tired. He has a headache. And he’s busy. He convinces himself to believe that’s reasonable until he hears Louis coming downstairs.

“I guess I’ll stop them, then,” Louis says, sighing loudly, as he walks past Harry with Nala on his heels. “It’s not like I was trying to sleep or anything.”

The kids quiet down as soon as Louis walks in the living room. Louis says a few vaguely stern things and tells them to keep it down before he’s coming back to the kitchen. He walks right past Harry without even looking at him, and Harry knows he deserves it, but it sends panic whirling in his stomach anyway. He only manages to make himself stay put for five minutes before he’s practically scrambling upstairs, wringing his hands together as he tries to think up a good enough apology.

Louis’ resting when Harry gets to their room. He might not actually be asleep, but he’s trying to be, so Harry slips into bed with him and carefully tucks himself against Louis’ side. Harry closes his eyes, ready to fall asleep himself, when Louis wraps his arm around his waist.

“You need to do better with the kids, love,” Louis whispers, sounding guilty. “I know you’re trying, and I know you’re not in the best space right now, but you can’t -- they were two seconds away from going for each other’s throats. You can’t just ignore them like that.”

“I know,” Harry mumbles. “I know. I’m sorry. I was going to -- “

“They were going at each other for almost ten minutes before I went down there,” Louis says sharply. “You were not going to step in.”

“I hate yelling at them,” Harry says weakly, turning his face into Louis’ chest.

Louis squeezes his waist. “I didn’t yell, did I?”

“No. You didn’t.”

“And they didn’t flip out at me for telling them to shush, did they?”

Harry shakes his head.

“Because they knew they were being annoying,” Louis says. “They knew it. I’m pretty sure they were doing it for attention, based on how fast they stopped bickering. I’m pretty sure they were doing it for your attention.”

“I’m -- fuck. I’m sorry. Really.” He goes to sit up, but Louis shushes him and pulls him closer.

“You’re a good father and they love you and they adore you, okay, I’m not saying any differently,” Louis says, squeezing him. “I’m not. You better know I think they’re really fucking lucky to have you as a father. Just. . . sometimes, like a minute ago, you need to step up a bit more, okay? That’s all.”

Harry nods against Louis’ chest. “I agree. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Louis whispers. “Take a nap with me, okay? Nala left me.”

Harry pulls the blankets over them and snuggles further into Louis.

Lately, there’s been less conflicts between Harry and Erin. They’ve not been avoiding each other or anything, either. They have just gotten on better recently. So Harry thinks whatever tension between them has finally been resolved and that he didn’t have to sit her down for a talk, after all. He’s greatly relieved by that, which is probably why he feels so blindsided when Erin makes another dig at him.

The four of them are going out to see a movie together -- Harry’s not even sure what it’s called, all he knows is that Erin picked it and Louis was slightly concerned by her choice. Before they drive to the movie theater, they have to stop at the pharmacy to pick up a refill on Harry’s anxiety medication, and it’s fine, neither of the kids groan or complain about it. Until Harry gets back into the car with his medication in hand and Erin says, “I don’t get why he needs medicine if it’s just in his head.”

Immediately, Louis is turning around to look at her with a disappointed look. “You kidding me?” he says, furrowing his eyebrows. Harry stays silent, gripping onto the bag tightly. “We’ve talked about this before, haven’t we? Mental health is just as important to look after as physical health. I’ve told you that how many times?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Erin says, and she almost sounds believable. “I just meant, like. I understand why therapy would help, but, like. . . I don’t know. What does the medication even do?”

“Levels out the chemicals in his brain. Stops the harmful ones. Encourages the good ones.”

Louis’ pissed off and trying very hard not to show it, Harry can see it. He wants to fight for Harry just as badly as he doesn’t want to hurt his daughter’s feelings. Louis has explained this all to her before, he has, so Harry doesn’t know why she’s still talking about it.

Erin doesn’t respond to that, and after a second, Louis turns back around. He puts one hand on the gear shift and the other on the steering wheel like he’s going to let it go and drive, but he stops and turns his head to look at her again.

“It’s not all in his head,” he says. “I mean, yes, it is, but it’s -- don’t say it like that. It’s insensitive and dismissive. And if he doesn’t take care of his mental health, it starts affecting his physical health, so no. It’s not all in his head. It’s not. And I’m fucking horrified you’d even say that.”

“I’m sorry,” Erin says quietly, and she sounds like she means it, she really does. Maybe she was just asking a question. Maybe it just came out wrong. Maybe they took it the wrong way because she’s been mean about this sort of stuff before.

Louis starts driving. They’re waiting to pull out of the parking lot when Erin says, “I’m sorry, Papa. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Louis flinches at the sound of her voice and his hand reaches out to grab Harry’s. Harry squeezes his hand, and Louis crushes his.

“It’s okay, baby,” Harry says, and the meaning of it dies when his voice comes out raw and wounded. She sighs. Louis doesn’t stop crushing his hand.

Some days, he almost wishes he didn’t have to sit in his office at work all day.

Well, he doesn’t have to. But now that he has his own designated hideaway, he usually doesn’t see the point of coming out of it. He’s in control of how much he has to talk to people during the day. That’s good when he’s not in the mood to talk to anyone, but it’s not so good when he’s sitting in his office kind of wanting to talk to someone about anything and he doesn’t really have any excuse of why he should go and bother anyone.

Emily eats her lunch in his office on her break, and he calls Louis to chat on Louis’ lunch break. That’s about the time he talks to anyone today. It’s fine, he doesn’t particularly want to speak to anyone right now, so it doesn’t really bother him. It does, however, give him too much free time that he wastes watching Netflix on his computer and playing stupid games on his phone. He’s one of those people who do any tasks given as soon as he gets them, so he doesn’t have a list of things waiting to be completed. All he has is time.

Before he closes up for the night, he grabs Louis, Erin and Alex a different colored rose. Yellow for Alex, orange for Erin, and pink for Louis. He still has yet to get anyone a red one. It’s weird, how significant that feels to him now.

Dr. Kayla Thomspon is his third therapist he’s had in his entire life. She’s smart and she’s kind and she’s not all that different from Holly or Dr. Sheldon. He supposes their line of work doesn’t allow them to have too many different methods or manners. Dr. Thompson is, however, newly graduated and plans on staying in London for a while. Harry made sure of it; he’s not going to have her retire on him like Dr. Sheldon did. Going through this whole process again, especially as the years and years of stories are growing, is tiring and irritating and not something he wants to repeat if he can help it.

He’s been seeing her for about two years now. She’s helpful in the ways he needs her to be, and she caught on quickly that Harry doesn’t respond well to the tough love or the bad cop method.

Today she asks him again if he wants to consider rearranging his anxiety medication, whether it be switching medications or upping the dosage. She says the amount his anxiety has been regulated is fine, but it could be better. She almost seems confused as to why he doesn’t want to try something new, like his answer of not wanting to mess with something that took a long time to perfect isn’t a good enough reason. They talk about Erin, too, about why he thinks she responds to him differently than she does Louis. He says it’s because they’re completely different people who parent in completely different ways. She asks him if he thinks that’s where their problem lies. He says maybe. How is he supposed to know? And then they talk about his mum. She brings it up, not him, and he tries very hard to avoid saying too much, which she picks up on right away. After some passive-aggressive nudging, she lets it go and they switch topics.

Therapy always leaves him a bit sad nowadays. He doesn’t particularly know why. He used to find it enlightening, or at the very least a necessary evil that he had to get through, and now he kind of just feels like he’s torturing himself a bit. He’s not, he knows he’s not, and he knows he’d slip off the rails if he stopped going to therapy, it’s just. . . tiring. And takes away time he could be spending with his kids, who have only recently been allowed to be left alone by themselves at home. Erin’s mature enough to handle everything for a few hours. They hope, anyway. Nothing bad has happened yet. No fires.

Louis’ home early from work, so Harry gets to come home to him, which is something that always makes him happy. To have both the kids and Louis waiting for him at home is comforting, even if he sometimes lets himself get stressed out by them. He loves them all so much, and knowing they’re at home safe eases some of his nerves.

“How’d your appointment go?” Louis asks him once Harry joins him in the kitchen and kisses his cheek as a hello. He’s putting away the dishes, which Harry helps him with.

Harry hums. “Fine.”

“Just fine?”

“Just fine,” Harry repeats. He shrugs a shoulder at Louis before putting away a bowl. “She brought up the possibility of me messing with my anxiety medication, but I don’t know if I feel like doing that.” He sighs quietly, putting away a few other dishes. “It’s not like I want to not feel anything, you know? It’s healthy to be anxious about some stuff. I think the level at which I freak out about things is adequate enough. For me, anyway. I don’t know.”

Before Louis can respond, Harry catches movement in the doorway. He turns further to see Erin standing there, looking kind of awkward. “Hey, love,” Harry says, giving her a smile. “What’s up?”

“Can Katie come over Friday night?” she asks, and she’s looking mostly at Louis, even though Harry and Louis both call the shots on those sort of things.

“I work,” Louis says kind of dismissively, not looking back at her from where he’s sorting through a cabinet. Harry frowns at him. The kids can have someone over so long as one of them is home, too, and Harry gets off early on Fridays, so he’ll be home.

“Papa doesn’t work,” Erin says, and Harry nods.

“Yeah, I don’t.” He glances at Louis, who’s looking at him a little questioningly. “I don’t mind.”

Louis bites down on his bottom lip before shrugging. “If you don’t mind, then sure.”

“It’s not like she won’t be avoiding me and Alex like the plague when her friend is over, anyway,” Harry teases knowingly. She always throws an absolute fit whenever Alex tries to get in on whatever she’s doing with her friends, and Harry knows that Alex likes to do it just for that reaction.

Erin smiles sheepishly at him before thanking them both, looking down at her phone and leaving the kitchen. After she’s gone, Harry turns to Louis and bumps his hip with his. “I can handle it,” he says, eyebrows furrowed. “They’ll probably stay up in her room, anyway.”

“I know you can handle it,” Louis says, smiling soothingly at him. He leans forward and kisses Harry softly before handing him a mixing bowl to Harry that he’s too short to put back where it belongs.

He was right; Erin and Katie stay in her room almost the entire night. Harry says hello to her once she steps inside -- he doesn’t get nervous talking to a teenager, he doesn’t, not at all -- and then Erin whisks her away and takes her to her room where neither of them have emerged from since. It’s okay. Harry honestly prefers it that way -- he’s always at such a loss whenever Alex and friends look to him for entertainment. He wishes Alex or Louis were home, but Alex is at football practice and Louis’ at work. Harry will pick Alex up in an hour. Until then, he has Patch and Dwight to keep him company.

There was this time, about two or three years ago, when Dwight got sick. Looking back it wasn’t that serious, but in the moment Harry was terrified. Dwight wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t drink, wouldn’t sleep in their bed. Harry always knew he cared for his pets, but he didn’t realize just how much until a veterinarian was running a bunch of tests on him and telling them that it could be a number of things. Harry was so fucking worried that he could barely put on a brave face for the kids. And when Dwight was better and they could take him home, Harry basically kept him all to himself. He wanted Dwight next to him in bed, or cuddling with him on the couch or at the very least in his eyesight. It lasted almost two months, that paranoia that Dwight was going to get sick on him again.

After some time, Harry gets ready to pick Alex up from practice. He’s going to grab a pizza on the way back home, because that’s always a safe bet with kids. He pets both the cats’ heads before heading to Erin’s room to tell her that he’ll be right back. As soon as he opens the door, she looks annoyed.

“I’m just letting you know that I’m picking up Alex and that I’ll be right back,” he tells her, leaning against the doorframe. Her makeup that she buys whenever she goes out with friends -- and again, Harry and Louis don’t monitor that sort of stuff, not unless it’s harmful or something like that -- is sprawled all over her dresser and there’s black smudged near the edges of Katie’s eyes. “I’m getting pizza,” he adds. “If you want anything particular.”

“Pepperoni is fine,” she tells him hurriedly, giving him a look that reads if you do not get out of my room this minute I’m going to brutally murder you. He nods and says goodbye to them before shutting the door. Nala is laying by her door, probably upset that she wasn’t allowed in, so he bends down to pet her.

He freezes when he hears a laugh followed by a, “Why is your dad kind of cute?” It’s Katie, obviously, and he rolls his eyes and stands, shaking his head.

“Ew, shut the fuck up,” Erin groans. “He’s such a weirdo.”

Quiet hurt spreads across his heart, although he knows that she probably doesn’t mean anything serious about it. Her friend is just working her up and she’s retaliating on him, for some reason on him, but it’s fine. She probably doesn’t mean it. And then,

“I swear to God, I don’t know how my dad deals with him sometimes.”

He doesn’t stand there listening because he wants to hear more. It’s because he feels frozen and hurt and a bit attacked.

“Really?” he hears Katie asks. “He seems nice.”

“He is, it’s not -- “ Erin sighs loudly. “He’s just weird. It’s annoying sometimes.”

Harry forces himself to move then, keeping his footsteps as silent as possible as he moves away from her room. He tries to talk himself down from this feeling, the feeling of being absolutely crushed and devastated and disappointed, but it’s nearly impossible to. It’s just -- that’s his daughter. That’s his fucking daughter, who he loves to bits. And she thinks he’s -- weird. A weirdo. And hard to deal with. There’s not a right fucking way to take hearing something like that.

