Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

He’d spent three merciless hours washing the goats. 

Yes, the goats. 

Though, perhaps that was his second mistake. Or maybe his third. The first was agreeing to watch over his grandmother’s ranch while she spontaneously decided to take a trip to Italy - or was it Greece? Whatever. The point was, Louis was stuck in the middle of bum-fuck Texas, wrestling goats into washtubs. Even though he’d been expressly warned that Peach, the nuisance, hated lavender soap. 

Did they have a different kind? No.

Why? Because he’d gone to the store, seen his husbands’ face on the cover of another chin-wag magazine and had promptly bolted. Sans lemon soap. He was currently covered from head to toe in mud, he had a half-moon bruise forming on his shin where Peach had decided to express her annoyance, and his hair smelled like wet…well… goat.  

Fuck Texas, and fuck Peach. 

In the mudroom of the old farm house, he shucked off every inch of clothing, shivering in disgust when something slimy smeared on his fingers - Nope, not going to inspect it. He dumped his clothes in a bucket to burn later and marched starkers through the entryway, passed the kitchen and towards the staircase. He felt winded after the first flight, and not because he was unfit, he’d decided to hold his breath against his own stink, his eyes were fucking watering. 

In the bathroom he flipped on the tap to the shower and shut his eyes, dropping his head back as he all but felt the room fill with steam. His muscles were starting to ache. He really wasn’t cut out for this lifestyle. 

He longed for his penthouse, his suits and his flashy car that he could never truly drive in the heart of London. In fairness, it’d never really been his. Wesley’s name was on each and every receipt, and, God, had he planned that so damned well. Three years of marriage, and Louis had never thought to sign a single paper or document, nor even a prenup. Why would he? He’d been twenty-one and madly in love. Stupidly, ignorantly in love. 

Of course, his family had always known. The witches. 

No, he wasn’t being cruel. They were witches, a coven in fact. Louis had been so grateful for a taste of normal that he’d fled a life of tarot cards and fables drafted from smoke and pot-pourri as soon as Wesley had given him the chance. 

Now, here he was, back where he’d started. Less one husband, and less a boatload of confidence. What he did have was a target on his back, a whole continent in an uproar and a monster for a soon-to-be ex-husband. 

He wasn’t quite sure he believed the rumours yet, he’d spent so much time with Wesley, almost every waking moment. He couldn’t foresee how the man could’ve found time to do all they’d accused him of, much less have the stomach for it. 

Either way, it had been in his best interests to keep away during the court’s proceedings. His mother had suggested coming home, his grandmother had suggested running from it - again. So, here he was. Taking care of kooky Nan Hyacinth’s house on Tomlinson Ranch, four-hundred acres of dry, humid wilderness and a town about thirty minutes out. It was lonely, the house was creaky and seemed to produce a new quirk in need of repair every morning. So far, he’d painted the barn, ridden three out of eight of the horses, planted jasmine and lemon trees and washed three incorrigible goats. 

He'd not even been there for a week. 

Louis contemplated taking a trip into town, he’d considered learning how to knit - or crochet, whatever. He needed something to keep himself busy, the shaky wifi signal made his Netflix shows fuzzy, and the only books his grandmother owned had large, hairy-chested pirates on the cover who appeared to be smouldering at distressed looking women. Not that he had anything against hairy-chested pirates, the opposite in fact, he’d just not quite scraped the bottom of the barrel yet to consider indulging in a heterosexual romance novel. 

He was just about to step into the shower when he heard the faint tinkling of a bell. Louis’ eyes shot wide, a curse already working its way up his throat as he bolted for the window. Through it, he spotted Peach nudging the fence with her nose; he could’ve sworn she sent him a beady-eyed stare before headbutting it open. He was so sure he’d locked it, he had to have locked it. It was the only rule his grandmother gave him. Lock the gate after seeing to the goats, that Peach is a wily sort. 

“Fuck.” He slipped on the bathroom carpet as he grabbed the small hand towel to cover his junk and ran from the room. 

He took two stairs at a time, skidding into the entryway as he shoved on his grandmother’s bright red cowboy boots, his eyes fixed on the yard through the window. All the goats were out, and Peach was leading them to the neighbouring fence like she had a point to prove. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He couldn’t find his pants, and the thought of putting his stained and smelling trousers back on made his gut swivel. He exchanged the hand towel for his gran’s parka and tied it around his waist, then flew through the door and out onto the deck. 

“Oi!”

The goats, of course, took off at the sound. 

Louis whined in distress as he ran after them, waving his arms about like a lunatic, trying to herd them back in the direction of the paddock. 

“That way! No, that way. Peach -” He yelped as he felt cool air around his middle, and watched in horror as the blasted goat whipped away with the purple parka. He was butt-naked, save for his Nan’s red boots, in the middle of the field. 

Cupping himself, he ran after the goat - He didn’t think, alright? He just acted. 

Marcy, Peach’s partner in crime, hopped the fence into the neighbours’ ranch. Pepper, sensing his distress, mercifully made his way back to the paddock. Whether because he pitied Louis or because he was terrified of a bare-arsed human screeching bloody-murder, he didn’t know, nor could he care. 

He’d just managed to corner Peach near a tree, his hands spread, soft cock slapping against his thigh as he took awkward and loping steps towards her. 

“Come on, Peach-girl, just give it back and we’ll call it even. This is for the soap, yeah? Some payback?”

Peach blinked blankly at him, and then she started chewing. Louis watched in horror as bits of cotton and wool fell to the earth. 

“Woah, stop! Okay? I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to call you the devil’s rotten gatekeeper, or the spawn of satan. I think you’re…You can be really sweet, yeah? Nan Hyacinth says so all the time.”

Peach’s ears perked at the familiar name. 

“That’s right, Nan Hyacinth said you’re a good girl,” A lie. “She said you’d behave.”

Peach seemed to be considering him, her chewing had slowed, thankfully. 

He neared the goat slowly, then reached forward and yanked the parka from her, snapping it around his waist with a growl, “Wretched child of Satan’s whore.”

A low whistle had him spinning around with an undignified screech, slapping his hand to his chest. 

There was a man close behind him, perched on a horse. His jaw was moving as he chewed gum, the corner of his mouth quirked up and green eyes sparkled with humour. He was leaning forward casually, wrists folded over the reins as if he’d been there for a good long while. 

“Now, that’s no way to speak to a lady.”

Louis’ mouth worked, his face contorting through a range of emotions. He settled on annoyance as he stabbed a finger in Peach’s direction accusingly, “She started it!”

The man - Cowboy - whatever, cocked a lazy brow. His smile formed fully as he looked at the goat.

Louis felt his face burn with mortification as he tugged the parka’s knot to make sure it was secure. He could’ve sworn the cowboy cast a glance over his chest and bare thighs, before looking at his face again. 

“Need some help?”

He cocked his hip and crossed his arms, “No.” He tacked on a ‘thank you’ after clearing his throat. 

“Your goat’s on my property.”

Louis looked back at Marcy who was nibbling at the grass near the bottom of the fence, then back at the man, “You’re on my property.”

He hummed, “I have permission.”

“From who?”

He grinned slowly again, “You’re not from ‘round here, are ya?”

“You’re fuckin’ perceptive, mate.”

“Was just trying to be neighbourly, but if you’re fine wrangling them yourself,” He tipped the brim of his hat and tugged on the reins of his Paint. The horse nickered softly before beginning to turn. 

Louis gaped, then stumbled forward, “Wait!”

The cowboy looked back at him, waiting patiently with another arrogant smile fixed in place. 

“I…” He squared his shoulders, “Since you’re here anyway.”

“You asking for some assistance, darlin’?”

Jesus Christ, hello butterflies. He tamped the reaction down with a glare, “You offered.”

“You declined.”

An impasse, fan-fucking-tastic. 

“Oh, noble knight upon thy steed, please aid me in my quest to herd these heathens back into their paddock.”

His lip twitched, “Those yours?” He asked, nodding towards Louis’ boots, then the parka. 

“Err, no, they’re my Nan’s.”

The cowboy’s expression changed then, his eyes narrowing as he squinted at Louis, “You’re Hyacinth’s grandson?”

Something about his tone made Louis’ hackles rise, “Yeah. Problem?”

He sighed as he sat back, practically rolling his eyes, “Heard you were some hotshot in London, making a name for yourself, yet here you are performing just like the rest of them.”

The words were said with so much bite that Louis gaped, “Excuse me?”

He might as well have kept his mouth shut for all the good it did him, the cowboy had already raced off with his horse, guiding Marcy back onto the property and into the paddock with a sharp whistle. He didn’t look at Louis again as he did the same with Peach, he made it look far easier than it needed to be as well, which made Louis feel he’d done so purposefully. 

Once the paddock was shut and the lock clicked into place, the man on the horse cast him an annoyed look. 

“You’re welcome.”

Louis marched towards him, “What’s that shit you said about my family?”

“That they’re performative.”

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean, you hick.”

The cowboy dismounted from the horse so swiftly that Louis stumbled back a step. 

“Your Nan’s been fighting my grandfather every step of the way over superstitious nonsense. We were going to claim the land west of the river but she spouted off about native spirits being disturbed, then went ahead and formed a council to protect ancestral history for a piece of dried up land that can no longer be a viable source for farming. Never mind that she’s practically bewitched the town into buying her ridiculous witchcraft bullshit.”

Louis’ chest plumed in outrage, his face felt heated. Yes, he had every right to call his family eccentric, and at times, maybe a little crazy. But that didn’t mean the redneck punk that lived in the hills could do it. 

“You’re Edward Styles’ grandson? Jesus, you must be so proud of grandaddy for swearing there was gold in the river and causing a ruckus to mine said fictitious gold. One of those many ventures caused a family to be displaced when their home was flooded after a miscalculation and placement of explosives. My family might be performative, but at least we don’t exploit cheap labour for the sake of a senile old man’s grumblings, or ruin people’s lives for money!”

“You watch your fucking mouth.” He raised his finger in Louis’ face, near to closing the distance between them. They were both heaving in anger, staring at one another like rabid dogs might wait for the other to move before attacking.

Louis became increasingly aware that he was wearing nothing but a parka, and that he positively reeked. The cowboy’s gaze shifted over his face, skirting over his mouth for only a moment before meeting his eyes again. 

“You smell.”

Louis gaped, “Yeah? Well you smell like - Like sweat! And - and horse!”

He rolled his lips, snorting softly. 

“Is your parka trying to shake my hand?”

His gaze dropped to his front, more specifically, what looked like a semi, “Wha’, no! The material’s just bunched weird.”

“Sure,” the cowboy backed off with a grin, “keep those goats off my land.”

“Keep yourself off mine, Styles.”

“Harry.”

“What?”

“My name.”

Louis turned towards his porch and waved his hand dismissively over his shoulder, “Oh good, I’ll file a restraining order in the morning.”

He could’ve sworn he heard a laugh as Harry mounted his Paint. 

“What’s yours?”

“Figure it out for yourself.” Louis yelled, then slammed the door shut between them. 

Fuck Texas. 

➹

Niall was checking Oliver’s hooves when Louis walked into the barn that evening, he was still sporting the chip on his shoulder and barely managed a grunt in the blonde’s direction as he led Penny to her stall and grabbed a hoof pick. 

“Heard Miss Peach gave you some trouble this morn’.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“Handlers were talking about your streakin’ tits-out over at the Styles’ ranch.”

Louis grit his teeth, “I wasn’t naked. Exactly.”

“Oh, yeah. Heard that too. Nana’s parka and bright red booties to match, must’ve been quite a sight for Harry’s sore eyes.”

“God. He’s such a prick.”

Niall shrugged, “Good rancher though, knows just about everything there is to know about horses.”

“Questioning his work on people, more like.” He bent down and patted Penny’s leg, she lifted her hoof with a distinct sigh. 

“Keeps to himself a lot, though not when it comes to women. He’s had a new one visit that ranch every couple o’ weeks.”

Louis tried to recall Harry’s reaction to finding him naked, perhaps he’d imagined it. Either way he raised his brows, “Charming.”

“That he is, could charm a mare out of her shiny iron shoes if he wanted.”

He shook his head with a frown, switching legs on Penny, “What’s his problem with my family.”

“Think’s you lot are nuts? Beats me, most people steer clear.”

“Yet Nana’s sales have skyrocketed.”

“I said they steer clear, didn’t say they weren’t superstitious.”

“It’s not like it’s real.” Louis grumbled, “It’s con-work, if you’re willing to believe you’ll apply your own meaning to shit. Similar to asking for a sign to do something you likely shouldn’t, you wanna do it, you’ll sure as hell find an excuse to.”

Niall studied him, “You’re not a believer?”

“Are you?”

He shrugged, “I’ve seen some shit. Reckon your Nana can make a believer of anyone.”

Louis remained quiet, grabbing the comb to brush Penny’s coat. 

“He’s not so bad, you know?”

“What?”

“Harry,” Niall cleared his throat, “he’s always been fair to us. Even the day workers, wages are good, more than we’re likely worth.”

“Don’t say that.”

“‘S the truth. We muck out stalls, repair fences, see to the horses and the cattle. A few hours tops, but I can live off of it.”

“Just because someone has money, doesn’t mean they’re a good person.”

“Suppose you’d be an expert on that.”

