Chapter Text
>>>Harry
That damn crooked window shade. Harry looks at it from where he has flopped down on their couch after work. No, his couch, not their couch. At least not right now. He refuses to think about it never being their couch again. He stares at the shades, willing them to adjust themselves magically. It’s always fucking crooked now is the thing. Harry can never adjust it quite right, but he sighs and gets back up off the couch and tries. He yanks and pulls and fusses. It’s still crooked.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. The window shade should always be adjusted properly because Louis knows how to jiggle it just right. But Louis isn’t here anymore, and Harry stares at it and knows it’s just one of the many signs that things have gone wrong.
>>>
It’s Friday night, and Harry pops a cork on a bottle of red wine. He takes a long sip as he walks from the kitchen to the living room. His silk pajamas make a very satisfying swoosh of sound as they slide along the leather of the couch. He’s just about to turn on Netflix and find a romantic comedy he can weep into his wine over when he spots his nemesis again.
The fucking crooked window shades. He ignores them and sips his wine as he clicks through Netflix looking for something to watch. Nothing looks interesting. This is a pretty common problem these days. Nothing looks interesting when there’s no Louis to watch it with him. No Louis to make absurd comments. No Louis to warm his cold feet beneath Harry’s leg. Harry always grumbled about that, and now he wishes more than anything that Louis’ perpetually smelly, cold feet were beneath him right now.
This calls for drastic measures.
He sighs and slips off the couch and races down the hallway to his bedroom as though he could outrun the thoughts that threaten him. He rummages through a box in the back of the closet until he finds a battered old DVD of You’ve Got Mail. He sighs in relief and clutches it to him. If Tom Hanks can’t help, no one can.
He puts it on and lets the familiar story unfold and tries so very hard to let it sweep him away, and it does. For a while anyway. But then Tom Hanks is giving in to his alpha nature and taking what he wants, and there he is on the screen caring for his omega when she’s ill. Bringing her flowers. Courting her. And it hits him all over again that this is the crux of Louis’ argument. That someday Harry will want all this for himself. That someday he’ll want to find an omega of his own.
This isn’t how he and Louis fell in love. There was no grand courtship, no love at first sight. Instead, there was a childhood friendship and laughter and fun. And when Harry was old enough to consider it, he knew there was only one person who could possibly be for him. There was and has always been just one Louis.
There was no way of knowing, of course, how they’d present. Harry honestly never let it worry him much. If he ever considered it at all, he would have said he assumed that they were both betas as neither seemed to exhibit much in the way of the typical alpha or omega traits. Well, until he was eighteen and stroking himself to the thought of how Louis looked in his soccer uniform. The knot that formed was a pretty big clue.
The movie credits begin to roll, and he realizes how little he’s been paying attention to the screen in front of him. Instead, a different film plays in his mind. One of excitedly barricading Louis in his bedroom and telling him he was an alpha. Of Louis’ eyes growing wide and seeing the desire in their blue depths for the first time.
“Show me.” Louis had said. Fuck, it had been like a fever dream. Louis’ hands over him, just as he’d been fantasizing about for months. When Louis’ lips had closed around him, he had sent a silent plea out into the universe that Louis would be his.
Harry finds himself growing hard at the memory, but he doesn’t start touching himself until his thoughts run to his first rut and the shock that had run through him as he saw the knot form on Louis as Harry had pushed in and out of him. It had sent the oddest thoughts through him, ones of possession and pleasure and pride. That he had somehow caused this response in Louis seemed like his greatest achievement.
It had taken Louis longer to come around to the idea of them being together after that realization, but Harry tries not to think about that as he strokes himself to the memory of Louis coming untouched between them.
When he opens his eyes, it’s to the sight of the crooked window shades. The brief moment of pleasure turns sour instantly. The wine he’s been sipping all night dulls any embarrassment he might feel at contacting Louis while a bit tipsy at home alone on a Friday night.
He opens up his messages and types: Louuuuuuu, I can’t get the blinds right. They are all crooked just like this smiley face :/
He doesn’t get a reply immediately, but the next morning he wakes up with a hangover and a text.
I’m at my sister’s house this weekend. I can come over around ten to fix it if you want.
