Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

One Year Later, The Beat Goes On!

On the morning of the London Pride parade, a noon elopement at The Little Chapel, The Handbasket's Third Annual Corn Fest, July's first roof time gathering, and Suey's return from two weeks in Hawaii, Harry wakes up with blistering, toe-curling anxiety.

"Oh no," he murmurs before he even opens his eyes.

"Hm?" Louis asks, tucking in closer and resting his cheek on Harry's bare chest.

"I fear we've overdone it already and the day hasn't even started," Harry says, his voice gritty with residual sleep as he kisses the top of Louis' head. "What the hell was I thinking?"

The morning light is just filtering in through Harry's curtained window on the second floor, the temperature in the flat is just right, and the sheets are cool to the touch. It's a lovely summer moment, helped along by the fact that Louis is wrapped tight around Harry's torso, pinning him to the bed and providing a ground path for his worry.

"You were thinking," Louis says through a yawn as he reaches over to silence his alarm, "that you could say yes to everything for everyone. That your heroism would lighten their loads. Trouble is, it quadrupled yours."

"That was daft of me. Should've seen this coming," Harry says, finally peeling his eyes open.

"You did, but you're a terribly good person and ignored all the warning signs," Louis says, pressing up on one elbow and smiling down at Harry.

Louis' hair is mussed and his face is still soft with sleep and Harry can't help but close the gap, their smiles meeting in a soft, lazy kiss.

"I love how well you know me," Harry says, collapsing back against the pillow.

"Aha!" Louis says happily, leaping out of bed wearing just his pants and a smile. "My cue."

Harry laughs at his enthusiasm, propping himself up on his elbows to watch Louis dash out the door in the direction of the bathroom. When he returns, he's carrying Harry's bottle of CBD calming spray—the same one he uses on Louis when they have to brave the big shops—an oversized bath towel, and lavender massage oil.

"What's the meaning of this?" Harry asks with a fond smile. 

"You overcommitted yourself today and I have planned a number of countermeasures. First, towel."

Harry moves to the side, taking the duvet with him, and Louis rolls out the towel. This nicety has become a habit to avoid making their sheets threadbare from over-washing. It’s not immediately clear if the protective layer is needed to shield the bed from the massage oil or something else, but Harry’s eager to find out. He's smiling like a goof when he wiggles on top of the blue terry fabric. 

Louis straddles Harry’s naked lap, mirrors his delighted expression, and says, “open up.”

Harry obliges, sticking his tongue out for two spritzes of the herby liquid. Louis chases it with another kiss.

"Now, I'm going to give you a little rub but we should set another alarm so we don't run out of time for a shower and a spot of breakfast before we have to meet the mates," Louis says, dispensing a pump of the massage oil in the palm of his hand.

Harry reaches for his phone and completes that task, rolling under the delicious weight of Louis' bum in the process and exposing his back to the man's loving hands. He groans with relief as Louis presses the pads of his thumbs into the tense muscles on either side of his spine and then works him over, targeting all the places that ache with laser precision as the calming smell of the massage oil fills the air. When Louis is through, Harry's completely relaxed and considers going back to sleep.

"Up you get, I've still got ten minutes," Louis says, slipping back to kneel between Harry's spread legs and patting his hip.

"Like this?" Harry asks with a grateful smile—he's being cheeky, he knows what's coming—as he lifts his bum off the bed.

"Perfect," Louis says, kissing his left cheek before nipping at the skin of his right with his front teeth. "Touch yourself for me?"

"Lou," Harry whines at the gentle treatment and how confident Louis' become at issuing spontaneous commands.

Harry happily complies, pulling at his rapidly hardening cock with a tight, rhythmic squeeze as Louis licks up his crack. Harry stills a moment when Louis grips his hips with steady hands and enters him with his tongue, plunging in and out with enthusiasm. A tight coil of heat contracts low in Harry's belly when Louis hums against his skin.

Even as he luxuriates in being cared for so well, Harry yearns for relief and moans with shameless pleasure into the soft expanse of his pillow. Louis knows Harry's tells intimately and pulls back a tad, giving him the chance to flip over.

"May I?" Louis asks. Harry nods, returning his impish grin. "Lube?"

Harry knows he's flushed and glassy-eyed but that he never has to be self-conscious about his eagerness with Louis. He grabs the small bottle from the nightstand and squirts some lube in Louis' hand. Instead of using it to jack Harry off, however, he presses two fingers in Harry's entrance as he sucks the head of his cock into his mouth, hard and tight. Harry arches off the bed at the explosion of euphoric sensations, momentarily losing his grip on reality as pleasure rips through his entire body in pulsing waves. Louis groans around Harry as he comes, whining with delight as Harry grips his hair.

"Wow," Harry gasps, throwing his forearm over his face to shield his eyes. "That was…wow."

"More relaxed?" Louis asks with an indulgent smile, swallowing his prize before kissing Harry's belly.

"Yes," Harry says, giggling at his good fortune.

"I'm not done with you yet, mister."

"Okay," Harry says, fully laughing now and very open to whatever Louis has in mind.

He gratefully accepts the next step in Louis' plan, which includes a full-service shampooing and scrub down in a hot shower. Harry begs to get Louis off, too, and he relents, leaning in with a soggy, indulgent kiss as Harry wanks him in his tight fist. 

They're both boneless and fuzzy with warm, post-orgasm and post-shower comfort as they dress in their Pride fest best—Harry in his favourite denim cutoffs and a sunny yellow muscle tank, Louis in black shorts and his "You're Enough" tie dye tee with the embroidered rainbow—and they finally emerge from Harry's room, making a beeline for the kitchen with one eye each on the time.

"Good morning, my darling," Harry says as he sprinkles some food on the surface of Leonard's tank and the betta flips his fins in thanks. Harry turns to Louis where he's standing in front of the open fridge and asks, "what are you thinking for breakfast?"

Louis doesn't respond, just throws his head back with a laugh.

"What?" Harry asks, dusting his hand and stepping behind Louis to wrap his arms around his waist.

"I'm quite shit at keeping things from you."

"Such as?"

Louis pulls out his phone and tries to hide it from Harry's view but it's no use—Harry can easily see that Louis' just sent the word 'Now' to Zayn.

"What have you done, you sweet, silly man?" Harry asks, spinning Louis in his arms for a lingering kiss even as they hear feet thundering down the stairs.

"You'll see," Louis says, kissing him back through a giggle.

Zayn and Juanma enter first, carrying two hot dishes with pot holders and discussing the World Cup Round of Sixteen matches.

"—not since Jordan was eliminated!" Juanma tries to argue, bouncing on his heels in his excitement. "You need something to look forward to, babe."

"I'm not being stubborn just for the sake of it. I always root for a debut team and I'm still smarting from the loss! I'll back Spain if they make it to the Round of Eight. This lot has England covered," Zayn says with a good-natured smile.

"I think that's a fine compromise," Liam says, bringing up the rear with a fabric-covered basket.

"You would, rootin' for the home team," Niall says with a cackling laugh, his arms full of bottles of juice, cold brew coffee, and Harry's favourite dairy free creamer. "Ireland didn't even qualify."

"Good morning," Harry says, projecting his delighted voice with his arms wide open to net everyone's attention. "What are you all doing here?"

"Family breakfast!" Liam says as sets down the basket and throws his arms around Harry's middle.

"We were worried you might be stressed and wanted to help," Niall says, kissing Harry's bare shoulder on his way to the fridge.

"Plus, what a great excuse to kick off Corn Fest," Zayn says, pulling the foil back on a tray of sweet corn pancakes. "We've also got vegan brekkie sausage, scramble, and hush puppies. Have you had them before?"

"No," Harry says, shaking his head as he looks around at all the beautiful food and all his beautiful friends.

"They're fantastic. Deep fried cornmeal," Zayn says happily.

Harry's now-familiar feeling of belonging with and being loved by his mates washes over him, loosening the tangle of worry around his heart. They look back at him with matching admiration and affection.

"This is so unbelievably lovely," Harry adds, catching a tear in the corner of his eye before it has a chance to fall. "Thank you all so much."

"You're welcome, love," Louis says with a wink, patting his bum. "Eat up."

The morning unfolds as chaotically as Harry expected and he's immensely grateful for the gentle and supportive treatment. The lads make their way on foot and by tube to Leicester Square, where Harry's set to meet the Old Camden Woolery's weekend staff at their booth. It had been Suey's idea to set up a table to advertise their queer-friendly wedding planning services and Harry'd agreed readily, not fully understanding what a commitment it would be to keep the booth running throughout the day.

Harry'd put on his manager hat, one that still feels too big most days—like he's a kid in dress-up clothes—and solicited the staff's feedback for the most equitable way to split the work. They'd agreed on shifts and Harry's set to return after the parade for a two-hour stint.

"You all should go and enjoy yourselves," Harry insists as he and the mates seek out a decent place to watch the processional. "We'll get plenty of foot traffic, so I'll be busy and won't miss out on the fun."

"You're daft if you think we're going to leave you all alone," Niall says, slapping Harry's chest with the hand that isn't holding Zayn's. "We're takin' turns."

"Like, to sit with me?" Harry asks, feeling his throat go tight with emotion.

"'Course," Zayn says, leaning forward to kiss Harry's cheek. "You're gonna be sick of us."

"Impossible," Harry says, wholly honest.

The parade is, as always, loud and bright and sparkly and wonderful. There are fewer big corporate sponsors this year, a trend with Pride celebrations all over the world, and Harry's quite happy to note their absence and cheer for the organizations and businesses that are London local and truly supportive. The whole atmosphere of the event feels different this time, and Harry knows it's not just because he's changed as person, although that certainly has something to do with it—the overall mood is lighter and more optimistic, like the city has been holding its breath and finally gets to let it out with a relieved sigh.

True to their word, the Handbasket family drops in to help Harry hand out business cards and swag, including the badges that Harry made in his office whenever he had a spare moment over the last month, bottles of bubbles, and beaded rainbow friendship bracelets care of Niall and Louis. Liam and Juanma take their turn first and, knowing Juanma's allergic to this type of customer service, Harry sets him up off to the side with bubbles so he can make the booth more festive without having to interact with strangers.

The traffic is dense under their canopy, situated as it is at the intersection of two foot paths, and the first forty minutes fly by. When Niall and Zayn come to start their mini shift, Niall squeals with delight when he sees Juanma's swarm of iridescent bubbles.

"Have you got more?" Niall asks, eyeing the nearly empty bottle.

Harry taps the case of three dozen containers with the toe of his shoe. "You bet your cute bum I do."

"Brilliant," Zayn says with a happy smile as he straightens the piles of brochures and the mason jar filled with mini Pride flags.

Unable to resist the draw of meeting new people and befriending them, Niall continues to blow bubbles from the front of the booth so he can compliment and chat up passersby. Harry breathes a sigh of relief at how affable he is, working the crowd with very little effort.