He listens to music and pays close attention to his breathing as he drives to the school to get Alex. Alex doesn’t deserve to see him all worked up over something his sister said. He manages to keep it hidden pretty well; at least he thinks he does, because Alex doesn’t seem to think anything’s wrong. He keeps talking and talking and talking and talking, and Harry tries to lose himself in that, to the story about how Alex tackled someone three times his size that Harry doesn’t necessarily believe because Alex is on the smaller side for his age and also isn’t into roughhousing like that. Plus, Harry doesn’t know when tackling would be allowed in football. Regardless, he listens intently and quietly, and Alex is happy and doesn’t think he’s a weirdo. Or maybe he does. Or maybe he will, in a few years time.

Harry is undeniably quiet when he gets home. He tries not to be, especially with Alex who literally did nothing wrong, but it’s hard. When Katie and Erin make the rare appearance for pizza, Harry doesn’t try to make polite conversation or anything, he just stares down at Nala and pets her ears the way she likes.

Once Erin and Katie go back to her room, Harry wants to hide in his room away from everyone else. He can’t do that, though, Louis was right: it sends a bad message and gets Alex worried about him needlessly. So he invites Alex to watch a movie in his room -- “After you shower,” at which Alex groans -- and he tries to hide his hurting underneath half-hearted laughs and limited commentary about the movie.

He’s pretty sure that suppressing how he really feels about everything is the reason why he can’t help but cry a little when Louis gets home. Alex is sleeping soundly in their bed, and there Harry is, crying over something his teenage daughter said. What a weirdo move.

“You alright, love?” Louis asks when he sees Harry wiping at his eyes. Harry nods once before shakes his head and mumbles that he doesn’t really want to talk about it right now. “Okay,” Louis agrees, sitting on the bed and pressing a hand to Alex’s back. “Is Katie still here?”

Harry shakes his head. “Her mum picked her up a half hour ago.”

Louis hums. “Okay. I’m going to take this one to bed, then. Can’t handle two bed hogs at the same time.”

Even though he kind of feels like shit and his eyes are still burning, that manages to pull a small laugh out of him. Harry is a bed hog. He can’t help it. He smiles softly as Louis picks Alex up and Alex lets out a sleepy stream of words that don’t make sense together.

“I don’t know why she’d say that,” Louis says after Harry told him what happened. He sighs and leans his head down against Harry’s. Harry’s already laying tucked against his side, but the extra touch makes him feel even better. “She’s a good kid, and you’re a good dad. I don’t get her sometimes.”

Harry doesn’t say anything to that. He knows where this conversation is going: Harry has to sit down and talk to her. He really does. They need to have an open and honest heart-to-heart conversation in order to understand each other a little more. They have to. It’s necessary at that point. He knows that.

“I think I’ll talk to her tomorrow,” Harry whispers, closing his eyes. “Try to figure out where I went wrong. Try to fix it.”

“That’d be good, I think,” Louis whispers. He strokes the skin below Harry’s elbow and kisses the top of his head softly. “That’d be good, love.”

He was actually going to talk to her the night after, he was, but he got stuck at work late and Louis told him he didn’t have to do it tonight. Tomorrow night, he said, and tomorrow came and passed and Harry lost his nerve.

Three days later, Erin makes another tiny jab. Louis cancelled a date night because Harry feels sick to his stomach for absolutely no reason, which probably means he's feeling anxious. Louis wasn't upset at all, if anything, maybe a little relieved, and Erin rolled her eyes and asked how his head being messed up affects his stomach. Louis and her got into it pretty bad again, and Harry just sat back, trying to distract himself with Alex like usual.

Even hearing one of them raise there voice just slightly makes Harry's brain run in circles, which is so, so dumb.

Erin makes a dramatic exit to her room at the end of it, and Louis turns to him and tells him he has got to talk to her before she says something she's going to completely regret. And Harry agrees. He has to stop being a coward for the sake of everybody and just talk to her.

She's doing homework when Harry knocks on the partially open door. She sighs before even looking to see who it is, and when she sees it's him, a surprised look morphs her face. Harry rarely does the after-argument talks. He used to try, and then they both found out he was kind of crap at them and Louis kind of shooed him from that role.

"Hey, E," he says quietly. "Can I come in?"

She shrugs and looks down at her notebook. "You're already basically in, so."

He nods, shuts the door, and then sits on the chair not too far away from the desk she's working at. Close enough for it to be reasonable, far enough to create a comfortable distance for the both of them. He doesn't want to come across threatening at all.

"What are you working on?" he asks.

"Math."

"Do you understand it? I always sucked at math."

She glances at him sharply. "Dad always goes on and on about how smart you both were in high school."

"Okay," Harry says slowly, trying to find his feet. "I wasn't awful at math. But it was my least favorite subject by far. Just kind of boring, innit?"

She shrugs again and glances down, muttering something that sounds vaguely like, "I guess."

He waits about a minute, counts to fifty, and then takes a deep breath. Her pencil pauses, probably understanding that he's about to talk.

"I think we need to talk about some stuff," he says, trying to match the voice Louis always has with her. Authoritative but not cold. Understanding but not bullshitting.

"Why?" she says, almost snapping.

"Because I think we need to understand each other a bit more. It's not fair to either of us that we don't know what's going on in the other's head, you know? I want us to be better than that. So, like. If you have any questions, about anything, you can ask. Please ask."

He expects a pause, some hesitation, maybe her saying she doesn't have anything to ask him. Instead, she immediately looks him in the eye and says, "Why did you never tell me that your dad used to hit you?"

It's not at all what he's expecting. It's so far from the things he was expecting that his brain completely blacks out, too stressed to even try to come up with a response to that. That's -- she shouldn't know that. He never wanted her to know that. He's here to talk about his mental health, not that. Not fucking that.

He tries desperately to keep it together. "Where did you hear that?" he asks, neither denying or legitimizing it.

"Emily," she says angrily. "Emily said he used to hit you and Grandma a lot. She said you even went to the hospital because -- "

"Hey, stop, please," he says, holding a hand up. Once she stops, he immediately puts his hand back in his lap. Practicing breathing techniques seems pointless right now, so he tries to do some explaining. "I need you to understand that that's a very, very sensitive subject for me. You can -- I guess you can ask questions about it, since you already know, but don't -- please try to understand that it's not easy for me to talk about."

Her face softens slightly. Still, she asks, "Why didn't you tell me? And why did Emily know?"

"My father was a really, really bad person, Erin. He was not a good man, so he couldn't be a good parent. And I. . . I was scared that if I ever told you about that, you'd become scared of me, I guess. Because I was raised up a certain way." His voice has sounded mostly calm, but he sounds a bit frantic when he says, "And I don't ever want you to be afraid of me, not ever. I don't -- I would never hit you two. I would never even want to. I don't want you thinking I ever would, because I wouldn't."

"I know you wouldn't," she says quietly. She looks a bit disturbed. "You don't even yell."

"Because being yelled at sucks," he tells her. "And it used to make me feel really bad about myself, and I would never want to make you feel that way."

She looks soft. Briefly, he thinks he sees tears in her eyes. And then she's back to shaking her head and looking angry. "Why did you tell Emily? Why does she know so much more than me and Alex?"

"Because she's not my kid. Because Taylor said it was okay if I told her things like that when she asked questions. And Erin," he sighs, knowing he's going to annoy her. "She's older than you. That makes it a lot different."

"Bullshit," she snaps.

"I'm not scared of disappointing her," he says, keeping his voice down even though it threatens to raise. "Because she doesn't need me to look strong for her. She has her mum for that."

She stares at him silently for about fifteen seconds. It makes him more unsettled than he'd ever admit to. Finally, she says, "I just swore and you didn’t even blink. Dad would’ve chewed me out. You never discipline me anymore. If Alex does something wrong, you still fix it."

"Because Alex still thinks I'm, like, a god or something," Harry's quick to say. "Alex thinks I can't do any wrong. But you're smarter than that now. You know better. And you'll call me out when I mess up, and I'm not -- I'm not trying to say that you shouldn't. Of course you should. But when Alex does something stupid, it's a quick fix and he talks to me after I say anything about it. With you, I. . . I don't want to make you mad at me, which is stupid and unfair on your dad, but I just -- I'm just scared, E. Maybe I shouldn't say that to you, but I am. I feel like I don't know how to do this."

"I feel like you need to learn," she says, and she doesn't say it unkindly. "You're not a bad dad. To either of us. But it feels like you only want to be around for the good parts, and if it's anything else, you just disappear. You shut down. And then Dad tells you to leave and you do. That doesn't feel fair to me."

Harry's heart hurts so, so much.

"Your dad has taken care of me since I was a kid," Harry says through tears. He can't not cry about this. "I had a lot of issues as a kid, and he helped me through them. He made me feel safe and loved and gave me worth. And he. . . he never stopped trying to take care of me. Ever. And all of my twenties I was a mess, Erin, so you've got to believe that he stuck by me through everything and that it wasn't an easy thing to do." He stops momentarily, trying to collect his thoughts. "Your dad is very protective of me. Very. He spent most of his life trying to be my shield, and maybe you're right, maybe that's not fair on him, but believe me, babe, I need it sometimes. And I think both me and Dad forget that my mental health isn't a priority over your feelings. We never want to make you feel that way, it's just -- he has never stopped taking care of me, and he never will. But you better believe that we feel the same exact way about you. The way he takes care of me is a fraction of the ends he'd go to to take care of you two."

Quietly, she says, "I guess I don't see why you need to be taken care of so much. Dad doesn't need all the support that you do."

"And that's my fault for not explaining it to you," he says, wiping at the tears that won't stop coming. He exhales loudly. "You know about my anxiety," he says, to which she nods. "And you know about my depression," he says, to which she nods at slower. "I struggle with those, and I also struggle with something called Borderline, okay?" He purposefully doesn't say the full name, hoping it'll make her Google searches harder later.

"What's that?"

"It makes things really unstable in my head," he says, knowing full well that's a shit way to put it. "I feel too much, kind of. . . that's probably not how a doctor would put it, but that's how it makes me feel. And it's, like. I think it makes things out to be a lot worse, and sometimes a lot better, than they actually are." He tries to give her a smile. "Does that. . . does that make sense at all?"

She nods, although she doesn't look all too certain about it.

"My brain is different from Dad's," he says, moving past that. He'll send Louis in here later to try and explain it better, if he can. "His brain got to develop and stuff without having things blocking that from happening normally. But, um. I didn't grow up in a place where that was able to happen. I had to handle a lot of stress and trauma, and that stuff hurts your brain, especially when you're growing up. So Dad. . . Dad is better at handling things than I am because his brain is better equipped than mine is. And that's not me trying to say that I have no control of it, because I do, I just. . ."

"It's harder for you," she says, and it sends so much relief through his veins.

"It can be, yeah. And not just because of my mental disorders, but because I learned and was exposed to a lot of bad habits and behaviors, and I was taught that they were normal, and it kind of warped my approach on things."

"I remember when you got really badly depressed a few years ago," she says, sounding almost ashamed. "Dad was so worried about you, and you weren't eating and you weren't talking to anyone and you weren't -- you weren't acting like you," she explains, voice shaking. "And it made me really scared. And so whenever you're acting weird, I'm scared that you're going to go back there again. "

"Oh, sweetheart," he whispers, hating himself so, so much. This conversation is far too disorganized, and she keeps jumping from thing to thing that he needs to apologize for. It's not her fault, he knows that. He knows that if he had been honest with her sooner she wouldn't feel this way, and now he has to fix it. "You don't have to be scared when I'm not doing so good. I'm always fine in the end, right?"

She shrugs a shoulder. "I guess."

"I usually don't get that bad, love. That's not something I want you to worry about. And if. . . if I ever do get really depressed again, I promise I'll do my best to try more. I didn't. . . I didn't realize how badly I was hurting you. I'm sorry."

"You're not hurting me," she denies, and he doesn't believe her for a second. "It's not, like. . . I know you love me. And I know you like being a father. And I know you love Dad a lot. I feel like that's all I can really ask from you."

He shakes his head. "No, E. No. You can ask me for whatever you need to be at your best. I'm your dad, and I need to be the best I can for you."

"Could be worse," she says, not looking at him. "Could be a lot worse. It's not like I'm getting hit like you were. That's why I never complained. . . felt stupid."

He feels breathless, hearing her say that. Well, at least I'm not getting my head kicked in, that's all I can really ask for. He never wanted the kids to know about Mike for that exact reason.

"Just because I'm not as bad as my dad doesn't mean I'm not doing a bad job," he tells her, voice stripped dry. He's going to need to smoke way too much fucking weed after this, and he'll probably have a hot bath, and then he'll go to bed.

"You're not doing a bad job," she says incredulously, and if it wasn't for how fierce she sounds, he wouldn't believe her. "I was mad at you for telling Emily things and not me, and I don't like it when you get sad, but that's not -- you're not a bad dad, I swear."

But Louis' better, is what she probably thinks, and that's fair. Harry knew it was going to be like that, no matter how hard he tried. And he didn't think he'd be a bad dad because he has a few different disorders, he wouldn't use that as an excuse, but he doesn't always understand what the kids need from him because he didn't have a parent who cared.

"Want me to get Dad?" she asks him guiltily. When he gives her a confused look, she explains. "You look really sad."

He shakes his head and tells her no even though he fully knows that he wants Louis more than anything else in the world right now. "I'm okay," he says. "I just. . . tell me whenever I do something wrong, please. I don't want you to feel so neglected by me that you lash out on everyone else, that's not fair on your dad or your brother. And if you don't want to tell me, for whatever reason, at least tell Dad. Please."