It’s 9:40, and Louis sent the text two hours ago. Fucking hell. He had no idea Louis was even home this weekend. It’s a punch in the gut to realize he has no idea what Louis’ new work schedule is like. How often has he been making the three hour drive back here?
He quickly sends back a smiley face emoji and skitters into the kitchen to make coffee and swallow a couple of Advils before he dashes into the shower. He scrubs himself down and washes his hair and nearly trips over his own feet as he runs back to the kitchen to drink the coffee as quickly as possible. He burns his tongue on it, his head still pounding as he hears a knock at the door. He whips around and curses the people who built this house.
He and Louis always joked that they could never have sex in the kitchen without their neighbors seeing. The big bay window offers Harry a clear view of Louis standing on the front steps, which unfortunately means Louis also has a clear view of him standing in the kitchen with only a towel slung around his waist. His hair drips over his shoulders and onto his back and chest, and for a long moment, he and Louis stare at each other through the glass that separates them.
As Harry hurries over to answer the door, he winces at the thought that Louis actually knocked at their door instead of just coming in. He wonders if Louis finds that awkward, too. Just more reminders that everything has changed. He wrenches the door open.
“Ehm, hi, Lou. Er--sorry. I better go put some clothes on.”
“No, don’t apologize,” Louis says as he enters and shuts the door behind him. “I knew you probably just woke up. Could tell you’d been drinking last night. What was it that did you in? Gin and tonics?”
“Red wine. But how do you know that?” He calls over his shoulder as he makes his way down the hallway. Louis seems to be watching him go.
“I know you, Styles,” Louis says with a shrug. Harry steadies his hand on the door frame to his bedroom as he turns to stare at him. Louis looks like a Saturday morning, rumpled hair and a sweatshirt that hangs off him and scruff still on his handsome face. It’s so familiar, and Harry’s heart aches with hurt and want. This Louis is still his Louis. And he wonders if one day, he’ll forget what Louis looks like on Saturday mornings.
Louis flushes under his gaze and looks away. Harry hurriedly throws on sweatpants and a t-shirt and walks back into the living room to see Louis fussing with the shade. The shade zips straight up the cords and then carefully down as Louis releases it slowly, now perfectly aligned under Louis’ deft fingers.
Louis doesn’t turn around yet, but he’s sure he senses his presence behind him. The air feels heavy and charged with unspoken words and something else that Harry can’t put his finger on. He hopes it’s regret, although he feels frustration begin to well up inside himself. He’s not sure if he’s frustrated with Louis or with his own weakness in contacting him at the first opportunity. He promises himself it won’t happen again.
Louis finally turns around, and Harry hates the mask Louis wears for him now, a friendly smile and carefully blank eyes, as though Harry can’t see through it.
Harry doesn’t bother with masking his emotions. He lets his lips pull into a frown. “Thanks for fixing the blinds.”
Louis looks at the floor. “You’re welcome. I’ll just--”
“Yeah, okay,” Harry replies as Louis turns towards the door.
“Bye, Harry.”
>>>
Harry enters the luxuriously appointed foyer of the Dashwood department store’s headquarters and heads to his section of the seventh floor where all the buyers can be found. He slumps into his chair in front of a table of fabric samples from the suits he’d been looking at on Friday.
“Bad weekend?”
Harry leans his entire body back in his chair until he’s almost looking at Zayn upside down. “You could say that.”
“You need to get out more. You should have met up with me and Angelique on Friday.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Harry says. “Would have kept me from drunk texting Louis anyway.”
“Oh fuck.”
“Exactly,” Harry groans.
“So how bad was it?”
“I mean, not that bad, really. It’s just we --I-- have these blinds that are tricky, and I can never get them even.”
“Harry, not to be rude, but what does that have to do with Louis?”
“Well, he can always get them just right. I don’t know how he does it really,” he says wistfully. “They just zip up and down so easily for him.”
Zayn laughs.
“I can’t even imagine what you must have even said.” He speaks in a slow, deep drawl of a voice in imitation of Harry’s. “Louuuuisssss, my blinds aren’t eeeevennnn.”
Harry can feel his cheeks heat with embarrassment.
Zayn pulls a face at this reaction. “Oh shit, did you really text that?”