Louis rolled his eyes, “More gossip?”

“Nah,” Niall turned away to grab his own comb, “they’re just curious, is all. Not every day we get a hot topic roll into town. You’re pretty secluded up here, you hardly come to the store.”

“Zayn’s managing just fine.”

“Sure, but I reckon the locals would like to see you get your elbows in it.”

“Then they should swing by, most days I’m covered in filth. If that’s not getting my ‘elbows in it’, then I don’t know what is.”

Niall grinned, “You should come tonight.”

“Pass.”

“Oh, come on, Lou. You used to love Karaoke nights at Misty’s.”

He sighed through his nose. Years ago, he’d come to stay with his Nan for a few months, much like he had when he was growing up. He’d not quite figured out what to do with himself after failing to save up for uni and missing the very narrow application-window, and he’d been looking for a break from the city, he’d met Niall and Zayn and had spent most nights out with them. During the day they’d go on rides, or pester their neighbours for kicks. That was before he grew up, before he got married and had that fall apart spectacularly. 

“Zayn’s coming too.” Niall added. 

“I don’t think -”

“Harry’ll be there.”

He wasn’t sure why he couldn’t form a word after that, his mind blanked momentarily. 

He blinked at Niall, who grinned. 

“I’m not -”

“Coming?”

Louis hesitated, “Uh, n-no?” Why did it come out like a question?

Niall chuckled, “Be ready by eight, we’ll swing by to pick you up.”

➹

Harry wasn’t at the bar. 

Not that Louis was keeping an eye out for him or anything. He sipped at his sweating beer and spoke with Niall and Zayn, maintaining eye contact and focus and all those polite, standard things people do with friends. If he just so happened to also monitor his peripherals, then that was nobody's business but his own. 

Around them, cowboys mingled, sipping their drinks and sending glances at the stage every few minutes with vague interest. Currently, someone was performing a rendition of Drunk in Love by Beyoncé. The performance itself could only be measured in shared grimaces and winces. 

Niall sent Zayn a notable glance that had Louis sitting up a bit straighter, mercifully drawing his attention away from the butchering of a most beloved song. 

“What?”

Zayn set his beer down, shared another annoying glance with the blonde before looking at Louis and, oh no, his brows were peaking in the middle, the corner of his mouth turning up. It smelled like pity, or a culmination of sympathy and worry. 

Louis took another pull of his beer, looking around for an escape. 

“Have ya heard from Wes?”

He sighed through his nose, then picked at the label on the bottle so he wouldn’t have to face The Expression™, “Nope.”

“Do you…” Niall shifted closer, pulling a face, “like, want to?”

“Hear from him?” they nodded, “err, no? I don’t know. Bit fucked, innit?”

“Hookers and cocaine, kind of writes itself.”

“Did you get tested?”

He blinked between them, “Y-yeah, ‘m fine, all clear.”

“Did you, like, know?”

“That my husband was banging strippers, or that one died while sucking coke off his cock?”

Zayn grimaced, Niall gave him a look. 

Louis’ shoulders sank, he was mostly annoyed with himself, with the anger and the bite that still laced his words. He wanted to be unaffected, removed from the situation, the owner of a cool disposition. However, he couldn’t discount the soreness of his own heart. Or maybe that wasn’t quite it, in truth he wasn’t sure what he felt. It hurt, but perhaps more so because he’d internalised it to reflect on his own self-worth. The tabloids had sure as hell run with that angle: maybe Tomlinson had practised that reserved aura in the bedroom as well, why else would a man look elsewhere?

That one line remained centre-focused in his mind, swirling around the pesky part of the brain that decided the fate of your confidence. He’d not considered the implication until that moment, until he’d woken up the next morning, tired eyes puffy from tears, cheeks already hollow as he stared at himself vacantly in the mirror. Coupled with that line, came the disparagement. Of course he would cheat, he’d thought as he’d looked at his reflection, what do you have to offer? You’re not special, really. 

Had he loved Wes? Sure. In that all-consuming way you only ever read about or saw in films? Not quite. But the point was that it had been real. It had been his, and he’d slipped into that false sense of security like a biscuit being dunked into tea. He’d clung to Wes to prove just how well he’d made it, he’d slipped out of the craziness of his past life, sloughed off their hysteria and found something practical and realistic. 

Practical and realistic fucking sucked. 

He shook himself, looking back up at his friends. They’d fallen quiet, watching him closely, “I didn’t know.” He heard himself murmur, “didn’t even suspect, he worked late all the time but that came with the demands of his career. I didn’t…I didn’t know.” 

“Weren’t there rumours, though?” 

Zayn nudged Niall into silence, sending him a frown. 

Louis’ lip twitched, “yeah, s’pose there were. He always had an excuse, he even prepared me for it after proposing, said there’d be lies and media pressure, that people wanted him to fail because they were jealous.”

Zayn grimaced, causing him to chuckle dryly, “sounds stupid hearing it back.” 

“Nah, you loved him, why wouldn’t you believe it?” Niall said easily. 

“Anyway,” he straightened, trying out a wobbly smile, “what’s done is done. I feel like a weight’s been lifted in a way - I’m serious.” He added when they glanced between themselves, “I have more time for myself now, less events or parades, I don’t have to overthink what I’m wearing when I leave the house. It’s great.” 

“Might’ve given a second thought to that particular outfit, were I you.” 

Louis squawked, dropping a hand over his thigh, and more specifically his black leather trousers, “they make me arse look fantastic.” 

“You couldn’t wear something more…”  Niall waved his hand around them, encompassing denim and plaid. 

Louis quirked a brow, muttering around the lip of his beer bottle, “The day I dress for a ho-down or pig-wrestling, is the day I commit to the church and hypocrisy.” 

Zayn rolled his eyes, Niall merely grinned. 

They fell quiet when a few patrons shifted nearer to the table. Louis frowned as he looked around. People that had been sitting at the bar were now standing closer to the stage, some had their phones out while murmuring to one another excitedly. 

“You’d swear Dolly Parton was about to hop on up there.” Louis muttered, peeking over a few heads to see. 

“Not quite Dolly,” Niall winked, then twisted around to face the stage before Louis could ask who it would be. 

A moment later hoots kicked up from behind him, a rowdy group of women waved their arms and squealed ecstatically. The whole affair had certainly piqued Louis’ curiosity, he was about two seconds away from legging it up on the table in case it was somebody famous. 

“Hello, I’m Harry.”

Louis’ skin prickled at the rough timbre of his voice over the microphone, he stood slowly, lips parted. He shifted a bit through the crowd, making his way towards the wall beside the stage, ignoring when his friends cast surprised glances at him. 

Harry looked…Fucking ridiculous. Also edible, but mostly ridiculous. He wore a black, tailored blazer that clung to his broad shoulders like the material was equally enthralled to be so close to his skin. Red, sparkling fringed tassels hung from the shoulder pads, catching the stage light with each shimmer of movement. His trousers matched, equally black, the sides carrying the same tassels and to top it all off, sparkly, red cowboy boots. He thought that was the extent of the outfit, but there was a large embroidered rose on the back of the blazer. He looked…Gorgeous. 

It was only when he turned to talk to the band that Louis realised he wasn’t wearing a shirt under the ensemble. 

Sweet Jesus. He wasn’t religious, but even he could admit he’d fall to his knees before this particular vision in worship. 

He shook the thought off in annoyance, glancing over at the crowd. The expression he’d been sporting a moment before was mirrored over faces, they just lacked the self-respect to check themselves. They likely also weren’t aware what a prick Harry was. Or maybe they did, maybe that was part of the appeal. 

When he looked back, Harry’s eyes were sweeping over them, the corner of his lip curled upwards smugly, his green irises were dazzling. Just then, he locked onto Louis, the smile slipped from his mouth as he pressed his lips against the mic. He looked away, back out at the crowd, Louis hadn’t realised he’d been holding his breath for those damned point-two seconds. 

“This is ‘Baby Said’ by Måneskin.”

Louis jolted at the sound of the familiar guitar strum, he knew the song, any self respecting gay man did. The crowd cheered, masking the sound of the drums, and then Harry was crooning huskily into the mic, his eyes shut in rapture - either from the sound of his own voice, or the praise, who knew. 

He thought the point of Karaoke was to sing with a backing track, not to pull out a fucking band and show-off with mediocre vocals. Louis scoffed, then shifted, biting into his bottom lip when his eyes fell on Harry again. 

Okay…He was good. Would he admit that aloud? No. In the safety of his own traitorous mind, he could admit Harry sounded Goddamned sinful, and Louis wasn’t all too opposed by the idea of tossing his underwear on stage like a groupie. 

He pulled a face at himself, just as Harry’s bold green eyes flicked open and locked onto him again. Louis froze, along with the breath in his chest. 

“Tell me now, what’s that look on your face? She put her hand on my lips begging ‘Please end this conversation.’ Baby said, ‘When you’re talking I go dead. Shut your mouth, give me your head.’ Uh huh, know you really want to. Baby said, ‘Let me taste your silhouette. You can talk between my legs.’ Uh huh,” Harry smirked, “Know you really want to.” And then he blinked away, completely ambivalent to the havoc he'd just caused. 

Louis’ mouth was still hanging open by the time they wrapped up, his cheeks were flaming and there was an uncomfortable stirring in his pants that he was doing his best to ignore. He stumbled back to his table in a daze, blinking too quickly. 

“That was hot.” Niall muttered, taking a large sip of his beer, he took one look at Louis’ face and cackled. 

“Whatthefuckwasthat?” Louis breathed in a rush as he fell into his seat, he stared at them.

“Harry Styles,” Zayn said with a wicked grin. 

“I’m so fucked.”

“Why’s that Lou?” Niall wheedled, waggling his brows. 

“That was…” He groaned, “Oh God, I need to get laid.”

Zayn pulled a face, “Get your horny ass away from me.”

“So horny,” He whimpered, thumping his forehead against the table. 

“He’s at the bar, you should buy him a drink.”

“Can’t,” Louis grumbled into the table, “Scared.”

“What? Why?”

“I’ll do something embarrassing, like crawl into his lap or summat.”

Zayn sputtered a laugh, then leaned over and pulled Louis’ head up, meeting his eyes head on, “Babes, you’re gorgeous. He'd be a fool not to want you. So go order some drinks and mosey on over to him, tell him he was great, do that flirty thing you do when you cock your hip.”

“I cock my hip?”

“Oh yeah,” said Niall, “‘specially when you’re feelin’ sassy. He’ll eat that shit right up.”

“You think so?” and then he sat up, frowning, “hang on, why ‘m I listening to you lot. He hates me, I hate him. We hate each other.”

“Hate sex.” Niall and Zayn said simultaneously, clinking their bottles. 

“I…” He chewed on his lip, then took a peak over his shoulder. Harry sat at the corner of the bar, his knees were spread wide, arrogantly, as a woman prattled in his ear. His eyes weren’t focused on her though. When his head began to turn in their direction, Louis snapped back around. “Okay,” he squeeked, then stood, “I’ll…uh, yeah, go and, yeah.”

Zayn grimaced but Niall elbowed him, they pasted on strained, mildly disconcerting grins in their show of support. 

He turned around and lifted his chin, ignoring Harry’s presence entirely as he made his way to the bar. He popped his bum out just a little as he leaned forward, keeping an easy, relaxed smile on his face. It slowly grew more strained when his thoughts caught up with him. What did Harry even drink? He snuck a glance, then hurriedly looked away, up at the ceiling, squinting as if he’d seen something. Harry had been watching him, his head tilted, amusement curled over his lips. 

This was so fucking stupid. 

The bartender turned towards him and raised his eyebrows expectantly. 

“Uh, two tequilas. Neat, on the rocks.”

“Double?”

Louis blinked. 

“Double shots?” He clarified. 

“Oh,” Louis laughed shakily, “sure.”

The drinks arrived far too quickly, he was still wrestling with his courage as he paid. He picked up the tumblers, sucked in a breath, willed himself to walk slowly and confidently towards the other end of the bar. He felt stiff, his movements were a bit jerky, sweat prickled over his lower back and his belly squirmed with nerves. 

He had a panicked moment of doubt, where he rationalised he could simply walk right by them, down his drinks in the parking lot and drive home. But then Harry’s eyes settled on him, and he raised an eyebrow. 

Right, okay. Nowhere to run, he’d stated his intention. 

Louis stopped just behind the woman’s shoulder, and sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, unsure of how to interrupt. Oh God, he didn’t think this through. He stood there, two drinks held aloft in his hands, and looked between them, waiting. 

Harry leaned back in his seat, then sucked at his teeth before rubbing his hand over his mouth, as if to curb his own laughter at Louis’ expense. 

“Hi,” Louis blurted abruptly. 

The woman paused her diatribe, then looked up at him, she smiled, “Oh honey, no, we didn’t order those.”

He looked at the drinks in his hands, felt his cheeks flush, “No, that’s - I know, it’s -”

“Oh my God, free drinks?” She took them from his hands, and Louis stared, dumbstruck as she handed one to Harry. He took it, but continued to watch Louis. 

“Uh…” 

The woman looked at him again, frowning, “Is that all?”

He fish-mouthed, looked at Harry again, then mentally flailed and popped his hip. The leather trousers squeaked loudly, just as the music died down, it sounded like a fart. 