"He'll just get mad at me if I said anything negative about you."

"No, love. He won't. I'll make him promise me that he won't, that he'll hear you out."

She nods once. He wants to hug her so badly, but he doesn't want her to feel like she has to hug him back, and he sits there for a few seconds, trying to figure out what he should do next. She must be able to tell what he's thinking, because she stands and offers her arms out. Harry hugs her harder than he's ever hugged anyone before, and he kisses her head too many times and whispers things that she might not even want to hear, like how much he loves her and how proud of her he is and how he'll be better for them.

It's the way that she hugs him back that doesn't make Harry feel like a complete failure. She wraps her arms around him fiercely and shoves her face in his chest. He pulls away after a few minutes; has to, because he feels like he's either going to throw up or have a panic attack, both of which he will not do in front of her. Before he goes, though, he tucks her hair behind her ear and says he'll be out in the backyard for a little while if she needs him, for whatever reason.

"Are you going to smoke?" she asks, a small glint of amusement in her eyes. He lets out an unsteady laugh and shrugs.

"Yeah, is that. . . Does that bother you?"

She shakes her head. "No. Kind of smells bad, though."

He laughs again, this one sounding a little more choked. Squeezing her shoulder, he says, "Your dad always says that, too." He presses another kiss to the top of her head before telling her he'll talk to her again before bed, and he's about to leave before he realizes he should probably not normalize drug use of any type around her without at least saying something about it.

"Don't do drugs," he tells her, sounding pleading. "Don't -- don't smoke and don't do anything else. Please. And if you are going to do it regardless, be safe about it. Be smart about it. And be honest about it, because being addicted to things like that isn't fun, and neither are bad trips, so, just -- we're here for you, for anything."

"I won't, Papa."

"And please don't tell your brother about my dad," he says, knowing maybe he shouldn't but doing it anyway. He won't make the same mistake with Alex, but Alex is still too young to know about that.

She nods, says she won't, and Harry gives her one last weak smile before going to his and Louis' bedroom to get to his stash. Louis' sitting in there with Dwight, reading a book, and when he sees Harry, he looks concerned.

"I'm fine," Harry says, shaking his head. He opens a drawer and gets an already rolled joint out and a lighter. "I'm going to sit outside for a bit. Please don't let Alex bother me, unless it's important."

"Want me to come with you, love? We can talk for a bit?"

"No," Harry says, shutting the drawer and stuffing everything in his pocket. "I want to be alone right now."

"At least take the dog with you," Louis says worriedly. "Let her keep you company."

Harry nods, mumbling out a small, "Yeah, sure," before leaving the room and heading for the backyard. He passes Alex on the way out, and he stops to hug him from behind and presses a kiss to the top of his head, and he tells him to go find his dad and see what he's up to. It'll distract him for long enough for Harry to have some time to think.

He does take Nala out with him, and only because he knows that if he doesn't, Louis will eventually come and sit with him. And it's not like he doesn't want to talk to Louis, he does, it's just. Not right now. He can't let Louis make him feel better about this yet. His daughter basically told him all the ways he was fucking up in, and he needs to digest that before he doesn't anything else.

His mind spirals a bit, and all the while, he tries to remind himself that Erin said she didn't think he was a bad father, and that he just needed to try harder. Be more involved. She didn't completely write him off, and she tried to understand, and there is still plenty of time for Harry to fix this. She wants a better relationship with him, and that's good. He can't let her get to a point in which she doesn't want any type of relationship with him at all.

He cries, hard, near the back fence line so nobody can hear or see him. Nala settles by his feet and lets him, and if she wasn't near him, he would have probably done something worse than scratching at his wrist. And he probably would have done it for longer, too, but Nala looked like she wanted to be pet so he forced himself to stop and start petting her instead.

After about an hour, he comes back inside to find the three of them cuddled on the couch, watching a movie. Louis' on one end with Alex splayed out against him, and Erin is somewhat leaned into him. She never was as cuddly as Alex is, and as she grows older, it's becoming less and less.

Nala's nails on the hardwood floors catch their attention, causing them all to look up. He tries to get out of the movie by saying he needs to shower, because he still feels far too screwed in the head right now, but Louis almost demands that he stay with them. So Harry does, and he sits next to Erin instead of sitting with Louis like he normally would. She smiles softly at him, and he nods at her and squeezes her knee.

Even when she leans into his side, he has never felt worse.

The days after his and Erin's little talk are probably some of the darker days he's had. He can't sleep very well, and he feels himself icing Louis out, and he stays in his office all day at work. Emily tells her mum that like normal, and for once Harry allows himself to be annoyed by it and he tells Taylor that maybe Emily needs to start minding her business more. He can't believe she told Erin about his childhood. There's not a single scenario that Harry can think of that would make sense for Emily to tell her that.

Most days he can't even stomach the idea of eating his lunch, and he usually only manages to eat about a third of dinner. He's not sleeping enough, and he's not eating enough, and he's thinking far too much, and he's not talking to people like he should -- his mind and body are tired, and yet he forces himself to be way more involved with the kids than he usually is. Most nights, Louis and he trade-off the smaller tasks like homework and showers and bedtimes, but Harry makes himself do it all.

He's burning himself out, almost intentionally, and the thing keeping him from forcing himself to talk a step back is that Erin is responding to him better than normal. They haven't had any tension between them in the last week since their talk. He clings to that as his motivator.

Louis tries his damn hardest to get through to Harry, and Harry shies away from all of it. At night, when Louis wakes up like he can sense that Harry isn't sleeping, he tries to talk to him, and Harry always insists he's fine. He shrugs off all of Louis' attempts to take over with whatever Harry's doing with the kids to give him a break. He doesn't have much to say whenever Louis talks to him about anything. And Harry almost flat out refuses to accept practically any physical affection from Louis because it doesn't fucking feel like he deserves it.

Louis eventually pins him down long enough to get a little bit out of him about two and a half weeks into Harry's small spiral. Harry's in the kitchen after his therapy appointment (at which he denied anything was stressing him out), unloading the dishwasher. Louis comes in and squeezes his hip, and when Harry looks at him, Louis sighs quietly.

"I can actually start to see that you're losing weight," Louis tells him, reaching forward to touch Harry's cheek. Harry ducks away and focuses on putting the plates in order in the cupboard.

"What did you and Dr. Thompson talk about today?"

Harry shrugs. "Not much. Same stuff."

"What does she have to say about you not sleeping enough and not being able to eat dinner?"

Harry stopped taking his sleeping medication when Erin was six months old and all Harry could think about was her needing him throughout the night and him being too drugged to hear her. They’ve discussed putting him back on it, but Harry still hasn’t committed to it yet.

"It's just stress," is all Harry says. "I'll get over it."

Louis sighs again and doesn't say anything until Harry turns to look at him. He looks exhausted and worried. "You need to start taking care of yourself, baby."

It’s not -- it’s not like that. It’s not. Harry doesn’t think so, anyway. It’s just. . . . a momentary issue that’ll solve itself once he starts to feel like his and Erin’s relationship is okay again. He’ll gain the weight back as naturally as he lost it, and same for everything else that’s changed for the worse.

“I know,” he says anyway, because as much as he maybe doesn’t want to admit it, he has lost a bit too much weight. Nothing crazy, but losing weight when you’re not trying to usually isn’t great. “It’s not a big deal though, okay? I promise I’m not, like, going through something right now.” Because that’d be the worse case scenario, Harry’s pretty sure: going through a bad depression almost immediately after Erin voiced her concerns about things like that.

Louis gives him a long look. “Just because you don’t want to call it a depressive episode doesn’t mean it’s not a depressive episode.” Louis squeezes his shoulder, and Harry lets him. “Look, sweetheart. We both know that these sort of things only get worse if you aren’t taking care of yourself. So take care of yourself, okay? I’ll help. You know I’ll always help in any way I can.”

And that’s true, but part of him wants to prove to Erin that he can take care of himself just fine, that he doesn’t always need Louis’ help. (Maybe that’s backwards. Teaching his kids that it’s always okay to ask for help seems more important in some ways. He didn’t know how to ask for help or how to accept it for so long, and look where it got him. He shouldn’t be subjecting his children to the same mentality that hurt him for so long.)

“I have another therapy appointment this weekend,” Harry says, shaking his head. He doesn’t want this to be a big deal. What if one of the kids can hear them? “I scheduled it just to be on the safe side. So, like. I don’t know. Know that I’m trying, I guess.”

“You always try,” Louis says softly. “I would never doubt that.”

He pulls Harry into him for a hug and Harry allows it. The warmth and scent and steadiness Louis radiates is what he needs right now, whether he likes it or not.

Harry has a mild panic attack that night after he defuses an argument between Erin and Alex. He has to prove to Erin that he listened to what she said, so when he hears them arguing outside over who threw the ball over into the neighbor’s yard and who has to go get it, Harry forces himself to go outside and handle it. And ‘handling it’ does not mean immediately diffusing it any way necessary, it means talking to them and sorting everything out and getting them to apologize to each other.

He was too hard on Alex. Seeing how upset Alex looked when Harry took Erin’s side and insisted that Alex just go and get the ball was a little heartbreaking, and he can’t get it out of his head. He doesn’t take sides with them, not really. He usually asks both of them to calm down and be quiet and to sort it out between them. And Harry is pretty sure that Alex is actually the one who accidentally threw the ball over the fence, but it’s -- no. He handled it wrong. Not awful, and he didn’t yell, but he still handled it wrong. Just because you don’t make your kid cry doesn’t mean you are doing everything right.

The guilt he feels over the smallest things has always been there, and now it’s amplified. He hates thinking that he’s failing them in any way. They’re good kids, they’re really fucking good kids, and they deserve a perfect father, and Harry doesn’t know if he can be that. It’s probably stupid -- millions of parents have mental illnesses and they are still probably good parents regardless of it -- but he can’t help but feel like he’d be better for them if his head was screwed on straighter. Or maybe that they wished it was. He doesn’t even know what to think anymore. Whenever he tries thinking through things from a logical perspective, it feels impossible. His head feels too busy and clouded.

When Harry tells Dr. Thompson about all this that weekend, she frowns. “You haven’t had a panic attack in a few months, right?”

Harry shrugs and stares at his hands. “Had a few around my mum’s death. And it wasn’t that bad, I don’t think. It still sucked, though.”

“Your mum’s death must have been very hard on you.”

He stares at her, almost scoffing at how calculated that statement is. She knows he doesn’t want to talk about that, so she says something so obvious that he can’t disagree with it. And she says it knowingly and softly, like she doesn’t want to upset him.

“It was,” he says, a little shortly.

“Can you tell me how her death has impacted you? Can we talk about that?”

He glances at the clock. Twenty-four minutes left. Maybe he can wait her out, dance around the questions long enough that she gets tired or they run out of time. Or maybe he can just answer the fucking question, because this is what he’s here for. It’s odd, how therapy can sometimes feel like a personal attack. He’s the one who signed up for this.

“I am a terrible son,” he says, and then sucks in a sharp breath. “Well, was. Guess I should say was now, since they’re both dead. . . You know, it almost seems like a punishment? Her dying, I mean. I wanted my dad dead so badly, and I feel like God or whoever the fuck is punishing me for that and took it out on my mum.” She opens her mouth to comment on that, but he continues, not wanting her opinion just yet. “Bad son, bad father, shitty husband. I mean, what the fuck do I even have to offer if not those things?”

And she goes through the list: nobody’s punishing him. His feelings about his dad are valid. He’s not a bad son. He’s not a bad father -- you said Erin even said that herself. And he’s not a shitty husband. Louis loves him and supports him and just wants the best for him, and he wouldn’t do that if Harry was shit. It’s irritating, how empty those statements are to him. He knew exactly what she was going to say and then she was saying it.

“I hate how I can convince myself that everyone hates me,” he says quietly, feeling too vulnerable and honest. He doesn’t usually have a problem with being truthful with his therapists, but something about his relationship with his mum and daughter feel like bigger problems than what she can handle. It’s hard believing a stranger could help with any of that.

“Nobody hates you, Harry. Your children love you. Louis loves you. And they need you, Harry. They need you so much. That has to count for something.”

It does. It really does. Deep down, he knows his kids love him. And he doesn’t have to look as deep down to know that Louis doesn’t think he’s a shit husband. Harry’s almost positive he’s good to Louis. Sometimes it’s hard to believe, though. He wishes it wasn’t like that, but it is.

If there’s something good to come out of this -- which there isn’t; fuck that, honestly -- is that he becomes much more conscious of what’s going on around him. He sees how wide Alex smiles when Harry gets home. He feels how much Erin loves him when she squeezes him tight for a hug before bed. And whenever Louis just looks at him, Harry can see and feel and know how much he cares about him. The only other people that get that same look from Louis are the kids, and Harry knows how fucking much Louis cares about those kids, so it means a lot.

Patch and Dwight are pretty much his best friends. Patch follows him around the house, always hoping for food. Harry is the only person aside from Louis that Dwight will cuddle with. And Nala loves everyone, she’s a dog with a short attention span who gets too many treats, but it’s comforting knowing that she loves him, too.