When it's Louis' turn to take over, he wanders back with Liam and Juanma and arms full of ice cream.

"Ben & Jerry's?" Harry asks, face lighting up in excitement.

"Chocolate fudge brownie in a cone," Louis says with a soft smile.

"Oh, you," Harry says, leaning in for a kiss.

The others are already saying goodbye with blown kisses and waves, skipping off with their frozen treats in the dappled sunshine.

"Juanma said you've been busy," Louis says, using his free hand to straighten the piles as Zayn had done and making Harry smile.

"It comes in waves," Harry says, savouring the rich ice cream. "How are the vibes this year?"

"Really good," Louis says with a thoughtful expression. "Very…what's the right word? Hopeful? Seems counterintuitive with all the shit going on in the world, but—"

"I felt the same way during the parade. Like some of the joy has been missing and it's back."

"Exactly," Louis says, linking arms with Harry and rubbing his cheek on Harry's shoulder.

Harry and Louis wile away their last forty odd minutes, basking in that agreeable feeling and meeting several couples who seem genuinely interested in their wedding planning services. Harry now thinks of the business as Louis', too—his creative input, thoughtfully offered and always welcome, touches every corner of Harry's work.

His love is both an anchor and a sail.

When the weekend crew returns to relieve them, Louis gets a playful look in his eye.

"What are you thinking?" Harry asks, smiling down to his bones.

Louis kisses his cheek before turning back to the staff behind the table to ask, "what'll we have from Ben & Jerry's?"

The line at the ice cream shop moves mercifully quickly and Harry and Louis are soon handing over Cherry Garcia in a cup and two cones—one with Dulce De-lish and the other with Phish Food—to the grateful Woolery team before wandering in the direction of the National Gallery to meet their mates.

"Just one more thing before we go," Louis says, tugging Harry by the hand, steering him off the path and onto the grass.

"I'll never say no to hugging a tree," Harry quips.

"Not that. Although," Louis says, looking over at a stand of majestic London planes. "Sure, let's do it on our way out."

"Okay," Harry says happily, swinging their joined hands.

When they arrive at Louis' intended destination, Harry understands immediately.

"Mr. Bean!" he declares in the direction of the statue before looking down at the manicured grass. "Our spot."

"Our spot," Louis says, propping his sunglasses on his hair and reaching up to cradle Harry's cheek. "Perfect place to tell you."

Harry's heart rabbits in his chest. "Tell me what?"

"I teased you this morning about shouldering every burden in sight. Trying to be everyone's hero," Louis says with gentle concern as he searches Harry's face. "Truth is, and I know you're much too humble to agree, you are a bit of a champion for all of us. For the people you help at work, clients and employees. For our boys, who love you but also genuinely appreciate your ability to fix pretty much anything. For our home, which has never been more beautiful. For your family and for Suey. For sweet Leonard. Harry, you are our hero."

Harry's not sure when he started crying, but Louis wipes his tears away.

"I just want everyone to be happy," Harry says, heart straining and throat stinging at the truth of it.

"And we want you to be happy, love."

Harry breathes deeply through his nose, allowing Louis to fold him into a tight, soothing hug.

Sure, the stress of being overbooked makes Harry's happiness feel more elusive and drains his sense of peace, but knowing that Louis always has his back and that he's truly loved by the people in his life—that's more than enough to keep him steady.

"I am. I'm so happy," Harry says, pressing his lips to Louis' with a sniffly giggle.

"Good," Louis says, kissing him back through a wide smile.

"If Corn Fest isn't a stirring testament to our love for Harry," Niall says, donning the corn costume as he wrings out a soaked corn husk at the worktop on the fourth floor, "I don't know what is."

"Your devotion in particular is unparalleled," Zayn says with a fond smile as he mixes the tamale dough. "He's gonna love these. All of it, really."

"Undoubtedly," Niall says with a nod as he lays the husk on a dry kitchen towel.

"And after Louis gets a taste, he'll rue the day he teased me for hoarding our old husks."

"Very likely true," Niall says, glancing into the pot of savoury bean and cheese filling. "Are they still at work?"

"Harry said the elopement service at The Little Chapel is only meant to run an hour," Zayn says, scooping up a bit of the tamale dough. "Suey's flight is in at three and Louis insisted they hire a car from Heathrow to her place, so they'll probably be back here by half four."

"It's so nice they still do that for her," Niall says with a little pout.

"She's gotten so much savvier at traveling but I imagine it's very comforting to see a familiar face when she gets back," he says. Zayn experiences a peculiar feeling just then: empathy for Suey's independent spirit. He understands anew how her intrepidness is also a balm for her pain and a fortification against grief. It tugs hard at Zayn's sensitive heart. "There's a quiet tension in that experience, isn't there? Leaving home to appreciate coming back?"

"Oh," Niall says, smiling as his cheeks go pink. "I love it when you get all philosophical."

"That's so sweet and so not fair," Zayn says with a laugh, holding up his dough-covered hands. "I can't even touch you without making a dreadful mess."

"But how would you? If you could."

This side of Niall—the coaxing, teasing flirt that's recently become more common—is saucy and confident. Zayn burns hot at being the centre of his attention.

"I'd pull you in by the front of your corn costume," Zayn says as he leans close, holding his masa mitts up and away to avoid soiling Niall's kernels. "I'd undo its button while I kiss your neck. I'd slide my hands inside and across the skin on your low back. It's so soft."

"Z, babe," Niall breathes through a giant smile. Their faces are only an inch apart. "How fast can we make these tamales?"

Zayn cracks up at the question, surging forward for a quick kiss before turning back to his task.

"Seeing as how I've never made them and I'm sure there's a bit of a learning curve, maybe forty-five minutes?"

Niall glances at the recently acquired kitchen clock—a Kit-Cat with a moving tail and eyes, one of Louis and Harry's vintage shop finds—and does some quick mental math.

"If I melt the wax for the candles now, do you think we'll have time for a slowie?"

They'd coined the term 'slowie' to better describe how they most enjoy their private time together, as 'quickie' never felt quite right. A 'slowie' starts with lots of horizontal snogging and an open-minded, unrestricted, adventuresome perspective on what follows. Like every time Niall asks for what he wants—it could be anything really, like another cookie or a few more minutes to finish his crossword or to be wrapped up like a burrito when he's had a hard day—Zayn folds happily and immediately.

He cherishes Niall's requests for intimacy and never takes them for granted.

"We'll definitely have time for a slowie," Zayn says with an indulgent smile, stealing one more kiss.

Niall readies their double boiler and dumps the bag of beeswax pellets they bought in the upper bowl before setting out the wicks and molds. In a burst of inspiration last Christmas, Niall'd made candles for everyone important in his life and he still has loads of supplies that come in handy on special occasions. He tends the pot as Zayn carries on with tamale assembly line.

"These are a little fussy, aren't they?" Zayn asks as he tries to fold a husk without tearing it.

"Have you tried the other way? Folding the sides in before you tuck the tail?"

"No, smarty pants," Zayn says with a smile as he tests the suggestion and it works perfectly. "Very clever."

"What are Juanma and Liam making?"

"Liam said something about his American corn casserole and they were talking about a salad? I'm not entirely sure. One thing's for certain, though."

"No one'll be hungry," Niall says with a laugh.

"Never!"

They work in comfortable silence for a few minutes—Zayn assembling the tamales more quickly with Niall's input and Niall filling the candle molds—when Zayn suddenly remembers an important upcoming date. He tries to broach the subject casually.

"Have you given any more thought to our, um, appointment?"

"Oh," Niall says, freezing but not looking up from his task of situating the wicks. "Yes."

"How are you feeling about it?"

"Bit nervy," Niall says, turning his whole body instead of just his head due to the limitations of the corn costume.

"We don't have to do it now, babe. It can wait. You—"

"No, I want to," Niall says, letting out a deep breath. "I really do."

"Alright," Zayn says, pressing a kiss to his cheek and letting the subject drop.

Niall finishes pouring the candles and leaves them to cool before setting up their steamer and arranging the tamales inside. Once they've boiled the water, reduced it to low, and set the timer, they both wash their hands and tick off their list.

"Cannabutter—check," Zayn says, counting on his fingers. "Gelatine-free weed gummies for our veggies—check. Louis' cornbread muffin and custard ingredients at the ready—check, check."

"Tamales—half a check," Niall says with a laugh as he reaches behind his neck to unbutton the costume.

"Oh, allow me," Zayn says, stepping in close and kissing Niall's stubbly chin as he assumes the task.

As promised, he runs his fingers slowly down the line of Niall's spine, pausing to slip underneath his t-shirt and walk them, feather light, over the expanse of his low back. Niall smiles as his eyes fall shut.

"Slowie?" Zayn murmurs into the shell of his ear.

"Slowie," Niall breathes out through a smile.

They giggle with anticipation as they shuck Niall out of the costume and make their way to Zayn's bed, both appreciating how good it feels to take their time.

Liam was certain he'd had Juanma wrapped in his arms when they laid down to nap.

As he emerges from the haze of sleep, he becomes absolutely certain.

"Conejito Juanito?"

When Juanma appears in the bedroom doorway, he's still bare chested and wearing his striped sleep shorts, looking atypically rumpled. His tone is a bit clipped when he asks, "what?"

"What's wrong, love?"

"Nothing, I'm fine," Juanma says through a tight smile. "Just remembered that I have to make that salad and want to have enough time to chill it. You can keep resting, darling."

"No, I should get up. Gotta bake the casserole," Liam says, lowering his feet to the floor and opening his arms for a hug.

Juanma pouts, unable to resist, and walks into his arms. He gently massages Liam's scalp as Liam presses his cheek to Juanma's belly. They stay like that for a few minutes as Liam slowly wakes up.

The soothing touch seems to put Juanma's mind at ease and they get dressed before heading out to the kitchen, putting on some low, chill music and preparing their dishes. Juanma's just started assembling his salad when Liam catches a whiff of something spicy.

"Uh oh, am I going to have to be adventurous today?" he asks, glancing into Juanma's bowl.

Juanma lobs a devilish smile back at him. "On two fronts. It's soy chorizo."

"Sounds weird, but for you? I'll try anything once," Liam says, playfully nibbling on Juanma's shoulder through his t-shirt.

"Proud of you for that," Juanma says, snagging his own little bite.

While Liam's dish bakes and Juanma's cools off in the fridge, they both slip into their home office in the second bedroom, a space they've made cosy with hanging plants, framed artwork, and a colourful Moorish revival rug they picked up on their last trip to Barcelona. They respond to work emails on their respective laptops at their dedicated desks and Liam notices that Juanma grows more and more irritable as they carry on—he makes a series of exasperated noises that finally require Liam's attention.

"What's the matter?"