Oh, dear Lord, sweet baby Jesus.

Harry rolled his lips, raising his eyebrows, “I didn’t catch your name?”

“Louis,” He choked out, “I just wanted to say -”

“You look so familiar, yet I can’t place you. Sorry,” He waved his hand beside his head, “memory’s a bit foggy after I’ve had a few.”

Louis’ mouth dropped open, and then his eyes narrowed, “Are you…serious?”

Harry grimaced apologetically, “Are you a fan? You’ve been here before?”

He felt livid, his humiliation momentarily cast aside in favour of his annoyance, “Prick.” He bit out. 

Harry’s eyes flashed, the amusement returned, “oh, it’s you. Hardly recognized you with,” his eyes ran over Louis’ body, “So much on.”

The woman he’d been speaking to looked between them in surprise, and as if hearing back what he'd just said, Harry shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. 

“Quite the performance, Styles,” Louis said, “on stage, too. Just came over here to admit you were pretty good, me ears hardly bled.”

Harry pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, his eyes slowly dipping over Louis’ outfit again, he hummed, “high praise, I’m sure. What are you wearing?” He sounded annoyed then as his gaze clung to Louis’ trousers. 

“It’s Gucci.”

“Bless you.”

“Philistine.”

“Did you come all this way to trade compliments, darlin’? I’m a little busy.” He nodded towards the woman. 

Louis shifted on his feet, looking between the two of them, “I…” He had nothing to say, he sent Harry a glare and spun on his heel, though not before he heard her whisper: ‘God, the service in the place has gone downhill.’

He slunk back to his seat in defeat, and was met with pitying eyes. 

“It wasn’t that bad,” Niall said and Zayn hurriedly nodded. 

“There was definitely chemistry, right Ni?”

“Totally.”

“Shut up.” Louis muttered, then pouted, “she took my drink.”

“We’ll get you another.”

He waved them off, “think I’m gonna head, I'm an idiot and I feel humiliated.”

“That happens to be Niall’s natural state, and he looks just fine.” Zayn said. 

Niall was still smiling dopily, the smile dropped, he blinked, “Wha’?”

Louis chuckled, shaking his head, “‘M fine, promise. This was a mistake, though. I’m clearly not…” those dark, pesky thoughts reared up again, ones of rejection, unworthiness. He shoved them aside and swallowed roughly. 

“There’ll be other men, Lou. Men who’re good, and kind -”

“And hot.” Niall piped up. 

Louis sent them a tight smile, “just gonna take a leak and then I’ll be going. See you tomorrow?”

They both nodded, disappointed. 

He slipped through the crowd, not quite sure he could handle their expressions any longer than he had to. 

The loos were thankfully empty. He walked towards the wall of urinals, unzipped his trousers and tugged his dick out, sighing in relief. The door opened behind him, but he didn’t pay it any mind. 

“Hey,” A voice said from behind him. 

Louis looked over his shoulder, there was a man standing near the basins, he was tall and rugged looking in a vaguely handsome way. His eyes were fixed on Louis’ face, his smile hesitant. 

“Sorry, don’t mean to corner you in the gents, but I saw you out there.” He hooked his thumb over his shoulder at the door. 

He tried not to roll his eyes, but his flaccid dick was in his hand, he was literally taking a piss. Surely, this could’ve waited a few minutes. 

“Mind giving me a sec?”

“Oh sure, yeah totally.”

Silence fell behind him. When Louis looked back the guy was still standing there, looking at the tiles in interest. With a short sigh, he tucked himself away and zipped his fly, then walked over to the basin to wash his hands. 

“I’m Dave.”

“Louis.” He said, sending him a polite smile in the mirror, mildly unsure of how to navigate getting hit on in the toilets. 

“Nice to meet you.”

Louis dried his hands with a paper towel, then looked at the door. It was odd, but the hair on the back of his neck prickled. Up close, Dave was taller, broader. He also stood in the way of the door, which was a tad creepy. Louis was getting all kinds of warning signals in his head as the guy continued to stare at him. 

“I should…” He nodded towards the door. 

“Are you, uh, seeing anyone? Are they here?”

Red alert!

“Uhm -”

“I come to these things alone too, sometimes. Better to meet people that way,” he shrugged easily, shifting closer, “this might sound a bit weird, you don’t really know me. But I just,” he exhaled loudly, shaking his head at himself. Looking as if he were arguing with the voices in his mind, “I think you’re really pretty,” he looked back up at Louis through his eyelashes and bit his lip. 

Ick. 

“Th-Thank you, that’s,” Louis swallowed, sneaking a glance at the door again, “really sweet.” When he made to step towards it, Dave blocked him. Louis backed away hurriedly. 

“Sorry, that was weird right? I panicked,” and then he laughed, so loudly that the sound reverberated around the room. 

Louis shivered, tucking his hands into his pockets. His fingers wrapped around his phone. 

“Look, mate. I’m here with some friends, they’ll be wondering where I am.”

“Oh, thought you told them you were leaving? Must’ve misheard.”

They stared at one another, Louis contemplated kicking him in the balls just as the door opened again. 

Harry stepped into the bathroom and barely glanced their way as he walked over to the urinals. He whistled as he pissed, then changed to singing a few lines under his breath, bobbing his head. 

Louis swallowed, his eyes were still fixed on Dave. 

When Harry was done, he made his way to the basin, and easily fitted himself between them. He washed his hands and looked at his reflection in the mirror, studying his hair. With a sigh, he looked at Louis. 

“Ready to go, babe? ‘M tired.”

Louis blinked at him. 

Harry reached out and tugged him closer by his belt loop, his back was to Dave who seemed equally surprised by the display. 

“Please,” Harry murmured, looking down at him, his face hovering over Louis’, “know you wanted to stay a bit longer, but I’ll make it up to you later, promise.” And then he winked. 

“Okay,” Louis whispered, caught in Harry’s gaze, swept up by his proximity and the smell of his sweat mixed with his tantalising cologne. 

He grinned sharply, red, shiny lips neared his ear as a large hand slid over his waist, “Maybe I’ll make it up to you in the car.”

He felt his cheeks heat as he looked over Harry’s shoulder. Dave was gone, the door swung in his wake. 

“Harry,” He breathed, about to tell him the coast was clear when Harry’s hand settled over his arse cheek, his lashes fluttered. 

“Can’t say I mind these. What did you call ‘em? Gucci’s?”

“Gucci. ‘S a brand.” He murmured, swallowing roughly. 

Harry hummed, then patted his bottom before pulling away. He walked towards the door, then paused, looking back at Louis, “you coming?”

“What?”

“I’m walking you to your car.”

“You don’t need to -”

Harry twisted to face him, a disbelieving frown settling over his brows, “Did I interrupt something, or -”

“No, God no. I just -”

“Want to walk out into the dark parking lot by yourself, because you were handling this little altercation so well.”

Louis narrowed his eyes, “I was about to kick his arse. If you hadn't interrupted -”

“Sure, darlin’. Sass me on the way.” He wrapped his fingers around Louis’ wrist and pulled him out into the hallway. Louis could only follow, struck dumb with shock. 

Once they were outside, a cool wind licked over Louis’ flushed cheeks. He dug around in his pockets for his keys, found them, and promptly dropped them. Harry bent down and snapped them up before he could. They straightened, facing one another. 

“Where’s your car?”

Louis nodded towards his Nan’s green truck, it was rusted and bruised like an apple, but clearly cherished…In a distant-cousin sort of way. 

“Look, thanks for what you did back there. I appreciate the gesture -”

Harry was still looking at the truck before settling that same studious gaze on Louis,  "How much have you had to drink?”

“What?”

“Alcohol?”

“I know what you’re asking.” Louis growled, “It’s the why that’s got me confused.”

“Not sure you should drive in your condition.”

“My condition? ” Louis squawked, then lunged forward to grab his keys from Harry’s hand. Harry raised his arm up above their heads and chuckled when their chests bumped. Louis tightened his fist around the stupid shoulder pad and tried to hoist himself up, ignoring the scent of him, the sight of his glossy tanned skin over his delectable throat. They were almost similar in height, but the alcohol in his veins made lunging up feel impossible. 

“Easy, sweetheart.” Harry laughed, wrapping his arm around Louis’ waist to still his franting bouncing, “you’re making me dizzy.”

“Give me my keys,” he seethed. 

“I’ll give ‘em to you…”

Louis sank back onto his heels, narrowing his eyes at the man. 

“Once I’ve dropped you off at your doorstep, like a proper gentleman.”

“You wouldn’t know a proper gentleman if he bit you on your fucking arse.”

Harry’s smile turned sly, his eyes dropped to Louis’ lips, “you have such a foul mouth. It should be infuriating.”

He sucked in a shallow breath, standing frozen, only realising then that Harry’s arm was still clamped around his waist. Their next few breaths were shared, almost reminiscent of the day prior when they’d first met. It was a full moon tonight, the light shone brightly above their heads, casting delicate and detailed shadows beneath Harry’s eyelashes. His cheekbones looked sharper here, more defined. He wasn’t sure if it was the night sky that made Harry’s eyes look so dark, though. 

As if sensing the current shift in the air, Harry’s arm dropped away and he retreated a step, clearing his throat, “come on, it’s getting late.” 

Louis swallowed any further protests and followed quietly behind the cowboy as he was led to his car. He murmured a soft ‘thank you’ when his door was opened for him and slipped inside, staring straight ahead. 

Harry started the engine and hummed along to some country song Louis was certain he’d never heard before. It felt a tad stifling in the truck, as if the air were clogged with things unsaid. He fidgeted, grappling with his mind to find a topic to latch onto. 

“Thought the point of Karaoke was to sing along to a track?”

Harry’s lip twitched in the corner, he cast Louis a sidelong glance, “sometimes.”

“Quite a bit of fanfare you’ve got going on.” He looked at Harry’s bare chest, then away quickly, “what’s with the outfit?”

“You don’t like it?”

Louis shrugged, eyes darting over what little he could see of the rolling hills on the empty stretch of road, “certainly a conversation starter.”

“Is that what you’re doing?”

“What?”

“Looking for a little conversation?” Harry’s smirk was annoying. His whole face was annoying. A dimple winked out at him teasingly, and Louis frowned. 

“Just asking a question, mate.”

“I get hot on stage, the lights can be a bit intense. I like to dance, so.” He shrugged easily. 

Louis’ mind flashed to a still image of Harry’s bare torso sprinkled with sweat as his hand slid over his crotch, his hips shimmying. He blinked it away quickly, shifting in his seat, his leather pants squeaked loudly, drawing Harry’s attention. 

“Looks like I wasn’t the only one gunning for some attention tonight.”

“So it was for attention.” Louis muttered, ignoring his flaming cheeks. 

Harry chuckled under his breath, flexing his hand on the steering wheel. 

Silence reared its head again. Louis rolled his lips into his mouth, then snuck a glance at Harry under his eyelashes. He looked at ease, still smiling to himself as he navigated the dark road. His lips looked plush and a hint red, as if he'd been biting at them. Louis had a visceral urge to suck the fat bottom one into his mouth, just to see what reaction he’d get. It unnerved him, but also caused an odd, old-familiar tingling warmth to settle low in his belly. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt lust, perhaps during his honeymoon phase with Wesley. It hadn’t lasted, though he’d not thought much of it. He’d been busy forging his career, and Louis had been trying to figure out what to do with his life. Playing receptionist and part-time assistant to his CEO husband had been an easy role to fall into, but it wasn’t what he’d wanted for himself long-term. He’d had dreams of going to school, perhaps finishing his business courses and eventually starting something of his own. 

Somehow, three years had passed and he’d still been drifting in the same position. It’d made sense in the beginning, he knew his husband, and could organise his calendar and set up meetings and reminders without much effort. Looking back, perhaps he should’ve questioned the late night business meetings with investors more frequently. He should’ve questioned why his husband came home smelling of perfume and liquor rather than rolling over in bed begging for a cuddle he never received. 

He felt ashamed. That was the most prevalent emotion that swarmed through him now, burning through the lust like a slap of cold water. A firm dose of reality. Here he was, sat in a busted, old truck beside a cowboy who despised his family, after that same cowboy had intervened when he’d gotten himself in a precarious situation in some dingy, badly lit bathroom at a bar in the middle of Texas. Far away from everything he’d truly known or become accustomed too. Even further away from wealth and promise and everything he’d thought he’d managed to build on his own. 

Back where he started. Back to a way of life he’d spent a large sum of his own trying to run away from. 

Home calls the heart in times of hurt. 

His Nan used to say that, she’d said it again when he’d called during Wesley’s trial. Before, it had felt like a threat of sorts, a reminder that no matter how far he ran, home would catch up to him. In that moment, though, it had felt like refuge. 

When he looked back up, his Nan’s ranch stood before the truck. Proud and ambivalent to time and his abandonment. The house held the warmest memories of his childhood, but also pockets of unrest, of wanting more. There it was, welcoming him back with a warm porch light and a promise to keep standing if he would. 

He sighed through his nose, feeling his chest settle. He glanced over at Harry, who was already watching him, “thank you for the lift, and for…” He hesitated, pressing his lips together. 

Harry tilted his head in a short nod, “no problem.”

They continued to look at one another a moment longer, before Louis cleared his throat and reached for the door handle. Harry turned off the engine and hopped out, meeting him at the hood to hand him his keys. 