As much as those moments make him feel grounded, they slip away so quickly. One day Harry’s sure he’s out of his head and accepts the fact that he’s blowing things out of proportion, and the next he wakes up feeling like nobody in the entire world wants to see his face. It’s draining. It makes him want to sleep all day to avoid everything else. But he doesn’t want to scare the kids, and he doesn’t want to scare Louis, so he keeps burying and burying in the hopes that it won’t come back to bite him.

The following week, Harry has a random weekday off, so he spends that Tuesday morning sitting outside, smoking weed and playing fetch with the dog. It’s a little chilly out, but not chilly enough for him to force himself to put on a coat. If Louis was here, he would probably be sitting in Harry’s lap with a mug of tea in his hand, complaining frequently about the cold and the smell of the weed. If Alex was here, he would either play with Nala or tell Harry some random stories or facts he learned from school. And Erin would probably sit out next to him playing on her phone, or maybe she would talk to him a bit about something else.

Last night, after Harry went to her room to say goodnight, she asked him a few more questions about his dad, and it was -- Harry doesn’t get why that’s the bit she likes to focus on. She asked if his dad ever hurt him. Really hurt him, is how she put it. And Harry sat there quietly for a minute, trying to figure out what he should say or how he should say it. Finally, he shrugged and said yes. He wasn’t surprised when she asked him how, at which he responded that there were a few different times he had to go to the hospital. Maybe that was a little too honest because she looked absolutely horrified, and Harry quickly had to assure her that he was fine and that it was in the past and that it didn’t really even matter anymore. Of course, that’s not exactly the truth, but that’s the truth his daughter needed to hear.

“Katie’s mum was dating this guy and he shoved her once and then she just broke up with him,” Erin told him, frowning. “Why didn’t Grandma just break up with your dad?”

He had to take a long, deep breath before telling her that it wasn’t that easy. That she was scared and they didn’t have the money and that she loved him, despite what he did to them. And as he tried to explain that to her, he had to pause and collect himself a few times. He doesn’t believe that and he does think it was that easy, but still. It didn’t matter what he thought, it mattered what his daughter needed to hear. And he wasn’t about to talk shit about his mum to her grandkids when she is dead.

Nala comes running towards him with her ball in his mouth. He tells her to drop, she does, and he grabs it and throws it for her again.

He wishes he wasn’t the only one home. He wishes that Louis gave into his begging this morning when he tried to convince him to stay home with him. Louis said he would stay home if Harry actually needed him to, but Harry didn’t need it, he just wanted it, so he reluctantly let Louis get out of bed to start getting ready for work.

Now, though, he wishes he got Louis to stay with him, or that he worked. He doesn’t want to be home all alone today. He almost never wants to be completely alone at home like this, even when he’s doing good. He doesn’t like giving his brain the time to spiral.

At lunchtime, he considers calling someone and seeing what they’re up to. He decides against it, not wanting to bother anyone, which is why he’s more than happy when Liam calls him a few minutes later.

They talk for a bit. Catching up, mostly. They haven’t seen each other in a while. Liam has his own kids and wife now, so it takes a lot of effort on both their ends to meet up. Liam is the type of friend that will be there no matter what, though. He doesn’t need a daily call to know you still love him. He’s good like that.

After a half hour on the phone, Liam offers to drop by for a few. It’s an offer that Harry wants to jump on, but he stops for a second. Maybe he shouldn’t, he thinks, and when he tries to come up for a reason as to why, he can’t come up with one, so he agrees. It’ll be nice, Liam coming over. He’ll have company and he’ll get to catch up with him in person. Still, he gets more and more anxious as the minutes pass, and by the time Liam’s knocking on his door, Harry has to laugh at himself for how tense he is.

Liam wastes no time getting on Harry’s case about everything. Harry makes them tea, they talk about the dog, and as soon as Liam has his tea in his hand and they sit at the table, he exhales loudly. “Look, Harry,” is how he starts, which never means anything good. “How are you doing?”

Harry’s answer is so immediate that it makes him flinch. “Fine.”

Liam stares at him with a slanted smile. “I’m going to pretend like you didn’t just say that.” He shifts on his seat before taking a sip of tea. He must not like it very much -- Liam’s always been particular about his tea -- because his nose scrunches as he sets it back down on the table. He doesn’t say anything, though. Liam has always been polite.

“I could be doing better,” Harry says slowly, “but I always could be doing worse. Like, a lot worse, so I’m not really complaining.”

“Ah, but that’s not a life to live, is it?” Liam asks. “Just because you aren’t at rock bottom doesn’t mean you aren’t doing poorly, and you deserve -- “

“Okay, okay,” Harry interrupts, waving his hand. He feels like he’s had this conversation with everyone throughout his life. Them telling him what he deserves. It’s a little tiring. “I don’t know what you want me to say, then.”

Liam looks at him for a long few seconds before sitting up straighter and saying, “I talked to Louis yesterday. I rang him about something stupid, and he mentioned that you were having a bit of a tough time. I just want you to know I’m here, you know? And that you don’t have to lie to me.”

There’s a few things that go through Harry’s head then. He doesn’t like that Louis aired out his problems, although he recognizes quickly that that’s not very fair. Liam is a friend to both of them, and Harry doesn’t get to police what they talk about. He’s also not a huge fan to think that Liam is only here to check on him, but he reasons that it’s what any of his friends would do. And Harry’s not lying, it’s just. . . he’s not eager to be completely honest about everything because everything is a bit shit right now.

But Liam is here, sitting at his kitchen table and drinking the tea Harry made him that he doesn’t like because Liam cares and is waiting for Harry to allow him to listen. There’s no point in wasting Liam’s time, so he tries to be honest.

“I feel like I’m too old to be dealing with all this still,” Harry says. He doesn’t look at Liam, just stares down at his mug. “I don’t know why. I understand that this stuff doesn’t get easier just because you get older, but. . . I think I’m finally understanding how much of a life sentence it is, I guess.”

“Hey,” Liam says, shaking his head. “It’s not a life sentence, that makes it sound awful. You’ve had so many highs now, H. I think that counts for something.”

“Of course it does,” Harry agrees. “It’s just. You barely ever see people on TV who aren’t, like, twenty talking about or dealing with mental health struggles. I don’t, anyway. And a near-fifty year old who still struggles with cutting is, like, unheard of. That’s stupid. I should’ve grown out of that by now.”

“You don’t grow out of those sorts of things, mate. You know that. I mean, yeah, you can heal from them, but healing isn’t always linear.”

Harry doesn’t say anything to that. He means to, after he takes a sip of his tea, but it seems pointless. Nothing he can say will be something he hasn’t said a hundred times before. He’s pretty sure that’s why he’s so frustrated: how can one person go through the same backwards thinking, come out of it and recognize that those intrusive thoughts weren’t real, and then go back to thinking them anyway? It’s irritating. He’s been through this so many times before, yet he can’t convince himself that nobody hates him and that he’s doing an okay job and he’s not worthless.

Liam fills the silence. “Everyone’s kids think they’re weird, at least a little bit,” he says, still giving Harry that same slanted smile. “Mine does. Milo thinks I’m a fucking wackjob because I like things to be neat. Jessie even thinks I’m a tad strange, I can tell, and she’s four. It’s just how kids are, Harry. They don’t get us because they have never gone through ninety percent of what we have.”

Harry shrugs stiffly.

“I know you think that everything is all different and complicated because of your health issues,” Liam says, “but I don’t really know if that’s the issue here. I mean, of course that impacts your kids in some way, but I don’t think Erin thinking you’re strange and arguing with you is just because of that. Every single parent in the entire world argues with their children. Louis does. All the time. She doesn’t hate you.”

Harry still doesn’t say anything. He wants to this time, but he just doesn’t know what to say. He looks at Liam a little helplessly.

“She’s also never met anyone else who struggles with what you do,” Liam tells him. He says it slowly, like he’s worried about hurting Harry’s feelings. “Really, H. Think about it. She’s fourteen. Kids her age usually don’t have any of that yet, so how would she know that you aren’t the only person in the entire world who gets like you do? You know what I mean?”

Harry nods. “I guess.”

“As she grows up, as she meets other people with different walks of life than hers, she’ll get it more and more. I promise, mate. She’ll come around. I know she will.”

Harry’s quiet for a few minutes, trying to get his thoughts in order. That’s a hard thing to accomplish when he’s doing bad. And he’s not even doing that bad, he’s not; most days are just a little worse than normal, it’s not as bad as it can get. The losing weight thing -- well. That’s probably from stress, and it really hasn’t been more than a few pounds. He has been forcing himself to eat breakfast most mornings, anyway.

“I don’t even know if this is just about Erin anymore,” Harry admits as he rubs at his forehand. Liam, patient as ever, smiles at him encouragingly. He has that stupid therapist smile. Too bad that’s not his line of work. “I think it’s about Erin and it’s about my mum and it’s about me feeling guilty as fuck, and all that mixed with my usual level of crazy isn’t going over well in my head. It’ll sort itself out, I think.”

Liam narrows his eyes at him slightly. “You sure you’re okay, then? Are you positive you aren’t going to, like, go off the deep end for a few weeks?”

Harry nods. “I think I’m okay. I think I just need to take a few days to myself and figure things out. Maybe I’ll take a few days off work next week or something.” Or maybe he won’t, because he was crawling out of skin today after only being home alone for a few hours. Who knows what he’ll do. He’ll talk it over with Louis.

“Okay, mate,” Liam says, still smiling. “Okay. And even if it does get bad -- I’m here for you, you know? Always.”

Harry nods again and takes a small sip of his tea. Liam does the same, and again, his face shows he doesn’t really like it, but the fact that he’s even bothering to drink it in an attempt to spare Harry’s feelings means more than he could ever explain.

The next two weeks or so are a little rocky. He undermined how foggy his brain was, but he also overestimated how hard it would be to get through. He’s not struggling too terribly, it’s just. . . everything makes him absolutely exhausted. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone, not really. Not even Louis, some days. So no, he doesn’t have a panic attack every day or a meltdown every night, but life gets a little heavy for a while.

Louis is incredibly apologetic when he calls Harry from work saying he’s going to be stuck at work all night. Harry’s laying in their room with the cats, and he was waiting for Louis to get home. He’s missed him like mad all day for some reason. The kids are downstairs doing homework, so he figured he’d wait around in here for Louis, and now Louis’ not coming home to him for a lot longer than planned.

“We’re absolutely swamped for no good reason,” Louis says exasperatedly. “And the night shifters come in soon, but that’s not even going to be enough. And it’s either me or Martha who’s got to stay, and Martha -- she’s the one lady I was telling you about the other day. The one who’s been taking care of her sick sister? I don’t want to keep her here all night.”

“No, Lou,” Harry says, shaking his head. He wants Louis to come home, of course he does, but he’s also not going to demand him to come home. If he has to stay at work, he has to stay at work. He rarely works doubles, so when he has to, Harry tries to be as reasonable as possible about it. “It’s fine. I get it. I’ll stay up for you, alright?”

“No, don’t. It’s okay. I probably won’t get in until after midnight.”

Harry frowns, sitting up. “That late?” he asks. “You’ve been working since eight this morning. Can you -- that’s too much, isn’t it?”

“I mean, I might get cut early, but by the looks of it, I won’t.” Louis sighs, sounding stressed. “Honestly talking to you right now is the longest break I’ve had all day. And I was proper pissy about it. Told my boss that I needed to talk to my fuckin’ husband if she expected me to get through this night without killing anyone.”

“Okay, well. Don’t overwork yourself, alright? If you need a break, take one. People can wait.”

Louis snorts. “Dying people cannot wait, love, but I get what you mean.”

It’s quiet for a moment as Harry tries to think of something that can keep Louis on the phone with him, just for a little bit longer. And not even entirely for Louis’ sake.

“Oh,” Louis starts, and he sighs again. “I was supposed to go grocery shopping after work. We have, like, no food in the fridge. I don’t know what you could figure out for dinner. You can just get take-out if you want, I can go shopping tomorrow after -- “

“I can do it,” Harry says, even though he really doesn’t want to. “Don’t worry about it, Louis. I can do it. You did it last time, anyway. It’s my turn.”

Louis hesitates. “You sure?”

“Yes, it’s fine.” Harry rolls his eyes fondly and scratches at Patch’s chin. “Is your list here? ‘Cause I won’t remember anything if I don’t have a list.”

“Trust me, I know,” Louis grumbles, laughing. “I can text it to you, yeah. Thanks, love.”

“No problem.”

He wants to talk to Louis more, but before he can, he hears Louis say, “Yeah, no, I’m coming,” and he knows he has to stop being selfish. He lets Louis go back to work, even though he doesn’t want to. And he is dreading going shopping, especially after he gets the list from Louis and it’s about a mile long. He doesn’t know how two kids can eat so much.

He waits a few minutes before going downstairs to tell the kids he’s going out. He offers to take them with him on a whim, mostly to make himself feel better for at least asking, and he’s completely taken off guard when Alex agrees cheerfully and Erin shrugs and says why not. He doesn’t want to go to the store, and he knows adding two kids in the mix will probably make it even more messy, but he decides it couldn’t hurt. In fact, they’ll probably be good distractions for him.

He already knows he’s feeling more anxious than normal, but the way his heart jumps in his chest as he pulls the car into the parking lot proves that even more. It’s nothing big, just a normal reaction for him, but he decides to spend a few extra minutes in the car in the parking lot, claiming he wants to finish listening to whatever song that is playing on the radio. Once that song finishes, Erin and Alex pile out of the car, and he follows with a soft sigh.