"I'm just," Juanma starts, leaning back in his chair and squeezing the bridge of his nose under his glasses, "stressed. Sorry."

"Hey," Liam says, spin Juanma gently so they're facing each other and can slot their knees together. "Don't be. Sorry, I mean. I know you can't control the worry sometimes."

Secretly, privately, Liam thinks Juanma can—and not in a bootstrapping, maximum willpower sort of way, but in a self-compassionate, therapeutic sort of way. Liam knows Juanma isn't open to that sort of suggestion when he's already on edge, so he keeps it to himself.

"How 'bout this?" Liam offers, cupping his face gently. "Let's walk out of this room right now and close the door behind us. We'll pull my casserole out of the oven and let it cool a minute, then go set up the food table. Being outside always helps you feel better and being a bit early never hurt anyone. Maybe it'll ease your mind."

"Alright," Juanma says with a nod, throwing his arms around Liam's neck. "I love you."

"I love you so."

The plan works remarkably well; despite wearing nice trousers, Juanma pulls his gardening gloves and weeding tool from the shed and gets after the grass and pavers, neatening them as Liam pulls their long folding table out of the storage cupboard. Juanma's just swapped the weeder for the secateurs and has his eye on the hedgerow when Harry sticks his head out of the second floor kitchen window.

"Hello, loves," he says sweetly, waving with both hands. "Garden looks great, thank you."

"Our pleasure," Juanma says, smiling up at him, a lightness having returned to his voice and general affect. "How's Suey?"

"So good! So tan," Harry says with a warm smile. "She brought everyone chocolate covered macadamia nuts. They don't fit the theme, but—"

"Oh, please bring them," Liam says, laughing happily as he neatens the corners of the red and white checkered tablecloth.

"Will do," Harry says, resting his elbow on the windowsill and his chin on his hand before he startles, nearly knocking the back of his head on the wooden frame. "Oh, I've just remembered."

"What?" Juanma asks with an amused smile.

"I made a decoration for the party. Think I bought the Hobbycraft out of felt," Harry says, dropping one end of a bunting banner out the window.

Liam claps with genuine delight when he sees that the string alternates between the traditional triangle shapes in various shades of yellow with corn cobs, husks and all, assembled out of the fuzzy fabric.

"This is fabulous," Juanma says, pulling off one of his gloves to reach for the end of the string. "Where do you want it attached?"

"Maybe to the arbour? It should be long enough," Harry says before turning around to secure his end to something inside.

Liam and Juanma both admire the kitschy creation for a moment—the cobs look very festive flapping in the breeze—before Harry's called away by his egg timer and Liam ducks inside to grab folding chairs from the storage cupboard. As he's returning with a chair tucked under each arm, he hears Juanma speaking quietly in Spanish.

Liam doesn't mean to eavesdrop but his bilingual listening skills have improved dramatically and he can't really help it.

"—to worry so much, right? I just feel like it's out of my hands. I don't want to be a burden on him. On any of them."

So as not to startle Juanma, Liam clears his throat as he strides through the doorway, taking pains to appear oblivious. Juanma glances up from the worm bin, from which he's removed the lid to spritz the soil with water.

"How are the mates?" Liam asks, continuing in the direction of the table so as to spare Juanma any emarrassment he might be feeling.

"Good," he says, pushing his glasses up his nose and turning slightly to hide his blush. "They went wild for the apple peels Zayn threw in."

"Precious. We'll have to remember that." Liam says with a smile, pressing a smile to Juanma's flushed cheek. "Keep 'em on the menu."

"Do you—" Juanma starts, as he replaces the lid, sets the sprayer on top, and turns to face Liam. "Nevermind."

"What is it?"

"Nothing," Juanma says, managing a smile that looks half genuine before he presses a lingering kiss to Liam's lips. "Let's get the rest of the chairs, hm?"

Liam simply nods and follows, concern hot on his heels even as he continues to tread carefully.

Per Louis' rather expert plan and following his persistent encouragement, the mates greet Harry in the back garden like a guest of honour; as Corn Fest's first champion and greatest advocate, Harry's the unofficial marshall of the event and deserves the recognition.

Louis is proud of Harry today—for trying to help everyone, sure, but also for accepting help himself—and there's nothing quite like seeing his lover's face light up at the sight of his favourite food in a variety of new, interesting configurations. It's a treat for all of them and a genuine reward for sweet Harry.

"Niall!" Harry declares as he drizzles lavender honey on a cornbread muffin that he's just slathered with a generous gob of cannabutter. "Did you make these candles?"

Louis looks down at the pillars as he grabs himself a plate. They're not pillars at all! Quite delighted, he declares, "but they're corn cobs!"

"I thought they'd add to the ambience," Niall says, beaming and standing up a little taller.

"They do," Juanma says, a remarkably whimsical admission from him.

"They're lovely," Harry says, pouting down at one. "Almost a shame to burn them."

"Oh, don't worry," Niall says, pulling out a shoebox from beneath the food table, "I've made plenty. You can have a fresh one."

"Thank you, babe," Harry says, setting down his plate and throwing his arms around Niall's neck in a dancey hug. "Thank you, everyone. This is just perfect."

Louis finds he agrees as he digs in, enjoying the late afternoon sun on his back and the light breeze through the garden.

Perhaps it's because it's been a long day or because they've spent a good portion of it together, but the conversation flows gently and lazily along to match the energy of the evening. After admitting to Zayn that keeping the corn husks was worth it and waxing poetical about the undeniable magic of tamales, Louis grows contemplative, his therapist's lens clicking into place as he savours the generously seasoned soy chorizo and charred corn kernels in Juanma's salad. He observes how each of his mates are carrying their emotional burdens today—Liam's eyes are soft with concern; Juanma's muscled shoulders are tense; Niall busies his hands keeping the food table tidy; Zayn can't sit for more than a moment without tapping his heel on the grass. He feels himself breathe a sigh of relief when they all start to loosen up from that healing combination of being home and being a bit stoned from Zayn's fabulous handcrafted gummies.

It must have been audible, the sigh, because Harry leans in close and kisses his cheek. Louis glances at him sideways, noticing immediately that his posture is softer.

"Alright, then?" Harry asks.

"Better now," Louis says, reaching over to squeeze Harry's forearm. 

"'Bout to be excellent," Zayn says, ruffling Louis' hair, "once we get our hands on your custard."

"Oh, dirty," Harry says with a wink for Louis.

Niall squawks a laugh at this and the sound of it, high and bright and happy, makes everyone else laugh, too.

Liam insists that hot beverages are in order for roof time and offers to run ahead and put the kettle on while the others clean up. Louis and Niall follow shortly after to retrieve the dish of vanilla corn custard from the fourth floor fridge and the Handbasket lads soon reconvene on the roof, which has seen a number of major improvements over the last two years. The surface has been freshly coated with a tan, mica-flecked finish that sparkles in the sun and reflects the heat, the coordinating teak deck furniture was recently resealed by Harry and is covered with loads of colourful outdoor cushions picked out on a family shopping trip, and the all-weather electrical outlet they had installed by the door eliminated the need for an extension cord sent up from the fire escape.

While the pink and gold sunset casts a warm glow over Brixton, the impending night has buffed the harshness out of the sultry summer air. Liam prepares the teas and Louis takes point on serving his custard and hands plates around to the others before scooping a generous serving for himself. He knows, having sampled it whilst assembling, that it's quite good.

"Oh, babe," Harry says, closing his eyes and melting against Louis' side as he takes his first bite. "This is divine."

"Whoa. What on earth?" Niall asks in apparent agreement as he gapes at Louis.

"No, seriously though, how'd you make this?" Liam asks, shovelling a giant scoop into his ordinarily picky mouth.

"You prepare, like, a corn milk—"

"Corn milk," Juanma says with a stoned snort of a laugh as if he's picturing a cob-shaped cow.

"Did you use real vanilla beans?" Zayn asks, smiling dopily at his plate.

"Yep, scraped 'em meself," Louis says proudly, relishing his accomplishment. "I'm all domestic and shit now."

This inspires a low hum of approval from Harry, who sets down his tea to gently pat Louis' low back as if to say, you are and I really, really like it.

Louis' not entirely sure what he did to deserve this—a supportive family to care for who cares for him in return; a belly full of delicious food that warms him from the inside out; a beautifully curated home that reflects the love it holds—but he accepts that it's his as Zayn puts low, soothing music on the speaker and Harry falls asleep, curled against Louis' chest on the chaise.

He hopes to keep deserving all of it.

A Fortnight Hence!

Juanma's screens glare back at him on Friday afternoon, their collective blue light stabbing at the backs of his eyes and threatening a headache.

Court was easy enough this morning—two amicable divorces and a last-minute postponement put him back at the office early—but his work emails are regenerating at an alarming rate and the phone keeps ringing and the missed call from his mamá sits like a sliver under his skin.

He wants to call her back, of course he does, but she didn't leave a message so he has no way of knowing if it'll be a good call or a bad call and he won't be able to get any more work done if it's the latter. So, instead, he sits at his desk and stares off into space, accomplishing absolutely nothing.

Occasionally, his fellow solicitors or office staff will walk by and wave hello through the internal window. They'd taken his relationship with Liam in stride and a few, including Sandra, were very pleased with the development—"oh, finally, thank fuck!" she'd declared, pulling them both into a crushing hug—and pooled their money to have flowers delivered to both their desks and the office's shared kitchen. He's grateful for their continued support but doesn't think he can force himself to be pleasant at the moment, so he keeps the door shut.

Near the end of the day, after he's managed to pull it together and stomach a few emails, a familiar sound draws his attention. It washes over him like warm water and tugs his heart in the direction of the shared office wall. Liam's laugh.

He quickly packs his bag, unceremoniously shoving his blasted laptop in, and turns off the light before pulling the locked door closed behind himself. Liam looks up, already smiling, when Juanma appears.

"Hi, you," he says sweetly, pulling at Juanma's heart again. "How's the day?"

"Good," Juanma lies, the accompanying sigh nearly giving him away. "How was court?"

"Bit of a jam," Liam says as he stands and grabs his own bag, "but nothing too hard. Just a lotta busy work. Shall we head out?"

"Please."

"Oh," Liam says, finally taking a good look at Juanma's face. He reaches up to gently pat his cheek. "Are you getting a headache?"

Juanma doesn't bother to ask how Liam can tell. He just knows these things. Instead, Juanma nods and turns away from Liam's touch. In truth, that's the last thing he wants to do, but he lately feels like his heaviest, darkest feelings are the most contagious.

"Takeaway for dinner?" he asks, hoping to distract Liam with food.

"Oh, please," Liam says, catching up to walk by his side down the hallway, "and maybe a soak in the tub and some soft trousers? Paracetemol and an eye mask?"

Juanma pouts to disguise the fondness that nearly brings him to his knees. "That'd be lovely."