“Need me to walk you to your door?” His smile was smarmy, and a hint mischievous, though Louis would blame the poor lighting. 

“Think I can manage. Need a horse?”

Harry looked up at the night sky, basked in stars and constellations Louis couldn’t fathom to name, “think I’ll walk, it’s a nice night for it.”

“Kinda far, innit?”

“Not really.”

Louis scoffed, “Right. ‘Not far enough’, you mean.”

Harry studied him closely, it made his skin prickle the longer his intense gaze ran over his features. 

“Have a good night, Lou. Lock up behind yourself.”

He sent Harry a tight smile as he backed away, then stumbled over his own feet. He spun around before the cowboy could see the mortification on his face, though the sound of his laughter floated over to him as he hopped up onto the porch. 

When he turned back, Harry’s silhouette was fading, getting smaller along the dirt road that led to the field beyond. 

Lou.

➹

Louis had gotten up early a few mornings later to muck out the horses stalls. He technically didn’t need to see to the task as Niall would be arriving a few hours later, but he felt restless. He wasn’t sure why, but there was an odd energy simmering. Something felt off. He had a feeling nagging at him to check in with his Nan, but soon brushed it off, not wanting to disturb her on her trip. 

It wasn’t only him that seemed to pick up on the sense of wrongness. The horses were on edge, tension bunching the muscles along their backs and flanks. He’d murmured to them softly, handing out sugar cubes as he’d worked. The goats watched him with beady eyes, they weren’t rough-housing or mucking about. They remained huddled in the corner of their enclosure, tracking him as he made his way from the shed to the barn. 

Louis wiped sweat from his brow as he sipped at the iced tea his Nan had made in bulk and refrigerated. The land looked freshly ploughed, and in the distance he could make out the green, rolling hills, interspersed with dry vegetation. Autumn would be upon them soon, but they were prepared, a bit of rain wouldn’t hurt. 

He made the decision to head into town and check on his Nan’s store, as well as bother Zayn for some company. He liked his own, mind. Though, even he could admit the farm had a sense of loneliness that hovered over it like fog. Hyacinth was far from a recluse, but the placement of the ranch would suggest otherwise. All Tomlinsons’ shared that quirk though. They could be the centre of attention and thrive off of that energy, hold conversations with strangers and truly enjoy it, though they could also hole up and tuck themselves away, crack open a good book and a bottle of wine and spend time with the ghosts that flitted through the rooms. 

Louis shivered as a cool breeze licked over the damp skin at his neck. He rubbed at it, studying the farm-house. Not all those that’d lived and died there were family, though their spirits had certainly become so over the years. He’d always felt at ease in the house, knowing full well he wasn’t alone. The older he became the more he’d removed himself from his Nan’s tales, of the portents and witchcraft. He’d never stopped believing, though. No matter his conversation with Niall a few days prior.

An hour later, he was dressed and grabbing his keys when a rapid series of knocks sounded at the door. He’d not heard a car, but he carelessly opened the door anyway. 

A man stood before him, wearing ill-fitting denims and a button down that looked fairly wide at the shoulders. His brown eyes were sharp, tracking over Louis with hunger that didn’t hint at any type of attraction. 

Louis knew what he was the second he smiled sharply in greeting. 

“Mr. Tomlinson?”

He sighed through his nose, tugging the door shut behind him and turning to lock it, “yeah.”

“I’m new in town and wondered if you needed a hand on the farm? I’m from Kalgary, worked on a ranch there for a stretch.”

Louis squinted up at him, “there weren’t any other ranches in the panhandle looking for a day-hand?”

The man looked around beyond the porch, “I like this place.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m Colin, by the way.” He added quickly when Louis sidestepped him to head to his truck, sticking to Louis’ heals like slick mud. 

“Your accent’s unique, not sure I’ve heard it before,” he muttered as he popped open his truck door. 

Colin’s face was comical to watch, he floundered, searching for a thought before shaking his head, “moved around a lot when I was growing up. So, are you looking for someone?”

“Nope.” Louis faced him, giving him his full attention, a slow smirk spreading over his lips, “I’ll admit you did come a far way, though.”

Colin nodded quickly, “oh yes, I take the work serious.”

Louis snorted, “so serious you’d don a terrible fake accent, travel cross-country and pose as a rancher?”

“I -”

“No comment.” His features hardened, “now, get off my land.”

Colin seemed to shake off the pretence, he sighed, and in a posh little British accent he said:  “Mr. Tomlinson, I’m only wanting to get your side of the story. You could finally say your piece without -” 

“I said ‘no comment’. Are we clear?”

Colin tugged a card out of his back pocket and held it out to him, “I’ll be in town for the next few days, take time to mull it over. You wouldn’t want to look complicit in your husband's escapades.”

“ Ex husband.”

“You’ve filed then?”

“No comment.” Louis growled before hopping into his truck and slamming the door shut. He drove away without a backwards glance, gritting his teeth and glaring out of the windshield. 

He’d not met with a lawyer yet, but he sure as hell would before that weasel decided his little slip was more than enough fodder for gossip. Jesus Christ, even half a world away, he still couldn’t seem to hide from the atrocities.  

➹

Louis sat on the edge of the register and swung his legs, gazing listlessly out at the store, at passersby going about their day beyond the windows. Flowers hung in brown thatch baskets from the rafters outside, and printed on the window in swooping text, it read: Hyacinths Apothecary.

Locals understood that they’d not find medicine of science here, but rather from perhaps unnatural sources. He might’ve denounced their coven’s archaic ways, but he certainly kept up with their practices. If he had a headache he’d whisper minor incantations over boiling orange peels with hints of lavender oil and sage. For restless nights he’d use mint extract and clove, for the flu he’d steam garlic, chives and grind it up with some sandalwood ash. 

Here they sold love potions and cures or remedies for bad luck, minor curses and wealth. They had enchantments for land prosperity, special feed for horses that could blast through colic. For cattle ranchers they had pasture oils that could grow alongside vegetation, something to ease stress and prevent droughts to impact the land. 

His Nan faced criticism when she’d first arrived in Carson County, with a foreign accent and a wicked gleam in her eye. She’d been a bit of a nomad, walking from ranch to ranch like a peddler with a suitcase filled to the brim of mysterious bottles and dried herbs. She’d started selling within a week, and when promises turned to results, she had return-customers. Many cattle ranchers had tried to keep her on a retainer, but Hyacinth had known the value of her work. She’s branched out, aiding all, caring little for competitors. 

She was smart, his Nan. Once she’d made enough she’d bought the store and lived above it, after hiring Zayn’s mother, she’d purchased her own land and built a ranch atop it. She’d been unstoppable in her pursuit to build the life that’d come to her in a dream. An omen, she’d called it. A premonition.  

Louis smiled to himself as he looked over the shelves, though it soon dimmed when he recalled the conversation he’d had with her before he’d left. 

“This is your destiny.” Hyacinth had said, sitting in her kitchen, a cup of herbal tea clasped between her palms as she’d stared out of the window. 

Louis stood in the doorway, brimming with resentment, eyes verging on releasing unshed tears, “I can’t make your dream my own. I want more.”

She sighed softly, looking over at him. Her usually warm, grey, gaze riddled with pity, “you’ll find what you think you’re looking for, but home will always call the heart. You’ll not know true happiness if you do this.”

“Is that a curse, Nana?” he clenched his fists at his sides.

She scoffed, sipped at her tea, “I’m giving you the answer so few receive.”

“I can’t build a life atop your own. I want something that’s my own, I thought you of all people would understand that.”

“I do, darling. I had to make mistakes before learning, and I suppose it’s foolish to play Goddess and try to curb yours. Go, succeed, fail, but come home.” She pinned him with her eyes, “Come home, Louis.”

“Maybe I’ll find a new home.”

She remained quiet, studying to slow trail of his tears on his cheeks. She stood from the chair and made her way over to him, enveloping him in a warm, strong embrace that had his knees trembling. 

“I love you,” she murmured firmly, “and I’ll always be proud of you, no matter what. I’ll be here, waiting for you. Always.”

He pressed his face into her hair and inhaled her familiar scent, the scent of home and belonging and safety. 

“I’m making the right choice.” His tone begged for affirmation, validation, his fingers pressing gently into her shoulders. 

She released a sigh against him, “It’s the way it should be, I understand that now.”

He blinked the memory away and looked down at his hands, biting at his bottom lip. His stubbornness hated the part of him that could acknowledge she’d been right, but so had he. He had to leave to know what he’d been missing. To appreciate the life he’d been given, the one he’d taken for granted. 

“You okay?”

He looked over at Zayn, who’d been studying him, “Yeah,” he cleared his throat, “just thinking.”

“About Wes?”

Louis pulled a face, shrugged, “about a lot of things, mistakes. There’s a pap in town, writing a piece about the inevitable divorce, me.”

“Why’re you only telling me now?”

He took in his friend’s alarmed expression and felt warmed by it, “sorry, had a lot on my mind. I think it’s time I call Henley.”

“Nan’s lawyer?”

He nodded, “I need to put this behind me.”

Zayn blew out a breath, “Yeah, man. So you’re…staying for good?”

“I…” He looked out at the store again, huffed out a tired laugh, “yeah, guess I am.”

“Is that what you want?”

“It’s what I need. For now, at least.”

“Niall will be glad to hear it.”

“What about you?”

“I’m doing cartwheels on the inside.”

Louis giggled, then flicked a dry sprig of lavender at him. 

Zayn’s phone chirped and he pulled it out, his eyebrows rose and then he grinned, “check it out, Misty’s posted photos of Karaoke night.” He turned the screen towards him. 

Louis took the phone and swiped through the images, finding one of himself, Niall and Zayn at their table. His back was arched as he leaned into his friends, laughing. He studied his face, surprised at the ease he saw in his features, the unadulterated joy he’d not seen reflected in mirrors for longer than he’d care to admit. When he swiped to the next photo, he froze. 

Harry was on stage, leaning into the mic stand, eyes closed in rapture, his bare chest gleaming. Red light haloed his silhouette, sharpening the tight lines of his trousers, his powerful thighs. Louis snuck a glance at Zayn, who’d started busying himself with order receipts, before tapping on the screen. 

@h.styles

He only hesitated for a second before following the tag to Harry’s profile, scrolling through his posts. Majority were of the sunrise and sunsets on Styles Ranch, though there were a few photos taken of Harry on horseback, a clip of him feeding a cow and grinning goofily at the camera. Louis smiled to himself as he studied his dimples, the gleam in his bold green eyes. 

The newest photo that had been uploaded was from earlier that morning, he was perched on a railing, looking out at the river that ran alongside their property. A light fog hung over the water, the air looked crisp, even through the screen. His long hair was tied up in a lazy bun, face in profile, eyes narrowed. It was the caption that had Louis’ heart skipping a beat. 

The sun returned with warmth, and with it, came colour. 

He looked at the picture again, and if he squinted, he was sure he could just make out the top of his Nan’s ranch, right in Harry’s eyeline. His mind chugged along slowly as his heart stumbled through its pulsing rhythm. The doorbell to the store dinged, but he paid it no mind as he pinched his fingers and zoomed into Harry’s face, tilting his head softly to study a hidden dimple and familiar lush lips. 

He was admittedly beautiful, radiant even, in a rough sort of way. 

A shadow fell over him, just as a deep voice murmured, “my sister snapped that this morning.”

Louis fumbled the phone, but Harry caught it before it hit the ground. He handed it back with a smirk. He stood before him in worn denims and a plaid shirt, his hair hung in waves. Louis’ mouth opened and closed. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Picking up an order.”

“For what?” He asked dumbly, just as Zayn hurriedly skirted the register and handed Harry a parcel wrapped in brown paper. 

Harry avoided the question as he took it, “thanks, Z.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

Louis looked between them curiously, sensing something unspoken in their gazes. He pushed off of the register and neared, looking down at the parcel, “you shop here?”

Harry cleared his throat, “it’s not for me.”

“Who’s it for?”

“Lou.” Zayn murmured, shifting on his feet. 

“Mind if I leave some of these here?” Harry asked, holding up a bound stack of flyers, “for the auction?”

“‘Course!” Chirped Zayn, taking the flyers from him and setting it on the register, “we’ll hand ‘em out to customers.”

“You’re welcome to come as well,” Harry skirted a look at Louis, “uh, both of you.”

“What’re you auctioning?” Louis asked as Zayn stepped away. 

“The horses I’ve bred and trained.”

He raised his eyebrows, “you train?”

Harry braced his elbow on a shelf, broadening his chest noticeably, “yeah we start training them at the age of two, but I prefer only getting them under the saddle when they’re around four or five.”

“Most ranchers get them under the saddle at two years old…”

Harry shrugged, “I think horses need to mature a bit first, it’s better for their health in the long-run. You gain their trust first as well that way, form a connection, work on the bond. We walk them out with the cattle when they’re young, and once they’re under the saddle we work on herding.”

“And once you have their trust, you barter them off to the highest bidder?” Louis frowned. 

Harry’s features mirrored his own, “We establish boundaries and work on levels of exposure so they don’t get too attached to one specific handler.”

“Still, seems a bit cold.”

The cowboy rolled his eyes, “trust a city kid to waltz into the country and start spouting off about shit they don’t understand.”