The first argument starts as soon as they walk inside. Erin wants to push the cart, so then Alex does, too, and Erin calls him short and Alex looks far too offended by that (and Harry smiles fondly at that, because he knows he gets that defensiveness about his height from Louis, even though Alex isn’t even short). Harry smooths it over quickly by telling Alex that he can’t help Harry shop if he’s too busy pushing the cart. Alex agrees and pushes the cart towards Erin before making a beeline to the cookie display setup right in front. Harry lets him grab a package, even though it’s not on the list.

The second fight is when they can’t agree on what kind of juice to get. Harry sighs and tells them to cut it out -- they usually don’t argue this much, even if they aren’t exactly being serious, and it’s not like they can’t buy two separate cartons of juice.

When Harry tells them this, Alex shrugs and says he doesn’t actually want orange juice anymore. Harry huffs out a laugh and ruffles his hair.

Harry makes it halfway through his list when Erin really starts complaining about wanting to go home. Her phone is almost out of charge, apparently, and it’s hot and she’s tired and so many other things that Harry starts to tune her out a bit. With her complaints and Alex’s rambling about coyotes, of all things, on top of trying to figure out what brand of ketchup Louis prefers, his brain is at full capacity. He was right, though: taking them distracts him from the dull thud of panic around his heart that is always present everywhere he goes.

He barely hears Erin say, “Um, Papa, someone’s walking over here,” over his focus on what type of detergent Louis has been buying recently -- Harry shops, he does, he just forgets the smaller things sometimes. He doesn’t really process it from where he’s crouched down in front of the shelf, and there’s feet in his line of vision.

He hears him before he sees him.

“Harry fucking Styles,” he says. “Long time no see.”

Harry hates, absolutely hates, how full-body his reaction is. He tenses and flinches and stands in front of his kids way too quickly to not look suspicious as fuck. “Jesus Christ,” Harry says out loud, not kindly. He stares at Oli, wondering if this is a dream or a hallucination or real life. He’s never, ever run into Oli before, and now here he is, running into him at a fucking Tesco’s. What the fuck.

“Don’t look so happy to see me,” Oli says, laughing. He claps a hand over Harry’s shoulder and pulls him in for a hug, maybe a little too roughly, Harry can’t exactly tell. Harry pats his back once before he pulls away and takes a step back. He tries not to put an arm out in front of the kids, tries not to be too dramatic, because Oli didn’t actually ever do anything that wrong, and --

No, he did. Oli was a piece of shit, Harry can’t let himself talk himself out of that. But maybe Oli never did anything wrong enough for Harry to have to protect his kids from him. Yet when Oli lets out another stupid fucking laugh, side steps Harry and says, “Shit, these your kids?” Harry nearly pops a vessel with how protective that makes him feel.

“Erin, take your brother and go pick out ice cream,” Harry says sternly. He doesn’t look at them, too hesitant to see their faces or to take his eyes off Oli. His parental instincts are going absolutely fucking wild.

“But Papa -- “

“E, go. Please. And do not leave your brother’s side.”

Erin goes, sighing loudly, and then it’s just Oli and Harry staring at each other. Harry didn’t really think this through, did he. He should’ve made a lame excuse that gave him an out, not put himself in this position.

“Papa?” Oli asks, laughing. “Really?”

Harry swallows thickly and glances at the detergent on the shelf. Oh, he thinks. It’s the Persil that Louis likes. “Yes,” he says quietly.

“Are they Louis’, then?” Oli asks. “Well, of course they aren’t Louis’ -- biology, and all that. But is he papa number two?”

Harry glares at him. “The fuck are you doing here?”

Oli pulls a face. “What? At Tesco’s? Shit, do you fuckin’ own the place now or something?”

Shit. Good point. Harry didn’t really think that one through. “Here, talking to me,” he snaps, and then nods once at himself. Good save. “You don’t get to fucking do that.”

And Oli actually looks hurt, which is -- what the fuck. Every time Oli shows just how disconnected from reality he is, Harry still manages to be surprised by it. He wants to cry. He really, really needs a good cry right now. And Louis’ not even going to be home until early morning, that’s -- God, Oli is staring at him like Harry punched him or something.

“Harry, mate,” he says quietly. “We were proper mates for a long time, I just thought --"

“You fucked with my head,” Harry corrects. He doesn’t know where this confidence is coming from. He thinks it might have something to do with the fact that he talked to his kids, which is totally not fucking allowed.

Oli scoffs at that. “Everything fucked with your head. What’s that saying again? The crazy person thinks everyone else is the crazy one?”

“I might be a little fucked in the head, but at least I’m not a total asshole who fucks with vulnerable people.”

This feels good. Harry didn’t think he’d ever run into Oli again, but if he had, he never would have thought it would go like this. Since when did he grow a backbone? This feels entirely out of character, yet so, so fucking good.

“Is that still your story, then?” Oli asks, crossing his arms. “You’re the victim of everyone and everything?”

And Harry wants to comment on that, he does, but he can’t even think of what he could say to that when he sees the wedding ring shining from Oli’s ring finger. That’s. . . who in their right mind would ever marry him? There’s no way he’s changed much, not with the way he’s still talking to Harry. That poor fucking bastard. And to think that Harry probably wasn’t even that far off from being the one with the matching ring.

“You’re married?” Harry asks breathlessly, not being able to look away from his hand.

“Yeah,” Oli answers, and the way he sounds completely shocks Harry. It’s not smug or spiteful or anything like that, it’s happy. He sounds fucking happy. Looks it, too, when Harry glances at him skeptically.

“That’s surprising,” is all Harry can manage to say.

Oli laughs. “Yeah, well. I guess I could say the same thing about you.”

And no, that’s not true. Harry’s marriage material. He is. He’s kind and compassionate and loving and worries about buying the right brand of detergent. And yes, he has his issues, but those don’t make him unlovable. They don't. Oli’s issues are the type that make someone unlovable.

And, well. Ironic that Harry can say that about himself now when he’s been struggling to accept that for weeks.

“Her name is Frances,” Oli says, and he sounds fucking -- whimsical or something. It’s bullshit. “She’s from Poland.”

“I don’t care.” Harry furrows his eyebrows at him. He looks the exact same he did all those years ago. And no, thank you very much, Harry hasn’t aged terribly, but Oli barely looks worn. “Are you good to her?”

Oli narrows his eyes. “Yes. Of course.”

“You sure about that?”

“Harry, mate.” Oli sighs loudly. “Me and you -- we were kids, yeah? You can’t hold any of that stuff against me.”

Harry’s face twists in confusion. “We were almost pushing thirty by the time we stopped talking for good.”

“I had a lot of growing up to do, I guess,” Oli says, shrugging.

Harry stares at him silently for almost a full minute before he shakes his head. “I don’t buy it,” he says. “I don’t believe you. If you’ve fucking -- if you’ve actually changed, you wouldn’t have been such a jerk a minute ago, and you would be able to admit that you treated me like shit.”

“You weren’t exactly a saint either, to be fair.”

“No, that’s not fair,” Harry snaps. “You were awful to me. You completely ruined my self-esteem, you enabled me, you -- “

There’s a soft cough behind him and then, “Papa, we got the ice cream.”

Harry takes a long, deep breath before turning around to see Alex extending out the ice cream to him. “Cookie’s ‘n’ cream,” he says sweetly, eyes wide. Based on that and Erin’s glare towards Oli, they at least heard a little bit. That freaks Harry out momentarily before he thinks back on it and realizes he didn’t say anything too telling. He smiles at Alex and takes the ice cream.

“Thanks, love.” He sets in the cart and turns to the shelf to grab the detergent. As he has a grip on the handle, he debates if he should say anything else to Oli or not. He decides against it and pulls the bottle off the shelf and puts that in the cart, too. “Come on, loves,” Harry says, putting a hand on Erin’s shoulder to guide her forward. He doesn’t chance a look back as he pushes the cart down the aisle, but Alex and Erin both do, and it makes him that much more queasy.

He manages to avoid all of Erin’s questions throughout the checkout line and on the way to the car, but as soon as they all buckle in, she turns to him with a huff. “Who was that?” she asks.

Harry shrugs and starts the car. “I told you already. An old friend.”

“Well, you two didn’t look very friendly.”

He drives out of the parking lot before glancing at her. She doesn’t look irritated or worried, just mildly annoyed and curious. “You’re right. Maybe friends is the wrong word.”

She waits a few seconds before saying, “Ugh, seriously? That’s all you’re going to give me? I’m going to ask Dad.”

Harry snorts. “Yeah, maybe you shouldn’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“He’s going to be tired tomorrow and doesn’t need to be dealing with all your nosy questions.” To make sure she knows he’s only kidding, he blindly reaches over to try and poke her nose. She quickly pushes his hand away.

Erin lets it be until they get home, when they’re putting away the groceries together. Alex should be helping, but he conveniently had to use the bathroom and hasn’t come back after ten minutes.

“You must really not like that guy,” she says, stubborn as always. “You went all, like, guard dog on us. What happened, did you two get in a fight?”

Harry stays pointedly silent. After a lack of response, she gasps. “Is he your ex-boyfriend?” she asks, sounding horrified and intrigued all at once. “Ew, Papa. You totally have a type.”

“What -- ” he turns to look at her, confused. “No, alright? He’s not my ex. Well, not really. It doesn’t really matter. And hey -- your father and him are nothing alike, okay?”

She grins. “What does ‘not really’ mean?” she asks. He gives her a few seconds to put it together, and when she does, she pulls back and her smile drops. “Okay, ew. That’s disgusting.”

He rolls his eyes at her and hands her a box of cereal to put away. She takes it from him and walks to the cupboard. “Are you really not going to tell me anything?” she asks, actually sounding a bit disappointed. Normally, Harry would snort at her and tell her yes, he’s not going to tell her anything, but he promised her he’d try to be more open with her. He promised himself that, too.

“We met in high school,” he mumbles out quickly, looking down at some mail on the counter. He already went through this earlier, but it beats having to look her in the eye. “We dated for a bit, but nothing serious came out of it. We stayed friends for a while. It’s not that interesting of a story.”

“Bullshit,” she says, and quickly apologizes for it when Harry gives her a look. “I’m just saying. I know there’s more to it than that.”

He wishes Louis was here so he could gauge how much he should actually share. Louis’ not here, though.

“Oli wasn’t a very nice person,” Harry starts. It’s hard to talk about this after so long. “He, um. I don’t know. Was just a bit of a dick to me. Not a very good friend.”

“Oh,” is all she says. And she’d probably drop it now if Harry wanted her too, but he decides to try and use this as a learning point.

“There are going to be people in your life who aren’t the greatest for you,” he says, “and you’re either going to know they’re not great, or you’re not. If you do know, if you realize it, it’s your responsibility to do something about it. You have to watch out for yourself, is all. I don’t know. That make any sense?”

She shrugs. “Kind of. I think.”

“Good,” he says, nodding. “Good. Um. I’m going to go have a shower, I think. And then I’ll start dinner.”

“Okay, Papa.”

He nods again before kissing her on the head and leaving the kitchen.

He handles seeing Oli again better than he thought he would, especially since he was already doing kind of badly. If anything, he feels a little quiet and disconnected from things -- there’s no tears or panic attacks or frantic calls to Louis. The only thing he does is text Niall and ask if he wants to come over for dinner so he can have someone distract the kids and help him forget about things. That’s either proof of growth or a fluke.

After dinner, the kids go to their rooms to do whatever it is they do, and Niall and him have a beer or two. One for Harry, two for Niall. Harry’s not going to risk channeling the sad drunk part of him right now.

It’s nice catching up with Niall the same way it was catching up with Liam. Niall adopted a little boy just last year, the first kid he had with his partner. His husband has two kids from a previous marriage, though, and they might be a little older and not technically his, but Niall loves them like his own. So he’s got his hands full, that’s for sure. Harry couldn’t imagine having another kid. He loves his children like mad, and he doesn’t regret them in any way, of course not, but they’re a lot of work. Louis wants more, Harry knows he does. It just doesn’t seem likely in Harry’s head.

“You and Lou are still good, then?” Niall asks before taking a long sip of beer. Harry stares at him, briefly wondering if he should let Niall drive himself home before he remembers that Niall Horan has the alcohol tolerance of a fucking king.

“Yeah,” Harry says. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

“‘Cause you two have been together for fuckin’ ages and have never once not been good,” Niall says, shrugging. “Just checking in.”

Harry scoffs at that and shakes his head. “Me and Louis have our troubles, same as everyone else.” He bites back a self-deprecating remark about how it’d be impossible to have an easy marriage if he was involved in it. Niall doesn’t need to hear that kind of talk, and Harry doesn’t deserve it, either.

“Nah, mate. You and him are pretty incredible.”

“We had a rough start,” Harry says, turning the beer bottle in his hands. “Maybe that makes it different later on, I don’t know.”

Niall shrugs again. “Yeah, maybe.”

He leaves a little while later, saying that he has to make sure he’s there to tuck his young one into bed because the boy will have a proper tantrum if he’s not. Harry nods, understanding that, and thanks him again for coming over. It was nice seeing him again. Sometimes Harry forgets that just because he doesn’t need to see his friends all the time to stay friends, doesn’t mean that they shouldn't try a little harder to spend time with each other.

He doesn’t realize how late it’s gotten until he goes upstairs to bother the kids and finds them both asleep. Well, Alex is asleep, Nala snoring softly next to him in bed. Erin is pretending like she’s sleeping as if Harry is blind to the glow of a phone under the blanket. He smiles softly at her before shutting the door and going to his bedroom, where both the cats are waiting for him in bed.