They wave goodbye to Sandra, catch a lift down to the street and, as is their habit, reach for each other's hand when they're about half a block away. Unfortunately, Juanma's hand feels heavy and sweaty in Liam's and he squeezes before letting go well before they reach the tube station. Juanma feels Liam's concerned look but doesn't want his pity, so he walks on, stiff-lipped and quite miserable.

They go through the motions of their short commute and after-work routine. Liam insists on drawing the bath before he orders food and presses a kiss to the top of Juanma's head when he sets a fresh towel, pants, an undershirt, and soft jersey pyjama bottoms on the countertop.

Juanma manages to relax for about two minutes before his mind starts racing again. He's grateful for the reprieve even though it doesn't last. He tries to steer that gratitude in a useful direction, mentally listing the good things in his life. Liam. The mates. Financial stability and a secure job. My health. My family. Our home. Fully out of his grasp are the pesky counterpoints that inevitably follow. He simply can't keep them quiet. Pushing Liam away when he just wants to help. Not doing enough to show my friends that I care when they're always on my side. Work that never ends and follows me around. My health…for now. That unanswered phone call.

He heaves a deep sigh after about ten minutes and drains the water.

Once dressed, Juanma drifts out into the flat to find the lights dimmed and his favourite lo-fi playlist filtering out from the kitchen. He manages to watch Liam—he's filling two glasses at the sink—for just a moment without being noticed. Juanma is struck by how much he loves him. 

"Done already?" Liam asks when he looks up, snapping Juanma to full attention.

"Yeah. Brain won't pipe down."

He immediately regrets the wording, like his mind isn't part of him and can't just be made to cooperate.

"Wish there was a way to put 'em in low power mode," Liam says with a light laugh, handing Juanma a glass. "Like on your phone."

"That's sort of how it feels when I have one of Zayn's gummies," Juanma says, letting himself enjoy the humour in it for a moment.

"He's making cannabutter shortbread for tomorrow," Liam says, doing a little happy dance in the process.

"What's—" Juanma starts before he remembers. "Right. Yeah, that'll be nice."

"You didn't forget our plans, did you?" Liam teases, playfully gaping at him and reaching for both of their water glasses to set back on the worktop.

"I didn't," Juanma says, a genuine smile blooming on his face as he tries to protect his ribs with his hands. "I swear, I would never! Babe, no!"

Liam cackles as he digs his fingers into Juanma's sides and armpits, tickling him mercilessly. Juanma can't help but laugh, the joyful sound overtaking his whole body and filling up the kitchen.

Again, for a blissful moment, he's not sad or scared or anxious. He's just here and he's happy.

"Mercy, please," Juanma finally says. "Cease and desist."

Liam knows that signal well and relents, withdrawing his hands and reaching for their waters again. "Do you think you'll be up for it? Tomorrow, I mean. You can sit this one out if you need a break, it's okay—"

"No, I'll be there," Juanma says, some of the somberness rushing back in. He doesn't want to be perceived as someone who can't do things. "It's important to you."

"It's also important to me that you're comfortable," Liam says, reaching for the paracetemol bottle on the counter. "Speaking of."

As his headache lingers, prepared to sink its claws in deeper, Juanma gladly accepts the medicine with another swig of water. Liam pulls him by the hand to the couch and sets him up on the pillows with his eye mask and a blanket. Juanma nearly starts crying at how sweet and gentle he's being.

"How's that?" Liam asks as he rubs a soothing circle on Juanma's chest.

Juanma doesn't know how to respond at first. His eye mask is still set on his forehead and he knows he must look rather pathetic in this state. He's not prepared to explain how he's feeling so, without thinking too hard first, he blurts, "I missed a call from my mum today. Haven't called her back."

"Is that what's bothering you?"

"Partially," Juanma admits, reaching up to hold Liam's hand still over his heart, "but you know how those calls sometimes go."

"Give me your phone," Liam says with a warm smile, extending his free hand.

"Why?" Juanma asks, doing as he's told.

"Need to practice my Spanish," Liam says with a wink as he navigates to Juanma's missed calls and redials Mamá. She picks up after one ring. "Hola, mamá Rosa. Es Liam."

Juanma catches bits of his mother's surprised greeting and reaction as Liam deftly navigates their unique version of Spanglish. He and Liam have only been to Barcelona together a few times but Liam's formed a special bond with the whole family. This new development—Liam speaking to his mum without going through Juanma first—has Juanma feeling proud and utterly captivated.

He'd do that—he's doing that! For me!

"Sí, tiene dolor de cabeza. Agua, of course, y, uh, rest? Descansar? Yes, m'am. Ah, sí, sopa de fideos? Hm. Only when he was a boy?" Liam asks with a private smile just for Juanma. "Intentaré eso."

Liam listens intently as Rosa explains why she called. He nods along, once making eye contact with Juanma to assure him that everything's okay.

"Gracias, Mamá. Give Papa Milo a big hug from us, too. ¡Chao! Cuidate."

"I—" Juanma starts, not sure exactly how to express his thanks for what was actually a massive favour. He offers a weak "thank you."

"You're welcome, mi amor," Liam says as he returns the phone and adjusts Juanma's blanket.

"What, uh, did she say?"

"She wanted to let you know that Papa is responding well to his new dose of donepezil. He woke up telling her about some funny dream he had, which she was pleased about. She drove to the grocery shop but he knew the route this time and asked her why she was going a different way than normal. They played petanca with the neighbours at the pista in the park and he remembered the rules on his own."

"That's good," Juanma says, tears stinging the backs of his eyes.

Liam pulls out his own phone to check a notification as he says, "she also mentioned that you liked noodle soup when you were a poorly as a child which I knew but appreciated having confirmed nonetheless. I know it's not really soup weather, but I got dinner from that Vietnamese place that Louis and Harry like—"

"Phở Thuý Tây?" Juanma says, sitting up a little taller and the prospect of having a massive bowl of savoury, carb-heavy goodness very soon.

"Yep," Liam says proudly, resting his hand on Juanma's chest. "Got you chicken and veg."

"Oh, that sounds great," Juanma says, relaxing again. "I fear I'll wear out my thank yous today."

"I'm happy to do it."

Liam doesn't specify what it is. Perhaps he means the meal order or the phone call or the general sense of effort and attentiveness but Juanma accepts, at least for a moment, being treated well without questioning whether or not he should be treated well.

For Liam's sake—Christ, for my own sake, Juanma thinks as Liam cuddles him while they wait for their delivery—Juanma knows he needs to sort out his uncooperative, unloving, uncool brain.

He's lived with its bullshit for long enough.

Niall should never have volunteered to brave the supermarket alone.

As they've got Liam's big roof time to-do tomorrow, everyone's agreed to fend for themselves for dinner to tonight and Niall, perpetually interested in being helpful, had assured Zayn that he can handle fetching their supper on his way home from the hospital.

Now, staring down the boxed pastas, he's regretting that offer quite a lot.

Mercifully, getting here hadn't been a problem—the Sainsbury's is on his walk home from the Brixton tube station—but passing through the front door had presented a number of challenges. First off, he usually comes here with Harry or Zayn or, on occasion, the whole gang. He's never wandered the aisles of this particular shop alone before and he hasn't got a solid dinner plan in mind. He looks down into his basket, which contains a number of junky items that do not constitute a meal. This is all besides the fact that he had a secondary, clandestine mission in the bakery that exhausted a fair amount of emotional energy before he even started shopping.

Eventually, overcome by the sheer volume of options, he calls Harry.

"Hello, love," Harry says cheerfully, putting Niall at ease straight away.

"Hi," Niall manages as he shrinks against the tomato sauces. 

"Where are you?" Harry asks, having sensed the tinge of misery in his voice.

"Our Sainsbury's. In the pasta aisle."

"Oh, I'm nearby! See you in a flash."

Niall heaves a sigh of relief and stays put, texting Zayn while he waits.

Niall: Got choice paralysis, Harry's coming to help!

Zayn: What a doll. Don't stress too much if you can help it, you know I'll love whatever you make xo

Niall: Def can't help it but I'll keep that in mind LOL xo

Harry already has a package of pitta bread in his hand when he spots Niall from the end of the aisle.

"I had the best idea," he says as he throws his arms around Niall and a wiggly hug.

"Lay it on me," Niall says, pressing a smacking kiss to Harry's cheek.

"Stuffed pitta," Harry explains as they set off in the direction of the beans. "Chickpeas, diced sweet onion, halved cherry tomatoes, roasted red pepper hummus, feta, and fried wonton strips for some extra crunch. Or crushed-up crisps if that sounds tastier."

"Oh, jalapeño crisps!" Niall says, Harry's energy giving him a second wind.

"Now we're talkin'."

It's a speedy errand with Harry's help and they're soon making their way home, laden with all the meal supplies and an impulsively purchased box of sea salt ganache truffles.

As Harry'd chosen to interpret fending for themselves rather loosely and included himself and Louis in the dinner plan, he'd doubled all the ingredients and now unpacks the two tins of beans and two packets of feta and a large carton of dainty tomatoes on the worktop in his and Niall's kitchen while they catch up about their day. He takes to dicing the massive onion as he tells Niall about how Suey's set on switching offices with him.

"She told me, she said, 'you need the space more than I do,' which is true but moving office is about as appealing to me as moving house, you know? So I said, 'why don't I bring things over like a snail? Slow and easy.' That's our business style, anyway. She was agreeable even though she was distracted trying to plan her Danube river cruise."

"She's so cosmopolitan," Niall says, popping a whole tomato in his mouth. "Great way to retire."

Niall curses himself for bringing up retirement, although it's nearly impossible not to when talking about Suey. It's a sensitive subject and he empathises with Harry's plight. Any talk about major life transitions also remind Niall that he hasn't yet confided in Harry about his and Zayn's Big Life Plans; he didn't mean for them to be hidden, exactly, but he feels like he's digging a deeper pit of secrecy by the day.

"Honestly," Harry says, blinking rapidly at the sting of the onion, eyes far too blurry to notice any discomfort on Niall's part. Hoping to change tack but sort of failing miserably, Niall asks, "are you and Louis doing anything special for your Commitiversary tomorrow?"

"Other than film night and roof time?" Harry asks, wiping his eyes with the back of his wrist and smiling over at Niall. "After last weekend, we're both craving some quiet. We'll probably have a lie-in and a cuddle. Maybe fancy breakfast."

"Toasting waffles and takeaway coffees?" Niall teases.

"You know it," Harry says with a happy laugh.

That's one of the things Niall admires most about his friends' relationship: it's soft and simple in its depth. Niall knows he can be terribly fussy and hard to deal with sometimes, but he likes to think—he hopes!—that his and Zayn's relationship functions similarly. He struggles to view it objectively.

He simply can't see it from the outside.

As if reading his mind, Harry asks, "have you and Zayn given any more thought to having some kind of commitment do?"