“Maybe,” Harry groans and sits back up in his chair.
“So did he say anything back?”
Harry runs a hand through his hair. “Um, well, yeah. He--came over on Saturday and fixed the blinds.”
“Huh,” Zayn says, eyebrow raising to the ceiling.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that ex-boyfriends generally don’t come over to fix someone’s window shades.”
“Louis never lets me down.”
“Except when he broke your heart, you mean?”
Harry stares down at the fabric samples. “Yeah. Except then.”
>>>
Harry keeps busy with work. He stays late and comes in early. It’s just best that he keep his mind off the break up as much as possible right now, so he fills his mind with the latest season of suit patterns and plans for the next tradeshow he needs to attend in New York.
He works closely with Zayn on coordinating the men’s accessories he’s in charge of with the suits Harry chooses. It’s a great partnership really. Harry has spent a lot of time working with omegas in the behind the scenes aspect of the fashion world, so he’s quite comfortable with Zayn. He appreciates that Zayn seems as comfortable working with an alpha because that hasn’t always been his experience. Not that Harry is much in the way of a typical alpha. Still, he usually senses some apprehension about working with him.
Friday night looms before him as he logs out of his computer. Zayn’s already wearing his coat when Harry turns around.
“You’ve said no the last four weeks, but I’m just going to keep asking until you say yes. Do you want to go get dinner with me and Angelique?”
Harry tries to smile. “I’m going to take you up on that tonight.”
Zayn grins brightly. “Good. You don’t have to be alone all the time, you know?”
“I know--it’s just--”
“You’re used to spending all your time with someone else?”
“Yeah,” Harry replies as he collects his coat and walks with Zayn towards the human resources offices in search of Angelique.
“What about your other friends? Niall, I think his name is? Or that super hot one, Liam.” Zayn winks at the thought of Liam apparently. Interesting.
“Where have I been that I didn’t know you were interested in Liam?”
“I’m not interested. I just think he’s hot. He’s a beta, right? I actually kind of thought he might not be interested in omegas. That’s been my general experience anyway,” Zayn says with a sigh.
“I see what you mean, but Liam is pretty open minded--” He stops abruptly. “Of course, I thought Louis was, too. So maybe I’m not the best judge of this kind of thing.”
Zayn smiles at him sadly. “I’m really sorry, Harry. Maybe he’ll--”
“What? Change his mind? Realize I’m not looking to mate with every O I come across?” Harry asks bitterly. “Maybe he just said that because that’s what he’s really thinking about himself. Maybe he’s the one who wants to find himself a pretty little omega.”
“Let’s go find Angelique and get out of here. Margaritas on me, okay?”
Harry takes a deep breath, trying to regain some control. “Yeah. Sounds good. But now you see why I’m finding it hard to go hang out with Niall or Liam. They’re Louis’ friends, too. Can’t really yell at them about what a dickhead Louis is being.”
Zayn laughs. “Well, you can always tell me.”
>>>
Harry staggers up his front porch. He’s glad he didn’t puke in the uber. That would not have been good for his rating. He manages to get his door open and into the house and collapses in a tequila induced haze on the couch. He contemplates just sleeping there, but he knows even in a drunken stupor that his back will hurt tomorrow if he doesn’t get up and go to bed.
With a moan, he rolls himself off the couch and stumbles his way into the kitchen for a glass of water and some Advil. He hears the drip of water before he ever turns on the faucet, which strikes him as a bit odd. He must not have turned the faucet all the way off before he left. He fills a glass and takes long gulps of water, but he can still hear the drip of the faucet. He checks again to make sure it’s turned off.
He glares at the faucet as though a disappointed look at it will force some kind of action. He’ll never get a plumber to come out on a weekend unless he wants to pay a million dollars. That might be an exaggeration. Before he can think better of it, he’s got his phone out and he’s texting the only person he knows who is handy with things like this.
Lou my faucet is leaking :( What should I do????????????????? :(((((((
He plops into a chair and stares at his phone, waiting to see the little dots that will indicate Louis is texting him back. He’s not sure how long he looks at it, but he’s pretty sure he’s going to start crying soon. Fucking margaritas. He should never have tried to outdrink Angelique. He tries to blink back a few tears that have formed and drags himself into his bedroom. He’s just stripped off his clothes when he hears the buzz of his phone.