Initially, he intends on going to sleep without Louis. He’ll probably wake up when Louis crawls into bed beside him, anyway. On the off chance he won’t, Harry forces himself to stay awake by playing with the cats and watching crappy reality shows. He also makes Louis a plate of food; knowing Louis and the night he’s going through right now, he probably hasn’t eaten in hours.

It’s fifteen minutes past one when Louis comes sighing through the front door. He gets his coat and shoes off before he even notices Harry standing there, and he gives Harry a look too tired to be described as angry.

“I told you not to wait up for me,” he mumbles, coming over to Harry. He wraps his arms around Harry’s neck and sags into him, letting out another loud sigh. “I’m going to fall asleep in, like, five minutes. It wasn’t worth it. You have to get up for work tomorrow morning.”

Harry presses a gentle kiss to the top of Louis’ head. “I called off. I called off for the next three days, actually. So I’m fine.”

Louis pulls back from him and frowns. “Are you feeling that poorly?” he asks, sounding devastated, and Harry quickly shakes his head and pulls Louis back to him. Louis goes willingly.

“No, love. Not really. But I think I’d rather take the time now to sort my shit out before I have to do it when I am actually doing poorly, you know?” He presses another kiss to his head. “I texted Jordan. She’s going to keep everything together for me. Hope she doesn’t accidentally set the store on fire.”

Louis laughs tired. “Hey, she won’t. Be nice.” He’s met her a couple of times now while he was visiting Harry at work, and every time, he tells Harry how absolutely lovely she is. And she is, she really is. Jordan is a nice girl. Harry just likes to give her a hard time.

Harry gently forces Louis to eat something, becoming less gentle and more demanding when Louis tells him he hasn’t eaten anything much in almost eight hours, and Louis grumpily complies. He’s half asleep while he’s eating, actually falls asleep in the middle of it twice, so Harry holds off on any conversations he might have brought up tonight. Louis deserves to spend however much longer he can stay awake for happy and relaxed, not worrying about Harry.

Louis falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. And he’s dead asleep, too, because Harry moves him around a bit so he can get comfortable cuddling with him and he doesn’t wake up once. Harry falls asleep pretty quickly, too, with Louis’ body warm in front of his.

The following morning, Louis’ awake making tea in the kitchen when Harry gets in from taking the kids from school, and Harry frowns.

“Babe,” he says, dropping his keys on the table and coming over to Louis. He wraps his arms around Louis’ middle, at which Louis makes a grumpy noise at him. “You should be sleeping.”

“Alex’s loud feet woke me up,” he mumbles. “Swear that kid stomps around here like his life depends on it.”

Harry laughs and nods. He tries to get Louis to go back to sleep, but Louis claims he’s an official old person now and can’t go back to bed after he’s already been woken up.

They spend the morning lazily: several hours of TV, eating shit food (Louis doesn’t complain; at least Harry is eating, he’s probably thinking, even though Harry’s been better with that lately), cuddles and lazy sex that almost, almost, seems like too much effort for it to be worth it. Harry feels the nicest he has in a long time. Light. Free. And it kind of sucks that he has to ruin it by telling Louis about Oli, but he tries very hard to be honest with Louis and Erin has a big mouth.

“He’s really married?” Louis asks once Harry’s finished telling him everything. He scoffs when Harry nods. “Wow. Thought that guy would be dead by now.”

“Hey,” Harry says pointedly. He’s not exactly defending Oli, it’s just. . . that’s not the nicest thing to say about anyone. And maybe that makes him a hypocrite because he’s wished ill will on people plenty of times before, but he doesn’t really mind that. Louis doesn’t need to have the same darkness inside of him just because Harry does sometimes.

“I’m just saying,” Louis mumbles. He’s quiet for a minute before he glances at Harry, looking guilty. “Wish I could have been there with you. Things probably would have gone over more smoothly.”

Harry snorts. “Yeah, because you’re so calm when it comes to him.” Louis makes an offended face that Harry kisses away. He snuggles against him closer and sighs quietly. “I’m kind of proud of myself that I didn’t freak out too much. Like, if that had been years ago, I would’ve flung myself off the deep end, and now. . . I don’t know. It definitely made me angry and brought back a lot of old emotions, but I don’t feel so terrible.”

“That’s good, love. That’s really good.”

“And I think I always sort of wanted to know?” Harry says, voice raising in pitch at the end. “I mean, what he was doing. Where he was. If he was even still alive. I’m glad I actually get to know now.”

Louis nods. “Me too, kind of.”

“I just wish I knew for sure whether or not he actually changed, you know? Like, is Frances-from-Poland in good hands or did she sign up to be with a dick the rest of her life?”

Louis shrugs and wraps his arm around his waist. “I know they aren’t that good of friends anymore, but maybe you could ask Liam? Maybe he knows more about Oli now, or maybe he even talks to Frances. Who knows. Wouldn’t hurt to ask, if you really want to know.”

Harry thinks that over for a second. He sometimes forgets that he met Liam indirectly through Oli. Sweet, polite Liam who’s idea of a fun weekend still involves laser tag was once buddy-buddy with Oli of all people. So was Harry, though. Things always look so different in hindsight.

He snorts at himself. What a therapist thing to think.

“I think I might,” he says. “You’re right. It wouldn’t hurt.”

“And if Liam doesn’t know, maybe Nick might,” Louis says slowly, like he’s hesitant to even mention it. He’s right, though. Even though Nick and Oli fucking hate each other, they still end up in the same circles of people more often than not. And asking about Oli to Nick wouldn’t be too weird; Harry and Nick still talk, sometimes. Not nearly as much as they used to, but occasionally. The last time Harry heard from him is when he sent Harry a random cat meme about two months ago.

“Yeah,” Harry says. “Yeah, maybe.”

Both of them leave it at that. Nick and Oli aren’t exactly what either of them want to be the topic of discussion when they have a rare day to themselves.

Harry didn’t exactly mention he wasn’t going into work today -- or the next two days -- before he dropped off the kids for school this morning, so when he’s there in the parking lot to pick her up from school, she looks more than confused.

“Is Dad okay?” she asks slowly, and he immediately nods.

“Yes. Yes, of course he is. He’s just tired and didn’t feel like getting out of bed.”

“Oh,” she mumbles. “So you drove from work to get me because Dad’s tired?”

He rolls his eyes a bit at her and shakes his head. “Kiddo, I’m in my pajamas. I know I’m old, but I haven’t exactly lost it just yet.” He gives her a smile. “No, I stayed home from work today. I’m going to take a few days off this week.”

She frowns and her eyebrows come together in concern. “Are you okay?”

Worry tugs at his heart. She shouldn’t be so instinctively worrying about them, should she? Is that normal? He tries to reason with it, but he’s not sure. He’s pretty sure there’s nothing wrong with her worrying about them, although he doesn’t exactly like that her first instinct is to think something is wrong. Maybe that’s normal, though. He’s still trying to figure that stuff out.

“Yes, love. I’m fine.”

She doesn’t look so convinced. “I knew you weren’t doing great, but if you’re staying home from work because of it -- “

“Love,” he repeats. “I’m fine. We’re all fine. I promise.”

She looks away from him and towards the front window. They’re sitting in a line to get out of the parking lot, so there isn’t anything to look at. She just doesn’t want to look at him, and her jaw is clenched and her hands are fiddling in her lap like she’s nervous, which he doesn’t like at all.

“Baby,” he murmurs, taking a hand off the wheel to grab one of hers. It’s a bit flimsy of a hold, and she initially pulls like she’s going to pull her hand away before she stops herself. “I’m okay. Really. Even when I’m not okay, I’m okay. You know that, right?”

“You get sad sometimes.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “It’s stupid to pretend like you don’t.”

“Of course I do. I know I do. It’s -- I have bad weeks sometimes, I know that, but I’m okay, love. Even during those bad weeks, I’m okay. You don’t have to worry about me.”

She shrugs and glances out the passenger window. “I’m not worried.”

He squeezes her hand. “You are, love, I can hear it in your voice and I can see it on your face. But I am not lying to you when I say that you don’t have to worry about me, okay? You can even ask your dad that. I’m not -- nothing’s going to happen to me.” He wants to take that back as soon as he’s said it, scared that he planted a seed that wasn’t there in the first place, but he reasons with himself that maybe it was necessary. Maybe she is scared he’ll hurt himself. How could he know? It’s his job to soothe any of her fears that he can.

“Then why are you staying home from work?” she asks hotly, pulling her hand away from his. Not meanly -- well, it was kind of harsh, but he can see it on her face, he can see it, that she’s not doing it to be mean and that she just doesn’t know what to do with herself right now. He’s felt like that a million times in his life, he should be able to recognize it. “If you stay home from work, then that’s when I know I need to start worrying. It’s been that way my entire life.”

He hates the way she makes it sound like this happens every other month. It doesn’t. He’s been rocky since his mum died, yes, but that’s -- before then, he had depressive episodes that were as bad as she’s making them sound maybe once or twice a year. Maybe. And he’s not invalidating her emotions or her ability to sense that something is up with him when he thinks he’s hiding it well, but he doesn’t like knowing that he’s practically traumatized his kid. That’s how she’s making it sound.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, shaking his head. He puts his hand back on the wheel. He was going to get her and Alex a slushie on the way home, and now that seems entirely inappropriate. “Really, I’m sorry. I’ve tried my best to keep this shit away from you guys and apparently I didn’t do a good enough job. That’s my fault, and I’m sorry, love, I really am, but please trust me and believe me that right now I am doing decent and do not need you to worry about me.”

She doesn’t say anything for five minutes. They sit there in silence for five whole minutes, and Harry’s sitting in misery wondering how he didn’t realize all this and how he will make it sitting in a silent car for a half hour as they wait for Alex to be let out of school.

“If you aren’t doing bad,” she says, “then why are you staying home from work?”

“Because I’m trying to take care of myself,” he tells her quickly, jumping on the opportunity to make this better. “Sometimes -- sometimes I need to take a step back and hit pause for a moment, okay, and this is one of those times, but it’s not -- I’m not doing poorly. I’m taking my medication, I’m going to therapy, I’m talking with Dad -- I’m fine. Seriously. And even if I wasn’t, babe, that’s not your responsibility. It’d be on me and Dad to figure out, not you.”

“Okay,” she says shortly, telling him that it’s very much not okay and she doesn’t believe him but she wants him to stop talking. He won’t press her on it; there’s not much else to say, and all he can do is prove to her that he is telling the truth.

He does, however, have a question he needs answered that only she can tell him.

“Do you know if Alex worries about me like you do?” he asks, scared to know the answer.

She scoffs. “The only thing Alex worries about is what color socks he’ll put on in the morning.” She gives him a thin, unbelievable smile. Still. It counts for something -- she’s at least trying to let him know that she doesn’t need him to talk about this anymore. At least, that’s what he hopes she’s thinking.

He does end up getting them slushies on the way home, and it makes Erin and Alex grin, which is what he was going for. He just hopes he is at least doing something right.

He calls Louis’ mum the next day when he’s bored and wants someone to talk to. He figures that he already caught up with Niall and Liam recently and Louis and Taylor are at work, so he might as well use this time to call Jay. He doesn’t talk to her enough, he really doesn’t. He tries to call at least once a month, and he always tells Louis to say hi for him whenever he hears Louis on the phone with her, but that’s probably not enough. Which makes him sad, because that’s a lot more effort than he put in talking with his own mum.

“Harry, darling,” she greets him after she picks up on the fourth ring. “It’s so nice to hear from you. Are you alright, how are you doing?”

They talk for about an hour and a half, about literally everything and everyone. He gets to hear about all the things Louis’ siblings are up too; sometimes Louis doesn’t even know what they’re all doing, so it’s nice to hear. She tells him that she ran into Natalie and Gemma at the shops yesterday and that Natalie has grown so much that she can’t believe it, which he entirely agrees with. He doesn’t see her all that often, and when he does, he swears she has morphed into someone entirely new: new height, new hobbies, new everything. It’s fascinating and terrifying at the same time.

“And how are my grandbabies?” she asks, once they’ve gone through the list of her own kids. He finds himself smiling softly at the thought of his children, which is so soft and mushy that he’ll never admit to it to anyone.

“They’re good,” he says. “Yeah, they’re really good. Alex is still in footy and Erin is thinking about joining the tennis team. Alex’s parent-teacher meetings are next week, actually, so I guess we’ll find out how good he actually is.” Harry laughs. He’s only teasing; Alex is a good student, he hears, and the only complaints they’ve ever received about him is that sometimes he’s distracting. Harry brushes that of -- all kids are distracting. It’s what they’re designed to be.

“Oh, I hated those with Louis,” she says, sighing loudly. “There was always something new. He’s loud, he’s distracting, he’s not using his potential. I thought I was going to have to send him off to a boarding school or something before he straightened himself out.”

Again, Harry finds himself smiling. “Yeah, he was pretty bad. I remember.” His smile slowly starts to fade as he wonders how he can word what he wants to say best. It doesn’t really sound that great in his head no matter how he puts it, so he decides to just say it. “You ever feel like your kids know too much?” he asks, and when he realizes that doesn’t quite make sense, he clarifies. “Like, I try to protect them from things, like my issues and stuff, and it’s like I can’t hide it from them no matter what. I don’t know. . . How do you convince them that everything’s fine when they think it’s not?”