"Oh, um," Niall starts, feeling himself going beet red. "Sure. Nothing really concrete, but, well."

"Hm."

"What?"

"It's just," Harry starts, scraping the onion into their big mixing bowl, "I don't mean to pressure you, I'm sorry."

"You're not," Niall says, wholly honest. He pats Harry's shoulder to reassure him and reaches for the tin opener. "Talk about a snail's pace. I fear I can't do anything quickly."

"I disagree. You make friends faster than anyone I've ever met," Harry offers, bumping their hips together. "You're quite speedy at devising fun plans and learning about things that interest you. You've got a quick wit!"

"On occasion," Niall says, sheepish at being complimented. "Thanks."

"No, thank you," Harry says, accepting the tins of beans and dumping them in the colander in the sink.

"For what?"

"For being you, babe," Harry says, winking at Niall over his shoulder.

"Well, ditto, then!" Niall says with a cackling laugh that brightens his mood considerably.

Maybe that's as complicated as it gets, Niall thinks as he starts halving the little tomatoes. Maybe it just comes down to trusting the people who love me. Maybe it's as simple as treasuring them and accepting that they feel the same. I'm worthy of that.

Louis soon arrives home and readily confirms this line of thinking by embracing Niall before he even sets down his work bag. Zayn follows shortly after in his cutest double-front work trousers, tickling the side of Niall's neck with the scruff of his beard as he squeezes him tight around the middle.

While Louis and Harry are sufficiently distracted assembling the pittas, Zayn whispers in Niall's ear, sending a thrill down his spine and making him smile like a dope.

"Did you secure the item?"

"Affirmative," Niall says with a giggle, nuzzling their cheeks together. "It'll be ready tomorrow at noon."

"Brilliant, love," Zayn says, peppering his face with kisses.

Early on Saturday morning, Liam had woken up with an idea so compelling that he'd texted Louis about it in a flurry of excitement.

Louis'd already committed to helping him set up the attic for their film night after enjoying some Commitiversary toasting waffles with Harry but Liam's so twitterpated that he blew up Louis' phone the whole time he and Harry were out getting their takeaway coffees.

Now, standing in the attic, Louis wishes he'd gotten an extra shot of espresso in his latte.

"Are you sure?" he asks Liam as he unplugs the projector and eyes the wall mounted pull-down screen—the one Liam and Juanma bought to replace their old tacked-up sheet—with a wary sense of foreboding.

"It's Heartstopper Forever, Lou! One of the most important films of our generation and the critically important ending to a series that I've been following since it was a web comic. Yes, I'm bloody sure."

Louis wants Liam to be happy, he really does, and if this will do the trick, he's willing to give it a go. He won't, however, shy away from the sort of practical considerations that are his specialty.

"We'll have to wait until after dark," he says, glancing at the morning light pouring in through the round attic window, "and we need a stand for the screen."

"Can't we just string it up?" Liam says, drawing an imaginary line in the air with his fingers.

"To what?" Louis asks with a laugh. "The next building over?"

"No, to poles or something," Liam says, revealing quite readily that he's built for a white collar office job and not construction.

The humour of it inspires an idea.

"I'm gonna consult Harry," Louis says, setting the rolled-up power cord on top of the projector's wee stand before turning to the attic door, "and get him to help us. He'll know what to do."

Louis finds Harry standing at the kitchen worktop, putting away the dishes from the drain rack and speaking quietly to Leonard.

"That was fast," he says with a quick smile when he sees Louis.

"Well," Louis says with a small wince that transforms Harry's smile into a laugh.

"Oh no, what happened?"

"How much timber do you think we can carry on the tube?" Louis asks, unable to get the whole question out before he starts giggling.

"You and me?" Harry asks, rounding the worktop and wrapping his arms around Louis' middle.

"And Liam."

"A few sticks, I expect."

That's how, an hour later, Harry, Louis, and Liam end up in the B&Q, Louis with his ear plugs and Harry with his sunglasses, hunting for relatively unblemished pieces for their half-baked project.

"We should make it collapsible so it can be stored in the attic or cupboard," Harry says, having already sketched an idea for the frame on a sticky note.

Louis' learned from Harry's gentle guidance how to spot usable pieces of timber and laments the curves and knots in a two by four. "I'm starting to doubt my faith in our ability to complete this task."

"Why, darling?" Harry asks, gazing down the length of Louis' funky selection with a crooked smile.

"How are we meant to find straight bits of wood?"

This has all three of them in stitches and they're laughing so hard that they draw the attention of a B&Q employee, who asks if they need help. Louis manages to stop cackling long enough to decline their offer and turn his attention back to the task.

"You know who's going to be delighted when you bust out the mitre saw?" Liam asks brightly as they wander in the direction of the hardware aisle.

"Oh, Juanma!" Harry says, pulling out his phone. "I'll text him now, ask if he'll help."

"He should on his way home from the gym by now," Liam says, smile falling ever so slightly in a way that doesn't go unnoticed by Louis.

"Has that been helping? With his stress?" Louis asks, gesturing Harry in the direction of the hinges.

"Not as much as it usually does," Liam admits freely.

While Louis' pleased that both Liam and Juanma have become more communicative—both in their romantic partnership and with The Handbasket family—when they're blue or dealing with challenges, he's recently been concerned about Juanma's mental health. He was certain, for a time, that he was seeing something that wasn't there and that his perspective was biased by his training. In the last two weeks, however, Juanma's seemed especially withdrawn. Apparently, Louis isn't the only one who's noticed.

"Well, home projects always improve his mood," Harry says with absolute conviction.

"Spot on," Louis says with a nod. "DIY therapy."

"Maybe that's—" Liam starts, brow knit in thought. "I don't know."

"What?" Louis asks, bumping his arm.

"Got a titch of an idea," Liam says with a mischievous smile. "Let me work on it."

"Keep us posted," Louis says with a pat on his shoulder.

When the lads roll their flat trolley to the checkout, Louis spots a sign for home delivery. He points at it and starts to ask whether or not they'd like to get the timber dropped off, but Harry's already pouting before he can get past "what do you think of—"

"I had a picture in my head," Harry says, propping his Big Light-blocking sunglasses on his hair so he can turn his pleading eyes on Louis, "of hauling our finds on a whimsical tube adventure. Please, babe."

"As if I could say no to you," Louis grumbles happily, stealing a kiss before flicking Harry's sunnies back onto his nose.

Liam is a good sport as they make their way on foot, two by fours balanced on their shoulders and hardware jangling in their pockets, to the West Croydon Station—he only starts complaining after the first mile but ceases entirely when Harry promises to treat him to an ice lolly from Brixton Goods—and the transfer at Victoria goes easily enough. Sure, they get curious glances from other riders and the suspicious side eye from several tube employees, but Harry's prepared with the official government website open on his phone, stating they're allowed to carry items up to two metres long on the train.

It's never needed but Louis admires his preparation and dedication to the bit nonethless.

Truth be told, the tube adventure is quite whimsical and he snaps a number of silly, sweet, once-in-a-lifetime candid photos, the type that are backlit by joy and suffused with warm, syrupy sunshine: Liam laughing as he lifts his wood over the Oyster card turnstile; Harry beaming up at Louis as he carefully mounts the Brixton Station escalator; Liam holding a bouquet of ice lollies on the pavement outside The Handbasket; Juanma, still in shorts and trainers from the gym and donning safety glasses over his regular glasses, smiling down at the mitre saw with a pencil behind his ear as he cuts the timber to Harry's improvised specs; Niall and Zayn stepping into the back garden, hand in hand, their faces lit up at the mention of frozen treats in the group chat.

Once they've put the tools away and helped Harry and Juanma haul the bits and bobs they've prepared up to the roof, the others filter back down through the building with the intention of securing lunch and, in Zayn and Niall's case, enjoying half a nap with one eye on the World Cup third place play-off game between England and France.

"Too tired to watch it upright on the couch, hm?" Louis asks him with a teasing lilt as he pulls up the game on his phone.

"Well, we didn't make a pilgrimage to the timber yard like you lot," Niall says as they reach the fourth floor landing, "but we had a few errands. We're making the toffee popcorn for Heartstopper!"

"You had to go back to the shop for stuff?" Louis asks, eyeing him curiously. "We don't already have everything?"

"Niall wanted the salted Kerrygold. We used up the last of his stockpile on the shortbread," Zayn offers a little too quickly, sounding suspicious to Louis' well-tuned ear.

"Aye, that is the best butter," Louis agrees, willing to concede that point without argument.

Niall and Zayn are clearly up to something but their track record of well-intentioned shenanigans is impeccable so Louis lets it go without a fight. Instead, he focuses his attention on preparing sandwiches with Harry's favourite fancy bread and dousing himself in coconutty spray-on sunscreen before insisting that Harry, Juanma, and Liam apply some, too.

The mates pass a pleasant hour on the roof—Harry and Juanma assemble the screen stand, Louis and Liam supervise from their loungers, everyone thoroughly enjoys their sarnies and periodically checks the score of the match, which ends in a resounding victory for England that inspires loads of noisy excitement in the neighbourhood—and Louis is overcome with appreciation for all the pleasures in his life.

They seem to be stacking up.

Zayn thinks there's nothing quite as idyllic as their lofty view at sunset.

The low table is covered in food for grazing, the air is just on the cosy side of warm, and the latest addition to the roof—a truly handsome and impressive projector screen stand, sturdy and perfectly square—is gleaming in the glow of the string lights that festoon their little slice of the sky.

Zayn's cannabutter shortbread is flying off the plate at record speed so he makes sure to grab himself a few pieces before sidling up to Juanma where he's fussing with the pull-down screen.

"Yous did a great job on this," Zayn says, admiring the shiny hardware and rich wood stain.

"It was all Harry," Juanma says, stifling a smile.

"Not true," Harry pipes in as he empties a bag of crisps into a mixing bowl and tidies the spread. "Juanma cut all the wood and—"

"I was following your design," Juanma argues, smiling at Harry over his shoulder.

"How's about you both take a little credit, hm?" Niall asks, nodding gratefully at each of them in turn.

"Fine," Juanma says with a light laugh before muttering "if that'll get him off my back," to Zayn.

"Not a chance," Zayn says, patting Juanma's tensed-up shoulder. He lowers his voice to ask, very gently, "how've you been doing?"

"You're not worried about me, too, are you?" Juanma asks, pushing his glasses up his nose.

Zayn barks a laugh at his dry delivery and throws his arms around Juanma's body. He's pleased but not surprised to feel Juanma relax in his arms—he's learned, through trial and error, that bear hugs invariably make the man feel better.

"I'm fine," Juanma says and Zayn squeezes him tighter. "Really."

"Are you trying to convince Zayn you're doing okay?" Niall asks Juanma, apparently having overheard, as he hugs them both at once.