Louis straightened, “trading insults instead of an explanation? Typical country-kid response.”

“You want a lesson? Come on over to the farm and I’ll teach you a thing or two.”

“Maybe I will.”

“See that you do,” he looked down at Louis’ clean sneakers, “wear some real boots, I’m partial to red.” And then he winked.  

“I’d hardly take wardrobe advice from someone who prefers to prance around shirtless in the pasture, posing for thirst-trap instagram selfies and calling it an honest day’s work.” 

“Says the man who’d take salacious photos of himself in the bathtub.” Harry quipped. 

Louis blinked, drawing back in surprise. He’d posted a selfie of himself with a glass of wine in his bubble bath last night, and yeah, he might’ve positioned it just right to snap a bit of his bare thigh - but that was a crafted coincidence. 

The revelation now was that Harry had been on his page, and had looked through his feed. He was almost certain they didn’t follow each other, which meant Harry had looked for his social media accounts. 

“I’d hardly call that salacious.” He mumbled dazedly. 

Harry scoffed, “captioned ‘Bubble or Trouble?’ .” His cheeks were noticeably pink as he looked away, running his fingers through his hair. 

“Doing some digging, Styles?”

“Know thy neighbour.” He muttered, pushing away from the shelf. 

“Stalk thy neighbour, more like.” Louis said under his breath. 

Harry’s shoulders rolled as he turned away, as if he were shrugging off Louis’ words. He sent a wave to Zayn, then one last glance at Louis before he stalked out of the store. 

“Jesus.” Zayn breathed, fanning himself. 

Louis blinked over at him, “wha’?”

“Could slice through that sexual tension with a knife, pal.”

“What was in the parcel?” He asked quickly, ignoring his flushing cheeks. 

Zayn sent him a stern glance. 

“Oh, come on. I could go through the order log.”

His friend sighed, scratching the back of his neck, “Swear you won’t tell him?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“It’s for his grandad. He’s a regular of Hyacinth’s.”

Louis frowned, “I thought they hated each other?”

Zayn tilted his head side to side, “It’s complicated. Your Nan’s been by the Styles Ranch a few times to help Old Ed. People misinterpreted what they were seeing, and they weren’t too bothered by the rumours.”

“So…They don’t hate each other?”

“You should speak to Nan about it.” Zayn said, turning away. 

Louis studied him for a moment longer, then looked back at the door where Harry had disappeared through. 

Later that night, he scrolled through Harry’s feed again. With his bottom lip caught between his teeth, he clicked follow, then locked his phone and turned off his lamp. 

➹

Louis had a dilemma. 

Self-inflicted? He wasn’t sure that mattered. 

Right now, he was caught in an odd game of cat and mouse with Harry. Though he was still uncertain which role befell him. They’d somehow entered into a posting-war on their instagram and it had all started when he’d woken up two mornings prior to find that Harry had followed him back, as well as posted a new selfie. 

The dilemma? It hadn’t been a part of his typical sunrise shots, in this one particularly, he’d been shirtless. His arm was braced on a barn door, and there’d been an obvious smirk gracing his lips. The caption had read: Trouble. 

Louis hadn’t been sure how to respond to that, if he was meant to at all or if it was simply just a coincidence. Still, he’d never not risen to a challenge and so he’d hightailed it downstairs, tugged on his red cowboy boots, stripped off his pyjama bottoms and climbed into his empty bathtub starkers. 

He’d uploaded a photo of his bare legs hanging over the side of the tub, boots in shot and captioned it ‘partial to red’.  

Harry had liked it a few minutes later. 

Since then, Harry had taken to only posing shirtless while riding his horse, walking in the pasture or enjoying a beer on his porch. Each caption had been more enticing than the last. 

Love a good ride. 

Stamina. 

Sitting back after an ‘honest day’s work’. 

He felt as if he were being goaded. In fact, he was certain of it. So he’d responded in kind. He’d posted a photo of himself first thing in the morning, making sure his collarbones and bed-hair was on display. Thereafter, he’d saddled up Peggy and taken her out for a walk, then snapped a shot of his thighs and hips straddling the saddle. His last post the next morning had been of his sheets pushed to his hips and his hand resting lightly on his bare stomach. 

The captions, respectively: 

Rough night. Just how I like it. 

Straddle that saddle. #cowboy #rider

Think I’ll stay in bed. 

He’d felt the hashtags were too on the nose, though Harry had liked each one shortly after they’d been posted. 

That morning, he found a comment waiting for him on his second post from the day before. 

H.styles

Good form. 

He’d made himself a cuppa while debating a response, feeling his stomach swirl with something he’d rather not name. With warm cheeks, he hurriedly tapped out a response, then set his phone aside. 

LouisWT

Felt a little stiff after, any tips?

He waited, and waited some more, but his phone didn’t ping with a response. So he busied himself with breakfast, then went out to take Niall his coffee. They spent a bit of time catching up, going over the goats paddocks and spoke about the benefits of renewing the rusted latch. He’d mostly forgotten about Harry when he’d stepped back into the house to change for the auction at the Styles Ranch. 

He’d just slipped on his denim jacket when his phone chimed from downstairs. Narrowly avoiding breaking his neck, he stumbled down the stairs and snatched it up from the kitchen table, hurriedly swiping through to Instagram. 

H.styles

Just one.

Louis groaned softly, leaning against the counter. He wondered briefly if he’d have time to rub one off to Harry’s latest selfie before hastily shoving the thought from his mind. Mortified, he swiped his fringe from his eyes and pocketed his phone, then grabbed his keys. 

“Ready?” Niall asked from the porch. 

“Yeah.”

“You look nice.” The blonde said, biting back a grin. 

Louis looked down at his red boots, the black denims that hugged his thighs and arse tightly and the low cut white tee that showed off a hint of his collarbones beneath his jacket. 

“Is it a formal event or summat?”

“Nope.”

“Then let’s go.”

Once they were in his truck, Niall looked over at him again, “new cologne?”

“I don’t know? Maybe?”

He hummed, drumming his fingers on his knee as Louis started the car. They drove in silence on the dirt road, though he was certain he could feel Niall’s gaze flit over to him from time to time. 

“Spit it out.”

“Hmm?”

“You’ve clearly got something to say.”

Niall shrugged, “Nah, just noticed you’ve been more active on the socials lately. So’s Harry.”

Louis shifted in his seat, checked the rearview mirror even though there were no other trucks on the road. 

“Oh.” He muttered. 

“Yeah.” Niall sent him a look, “Saw he’s liked a few of your posts, too.”

“Has he?”

“Mhm, commented on your form as well.”

Louis narrowed his eyes, “so?”

“Just remarking on a pattern, is all.”

“There’s no pattern. You’re chronically online.”

Niall chuckled, “you forget I know what you’re like when you’re out on the prowl. You want his attention, and it looks like you’re getting it.”

He mulled over his words, he could deny it, but he was also too curious, “thought you said he was straight.” Nevermind that Niall had egged him on at the bar, that could’ve been alcohol-induced.

“I told you what I’ve seen. Who knows what he keeps to himself?”

“So, he’s closeted?”

Niall pursed his lips thoughtfully, “Harry doesn’t give a shit what people think, if he wanted to be out with a guy, he would be.”

“I’m not sure I’m following.”

“Reckon he’s just not found him yet.”

Louis rolled his eyes, “I’m not looking for a declaration.”

“Nothing serious?”

“No, just…Just a bit of fun.”

“Because of Wes?”

“Does it matter?”

“Think you gotta ask yourself that, pal.” Niall patted his knee. 

He grumbled under his breath, drawing another chuckle from his friend. Up ahead and above a wall of trees, he could make out the tops of Styles Ranch, as well as the pretentious red barn in the distance. From what he could remember of his formative years, the Styles’s had never done anything halfway, though he supposed owning the largest ranch in the county meant for more pomp and grandeur. 

It was ‘backwards cowboy’ meets ‘flash couture’. Like glamping - you get the picture. They had the best equipment, with not a speck of rust, the most well-bred horses and the largest herd of cattle in the Panhandle. He’d overheard his Nana talk of ‘the Styles’ boy’ when he was younger, how he was being groomed to take over, to handle the Family Business (capitalised - because, of course it was) after his grandfather had left it in his hands. He wasn’t certain how much control Harry really had of the estate or the property itself, but he knew the man worked hard, that was evident enough in the grounds they drove through. 

It was…Green, which was mildly annoying. If ever the county suffered from a water crisis, you wouldn’t know it being here. The farmhouse itself was more of a farm- mansion , with large white columns standing like sentries guarding the imposing front dark-wood double door. He could hear water burbling from beyond his cracked window, and spotted a creek in the distance. Above the soft droning of cicadas, he could also hear tinkling laughter and voices. 

He parked his busted truck between two glossy cars, frowning as he killed the engine and prayed it wouldn’t backfire to announce their arrival. 

“Show time.” Niall grinned, rubbing his palms together. 

“If we have to.”

“There’s free booze,” he promised, popping his door open and hopping out. Louis let out a small sigh and followed. 

They crossed the gravel lot, hopping up the marble steps to the large door. Louis stuffed his hands in his pockets and raised his brows expectantly at Niall, who lifted the brass knocker and let it clunk back three times. 

The door cracked open, and a woman in a skin-tight red dress stood there, her black hair looked slicked back and held tight by a prayer, her make-up was only slightly terrifying. 

“Darlin’!” She cooed, spotting Niall and grabbing him by the shoulders. She kissed his cheek, leaving a smear of red lipstick in her tracks. 

“Marla, this is Louis.” Niall said, hastily wiping at his skin. 

Louis extended his hand, which Marla bypassed for a kiss as well. 

He accepted it with a hidden grimace. 

“C’mon in! Champaign?” She bustled them into the foyer, then waved her manicured fingers towards a tray table housing flutes. 

They both plucked one up, and stood there awkwardly as she prattled. 

“Gosh it’s scorchin’ today. I told Ed we needed a pool last winter but he refused, saying the creek was enough to cool down in. The creek! Can you believe it?” She pulled a face, “Bugs and mud, that’s all it is.”

“Marla is Harry’s step-grandma.” Niall supplied. 

Louis’ eyebrows shot up, he knew Old Ed was pushing seventy, and Marla looked nowhere near her forties, though of course money and doctors were a common cure for age. 

“He’s such a good boy,” She continued, screwing up her face in what Louis assumed was endearment, “works so hard.” 

“I’m sure.” He murmured, smiling tightly. He looked around her, trying to find an escape. 

“Anyway! I’m talking your ear off,” She laughed, “Go on, socialise. Everyone’s out back, the auction will start in an hour.”

Once she was gone, they made their way through the house. Louis tried not to gawk at the sculptures and furniture, though he did pause when he eyed the patio through a set of glass doors. He recognized it from Harry’s post. 

“Coming?”

He ducked his chin and let Niall lead him towards the back door that opened out into rolling hills, and an imposing, white marquee that had been erected a few yards away from the house. There were guests milling about, carrying drinks and chattering loudly. A few children were chasing one another, skirting around their parents legs. Not a single person wore denim. There were suits and cocktail dresses as far as the eye could see. 

“Niall.” Louis murmured through gritted teeth. 

“No one will notice.”

Except they did. After thirty minutes, Louis was desperate to leave. He’d managed to down his champagne as well as a whiskey sour that the handsome barman had whipped up for him, likely sensing his unease. A few people had looked over at him, squinting as if they might’ve recognized him but couldn’t quite put their finger on it. 

Niall had ditched him as soon as they’d slipped into the throng, called away by a group of people Louis assumed were Harry’s day-workers. He could tell by the cut of their suits, the edge to their eyes and the way they held their liquor, as if knowing they could be called to action at any moment. 

He propped his elbow up on the bar and studied two women who were leaning into each other as they spoke, the one had her hand wrapped around the other's elbow, giggling into her neck, the other smiled softly, ducking closer to listen to whatever she’d said. 

Louis’ chest warmed at the sight, yet he couldn’t quite ignore the niggling loneliness that settled just to the left of it. The alcohol swimming in his veins followed his swift mood change, and dimmed his smile. 

“What do you call two lesbians in a closet?” A man piped up beside him. 

Louis looked over at the group, just as another begged for the answer. 

“A liquor cabinet!” 

They laughed uproariously, so obnoxiously that the women who’d been leaning into each other previously, now skirted out from under the marquee with their cheeks flushed. 

Louis glared at the man, swiped up his glass and left, deciding that fresh air was in order. 

He’d made it a few feet away from the marquee when a hand caught his elbow and drew him to a halt, Louis looked up in surprise, though his brow furrowed when he recognized the man who’d performed for his little group. 

“Didn’t like my joke?”

“Not sure I’m your target audience, mate.” Louis said, tugging his elbow free. 

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

He turned to face him fully, tilting his head. Blonde hair, a wide mouth that housed perfectly even and white teeth. A crooked smile that formed a crater in his right cheek and sparkling green eyes that were framed by spiky, dark lashes. He was rakish, but his aura spoke of trouble. He had an air about him that gave off practised indifference, almost defensive - which wasn’t too intriguing in and of itself. 

“I…No, uh, sorry.”

The bloke raised his brows with a smile, his tongue slipping out to lick over his bottom lip, “Danny? We used to make mud pies at the market when we were…God, seven, I think?”