He holds his breath, waiting to hear her say that she’s never gone through anything like that with any of her kids and that he’s doing something wrong. She doesn’t say that, though.

“You can’t,” she says softly. “Harry, love. Erin is fourteen, almost fifteen. She’s way past the age where she can assess situations and come up with her own thoughts about them. She’s a smart girl -- if something’s wrong, she’ll be able to tell.”

“But nothing is wrong,” he says, frustrated. “I told her I’m fine, that I’m doing decently, and she is still worried about me. I just don’t want her to worry, you know? I want her to be a kid.”

She sighs. “You can’t help that, love. Look, when Louis was a kid and we were struggling financially, he was always worried. Always. Even during the months that we were doing alright. It’s just how they’re wired, okay? Louis turned out alright, I think. You don’t have to worry about her.”

That’s. . . a fair point. He didn’t think of that. Louis went through years of worrying about money and questioning if there would be food on the table for dinner, and he’s fine now. If anything, that forced him to be thoughtful and to not take things for granted. And if Jay couldn’t ever convince Louis that everything was fine, Harry doesn’t have a chance of doing that for Erin.

“I understand that it feels wrong for her to worry about you, I do,” she says. “It feels backwards, right? But it’s not. You care about her, she cares about you. That’s how it’s supposed to work.

He nods. “Okay, yeah. Yeah, I think you’re right.”

“Of course I am,” she says, laughing. “I’ve gone through this seven times now. I think I know what I’m talking about.”

They gradually start talking about less serious things again. Footy games, dance recitals, colds. It’s all very easy talk, and Harry feels more relaxed and at ease than he has in a while. And then Jay brings up his mum.

“I just don’t want to talk about that,” he mumbles, shaking his head. “Sorry.”

“Oh, well, that’s okay, dear. I just wanted to let you know that you still have me, is all. You know that, right?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

“You should come to Holmes Chapel soon,” she tells him hesitantly. “You and Louis and the kids. It’d be good for you, I think, seeing everyone again and getting to visit her grave. You haven’t seen it yet.”

No, he hasn’t, because Harry left the service after the church part of it. He sat there with Louis and his kids, listening to the service, and he -- he got closure, he did, and he just couldn’t see her being lowered into the ground next to his father. He didn’t think he could take that. It wasn’t wrong, he’s pretty sure. Everyone understood. And he doesn’t regret it, either. But maybe seeing her grave -- both of their graves after all this time would be good. He’s not sure how it would help him, but maybe it doesn’t have to help. Maybe it can just be a nice thing to do for the kids.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Maybe.”

“Just think about it,” she tells him, and he nods.

“Yeah. Yeah, I will.

“You don’t have to come, you know.”

Harry scoffs from where he is standing in front of the mirror in their bedroom. Initially, he had put on an outfit much more sleek than the one he’s currently wearing, which is just a pair of black dress pants and a random patterned shirt that Louis threw at him while he was complaining he had nothing to wear. He changed his outfit after Louis came out wearing a sweatshirt and faded sweatpants and laughed at Harry for dressing up so much.

This happens every time for parent-teacher conferences, yet Harry is always completely taken aback by Louis’ lack of caring about what others will think.

“Yeah, I do,” he mumbles, smoothing out a faint wrinkle in the front of the shirt. “Alex likes it when we go to these things. Makes him feel famous, he told me once, with all this attention on him.”

Louis nods at him in the mirror. “Makes sense.”

“I just hate the other fucking parents,” Harry huffs, turning around to look at Louis. His cheeks are still a little flushed from the quickie they had in the shower about a half hour ago. “They’re all -- “ he makes a face and a noise, “blah, you know? Just take your kid and go, nobody needs to hear about their ‘outstanding academic performance.’”

“Oh, God, I know,” Louis says, nodding. He comes over to Harry and wraps his arms around his middle. “They’re nine. None of them are Einsteins just yet, you know?”

Before Harry can say anything else snarky -- he’s in a decent mood, actually, he just really hates going to these types of things, but he goes for the kids -- Alex swings the door open and tells them they have to go so they won’t be late. Louis and Harry listen and finish getting ready, and then they’re leaving, only after they check on Erin to make sure she’ll be fine by herself, which is met with a sigh, an eye roll and a drawn out yes.

The conference goes fine. They get in, sit down, wait a bit. There is only one other set of parents here, and thankfully they aren’t the chatty type. Alex keeps him entertained during the waiting process, and then they’re getting called in by a short lady with curly hair that Alex immediately points to and calls her Ms. Nancy.

Ms. Nancy is kind and talkative and has little to no complaints about Alex. The only thing that she has to say negatively about him is that he is a little too honest, as she puts it, with the other kids. Apparently, he told a girl last week that she had bad breath and another student that he did bad on a test.

Alex’s only defense: “Well, they did.” He does look a tad guilty about it though, and he mumbles out an apology when Louis gives him a look. A little too much honesty isn’t a terrible thing, and it shouldn’t be too hard to teach Alex when he should keep his thoughts to himself.

They’re in a drive-thru at a McDonalds -- Alex’s pick -- when Alex peaks his head up to the front seats and says, “How come Papa is always so quiet when we go out?”

Harry’s first instinct is to panic, to rip himself to shreds for making his kids live around his illnesses, and then he feels a little defensive. Before he lets himself panic, he reasons that it’s entirely harmless if he’s quiet anywhere and that just because Alex pointed it out doesn’t mean he’s mad about it -- in fact, Alex sounds curious, not mad or sad or annoyed.

“I’m just quiet sometimes, Lex, that’s all.”

If it was Erin, she’d scoff and say something semi-snarky, but since it’s Alex, he shrugs and says okay and goes back to playing his game on Louis’ phone.

“So that wasn’t too terrible, was it?” Louis asks when they’re in their bedroom, getting ready for bed. He’s giving Harry a teasing smile which Harry responds to by throwing a pillow at Louis.

“It was fine, I suppose,” he says, agreeing. It was fine. It was relatively painless and something he had to do for his son, so yeah, he’s not complaining. Anymore, anyway.

He and Louis finish getting into their pajamas, and while they were supposed to let the dog out one last time before bed, they decide Nala will be fine and crawl into bed. Harry grabs his phone off the nightstand, and there’s a text from Nick waiting for him on his lockscreen. It’s not a shock since Harry had texted him yesterday asking about Frances and Oli (and no, he’s not meddling, as much as it sounds like he is -- he genuinely wants to make sure Frances will be okay) after Liam told him he hasn’t talked to Oli in ages and that he didn’t know a Frances.

Met her once at some gig I was playing that Oli took her too. They seem proper lovely xx obvs i don’t know what goes on between them behind closed doors, but i don’t think you have to worry.

And then, lunch soon? On me? You can bring the missus if you wish x

Harry stares at the texts for a few minutes, thinking. He’s pretty sure he can leave this Oli mess where it is. He hasn’t felt the need to make a grab for closure for that friendship in ages, and even if he did need some closure, he wouldn’t know how to get it. He’s okay with not knowing for sure if Oli has changed or now -- of course, he wishes he has, for Frances’ sake, but he’s not going to go out of his way to make sure of that. He can’t open that can of worms again.

Nick, on the other hand, is entirely more complicated than that. Harry cares about Nick, and Nick cares about Harry, and for some reason that has been almost impossible to convey to each other properly. They’re the type of people who maybe just don’t mesh for no good reason. Lunch with Nick would be fine, especially if Louis was there, but it kind of makes Harry sad that he can’t be closer with him. He knows it’s for the best, though. Nick and Harry haven’t proved to be good for each other.

Louis tells him that the three of them can grab breakfast next Saturday no problem, and Harry can honestly say that he’s looking forward to it.

Ever since their talk, Harry has been trying his hardest to work with Erin. He’s not going to just ignore everything she said because it was hard for him to hear and it’s hard to implement -- he’s going to try his best, and if it’s still not enough, he’ll have to trust she’ll tell him as much.

The last few weeks he’s tried a few different things: breaking apart fights more, trying to be more honest with her, taking them all out for dinner that one time. He’s trying, he is, and he’s pretty sure it’s working because Erin hasn’t pushed any of his buttons recently. She’s trying, too. He can see it.

The night she asks him to take her to the mall so she can get this new pair of shoes she’s been saving up for, he’s been antsy all day and doesn’t particularly want to go out. Alex is at practice and Louis is out somewhere with Zayn, and Harry was looking forward to a quiet night in with Erin. However, just because he doesn’t necessarily want to go out, that doesn’t mean he can’t. He’s not in one of those moods where even thinking about going out is enough to make him want to cry, so he agrees to take her out as long as they only go to a few stores.

She grins like fucking mad, clearly not having expected him to say yes.

They go to the mall and she gets her shoes -- tie-dye sneakers that Harry doesn’t understand, but he’s accepted that his fashion taste went out of style years ago -- and then she wants to stop and get a milkshake from somewhere, and Harry agrees to that, too, because it won’t hurt anything. Again, it’s clear she’s surprised he didn’t say no, which Harry doesn’t exactly understand. He rarely has told them no about going through drive-thrus, even though he absolutely hates talking to the workers.

She thanks him in the car, which is sweet and all, but the real thank you comes when she spends time in the living room with him instead of staying holed up in her room. She doesn’t ever actively avoid him -- at least, he doesn’t think so -- but she is the type of teenager to want to be away from everyone at all times, so it feels validating to have her come sit with him, even though they both do their own thing quietly.

The breakfast with Nick that Saturday is a little more awkward than he thought it would be. It’s more like a brunch now, because Louis got called into work and Harry spent an hour debating whether or not he should go through with their plans without him. He did, mostly because he actually wanted to see Nick and cancelling so last minute would have been rude.

They talk about Harry’s kids, because that’s always the first thing people ask about. Out of politeness or genuine curiosity, Harry can never quite figure out. Then they talk about their jobs, which is kind of boring. Harry’s job has been the same for a long time now, and Nick’s stories are getting more and more depressing every time they talk. Apparently he’s getting too old for gigs, which doesn’t make a lot of sense to Harry and makes him more than a little sad. They talk about Louis, of course, but there’s not a lot to say about him that Nick doesn’t already know. It’s awkward, and it’s awkward for them to realize how awkward they’ve become at the same time.

It’s not painfully awkward, though. No. Harry doesn’t regret coming.

“How have you been, then?” Nick asks after a brief pause in conversation. “With your head, I mean.”

Harry snorts before shrugging. “Decent. Not much to say about that.”

Abruptly, Harry realizes that Nick might not know about Harry’s mum. The only way he could’ve heard is if someone else told him, and Harry doesn’t know who would go out of their way to bring that up in conversation. Plus, Harry has a feeling that if someone did tell him, he would have gotten a text from Nick about it. Harry doesn’t want to bring that up, though, so he keeps it to himself and takes a sip from his drink.

Nick lets out a long sigh. “Would you believe me if I said that I got someone pregnant?”

Harry narrows his eyes at him, trying to figure out why something so ridiculous is said with a serious face. “No,” he says slowly. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“That’s rude,” Nick mumbles as he sits up straighter in his chair. “Well, no. I didn’t. But Aimee did. Well, she’s the one who got pregnant I mean.”

“Oh. How far along is she?”

“Her baby just turned eighteen months two days ago,” he tells Harry, looking half guilty and half exhausted. Now that Harry thinks about it, Nick does look more tired than normal.

“Oh,” is all Harry can manage to say. He didn’t know that. He had no way of knowing that. And he’s not exactly offended that he didn’t know, that’s not his place anymore, but it is kind of random and hard to think about.

“She’s been living with me for about two years now, and I think it’s the most stressed I’ve ever been.” He scoffs as he picks up his drink and takes a sip. “And I always thought you were a bad roommate.”

Harry tries to ask him about it, but Nick doesn’t seem to want to talk about it much. It confuses Harry -- if he didn’t want to talk about it, why would he bring it up? -- but he figures that Nick must’ve just wanted him to know. Maybe he felt like Harry had a right to know.

So, Harry takes a deep breath and says, “My mum died a few months ago.”

Nick echoes his long exhale. “Oh.”

And Harry doesn’t want to talk about that, either, which Nick catches onto and respects, and then they’re just sitting in silence for a few uncomfortable minutes.

Finally, Nick says, “We used to be best mates. This all seems a little fucked.”

“Yeah, I know.” He pauses before saying, “I think it’s okay, though? I really do. I mean, we both drive each other a bit mad, so maybe this is a good thing for us, some distance. I think I like this better than us not talking at all.”

Nick shrugs. He doesn’t seem to agree. “I guess.”

“We’re still friends,” Harry says, a little desperately. “Just because we aren’t as close as we used to be doesn’t mean this is wrong. Maybe. . . Maybe we just need to work a little harder on keeping each other up to date on things so it doesn’t feel like we have this huge thing we’re hiding whenever we see each other next.”

Nick nods slowly. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. This is better than nothing, right? I didn’t like it when we hardly spoke.”

“Me neither.”

Nick nods again, this time faster. “Okay, then.”

Harry starts nodding, too. “Okay.”

“How are you doing?” Dr. Thompson asks, just like she does every week. It’s how they start all their meetings. He supposes it’s an appropriate opening; he can’t come up with any other way to start these things.