"Has it been that obvious that I'm a mess?" Juanma asks, glancing in Liam's direction and sort of dissolving at the extra pressure even as a self-conscious blush creeps over his cheeks.

A year ago—hell, six months ago, Zayn thinks—Juanma wouldn't have asked that sort of question at his own expense. Something about living at The Handbasket, though, has softened his heart. The effect their home has on everyone who loves it is difficult to measure but obvious; the stability has made all of them more open and vulnerable.

Zayn turns his head and Liam's eye. He's watching the embrace fondly, as if the sight of Juanma letting himself relax is easing his worry, too.

"I think we're all a bit of a mess," Zayn says, quickly winking at Niall as they lean out of the hug. He pats Juanma's cheek. "You're never alone in it, yeah?"

"Yeah," Juanma says, swallowing hard and indulging in a long blink.

"Oh, but this is great," Louis says, drawing everyone's attention to the stairwell door where he's just emerged, taking in the overall vibe with a pitcher of water and stack of cups in hand. "Major film night upgrade."

"Right? See, I told you," Liam says with a cheeky smile as he relieves Louis of the cups and turns them over on the table to be filled.

"That you did, love," Louis says, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Once everyone agrees that it's dark enough to fire up the projector, they cuddle under blankets in their hoodies and fuzzy socks to finally—'finally!' Liam declares happily—watch Heartstopper Forever. It's beautifully shot and wrenchingly sad at times, so relatable that it Zayn squirms a at the memories of being so young and angsty. Each of the mates find themselves laughing and crying at one point or another, pausing as need to debrief their thoughts and feelings, so Zayn's immensely grateful for the box of tissues that Louis had the presence of mind to supply.

Watching that finale, so lovingly performed and thoroughly imbued with queer joy, feels to Zayn like turning a page to a new chapter in their collective life as a family. Liam is gushing about how happy he is to share the moment with everyone and suggests they choose a new show to look forward to. It's decided they'll make a countdown chain for season two of Heated Rivalry to decorate the ceiling rafters in the attic.

In the din, Zayn turns to Niall, squeezing his hand on the armrest of his deck chair. When he sees Niall's face, though, he gets a knot in his stomach. He looks like he's struggling to hold back tears.

"Babe?" Zayn asks, interlacing their fingers.

"I wanna tell them," Niall says with a sniffle. "Right now."

"Oh, okay," Zayn says, sitting fully upright and resting his other hand on Niall's wrist. "You sure?"

"Yeah," Niall says, wiping away a stray tear before turning to the others. "Hey, um, everyone?"

"What's up?" Harry asks as they turn to look.

"There's, uh," Niall starts, scratching the back of his neck, "something Zayn and I want to tell you."

"Are you alright?" Louis asks, reaching over to pat Niall's knee.

"Yes," Niall says with a nod, sounding sure. That alone slows Zayn's rabbiting heartbeat but it spikes again when Niall leaps to his feet, looking slightly panicked. "Hold that thought."

"Darling, it's your thought!" Harry says with a laugh as Niall makes a beeline for the door.

The mates look around at each other, confused, before their eyes settle on Zayn.

"I can't say anything until he gets back," Zayn says with a shrug.

"He's actually okay?" Juanma asks, clearly concerned.

"Unless he's not telling me something, which seems unlikely, he's actually okay," Zayn confirms.

"Is it good news?" Liam asks brightly.

"We'll see," Zayn says with a tight smile.

He's genuinely not sure how it will be received. He hopes, of course, that the mates will be on board—that The Handbasket can bear the weight of change.

When Niall returns, he's carrying the Sainsbury's bakery box and Zayn gasps when he nearly trips over the threshold to the stairs. He springs to his feet and moves the toffee popcorn bowl, now empty, to make room.

"Harry, Louis. For you," Niall says, some of his good cheer having returned.

He opens the lid and Louis looks in first. "Aw! Really? This is so sweet!"

Sweet truly is the best word for the traybake, which is decorated with a rainbow of fluffy frosted flowers and sprinkled with hundreds and thousands. In the middle, on the expanse of white icing, it reads "Happy Commitiversary H + L" in looping cursive.

"I'd've made it myself but haven't done icing flowers in a while and wanted it to look perfect. Plus, well, traybake."

"This is so kind," Harry says, pulling Niall into his side and kissing his hair. "Thank you."

"'Course," Niall says, smiling over at Zayn. "We wanted to make sure you felt loved and appreciated today, even though you didn't throw a big party. Zayn had the idea for raspberry and lemon curd filling. I hope you like it."

"Are you kidding?" Louis asks, gaping at Niall and Zayn for a second before taking a picture of the gorgeous cake with his phone. "That sounds so good."

"Let's test it out, then," Niall says, pulling out the server he stashed in the box.

They've still got their plates from their movie snacks and Niall quickly distributes slices while Louis and Harry open the family gift, designed by the group and rendered in glass by Zayn: two anatomical hearts, attached side by side. The awkwardness of Niall's unspoken announcement is forgotten for a minute as everyone admires the sculpture and digs into the cake, thoroughly enjoys its rich, nicely balanced layers and the nostalgic texture of the sponge. When the elephant in the room—or on the roof, rather—becomes too flamboyant to go unacknowledged, Niall clears his throat.

"S'pose I should just say it," he starts and everyone goes silent. "There are, uh, two things, actually." Zayn rests a protective, fortifying hand on Niall's back. "First, and I don't mean for this to overshadow our traybake celebration here, but Zayn and I want to commit to each other like you two have. Not a wedding or a party. Just roof time with you lot to celebrate. Maybe, if other friends or family want to give gifts, they can donate to Dr. Batra for the Peace Fund school supply drive or Roz's scholarship."

"Oh, but that's wonderful," Liam says kindly.

"And so you. Congratulations," Juanma adds, wrapping his arm around Liam's low back and pulling him closer.

"We can get another traybake," Harry says through a watery smile before wrapping Niall in a hug.

"That's an absolute must," Louis says, kissing Zayn's cheek first, then Niall's. "Do you want the number for Liam and Juanma's solicitor friend who helped Harry and I with our wills and power of attorney?"

"Please," Zayn says, relief flooding his chest—that's one bit he's been worried about.

"Thank you," Niall says, nodding and smiling for a moment before his eyebrows go serious again. "I'm more worried about telling you the second thing."

"Why?" Juanma asks, tone sympathetic.

"I don't want you to get the wrong idea," Niall starts, wringing Zayn's hand so hard that he winces. "So please let me explain fully before you respond, okay?"

"Okay," Harry says with a patient nod.

Niall takes a deep breath before forging on, brave as anything. "We set a date to visit the RSPCA. We want to adopt a cat. Hopefully a kitten, but we're openminded. We reasoned that getting a cat would be simpler than getting a dog since we all work. Trouble is, our living arrangement makes it tricky. Where will we keep the cat bed and the litterbox? On two or four? Can we trust a cat to be safe with Leonard, especially with the catnip you're growing on top of his tank? Do any of you, like, hate cats? Or are you allergic? Besides all that, as soon as Helen and Jeffrey got Pepper, they set their sights on moving. We don't ever want to move and we were worried…well, Zayn was very rational but I worried that we'd send the wrong sort of message. Like, 'oh, we're gettin' a pet and then we'll decide we don't like it here anymore and that we're gonna move to bloody Richmond or some other posh suburb,' when, in reality, a cat would make us want to stay more! So, well, we're in a pickle."

The others sit in contemplative silence for a moment before Harry speaks, battling mightily to control his smile since Niall is taking this very seriously.

"Is anyone allergic?" Harry asks and the others shake their heads. "Alright, that's good. Is anyone opposed to having a cat in the building?"

"I'd rather like it," Juanma offers with a little shrug. "Be nice to have a furry friend."

"I agree," Liam says with a nod. "I expect we could keep several cat beds."

"What if it was, like, the family cat?" Louis asks, looking around at the others for input. They nod, so he adds, "they could have the run of the place and we could put the litterbox somewhere out of the way so it's not in anyone's living space."

"That'd be nice," Harry says. "Maybe in an enclosure in the utility room or behind a cat door in the storage cupboard?"

"Brilliant," Zayn says.

"What about Lenny?" Niall asks, casting a worried look at Harry.

"His tank has a latching lid, but there are other ways to secure it to the worktop. We can move the catnip to the back garden and plant something cat safe but less appealing in the aquaponic tray. Rosemary, maybe?"

"That's a good idea," Liam says. "We can also cat-proof the stairwell. Secure the dinos and other fragile stuff with museum wax."

Zayn realizes with a start that they're all talking about their future, yet-to-be-adopted cat as if its presence in their lives is a foregone conclusion. He expected this conversation to be a more robust test of their boundaries and limits, but it's following the same pattern as many of their other collective decisions, resulting in a warm, loving, affirmative yes wrapped up in a dozen clarifying questions.

"So, what I hear everyone saying is that we'd love for you to adopt a cat," Louis says, leaning forward and patting Niall's cheek, "so long as we can help to welcome them home."

Feeling a pang of guilt, Zayn tries to say, "we didn't expect that and we'd never ask—"

"We know," Harry says with a warm smile. "Which is why we should all promise to be honest with each other if new concerns come up. I'll see how difficult it is to amend our co-op bylaws to include some additional language about pets. That way, everything's on paper and we have some precedent for these types of conversations in the future."

"Did we just…hold an impromptu governance meeting?" Liam asks with a laugh.

"We would," Juanma says with a fond eye roll.

"Well, all those in favour of approving Niall and Zayn's motion to adopt a family cat, say aye," Louis states, sounding quite official. Everyone says 'aye.' "All opposed? Hearing no dissent, the motion passes."

The lot of them clap and cheer and it's decided, simple as that. Niall meets Zayn's eye and they both exhale, stealing a chaste kiss. 

As it's quite late, the mates decide to do a half-arsed cleanup job, opting to bring in the dishes and leftover traybake as well as the rolled-up projector screen to protect it from overnight dew; they'll leave the stand assembled until the morning as Harry's had some brilliant idea about where to stow it. After cementing their plans to hole up in the attic tomorrow evening with a fresh snack buffet to watch the World Cup final—Louis teases about making American-style ranch dressing and buffalo chick'n wings and Zayn's mouth is already watering at the prospect—Niall and Zayn retreat to the fourth floor.

When they enter, Niall shuts the front door and presses his back to it, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath through his nose.

"It wasn't bad," he says, tilting his head back.

"It was really good," Zayn says gently, rubbing his hands up and down Niall's arms. "Went over better than I expected." Niall's eyes pop open and he smiles. "What?"

"You've been so positive with me this whole time. Kind and patient and supportive about it. But you had doubts. You were worried, too."

"I—" Zayn starts, realizing he's a bit caught. "Yeah. I was, but that's not what you needed from me."