A vague memory tickled his brain, and Louis began to nod slowly, there’d been many children that he’d befriended on his visits to the ranch, though he thought he could distinctly remember blonde curls and mud flecked, rosy cheeks. 

“You’re…Harry’s cousin, yeah? Also a Styles?”

“Daniel Styles.” He shot Louis another crooked grin. 

“Do you work here now? On the ranch?”

He snorted, “God, no. Just here for the booze, one of my paintings is on auction - A nice distraction from the bartering of livestock.”

“You paint?”

“I own the gallery in town, across from Hyacinth’s store.”

Louis felt his cheeks pinken, he’d been to the gallery a number of times in the past, and had marvelled at the work, “wow, that’s incredible. Are all the pieces yours?”

Danny nodded, “got some sculptures in the house here, as well as in the garden. I could…” He took a daring step closer, biting into the corner of his lip, “I could show you, if you’d like?”

“Right now?”

“Yeah.”

He contemplated it, looking around them. He’d been looking for an excuse to dodge the crowd, and if one just so happened to fall into his lap then he couldn’t say he minded much. 

“Sure.”

Danny’s hand settled on his lower back as they left the yard, he waved his other when a few guests called out greetings, but didn’t linger or strike up a conversation. Louis avoided their eyes as they studied the two of them, gazes lingering on his face or the hand at his back. He left his glass on a staff member's tray, ducking her curious eyes.

“I heard about what happened in London,” Danny murmured as they made their way around the house, they were in an outside corridor of sorts, boasting large archways draped in crawling vines that seemed to suffocate the red brick structure. 

Louis cleared his throat, “Can’t say I’m surprised, it’s been televised extensively.”

“How are you doing?”

He couldn’t remember the last time a stranger had asked him, rather than wanting to get the inside scoop. For a moment, his shoulders eased, he felt he could breathe a little easier away from the crowd, “I’ve been better.”

“I met him once, you know? Wesley, he came to one of my gallery openings in Birmingham.”

Louis could recall that day, he’d been meant to attend as well, though he’d put his foot down at having to play the docile partner at another event. To smile for a camera, to sip his champagne a certain way and laugh on cue. Wes had promised a weekend away, with just a short stop in Birmingham, Louis hadn’t known it would be for work, or that he’d be expected to dress the part once more. They’d fought, and he’d returned to their home in London with a heavy heart and a lump in his throat. 

“Sorry I missed it.”

“You didn’t miss much,” Danny added, as if sensing his melancholy. 

When they reached the garden, Louis looked out over the rose hedges, breathing in the sweetly scented air. Here and there stood marble sculptures, one of a large angel, her wings spread and her arms beckoning the open blue sky above her head. Another, of a man kneeling naked, his hand on his cheek and the other, splayed over his chest. 

Louis stopped before a bust, the face looked awfully familiar, breathtaking. 

“Harry,” He heard himself breathe in awe. He reached out, delicately tracing the tips of his fingers over the straight nose, the high cheekbone and down towards a proud jaw. He could feel Danny studying him as he tilted his head, “this is…Incredible. You’ve captured his likeness perfectly.”

“He was stubborn as an ox the day we made it, I needed a mould of his head.”

Louis chuckled, picturing Harry trying to refrain from moving as plaster dried on his skin. He couldn’t quite bring himself to look away from the piece though. 

Danny cleared his throat, “There’s one for each Styles,” he gestured at the other busts that Louis hadn’t noticed before. They stood in a line, watching over the rose garden like evangelists coaxing someone to their faith. As opposed as he was to religion, and he’d prattle on about it until he was blue in the face, being a devout Styles worshipper seemed to be a Texan right of passage. The Styles family had always had an unreachable air about them. 

“Beautiful.” He murmured. 

“I don’t want to!” A voice suddenly erupted from a nearby alcove. 

Danny tensed, his head turning in that direction. 

“We should go -”

“I said no, Goddamnit! Get me the herbs.”

Louis ducked away from Danny, skirting around his outstretched arm to near the commotion. He heard a familiar, low murmur as he moved along the path. 

An old man sat in his wheelchair, his suit jacket looked rumbled, his tie askew as if he’d been trying to struggle out of it. There was a young woman beside him with her hand resting on his shoulder, and Harry. Harry was kneeled before the wheelchair, talking low. 

The man’s face darkened, his bushy eyebrows furrowing, pressing deep lines into his forehead. 

“I said no, what the devil don’t you understand?”

A twig snapped under Louis’ foot, he stopped, eyes widening as three heads turned in his direction. Harry stood quickly, his lips parting as he scowled. 

“Colm? Is that you?”

Louis’ heart stuttered as the old man squinted at him, before breaking into a smile, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d heard his grandfather’s name. 

“Where’s Cinthy? She said she’d bring me my herbs.”

Louis licked his lips, glancing up at Harry as he neared, “she’s, uh, she’s travelling abroad.”

Ed frowned, Louis hadn’t recognized him at first, but up close he could easily see the resemblance to the woman beside him, to Harry. 

“Travelling? She never said. Has she left you to fend for yourself Colm?” He grinned suddenly, glassy eyes sparkling, “cat’s away then. Let’s go to Misty’s tonight, it’ll be like old times.”

“I’d like that.” Louis murmured, crouching in front of him. 

“How’ve you done it?” Ed asked, reaching out towards his face, his expression cleared, became enchanted, “are you really here?” He whispered softly. 

Louis felt his heart clench, he gently took the old man’s hand, heard his shaky intake of air and smiled softly, “you look well, Ed.”

He guffawed, “I look like an old, dried up cod!”

A surprised laugh erupted from Louis’ lips, all the while Harry watched him, his expression guarded, “you don’t look a day over eighty.”

“Oh! You sonofawretch!” Ed bellowed, laughing, his chest wheezed, “will you do it?”

Harry tensed beside him. 

“Do what?”

“What Hyacinth taught you, I need my medicine Colm. I’m tired.”

Louis looked up at the dark haired woman beside him, she looked so much like Harry when she smiled at him, “Gemma?”

She grinned, “You remember me?”

“I remember pig-tails and sticky fingers.”

She poked out her tongue, then pulled a wrapped parcel from her handbag, passing it to him. Louis recalled the brown paper, the order Harry had collected a few days ago. He snuck a look at the man, though Harry’s eyes were fixed on Danny, who’d come up behind him. 

He unwrapped the parcel slowly and paused, blinking down at the crushed sage, the sprigs of lavender, fine powdered charcoal and mint. A remedy for dementia. 

At least we don’t exploit cheap labour for the sake of a senile old man’s grumblings. His own words echoed in his head, causing guilt to gnaw at his gut.

Louis cleared his throat, smiling up tightly at Ed, “we’ll need some boiled water.”

Harry left suddenly, slipping into the doorway beyond them. He returned a moment later, wheeling a tray table towards them. Slowly, Louis stood and approached him. 

“I’m sorry, I didn't know. We were just -”

“If you breathe a word of this -”

“I won’t.” He added hurriedly, blinking up at Harry in surprise. 

Harry’s face remained closed off, though his shoulders lowered. He licked his bottom lip as he plucked up a cup and handed it to him. Louis took it, tried to ignore the spark of something when their fingers brushed. He slowly pressed the herbs and charcoal into a strainer, then poured boiling water into the cup and let it steep. 

“Two cups should do it, he’ll need rest after.”

“He’s not been sleeping well.”

“I’ll bring over some milk of the poppy, it’ll help.”

He nodded, watching as Louis wiped his charcoaled fingers on a dishtowel, “What, uh…What were you doing in the garden?”

“Oh,” Louis mumbled, sneaking a glance back at where Danny was talking to Gemma, Ed’s glazed over eyes were focused on the flowers before him, “he was showing me his sculptures.”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed, “where’s Niall?”

Louis blinked at him, “with friends. I didn’t know you were here?” his tone was accusatory, knowing now that Harry had seen him, yet hadn’t felt the need to greet them. 

“I was busy.”

His cheeks heated, “Right, of course.”

“I would’ve…”

“It’s alright, I shouldn’t’ve -”

“You look nice.”

Louis paused, taken aback. He looked down at his boots, his jeans and his denim jacket, then at Harry’s pristine suit, “I didn’t get the memo, reckon it’s a bit of an eyesore.” He wiggled his ankle at Harry with a sheepish grin. 

“Reckon you would’ve stood out, regardless.”

Their eyes locked, the breath in Louis’ chest felt stilted and thin, as if he couldn’t quite draw enough oxygen from the air. 

“The, uhm, the tea…”

Harry broke his gaze away, hurriedly picking up the cup, “wait here a moment.” And then he was kneeling before his grandfather, gently placing his tea in his hands. Louis watched as he encouraged Ed to take a careful sip, smiling softly. He felt his heart swell as Ed released a soft sigh and leaned back in his chair, shutting his eyes in relief. Gemma looked over at Louis, and sent him a wink, which caused him to blush and avert his gaze. 

“Wanna head back?” Danny asked, laying his hand on Louis’ lower back. 

“Oh -”

“You go ahead, Dan.” Harry said, appearing before them again, he looked on edge as he shifted from one foot to the other, “I need to talk to Lou.”

Lou. 

Danny’s hand dropped away, “right,” he muttered, “grab me before you leave?”

“Sure.” Louis said distractedly, eyes still locked on Harry’s own. 

He barely noticed when Gemma wheeled Ed away, or when Danny left. Too caught up in Harry’s gaze, his baffling energy. 

“You wanted to talk?” Louis said, licking his suddenly dry lips. 

Harry’s eyes tracked the movement, “you remembered Gemma.”

“Vaguely, Danny as well. We apparently used to make -”

“Mud pies.” Harry cleared his throat, “at the market, before your Nana bought the ranch.”

Louis frowned, “I…”

“I was there, too. Not with you, I helped your Nan sometimes.”

He racked his brain for the memory, and could recall a scrawny boy with curly brown locks and two big front teeth, “...Right.”

Harry smiled slowly, “you didn’t recognize me, that day on the farm.”

“I…No, I’m sorry.”

He shrugged, “I was a shy kid.”

Louis remained quiet, chewing on his bottom lip. He wished he could recall more, but a young Harry evaded him. 

“You remembered me?”

“You weren’t a shy kid.” Harry chuckled, “quite loud, in fact. Though I suppose not much has changed.”

Louis narrowed his eyes, aware he was being teased, “‘m not that loud.”

“Confident, maybe.”

“I’m confident?”

“Confident enough to post explicit photos.”

Louis flushed again, “explicit, salacious, you sure know how to charm a guy.”

Harry propped up his elbow against the archway, leaning closer, and Louis felt inexplicably boxed in, though he couldn’t say he minded, “that one of you in bed wasn’t explicit?”

“Which one?”

He chuckled, rubbing at his scruffy jaw, “you know exactly which one.”

He did, but he wanted Harry to say it, describe it, he cocked his hip and raised an expectant brow. 

Harry looked over him slowly, dragging his bottom lip between his teeth, “something about staying in bed.”

Louis hummed in faux thought, “what was I doing in it?”

“Showing off, being a tease.”

His stomach swirled, warmth flooding south, “a tease?”

Harry dug his thumb nail into the pad of his pointer finger, so close to the side of Louis’ head, that he could almost feel the movement against his hair, “were you feeling inspired?”

He released a slow breath, gaze roaming over Harry’s face, so like the marble structure yet here he could detect warmth, a hint of the devil tucked into his dimple, an edge to his sparkling eyes. 

“Suppose I was.”

“Your form still needs work.”

Louis hummed, shifting closer, Harry’s smile widened, “You said you might have a tip?”

Their next breath was shared, they were so close that Louis could feel the press of Harry’s chest against his own when he inhaled. His scent was enthralling, wild and like summer. 

Harry’s hand slowly slid over his hip, and Louis sucked in a sharp breath as his eyelids fluttered. The hand pushed up to his waist, sliding around to the small of his back. The hint of pressure nearly had him swaying. 

“You should arch your back, if you feel pressure here,” his hand slid lower, just above Louis’ arse, “then you’re doing it wrong.”

“And, uh,” he licked his lips, swallowing, “if my thighs are burning?”

Harry's eyes were on his mouth again, “That’s a given until you get used to it,” he gripped Louis’ hip once more, “if you rock with the motion, let the horse set the pace, you’ll get accustomed to riding in no time.”

“What if he likes a fast pace?”

“Then you’ll have to learn to take it.”

Jesus Christ.  

A soft sound caught in his throat, he raised his hand, hovering it over Harry’s chest. He felt so unmoored, lost at sea, and yet tethered all at once in the knowledge that they were flirting. That Harry was flirting with him. 

He felt the edge creep over him, the compulsion to close the distance between them. When Harry inhaled next, his hand made contact with his chest and remained there, he could feel the wild beat of his heart, the muscles shifting beneath fine cotton. 

“Doesn’t sound like that tactic lends itself to much obedience.”

“It’s a partnership, there’s no room for obedience.”

He could melt. Truly.

“How would you go about it, then? How would you guide it?”

“With less talking.” Harry breathed, slowly pressing him back against the wall, his eyes flew over Louis’ face, looking for any sign of resistance. When he found none, he pushed closer, hovering over him, their lips inches apart. 

Louis’ throat clicked when he swallowed, his gaze darting between Harry’s eyes and mouth expectantly - hungrily. 