For the first time in a few weeks, he can tell her, “I’m good, I think,” without feeling like a liar. He has been doing good, though. His anxiety is leveling out again and he’s starting to feel less defeated all the time. Part of him thinks he was more stressed out than normal and that was the cause of that little bump, and the other part of him wonders if maybe that was a bout of depression and that he is at a place in life where his medication and family and therapy prevent him from falling so hard. It’s probably dumb, considering he has been gradually getting better for years now -- he shouldn’t be so shocked when he sees all the hard work he’s put into himself pay off.

The first time he came to a therapy appointment, he was almost literally shitting himself and was silently plotting his escape. Now these meetings are so normal to him that he’d feel disoriented if he didn’t have a therapy appointment one week. When Holly first brought up the idea of being prescribed medication, he refused it over and over again, and now he can’t imagine his life without that. It took him weeks to be completely honest with Holly, and now he is probably a little too honest with his therapists, if that’s even a thing. And that’s all great, it really is, but the biggest difference to him that he is thankful for the most is how he is able to love and be loved by Louis. He was given the tools to help him in life and he implemented them, and now he has a healthy relationship with his husband and two beautiful children. He is so thankful he let himself have all this, and he’s not mad at himself for taking so long to get into therapy, he’s not, because it would be wrong to hate himself for being scared of something that was so goddamn scary to him at the time.

“How was seeing Nick?”

“Okay,” Harry tells her. “A little awkward, but. Not really anything to talk about there.”

She gives him a knowing look. There’s always something to talk about almost everywhere, especially with how he overthinks and overanalyzes. She doesn’t press him on it, though, which he appreciates.

“And how is your relationship with Erin? Have you seen any progress with her at all?”

He nods. “Yeah, actually. A bit. I’m working on it. I’m being more conscious of what I do and say, and I’m trying to make sure I’m not. . . impeding on anything they want to do.”

Again, she gives him a knowing look. “Is that your polite way of saying you’re trying not to be a burden on anyone?”

He shrugs and glances down at his hands. That’s something he avoids saying, because of course he knows he’s not a burden. Of course he knows that. It doesn’t matter if he knows that, logically, when it feels like he is, though. And even if he did somewhat burden their plans, he knows that doesn’t make him a burden. But sometimes he thinks they’d rather a different dad, or at least a different version of himself. Only sometimes.

“You’re not a burden, on anyone,” she tells him. She’d say it a thousand times if she thought that’s how many times he needed to hear it. “Being sad does not make you a burden. Being anxious does not make you a burden. Struggling does not make you a burden.”

He nods slowly. “I know. I know that. And I’m not trying to change the topic, but. . .”

“But you’re going to,” she fills in, smiling. “That’s okay.”

“The kids and Louis and I are going to Holmes Chapel in a few weeks,” he tells her. He talked about wanting -- no, needing, because he doesn’t want to do anything that involves him leaving the house -- needing to see his mum’s grave site. He needs to. And he’s sure the kids would probably benefit from visiting her, too. At the very least, they’d like to see Gemma, Steven and Natalie again. They don’t see each other enough.

“I’m going to see my mum,” he tells her, “and we’re going to stay at a hotel not too far away this time instead of staying at Louis’ mum’s house. It’s always a bit chaotic, that many people in one house, although Louis’ mum loves it.”

“That’ll be good, for both you and the kids. Maybe it’d even be good for Louis, being able to see that you’re finally accepting this and taking the steps to make your amends with it.”

He nods. He didn’t really think about that, but it’s probably true. Louis likes to see Harry do things that mean he’s alright, especially when he’s unsure of what’s spinning around in Harry’s mind. It’ll be good for all of them, and knowing that this isn’t just a him thing, that they’re all doing this together, makes him feel less like a -- well. Less like a burden.

When Louis gets called into work two hours before a ‘family-fun’ night, Alex is not having any of it. He calls it stupid and dumb and stupid and dumb and Harry quite quickly figures out he doesn’t know any other words he thinks that are bad that he can use. Louis is apologetic, but he is the on-call nurse and will be for the next however long it takes for them to pin it on someone else.

“I’m sorry, bud, but your papa and sister will still be here to watch the movie with you,” Louis tells him, squeezing Alex’s shoulder. Alex scrunches his face.

“It’s stupid you have to go.”

“People are sick, buddy, I have to help. It’s my job.”

Alex shrugs. “Well, your job is stupid. Why can’t you pick flowers like Papa?”

Harry snorts. That’s not exactly his job, and it’s probably a good thing that Louis didn't have a change of heart in his career space and wanted to join Harry at the shop. Kids are expensive.

“Maybe I can still have hot cocoa with you guys before I leave,” Louis tells him, trying to compromise. Alex is an easy kid, he really is, but when he wants something he thought he was going to get, he doesn’t like it taken away. One time they were all supposed to drive to Glasgow a few years back and within the first hour, Erin puked everywhere and they had to go home, and Alex had been so mad. Almost as mad as he was scared for his sister.

“Fine,” Alex agrees, because he knows Louis has to leave even though he doesn’t want him to. “But you have to drink the whole thing.”

Louis nods very seriously. “I will, bud. The whole thing. Promise. Go make it for me, though, okay?”

The night they had planned -- hot cocoa, a board game, and a movie -- probably isn’t as fun as it would be if Louis was here, but the kids seem to be enjoying themselves nonetheless. He knows Erin would probably rather be on her phone in her room and not listening to Alex ramble about the rules of Clue for five minutes straight, but she’s entertaining it anyway, which he really appreciates.

As the night continues and they reach the point of the night where the movie is on, Alex is asleep against his side and Erin is not-so-secretly secretly texting someone on her phone, Harry realizes that he is a good dad. It’s not like some crazy epiphany or anything, it’s something he’s always kind of hoped to be true, and right now he is finally letting himself accept it.

Just because he does things a little differently doesn’t mean they’re bad. Just because he sometimes can’t handle a night out doesn’t mean he can’t hang out with them at home. Just because he isn’t great at handling the conflicts doesn’t mean he isn’t great at handling some of the other things. His faults don’t outweigh his victories. His children trust him. His children feel safe around him. Those are two very important things to him, and he succeeded in that. He doesn’t have to be perfect, he just has to be good enough and loving enough and understanding enough, and he is all of that.

He is good. He is loving. He is understanding. His mental health issues don’t make him a bad dad; if anything, they make him better. They make him more aware. They make him more understanding of how people behave when they’re hurt. They make him think before he acts.

He’s a good fucking father, and he’s never going to let himself believe any differently again.

Two weeks later, he’s packing Louis’ bag for Holmes Chapel. Louis procrastinated packing and now he’s working on a last minute science project downstairs with Alex, which will probably take ages if he knows his son. Louis won’t feel like packing after that, so Harry is trying to get the bulk of it done now. He’s tucking away a few pairs of socks in the bag when a soft knock sounds on the door.

“You can come in,” he says, and then Erin is pushing open the door. He smiles at her. “Hey, baby. I’m just packing for tomorrow. You already packed, right?”

She doesn’t look particularly happy, and before he can ask her what’s wrong, she tells him all in one breath. “Look, I don’t -- I started my period, alright, and I just -- I don’t know, okay, this is so fucking weird, I just need -- I just need stuff, okay, so can you go to the store really fast and then can we never talk about this again because -- “

“Hey,” he says as gently as he can manage. “Hey, hey, it’s okay.” He’s been fucking preparing for this moment for so long, too long probably, because he knew that he would have to handle this situation very carefully to avoid making her more uncomfortable or feel not understood. “Me and your dad have some stuff in the bathroom for you, alright? It’s okay, sweetheart, there’s nothing -- nothing to be ashamed of or grossed out or anything like that, okay? I grew up with a sister and a mum, and you’re dad grew up with tons of girls around, okay, so we aren’t going to be weird about this.” She gives him a hurried look and he shuts up and nods before going to their bathroom and grabbing everything for her. They bought her a variety of things -- pads, tampons, cups, which look entirely intimidating to Harry, but whatever -- because they didn’t want to tell Erin that there was a right or wrong way to handle this. They had given her some stuff a year or two ago, just to make sure she was prepared if she was too scared to tell them, but maybe she forgot about that or lost it or something. He’s not going to ask -- she’s clearly uncomfortable, and he’s not going to make it any worse. He even finds a paper baggy to put it all in so she won’t be scared walking back to her room with it.

“Thanks,” she mumbles when he hands it to her. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he says immediately. “Seriously, E, don’t be. It’s natural, okay? And I’m a grown adult and you’re my kid -- nothing is anything I can’t handle.”

She shrugs. “I guess that’s true.”

“You need anything else? How are you feeling?”

She gives him a look. “Like death, obviously.”

“Okay, you’re right.” He gives her a nervous smile. “But, like -- if you have cramps, there’s a heat compress in the closet and I think that helps, and if there’s anything else that you feel comfortable telling me that I can help with, don’t hesitate. Please.”

“I won’t.” She smiles back at him and crosses her arms. “This is why I came to you. Dad would’ve probably told me some gross stories about my aunts that I don’t need to hear about, or he would’ve, like, sent me a link to WebMD.”

That. . . should not make him feel good about himself. It really shouldn’t. Louis’ an amazing father, and Erin isn’t knocking that, but if she preferred coming to him over Louis, then that means something. It means he is doing something right.

He laughs and nods. He’s about to say something else when he remembers the trip this weekend. “Are you sure you still want to go this weekend?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows. “I mean, it’s okay if you don’t. If you don’t feel good or if you just don’t want to. You can stay with Taylor -- who, by the way, you should text if you have any questions that you don’t want to ask me or your dad, I promise she won’t care, it’ll probably make her day, honestly -- or you can stay home. Not by yourself, obviously, I mean we can all stay home, we can reschedule for a better time, if that’s -- only if that’s what you want, obviously, I’m just -- “

“Papa,” she interrupts, smiling. “I can go. It should be fine.”

“You sure?”

She nods.

“Okay, sweetheart. If you change your mind, tell me, okay?”

She nods again. “I will.” She motions to the door and he nods, telling her quietly she can go, and before she does, she thanks him. “For, like, not being weird about this.”

“Of course, love.”

“And maybe don’t tell Dad yet.”

That’s a bit harder to agree to, but of course he does. He’s not going to make her uncomfortable about this. If she doesn’t want Louis knowing, then he won’t tell Louis. It’s as simple as that. Louis would do the same thing in a heartbeat.

She leaves and heads back to her room. Harry realizes only after she leaves that his heart is pounding hard in his chest and he feels a bit lightheaded. He sits down on the bed, counts to ten, and smiles gently to himself.

The car ride to Holmes Chapel is long and tiring and involves too many bathroom stops -- that Harry doesn’t complain about, because Erin is the one who keeps asking for them -- and Alex trying to roughhouse with Louis while Louis’ driving. Harry loves his family, but being trapped in a car with them for that long isn’t exactly ideal, so he’s a little relieved when they get to the hotel. That relief is immediately devoured with anxiety when they walk up to the front desk, but Harry pushes it down. Louis does all the talking, anyway.

Gemma and Natalie come up to the hotel to say hi a few hours after they’ve all settled down. She’s going to be the one to drive him to the cemetery. They’ll go as a family tomorrow night, but for right now, Harry needs to do this alone with his sister. Even if she didn’t go through exactly what he did, she gets it. He’s doubted that in the past, but it’s true. She understands.

They leave Natalie at the hotel with Louis and the kids when they head off to the cemetery. Thankfully, Gemma doesn’t attempt any awkward small talk.

Harry doesn’t cry. He doesn’t talk, either. He just follows Gemma to the tombstones and stares at them for a long, long time. Both his parents are dead. He’s not even fifty yet. And his mum, God. His mum deserved to have more time free before she died. She had finally gotten out of that situation, one she was trapped in for decades. He was hoping she would find someone else, someone kind, to settle down with again. He was hoping she got to be happy, and she didn’t.

He completely fucking despises that his mum and dad are buried next to each other, but he supposes it makes sense. Traditionally, that’s just what people do, and because she had stuck by his side until his death. He hates that she did it, but that’s what she felt like she had to do. He’s certain she would want to be buried next time him, that she would feel like it’s where she belonged.

He sits there, making sure to stay off the actual graves, for a half hour by himself. He’s not even thinking half the time, he’s just. . . sitting there. And he sits there for another half hour with Gemma, who sits and stares with him in silence.

“You almost ready?” she asks after an hour, and he nods. He was waiting for her to ask. He would have sat here for hours until she asked. He didn’t want to be the one to say they should leave.

“Yeah,” he says, standing. He helps her to her feet before brushing the dirt from his pants. “Yeah, just a sec. I have to do something.”

He goes back to the car to grab the bag he brought with him, and he pulls out the single red rose he brought for his mother. There’s a light pink ribbon tied to it, because that was her favorite color and it just felt right. He grabs the flower by its stem carefully, and he delicately places it down on her grave. Gemma and Harry stare at it for a few minutes, that one symbol saying so much, more than he probably even understands himself, and then they get in the car and leave.

He does cry in the car. He cries a lot. Too much, probably. It all just hits him, and Gemma doesn’t do anything stupid like try to comfort him or say the right thing or any of that. She just continues to drive in silence, knowing that that’s all he really needs right now.

He pulls himself together before they get back to the hotel, and then he gives Louis and Erin and Alex and Natalie and his sister all a hug so tight that Gemma pinches him for it. He loves them all, and they all love him. That’s all he really needs to make it through this world.

Notes:

that's it! i hope you enjoyed the series! if you did, please leave a comment :D

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