They both understand the profundity of that sentiment—that their delicate, compassionate willingness to wait out each other's highs and lows and funny brain stuff is a very pure form of love—and lean into each other's embrace with a kiss that carries all the weight of their shared relief.

"We're doin' it," Niall says happily against Zayn's lips as he walks him backwards toward Zayn's room and tugs at the hem of his t-shirt. "We're committing, babe."

"And aw," Zayn says, sliding his hand under Niall's waistband and squeezing his bum, "we're gettin' a cat!"

Niall hikes Zayn's shirt up and presses a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. "The sweetest one we can find. With prim little paws and a button nose and a soft, squishy belly. She'll get all the cuddles she wants."

"Our princess," Zayn says, pressing a kiss to the side of Niall's neck.

As they fall into bed, clothes abandoned in a heap, moving against each other and pressing a hundred hungry kisses to warm, naked skin, Zayn is sure this is the happiest he's ever felt. His home is this place but it's also this man, who's settled into their shared life and made every beautiful thing around them bloom in full colour.

Juanma wakes with a start on the morning after Niall and Zayn's big announcements.

He rarely remembers his dreams and the one that spurred him out of bed is no different but he has a lingering sense of purpose as throws aside the duvet. His internal, dreamscape self had been in control of his surroundings—was I stocking a warehouse with a forklift? Juanma thinks with a laugh as he tries to grab on to the wisp of the fantastical non-place, which was all glitter and pastels and slips through his fingers like smoke—and he retains that sense of surety as he pulls on jeans, a t-shirt, and a cabled jumper.

Something good has broken loose in Juanma's mind, either from Ni and Z's great news or the rush of seeing Liam so happy during Heartstopper yesterday, or Harry and Louis' Commitiversary cake, and he's going to hold it tight and examine it carefully.

That good thing is gonna to give me answers. I'm pulling myself out of this pit. Today.

"Juanito?" Liam asks groggily from his pillow. "What time is it?"

"Fifteen to seven," Juanma says, sounding frenetic to his own ears. "I have to run out but I'll be back. Promise."

"Hey," Liam says, reaching out to squeezing his hand, "s'okay. Just text if you need me?"

"I will," Juanma says, kneeling on the bed and pressing a kiss to Liam's temple.

Juanma grabs a light jacket, a legal pad, and one of the fancy roller ball pens that Liam keeps stocked in the office. He tugs on his knit Cole Haans by the door, managing to look somewhat put together despite the early weekend hour. Stepping out into the mild summer morning, he immediately realizes a problem with his plan.

"Coffee," he mutters to himself as he turns on the pavement and looks at the darkened storefront of Brixton Goods, which doesn't open for another two hours.

He decides it'd be counterproductive to run back upstairs to brew a pot—I can't lose this momentum!—so he starts walking and pulls up 'cafes open early on Sundays' in his maps app. There are abysmally few options but he spots one that he and Liam have visited on a brunch date before and sets off in the direction of Camberwell.

He has about thirty minutes of contemplative plodding ahead of him so he begins organizing his thoughts around what has become an unbearable amount of discontent.

Feeling this sad and anxious all the time is unsustainable. It's not healthy. It aches in my chest and throbs in my head and wrecks my stomach. It's both mentally and physically painful and I can't tolerate it any more. I won't!

He finds himself appreciating being outside so early on a weekend. The sun has emerged fully and a handful of neighbours are out, walking dogs and taking leisurely bike rides and getting their steps in before the heat of the day fully bears down. For a weightless, easy moment, Juanma feels like he's part of that city ecosystem—just another Londoner, going about his merry business.

He stops by a wrought fence to quickly scratch out "Needs" at the top of his legal pad, because that's what this is really about, isn't it? Cataloguing the basic things that will help him hoist himself out of his brain's lowest spot and figure out how to live better—for himself and everyone else.

By the time he reaches Love Walk Cafe, he's generated a solid list. Double latte in hand and omelette on order, he sits down to write it out.

Needs

1. Outside time every day

2. Hobbies or crafts or home projects that require working with my hands

3. Regular gym time again…once or twice a week isn't enough

4. Dedicated time for intimacy. More snuggles, more snogs

5. No more work at home!

6. Therapy!

7. Read books you actually enjoy!

8. Start up regular FaceTiming with Mamá and Papa again. It may be sad sometimes but you have to get over it! They need you!

9. Water! Fibre! Fucking vitamins!

He realizes with a dark laugh that he's yelling at himself and hastily scribbles one more item at the bottom.

10. Be kinder to yourself. You're not getting anywhere by doing this.

Doing this, Juanma thinks, his heart sinking. Being so disappointed in yourself that you don't feel worthy of care. Hating yourself on occasion. When did that happen? How did it happen? It's sobering, knowing he's looked in the mirror before—recently!—and seen nothing good or deserving of love.

He's lost in this dreadful thought when his omelette arrives and he has to pull himself together long enough to thank the waitstaff and pick up his fork. His mental gymnastics have produced real hunger and he tears into the food—politely, of course—with his list of needs staring back at him.

I can't do it alone, he thinks, a bit of bell pepper and goat cheese bursting deliciously on his tongue. I can't do any of it alone.

It's this realization that inspires him to place a takeaway order for Liam and find a nearby Lime bike to haul it home. Li will be aghast that he isn't wearing a helmet but the traffic is light and Juanma reasons that it'll get him back faster than walking—Juanma's also banking on the hot eggs Benedict and flat white being a distraction from his slightly manic behaviour.

After parking the Lime bike on the pavement but before mounting the stairs, Juanma passes through the first floor and into the back garden to crouch low by the worm bin. He's made a habit of chatting with the invertebrates when he's in need of grounding; they're great listeners and their work is a lovely metaphor for turning rubbish into something better and more useful.

"I think I've got it sorted," he says, lifting the lid and sprinkling some dry grass clipping on the top layer of compost. "It wasn't anything bad that made me realize I'd reached my lowest, either. It was all lovely things, piled on top of each other, reminding me that they're worth fighting for."

The worms nearest the top wriggle as if they're celebrating with him.

"Thanks," he says with a small laugh, spritzing them before resetting the lid.

He takes the stairs two at a time and enters the flat on the third floor, kicking off his shoes again and setting the takeaway and his list on the kitchen worktop. When he enters the bedroom, Liam is still in bed but stretches out, long and languid, like he's just woken up.

"Hey you," he says, opening his arms.

"Hi," Juanma says with a smile, tugging his jacket off and sliding under the covers.

"How'd it go?" Liam asks, nuzzling his cheek.

"Really good," Juanma says, his voice quavering a little. "Want me to tell you over breakfast?"

"What kinda question is that?" Liam asks with a cackling laugh as he rolls on top of Juanma and kisses him soundly. "Lead the way."

They settle at the dining room table, Liam's food and coffee in front of him, as Juanma recounts his brief but important outing. Liam inserts a few well-placed comments and questions—'this was inspired by a dream? That's very charming,' and 'oh, I adore Love Walk, we should go back again soon,' and 'beautiful weather today, glad you were able to get out,' and 'no helmet? Christ, you're going to give me an ulcer. I'll buy you one, okay?'—and absolutely gapes at Juanma when he says he's made a list of the things he needs.

"Nothing too crazy, but I think it'll all help me get out of my head," Juanma says.

"May I?" Liam asks, pointing at the legal pad with his fork.

Juanma flushes with embarrassment but agrees, knowing that his greatest unwritten need is being on the same page as Liam.

"Oh, but these are excellent ideas," Liam says, eyes flitting over the list.

"All of them?" Juanma asks, brows arched.

"Which one am I suppose to dislike?" Liam asks with a soft laugh, looking back again. "Oh, not working from home? I already hate doing that."

"You do?" Juanma asks, surprised.

"Yeah, I just agreed to it because I thought you wanted to. What should we do with the office instead?"

"Hobby room?" Juanma blurts without thinking too hard first.

"Love that," Liam murmurs, smiling at him in a way that also says 'l love you,' too. "You really want to try therapy?"

Juanma thinks hard about it for a second because, in truth, that will be the most difficult need to meet. He's been so self-reliant for so long that he fears unloading his burdens in a clinical setting and the collatoral damage it'll likely create in the rest of his life. If he's learned nothing else from living at The Handbasket, though, it's that his mates will make room for his growth and hold him through his pain.

"I do," Juanma says, throat tight and eyes stinging. "Do you think Louis can help me find someone?"

"He'd be delighted," Liam says without hesitation. He gets a thoughtful look on his face as he cuts a bit of egg off with the side of his fork. "Have you considered doing something different for work?"

Juanma looks up sharply. That's not on the list!

"That's not on the list," he repeats aloud, but simply saying it releases the tight clench of anxiety in his chest. Curious.

"Yeah, but it's such a big part of your life and takes so much of your attention. You're brilliant at it, of course, but it consumes a lot of brain space. Maybe you can free some up."

"How?"

Liam, clearly excited that Juanma's open to suggestions—a truth that warms his heart—asks, "you could go down to part time? Specialize more, like just do adoptions? You love those."

"That's true," Juanma says, considering what a relief it would be to work less. "Could we afford it?"

"Absolutely," Liam says without a hint of doubt. "I was comfortable here before you moved in and our expenses haven't changed. Plus, you don't have debt."

"Fair point," Juanma says, nodding thoughtfully. "Do you think…well, do you think everything else on the list is reasonable?"

"Yes, and it would probably be easier to accomplish if you spent less time at the office." Liam takes a sip of his coffee and hums happily. "I'll support you. Whatever you choose to do."

Juanma's cheeks heat and he feels a rush of arousal in his belly. He's not sure if there's anything hotter than being loved like this and sharing that love in return. 

"Can I think about it?" Juanma asks.

"Be a bit weird if you didn't," Liam says with a wink and a half-cocked grin that makes Juanma's mounting attraction a bit more urgent.

"I'm gonna need you to finish that coffee expediently."

The gentle command inspires an eager, hungry expression from Liam and he glances down at the list again. "Number four?"

"Number four," Juanma says without needing to look. More snuggles, more snogs.

Liam nods and downs the coffee, wincing with the effort as he swallows the last of it. "Where do you—"

Liam's cut off by Juanma rounding the table and tapping he knee so that he turns and makes his lap available for straddling. Juanma sinks down, extending his arms over Liam's shoulders and cradling the back of his head before brushing the tips of their noses together.

"Here. Right here," Juanma whispers against his lips.

Here is right on that chair and sprawled across the couch and in their cosy bed, tangled up in the sheets but here is more than a physical location; it's the coordinates of where their fire lives; that life-affirming warmth that illuminates their shadowy corners and drives out the gloom.

It's the simplest expression of relief, called out in the darkness.

"Here?" Harry asks, already knowing the answer.

He and Louis are trying to find a home for the twin glass hearts but nowhere on the fourth floor seems quite right.