Harry raised his hand and gripped his jaw, tilting his face up, his hips pressing into Louis’. Louis couldn’t contain the soft moan that parted his lips as he arched forward, stroking his hands up and over Harry’s chest until his fingers curled into thick, soft locks, and tugged. 

Harry’s fingers pressed into his hip, his head lowering. 

Louis’ eyes slipped shut, just as he felt the soft, damp stroke of Harry’s lips against his own. Delicate as a butterfly's wing, and no less urgent. He was about to press closer, let it consume him, when a loud bell trilled from within the house. 

They both flinched, their eyes snapping open and locking onto one another. 

An intercom crackled overhead, “ladies and gentleman, the auction is about to begin! Please make your way to the atrium beside the rose garden.” Marla’s voice was loud and laced with excitement. 

They remained that way, staring at one another, breathing heavily until the sounds of voices could be heard, drawing closer. 

Harry sighed, released him and pulled away. 

Louis righted his clothes, his face felt hot, his lips tingling, “we could -”

“I need to go.”

“Oh.”

Harry rubbed a hand over his mouth, and while it might not have been his intention, Louis felt as if any trace of him was being wiped away. He sent Louis a quick glance, his lips popping open as if he’d meant to say something more. When people started appearing in the corridor, he ducked his head and frowned, then turned away. 

Louis watched him leave with his heart still knocking away in his chest, his mind reeling. 

“What the fuck?” He whispered to himself, pressing the tips of his fingers against his bottom lip. 

➹

Harry had kissed him. 

They’d kissed. 

Or, well, technically Harry had intended to kiss him, their lips had brushed and there might even have been some pouting involved. They hadn’t quite gotten to clacking teeth and licking tonsils but it was a damn near thing. He’d spent the better part of a week after the auction sitting with this knowledge, stoking it like man would a stubborn fire that refused to catch. 

And there had to be - a catch, that is. 

Because why would Harry Styles, known womaniser and cowboy-heartthrob, want to smack lips with a boy who was currently in an upheaval over legal papers and a court case with a soon-to-be ex husband who liked snorting coke out of sweaty cracks. Yeah, Louis was attractive, he had wicked sharp cheekbones and bright blue eyes and long lashes that could whip up a delightful breeze in peak summer, however, he was also a basketcase, a know-it-all and a witch. Something he was sure Harry despised. 

Sure, he wasn’t practising at the moment, but it was in the blood. As inevitable and inescapable as genitlal warts. And likely as unappealing. Not to himself - obviously, he had no problem with the notion that his family was a well known coven, or that they unashamedly donned the title like armour. They were proud of their heritage and what they’d built. He might’ve spent a large portion of his adult-life running from it, but he was here now, contributing to the cause. Selling potions and healing the sick, or whatever. 

He might’ve also performed a seance the night prior to get in touch with his deceased cousin who happened to’ve passed the bar before he, well, passed. He’d been a little rusty, and might’ve almost evoked a demon from another time, he’d caught a glimpse of it. Shining teeth and a wicked cracked-lip smile, in a trenchcoat of all things. He’d sent that thing back to whatever hell-hole it’d crawled out of, although, knowing his prowess with his own magic, he’d likely sent it back to a time where it’d originally been banished from. He’d shrugged it off though, crossroads demons were a menace but hardly disastrous…Right? Right. Anyway, the point was that he’d eventually summoned Benedict, who’d informed him that a living lawyer might be able to counsel him best. 

It was so typical of family to pat you on the shoulder in times of distress, and urge you to seek professional help. He’d groaned into the old tome in his lap, knowing full well the blasted ghost was right. To get a divorce, he’d have to go through proper channels. Expensive channels. 

In full transparency, it was his almost-kiss with Harry that sparked his urgency. Well, not quite, at least. It was more so the realisation that he could hardly be agreeable to a future partner when he was still entangled in the midst of a scandal with an unsavoury husband. Besides, who wants to be married anyway? Marriage, for him, had led to isolation and loneliness. More so than a life abroad with a family he hadn’t been sure he quite fit in with. 

His family had never purposefully tried to make him feel other. Had never tried to tell him how to dress, or what to eat. They’d never pulled their nose up at the concept of him wanting to study or chase his dreams. Sure, his family would’ve preferred his dreams aligned with their lifestyle, but weren’t all families like that? They’d expressed their disappointment to a degree, but they’d not chained him to this life. There was still freedom here. Even now, buried in paperwork and covered in goat shit, he could argue that he’d chosen this at least. That he’d made the decision to be here, to clean up after livestock, to gain saddle-sores and calluses on his palms.

So, with all of that neatly packed into confined mental-boxes, he shoved his duvet aside and willed himself to welcome the new day with a fresh outlook. An I’m-going-to-get-shit-done-and-pull-myself-together kind of mentality. 

Downstairs, he popped on his kettle, and perched himself on his kitchen island to start ticking off his to-do list. The first was to get back in touch with Mr. Henley, his family’s lawyer, and agree to go ahead with filing for divorce. Thankfully they’d never had children so a summons to a court wasn’t necessary, he’d never have to see the bastard again if he wasn’t inclined to. He had half a mind to draft up a restraining order, but it wasn’t like Wes had tried to reach out. 

He frowned down at his list, feeling an odd pang in his chest. He wasn’t upset over the fact, though a small part of him could admit it might’ve eased him somehow. A sense of closure was in order, but an apology would’ve possibly eased the ache of it all. Louis would consider himself strong, but sitting here, alone in his kitchen, he knew the impact his husbands’ infractions had had on his self-esteem. 

With that thought came the memory of Harry hastily wiping his hand over his mouth, the momentary glimpse of ‘oh fuck’ in his eyes, and the prompt way he’d bolted as soon as the opportunity announced itself. His shoulders slumped, his lips pouting a little. His skin prickled in that familiar self-pitying way, just as the sound of thunder rolled from beyond the kitchen windows. 

Louis looked out over the paddock and sighed forlornly. It was in a witch’s nature to assume that the mother of creation would deign to express her own discontent in a show of commiseration. As rain began pelting against the glass, Louis felt his eyes and nose begin to sting. It was stupid to measure your worth based on another’s opinion of you. Yet he couldn’t help it, human’s (when unencumbered by narcissism) weren’t always able to define their own worth, he couldn’t exactly peer into his own soul and psyche to detect what part of his inner-workings were valuable or even agreeable to another. It felt too gentrified a notion, a modification by a society desperate to prove people could stand on their own. 

It was a touching sentiment, but he didn’t like to think about it too much, it made him feel weak for seeking companionship. For knowing he could be his very best self when he was loved wholeheartedly. 

And no, he wasn’t associating an almost-kiss with a cowboy to a life of riches in the form of unabiding love. That was ridiculous. If he’d just so happened to have a white, picket-fence dream about a man with long, brown locks and eyes greener than the hills surrounding them, then that was purely a lust-induced fantasy. 

Thankfully, that blissful illusion was shattered when he spotted movement near the barn. His eyes narrowed as he slipped from the kitchen counter. He switched off his stove mindlessly as he made his way closer to the window. The image was distorted by rain, but clear nonetheless. He felt his temper rise, along with his eyebrows. 

“What the bleeding fuck?” He growled, then stomped towards the mudroom in a huff, he grabbed his raincoat and his fleece lined gumboots. Jerking each one on with haste. As he slammed the patio door shut behind him, several heads turned in his direction in the distance, though his narrowed gaze was fixed on one in particular. 

He marched through squelching mud with his fists balled, ignoring the humorous gleam in Peach’s beady eyes, as well as Niall’s grimace. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” He spat, just as lightning crackled overhead. A few day-workers flinched, as if he’d summoned it. Good. 

Harry wiped rain from his eyes, his hair hanging in wet ropes beside his face, strands stuck to his temples and forehead. Louis ignored the lone droplet that fell from his eyelashes and ran over his cheek before tucking itself into the corner of his tightly pressed mouth. 

“Cattle had a scare during the night.”

Louis held his arms out, gesturing at his ruined fence that lay in piles at their feet, then at the empty pasture beyond it, “really? Where are they?”

“We herded ‘em back.” Niall chirped. 

Louis cut him a glare before looking back at Harry, “I know full well those beasts are sectioned off on the north side of your property. So, pray tell, how exactly did they manage to plot a siege on the south side in a single night?”

Harry’s lip twitched, “run of the mill stampede.”

“Reckon I would’ve heard it.”

“What are you insinuating, darlin’?” Harry asked, tossing a log aside and pressing his fists to his hips. 

“I know you’ve wanted a cut of my nan’s land since she purchased it, you’ve made no secret of that.”

“Louis -” Niall started. 

Harry’s eyebrows rose in disbelief, “so you think I came out here in the dead of night, pulled your fence apart and…What? Looked for the best place to plant my flag and stake claim?”

“That would be the American way would it not? To take what doesn’t belong to you, claim it as your own with the label of ‘a newfound discovery’.”

“I’m not entertaining your hissy fit.” Harry muttered, waving him off with an eye roll as he turned away, “Ethan, grab those logs over there and get Jerry to help you clear it.”

“You’re clearing my fence?”

“You need a hinged joint fence, not this picket-bullshit.”

Louis scoffed, “maybe you need to keep your cattle corralled.”

“You see that over there?” Harry pointed at the earth beyond the rubble. Louis squinted at it, then up at him, “that’s my land, which means I can use it however I damn well please. If I want my cattle there, they’ll be there.”

“You pig-headed -”

“So, what I’d suggest would be for you and yours to invest in a hinged joint fence. ”

In that moment, Louis was transported back to the night before, when he’d been going over his own accounts and expenses, the money he’d saved up to study, and how that would all be going into the divorce. He’d have nothing left, nothing for his family, and while he knew his Nan wasn’t struggling financially, she wouldn’t be able to afford the repair work this would require, nor some new fancy fence to avoid it from happening again. Which Harry seemed to be insinuating it would. 

Inexplicably, Louis felt his throat close up, a dull headache started to throb at the back of his head. He pressed his fingers against his temple with a weary sigh, shutting his eyes momentarily. 

“Fine, just…just clear out when you’re done.”

He contemplated halting the paperwork and lawyer for the time-being, he was responsible for the land while his Nan was away, he’d feel like proper shit if she came back to this carnage. He could also pick up a few shifts at the store until he’d made up the costs. By his estimate, it would take a year or two, but that was fine, he’d find a way to manage. 

“You -”

Louis backed away hurriedly, “let me know when you’re done, I’ll uh, I’ll be in touch about that fence.” He swallowed thickly as he ducked his head, then suddenly collided with one of Harry’s day-workers who was carting a wheelbarrow behind him. He yelped as the heel of his boot hooked under the wheel, his arms wind-milled, clawing at air before he all but backflipped over it, tumbling into a heap of mud that smelled suspiciously like cow shit. 

Louis groaned as he lifted his head, his cheek made a sucking sound as it popped free from the mud, his hip was throbbing, his elbow too. All around him, men stood, their eyes wide. Mortified, Louis scrambled to his feet, hastily wiping his earth-smeared hand over his forehead to clear his hair from his eyes. 

Niall pulled a face, and Harry started towards him. 

“Are you -”

“I’m fine, all good.” He forced a grin, his cheeks were burning, his scraped hands as well. He hobbled away with as much dignity as he could, cursing himself under his breath as he dragged himself back up onto his patio and into the mudroom. 

With the door shut behind him, he sluiced off his ruined coat and caked boots, then slowly rolled up his shirt to look at the abraded skin over his hip. It was turning a nasty shade of blue around the ridges of swollen red. He whimpered pitifully as he prodded at it, making sure nothing was broken. 

Louis could’ve sworn he heard laughter above the sound of rain, which made him retreat into his humiliation more. With a sigh, he shut his eyes and pressed his back against the door, knocking his head rhythmically against the wood. 

When it opened suddenly behind him, he yelped, throwing his hands up to catch himself against the opposite wall. Harry poked his head inside, then stepped in, shutting it behind himself. 

“You alright?”

“Yeah, fine.”

He licked his wet lips, nodding slowly, “Look, I’m sorry if -”

Louis waved him off, already past the point of wanting to continue a conversation after his disastrous spectacle. 

“The uh, the men wanted to know if we could have some coffee?”

His eyebrows shot up in disbelief, and then he laughed abruptly, “oh, sure, would hardly want you lot to freeze to death while clearing your mess.”

Harry pressed his lips into a line, “forget it, I shouldn’t’ve asked.”

“But you did, and my Nan would ‘tan my hide’ if I denied you.” Louis said, air-quoting the phrase with a twang to his accent, then his cheeks heated, “deny you coffee, I mean, hospitality. ”

“Right.” Harry murmured, studying him carefully. 

Louis cleared his throat as he straightened, he shook out his elbow as he tried to disguise his limp while Harry followed him into the kitchen, after discarding his own coat and boots. 

“You sure you’re alright?”

“M’fine.” He pressed up onto his toes to grab a few cups from the cabinet, then flicked the stove back on. 

“You’re limping.”

“Just a scratch.”

“Mind if I take a look at it?”

“It’s really nothing.”

“Then you wouldn’t mind?” Harry asked as he neared, already tugging at his shirt. Louis sighed as he leaned his lower back into the countertop, twisting a little so Harry would have a better view in the dim light. 