"Nah," Louis says, crossing his arms and frowning at the kitchen window sill. "Don't want to worry about them getting bumped."

"What about on top of the games shelf?" Harry asks, glancing into the living room.

"I just keep picturing where a cat might like to be," Louis says with a thoughtful eyebrow scrunch.

"Hm," Harry says, cradling the hearts in his hand and glancing around the kitchen. "Oh!"

He kicks the step stool over from its spot by the recycling bin and reaches for the cupboard above the hob, an underutilized nook from which they long ago removed the door to display decorative plates. Harry pushes the stack aside and sets the joined hearts on the shelf next to the pair of corn cob candles. The frosted light fixture directly in front of the sculpture brings out the shimmering flecks in the swirls of red glass.

"Yeah?" Harry asks, looking over his shoulder for Louis' input.

To Harry's relief and delight, Louis smiles up at him and nods, taking advantage of their height difference to wrap his arms tight around Harry and presses his ear to his middle, right over Harry's butterfly tattoo.

"If we collect any more goodies, we're gonna need a curio cabinet," Louis says, his voice slightly muffled as he presses his face to the front of Harry's shirt.

"From an antiques shop?" Harry asks brightly, wiggling with happiness at the prospect.

"From wherever you want," Louis says, a warm hum vibrating against Harry's torso. "We'll make a treasure hunt out of it."

"Keep talking like that and I'll—" Harry starts, giggling when Louis lifts the hem of his shirt and kisses the spot right next to his belly button.

"Make a treasure hunt out of me?" Louis teases. He tugs down on the waistband of Harry's shorts and pants, teasing his front teeth over the sensitive skin of Harry's hip bone.

Harry gasps at the contact, pressing his fingertips into Louis' hair. "And you of me. How 'bout in bed?"

"You don't want me to suck you off on your perch?" Louis asks with a smirk, glancing down at the step stool.

"The logistics of that are frightful, especially with my excellent coordination," Harry says, cheeks going pink. "Plus, I'd really like to give you a spank and a wank."

Harry knows it's become Louis' favourite way to get off quickly and he's rewarded for his attentiveness when Louis' face lights up.

"Have we got time?"

"Niall and Zayn won't be back from their Sunday walk for another hour," Harry says, glancing at the Kit-Cat clock, wiggling his eyebrows, and stepping down to the floor. "I think we can manage."

One small domestic comfort that Harry will never take for granted is the freedom and trust he and Louis both feel in these intimate moments. Their growth from those tentative touches in the beginning to the unselfconscious openness they enjoy now has been significant, inspiring just as much humility as gratitude. 

After spreading a fresh towel, Louis doesn't hesitate to snuggle into his pillow and lift his bare bum for Harry's stinging touch. Harry's learned, through two glorious years of welcome practice, how to give Louis just a bit of delicious, temporary pain alongside his pleasure. He alternates hands on Louis' cheeks, redness blooming with each slap, making him and Louis both painfully hard in the process. Once Louis' eyes have fallen shut and his mouth has dropped open, a sure sign he's entered that euphoric, meditative state that frees his mind to experience deep relief, Harry presses in close and reaches around to pull Louis' cock with tight strokes.

"Not long now, hm?" Harry asks as he rests his own hard cock between Louis' cheeks and ruts gently at the pressure.

"No," Louis' gasps, pushing back against him and rolling his hips.

"Please let me see you," Harry whines against Louis' back as he presses a string of of kisses across his shoulder.

Louis obliges happily, an adoring smile softening his features as he rolls onto his back. He lifts his arms overhead to make room for Harry's elbow at his side and they kiss fiercely as Louis takes them both in his hand. He pulls one of his best moves, squeezing hard and rubbing his thumbs over both their slits, smearing the evidence of their arousal as he groans with pleasure into Harry's mouth.

When he's close, Harry pulls away to gasp and murmur, "I'm so happy."

"Aw," Louis says, voice gravelly as a new smile overtakes him and he slows the movement of his hand. "I'm so happy, too."

This exchange has the effect of gently pumping the brakes on their impending orgasms, drawing them out in a way they both enjoy; maturing in their relationship means always saying yes to the gentle closeness of a pre-climax yap.

"I'm chuffed for Niall and Zayn," Harry says, resting his forehead against the rise of Louis' shoulder.

Harry'd told Niall so this morning, when he'd offered to help Harry fold up and stow the projector stand in the nook at the top of the roof stairs. They'd just secured the bungee cords to hold it in place when their eyes met and Harry finally absorbed the full weight of Niall and Zayn's commitment announcement. After years of bettering himself—practicing self-care and cultivating friendships and chasing his interests so that being single finally felt empowering and not like some kind of failure to thrive—Niall has reached a place of joy and peace with someone else, someone who loves him because of who he is and not in spite of it.

Even more lovely, Harry and Niall have been through all of it together; finding themselves and building this life, so full of love, that they get to continue sharing. Without saying a word, Harry'd thrown his arms around Niall's neck and hauled him in, not even realizing he was crying until Ni wiped his tears away with his thumbs.

"Oh, I'm terribly pleased about that," Louis says, pulling Harry back into the present with his kind voice and firm, insistent touch. "I know they don't want a big party, but we should go all out with the decorations. Maybe we can stick cut flowers in the garden arbour."

"Paper streamers in the stairwell," Harry says dreamily, gasping against Louis' neck.

"Oh, and catering trays of super nachos from Niall's Mexican restaurant!"

"And Zayn's favourite mithai to go with the traybake," Harry says, nibbling at Louis ear and making them both shudder with want.

"We should run all this by them, shouldn't we?" Louis asks with a laugh. 

"'Course, but it's fun to dream up ways to make them happy, isn't it?"

A scratchy "yes" and a hum is all Louis can manage as Harry sucks a hickey to the top of his shoulder. Louis starts wanking them off faster, groaning at the tight, hot feeling of Harry's mouth on his skin. When he comes, he shouts Harry's name and a string of creative expletives, making Harry feel cherished in the way only Louis can. Harry's still smiling about it as his own orgasm pulls him under and he adds to the sticky, sexy mess on Louis' belly.

"How many showers will we need today?" Louis asks with a lust-drunk laugh as Harry folds against his chest and presses a kiss to his collarbone.

"As many as it takes, but we'll answer for it on our yearly water assessment," Harry murmurs matter-of-factly, the very responsible take making them both howl with laughter.

By the time Harry and Louis venture up to the attic to watch the World Cup final, bearing an attractive charcuterie tray adorned with cheeses, cheezes, mock meat deli slices, smoked almonds, fresh figs, dried apricots, buffalo chick'n wings, and a soup bowl full of homemade ranch dressing, they're thoroughly sated and relaxed from getting each other off, showering—it had to be done—and putzing about the kitchen together. The assembled group, having decided to forgo the drunken sensory circus of a pub on such a momentous occasion, is in high spirits in more than one sense: Zayn's concocted some cannabutter fudge and Niall's brought up a coolbox packed with ice and light beers.

"Before the match starts," Juanma says, standing up on his knees on his floor cushion and pressing an earnest hand to his heart, right over the Spanish national team crest, "I'd like to apologize—empathise!—on behalf of my homeland. Despite England's devastating, heartbreaking, gut-wrenching, not wholly unexpected but still deeply disappointing upset—"

"Alright, alright, that'll do," Liam says with an airy laugh, shoving Juanma's side playfully.

"—despite their late-stage walloping," Juanma says, contorting himself out of Liam's reach with a stoned giggle, "they fought valiantly. I'd like to propose a toast to England for their monumental effort and truly impressive Bronze final win against France," Juanma says, hoisting a bottle of Smithwick's Blonde, "and to the brilliant, enigmatic, and insanely hot Jude Bellingham for looking like that while being a cracking midfielder."

"Here, here!" Louis says, leading everyone in knocking their glasses and bottles.

"With an honourable mention to Erling Haaland," Zayn says with a twinkle in his eye.

"Absolutely," Harry says with an emphatic nod, "but not Norway!"

"Never Norway," Niall says, throwing his head back, his laugh bouncing off the ceiling.

"Agreed," Juanma says, tapping his bottle to Niall's. "Spain is gonna wipe the floor with Argentina."

While their loyalties are firm, this is an easy outcome to hope for and the England fans amongst the family are able to temporarily shelve their hard feelings to stand, united, against a common foe.

In the end, that hope is fulfilled—Ferran Torres scores sixteen minutes into extra time, clinching Spain's victory. Juanma's overcome with childlike glee at the win and the feeling is catching; everyone celebrates, throwing open the attic windows to holler and cheer into the Brixton night. They're answered by passersby who share their excitement for one reason or another and it feels like the whole city is alive and buzzing. Juanma video calls his parents and his mum is crying tears of joy, making him weepy, too. 

Juanma's dad pops on the screen, shoving his reading glasses up his nose and declaring, in accented English for the benefit of the mates, "oh amorcito! What a game! That goal was beautiful. Our boys fought hard! We're so proud, aren't we, mamá?"

Off screen, Rosa confirms with a joyous 'whoop!'

"Feels good to win, doesn't it?" Juanma asks, his own joy eclipsed by his father's lucid positivity.

"Yes, but the effort, mi sol. They tried," Milo says, blowing his son a kiss. "What a gift that is."

That call—plus the reminder from Louis that everyone's going in late to work tomorrow—is a buoy for Juanma's already full heart and the mates enjoy each other's easy company for a little longer, polishing off the ranch and fudge and remaining beers.

Around midnight, everyone hugs and shares tipsy, fuzzy 'goodnights' before braving the stairs, singing and laughing and carrying on as they support each other, arm in arm, and drift off to bed. Harry pulls Louis by the hand and tugs him up instead of down.

"What's the meaning of this?" Louis asks with a boyish grin, cheeks pink from the beer and revelry.

"Wanna see the moon with you," Harry says, equally melty about the edges.

It's a waxing crescent, the moon, half illuminated by the glorious sun which has long since gone to bed. Harry stands behind Louis, holding him around the middle as they both gaze up at it. The city is still bustling but up here, in a patch of quiet darkness above the liquid glow of the streetlamps, the noise is muted and muffled.

They're weightless and fixed at once, holding each other on top of the world.

When Harry kisses the side of Louis' neck and breathes him in, their gratitude for each other and every bit of their home—the paint colours they've selected together, the decor that tells a story about their family, the pockets of comfort in their flats and companionship in their shared spaces, the joy of present and future pets, all of it—surrounds them like a cosy bubble. All their plans hinge on having a welcoming place to return; there is no away without home.

"Sleep?" Harry murmurs into the crook of Louis' neck.

"Sleep," Louis agrees, lifting Harry's hand from his own belly and kissing it gently.

They both laugh as Louis tugs Harry in the direction of the door under the blanket of stars, the warmth and promise of the building holding them tight as they descend.