Harry ducked his head once he’d pushed Louis’ shirt up to his armpit, reaching out slowly to touch the tender skin. 

“It’ll bruise, do you have a first-aid kit?”

“Above the fridge.” He muttered. 

Harry retrieved it easily, then dumped it on the counter and started rifling through the old tin box. He pulled out some gauze and antiseptic wipes, a topical cream that was one of his Nan’s special remedies. 

“I’ll take a bath with some of our spelled salts later, it’ll be right as rain.”

Harry grunted, tearing the gauze strip with his teeth. Louis felt a drop of heat pool in his gut, which stirred a bout of panic in his chest. 

“What are you doing?” He whispered, clamping his hands around the countertop. 

“Cleaning it.”

“I can -”

Harry silenced him with a look, then knelt down in front of him, “this might sting.”

Louis sucked in a shaky breath as Harry gently pressed the cool antiseptic wipe against the abrasion, he flinched at the first biting sting, then pressed his palm against his mouth when his eyes watered. 

“Almost done,” Harry murmured, he leaned forward and lightly blew on it. 

Louis’ mouth dropped open in surprise, his hand falling away slowly, “oh.”

Their eyes locked as Harry continued to blow, Louis felt frozen, his skin prickling under his administration. When Harry looked back at the wound, Louis could tell he’d noticed his gooseflesh, though he chose to ignore it with a furrowed brow. 

Once he was done, he slowly dabbed some of the cream over the wound, his fingers were light as a caress, and so gentle that Louis inexplicably held his breath. 

“We should…” Harry cleared his throat, then busied himself with the gauze, carefully placing it over the worst of the damage, once he was done he straightened and began clearing away what remained of the packets. 

“We should…?” Louis prompted, dropping his shirt over his hip. 

Harry was still frowning when he looked over at him, “we should talk about…About what happened at the auction.”

He all but felt his face fall, “oh, uhm, yeah - Okay.”

Harry nodded, looking as if he was bracing himself, “I think I just got caught up in the moment, you know?” 

Louis frowned and Harry seemed to flounder. 

“What I mean is…Is that I saw you with my grandad, and you were really good with him, you know?” He dragged his fingers through his hair with a sigh, “I was having a bad day and you were there and I needed a…”

“Distraction.” Louis said blankly. 

“Right, that. ” He seemed relieved, as if they were on the same page. 

Far from it, but Louis wouldn’t be the one to point that out. 

“Right.”

“So…If we could just forget the whole thing happened -”

“Sure thing, mate. Already forgotten, if I’m honest.”

Harry frowned again, “Okay…”

Louis shrugged, “yeah, I mean, s’not like it was anything special or whatever. ‘Ve kissed plenty of blokes, straight ones too.” He added. 

“I’m bi, so.”

“Okay, sure.”

Harry snorted, raising his eyebrows in disbelief, “you don’t believe me?”

“Look, I get it okay? A gay cowboy is hardly agreeable in ‘these parts’.” He airquoted again.  

“We’re actually pretty open minded about that sort of thing.”

“That sort of thing.” Louis repeated, pursing his lips as he nodded. 

“For someone who acts above it all, you’re sure coming off as a bit narrow minded.”

“Classic evasion technique.” Louis waved Harry’s narrow-eyed glare off, “Look it’s fine, we’ll forget about it.”

“It’s not because I’m not attracted to you or something.”

“I didn’t say it was.” He bit back defensively. 

“You’re a good looking guy.”

“I know.”

“Gorgeous, even.”

Louis licked his lips, searching for something to say, even as his face turned what was likely an unattractive shade of pink, “okay.” He mumbled softly, his fingers pressed around his elbow until he winced. 

Harry looked down, “I should take a look at that.” He said, nearing him once more. 

“It’s fine, it’s probably just -”

“A scratch?”

“Right.” Louis swallowed, blinking up at the cowboy, unsure of what to say. 

Harry cleared his throat, then reached out slowly. Louis allowed him to roll up his sleeve carefully and they both exhaled in surprise at the golf-ball sized lump. 

“Doesn’t look good.”

“Doesn’t feel much better, either.”

“I’ll take you to the hospital.”

“On horseback? I don’t think so.”

Harry sighed through his nose, “I’ll drive you.”

“I’m perfectly capable of driving myself.”

“Are you always this stubborn?”

“Are you always this persistent?”

The corner of his mouth ticked up, his eyes tracking over Louis’ face, even as his thumb delicately traced over the skin of Louis’ forearm. 

“Come on, I’ll grab your coat.”

➹

A fractured elbow. 

From falling over a wheelbarrow into cowshit. Louis sat on the gurney with a pout as the doctor bound his arm. 

“You’ll need to wear this sling for four to six weeks.”

“But -”

“He will.” Harry said from the corner of the room. He’d decided to stay, had even invited himself into the observation room and planted himself in the chair across from the bed to oversee. Louis sent him a glare. 

“I’ll prescribe some painkillers and anti-inflammatories, which you’ll need to take three times a day depending on the pain. Though not on an empty stomach, and no heavy lifting.” She eyed him warningly, “Try to keep moving to a minimum. Do you have someone to help you dress and bathe?”

Louis flushed, “I, uh, yeah.”

Harry looked over at him, his expression unreadable. 

“Good, here, put your head through this.” Louis awkwardly manoeuvred himself into the sling, then tugged his collar free and neatened his shirt beneath the strap. It was mercilessly uncomfortable, and he hated the way he knew it would wrinkle his clothes. He scrunched up his nose in distaste. 

The doctor sighed, “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Louis continued to fiddle with the strap as she left. When a shadow fell over him, he looked up. 

“Quit it.” Harry muttered, stilling his hands before neatening the strap so that it was no longer twisted above his shoulder. 

“Not very fashionable,” Louis muttered, for lack of anything better to say. 

“You’ll get used to it, six weeks will go by quickly.”

“Four weeks will go by even quicker.” He countered. 

“That’s -”

“Can we leave now?” Louis blurted, already trying to wiggle off of the bed. 

Harry stopped him by dropping his hands on his thighs, “easy, we still need to get you discharged.”

“But -”

“Just a few more minutes.”

Louis bit his lip as he started wiggling his foot impatiently, glancing around at other occupied beds, each patient looked worse than the next, it made his skin crawl. 

“I don’t need to be discharged, they can’t keep me here against my will.”

“We’re just waiting for your prescription.”

“I have pills at home.”

“These’ll be better.”

“But -”

“Louis,” Harry murmured, “relax, okay? We’re leaving soon.”

He pressed his lips together, his chest felt tight, “I don’t…” Harry ducked closer, his palms had started stroking over his thighs soothingly, Louis wasn’t sure whether Harry had even noticed he’d started doing it, “I don’t like hospitals.”

“Because of what happened to your grandfather?”

Louis looked up in surprise. 

“It’s an easy connection to make.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“I knew him too, Louis.”

“It’s not the same.”

“I know.” Harry said softly, his palms continuing their soothing strokes, “I didn’t mean to imply it was, I just…He taught me a lot, he used to ride out to the ranch when I was little, got me on my first horse.”

Louis tried to disguise his reaction to the revelation, “wasn’t much of a fan meself.”

“I know it,” Harry’s smile was mischievous, “he used to talk about you a lot, swearing how he’d get you up on Lemon as soon as you lost interest in the chickens.”

He wrinkled his nose fondly, “I liked helping Nan with the eggs.”

“He was proud of you, said you’d be the first of them to go to college.”

Louis’ smile dimmed, “well, at least his memory of me was pleasant.”

“He’d still be proud of you.”

Louis scoffed, “how? I’m mid-divorce, caught up in a scandal, unable to afford fixing the fence he built and have no qualifications to my name.”

“There’s still time.” Harry squeezed his leg until Louis looked up and met his eyes, “and don’t worry about the fence, I’ll take care of it.”

“I don’t need a hand-out.”

“Call it being neighbourly, then. My carelessness got it wrecked in the first place.”

“I’ll pay it off.”

“Will you ever allow anyone to just take care of you?” Harry sighed. 

“Is that what you’re doing?”

Their eyes met again, and Harry hesitated, his lips moved on phantom words though no sound left him. 

“Alright,” the doctor said as she pushed the curtain aside. Harry cleared his throat and drew away, though Louis continued to watch him, “I’ll just need your signature here and then you're free to go.”

He signed the page in a daze, he could’ve signed his soul away for all he was aware of. In that moment, he was too caught up in the unfamiliar unfurling in his chest. It felt like giddy warmth, a mix between a spark and excitement. Was this what it felt like to have a crush? 

Was Louis crushing on Harry Styles? 

The knowledge pulled the words from his throat and left him speechless for the rest of his time at the hospital, as well as the lengthy drive home. He could feel Harry sneaking glances over at him from time to time, yet Louis couldn’t help himself. He kept trying to dim this newly found glow with the memory of Harry saying the almost-kiss was nothing but a distraction. But then his traitorous mind would bring up how Harry’s lips shaped the word ‘gorgeous’. By the time they reached Hyacinth’s ranch, he’d come to the conclusion that he hated the feeling. 

“I’ll grab the door, just stay -”

“I’ve got it,” Louis murmured, already popping his truck door open and slipping down from the seat. Harry circled the truck and laid his hand on Louis’ lower back, as if to guide him up the stairs and onto the porch. 

He pulled away from the touch and faced him, “look, I appreciate what you did - taking me to the hospital and, uh, bandaging my hip. But, I need…I need some space, alright?”

Harry squinted, drawing up to his full length, leaning back slightly. He braced his hands on his hips, then looked up at the sky, “weather’s clearing up.”

Louis frowned, “what?”

He shrugged, “reckon we’ll need to start repairing the fence tomorrow, I’ll grab supplies today.”

“We?” he continued to frown, “won’t you just get a few of your day-hands to do it?”

“Think I should oversee it, I’ve repaired fences before, constructed new ones.”

“So, you’ll do it tomorrow?”

“I’ll start tomorrow.”

Louis tilted his head curiously, “and…when will you finish?”

“A week or two?”

“You’re joking.” He deadpanned. 

Harry laid his hands on his waist and pivoted him slowly, then leaned over his shoulder and pointed at the fence that stretched along the horizon, over a distant hill, “see that, sweetheart? I’ll need to pull all of that up, get rid of it, chop it up for firewood or whatever, then install the new section.” He looked out at the connecting fence, then another further in the distance, “hell, should probably replace all of it.”

“Hang on, that’s not what we agreed to.”

He shrugged easily, “I’ll consider it an investment.”

“How so?” Louis said between gritted teeth. 

Harry turned him around slowly until they were facing one another, their faces, inches apart, “for when I own this land.”

“Only a Tomlinson will ever own this land.”

The cowboy looked down at his lips, his own curling into a wicked grin, “what an enticing offer, darlin’.”

Louis flushed, “that’s not -”

“I’ll think about it. In the meantime, take your pills and hop on into bed like a good boy. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Or maybe I’ll hire a professional.”

Harry was still looking at his mouth, his expression contemplative, “you couldn’t afford it.”

“Prick.”

“Might need another distraction.”

“Wha-”

Louis was cut off by the press of Harry’s mouth, swallowing his words with a breath. His eyes widened before fluttering shut as large hands slid over his waist, careful to avoid his hip. He hummed into the kiss, torn between surprise and wonder, immediately arching into it like a man starved. 

Their lips met and parted, before Harry licked into him. Louis felt the pressure of his kiss throughout his nervous system, his heart catapulted into his throat, the backs of his knees tingled, his chest felt tight with breathlessness, his mind hazy. God, it felt like drowning, like tumbling headfirst into the rabbit hole and discovering wonderland. He could’ve sworn they were floating, that his feet no longer touched ground, but rather clouds. 

He was so disastrously swept up in Harry, in his scent, the stroke of his tongue, the sucking of his lips, that the harsh reality of his words didn’t register until Harry eased the kiss into gentle pecks. He pressed his forehead against Louis’ own to catch his breath, his eyes slowly opened to meet blown pupils amidst slivers of green. 

“What was that?” Louis whispered into the sliver of space between them, he nudged his chin up, eager to taste Harry again, though the cowboy pulled back. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“That…You can’t just -”

“I know, I…” He rubbed the back of his neck and - was that a grimace? 

Louis grit his teeth, he could spit from pure fury, “What are you playing at?”

“What? Nothing, I’m not,” Harry backed up, stumbled over his own feet and flushed, “sorry, I just -”

“Wanted another distraction?”

“I -”

“I’m not going to be another notch on your bedpost.”

“Jesus, that’s not -” Harry stopped and held up his hands placatingly, his eyes wide, “that’s not what I’m doing.”

“I’m not some lonely divorcé that you can fool around with when the mood strikes you.”

Harry shook his head quickly, “I’m sorry, I misread the situation.”

He hadn’t, but Louis wouldn’t correct him. 

“Keep your hands to yourself.”

“I promise I’ll make sure you ask for it first.”

His mouth popped open indignantly, and Harry smiled, his confidence once again restored. God, he was infuriating. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He tipped an imaginary cowboy hat and turned away, a strut in his step as he made his way to the barn where he’d left his horse. 

Louis watched him go, filled with dread and hope and tempestuous butterflies that clearly didn’t know how to read the room. 

He was well and utterly fucked.