I’m at my sister’s again this weekend. I can stop by tomorrow if you want me to take a look at it. Just text me when you’re awake. And take some ibuprofen and drink some water before you go to bed please. I can tell you’ve been drinking tequila.
His lips curl into a drowsy smile. Harry climbs into bed and falls asleep, still clutching his phone.
>>>
The next morning he takes his time getting ready for the day. The drip of the faucet would be annoying except that it has given him a reason to see Louis again. He pretends that isn’t a huge red flag.
He takes more Advil and drinks a few cups of coffee before taking a shower and getting dressed. He dresses fairly casually to hit up some boutiques with Gemma later. He nervously bites his lip and stares at his phone. Okay, nothing left to do but text Louis.
Hi, Lou. I don’t know how you knew it was tequila, but yeah the faucet in the kitchen is dripping. Is there like a wrench socket of some sort that I can use to tighten it up or something?
He isn’t even pretending to himself that he isn’t basically begging Louis to come help him. Louis will see right through this and come over.
I think you maybe meant a socket wrench but like i said last night I can come over and take a look if you want. Do you still have the toolbox I left you in the garage?
Harry frowns. He hates being reminded that Louis’ things don’t live here anymore. So much of the house has empty spaces like a physical reminder of the gaps Louis has left behind in his heart. The garage used to be filled with Louis’ workshop. They could only ever park one car in there on a good day. Now there’s so much--room. He wonders briefly where all Louis’ tools and projects are being stored. Surely, he doesn’t have room for them in some small Chicago apartment.
He’s such a masochist that he allows himself to wonder about what Louis’ apartment must look like now. They’d chosen it together, thinking Harry would be moving in at some point in the near future once he’d found a job there, too. He suspects Louis isn’t even unpacked yet, seeing as how he’s been spending so many weekends here at his sister’s house.
He texts back that he has the toolbox. He hasn’t touched a thing since Louis left. He hasn’t allowed himself to think on it all that much, and he’s hit with the realization that he hasn’t touched anything because he’s waiting for Louis to come home.
He sits down in a kitchen chair and rests his head on its smooth surface. This is too much to think about after a night of margaritas. He jolts upright at the sound of a knock at the door. He sincerely hopes Louis did not see him in here feeling sorry for himself.
When Harry opens the door, he sees Louis has already made a stop in the garage and is carrying the toolbox in his hand. Fucking hell, Louis looks hot holding a toolbox.
“Hey, Styles. You should really keep the garage door closed. It would be safer, and it’ll keep any animals from coming in and eating all your bird seed.”
“Maybe I want to feed all the local wildlife, thank you very much.”
Louis shrugs. “It’s your hou--”
Louis stops and clears his throat as though they both don’t know what he was going to say. Harry turns to walk towards the kitchen, hoping Louis didn’t catch the look on his face. He sits at the bar stool, watching Louis look at the faucet. Louis bends forward, and Harry can’t help but admire the curve of his ass beneath his fitted jeans.
It doesn’t matter how many years he spent looking at Louis, he’ll never have his fill of him.
“Yeah, I think I just need to replace the seat washers.” Louis turns, and Harry is fairly certain he’s caught him ogling him because his face flushes a bit pink. God, he’s so lovely. Harry digs his fingertips into his thighs. He wants more than anything to bend Louis over that sink.
His brain riots with emotion and the remnants of a drunken night out with friends and a wave of desire for what is no longer his to touch. Louis continues to speak, something about crescent wrenches and packing nuts and screws. Then he’s moving towards the door, and Harry’s instinct is to block his way and never let him leave. He’s standing in his path before his brain catches up.
Louis raises an eyebrow. “Styles? You okay? I’m gonna go to the hardware store and grab the new seat washers.”
“Oh.” He can feel his body sag a bit in relief. “Um--yeah. I’m fine.”
He gives Louis a weak smile and wave and watches him pull away in his truck. He’s got at least fifteen minutes to get control of himself before Louis comes back. He rests his head on the cool surface of the table again until he hears Louis return when the truck door slams closed. He shoots up from the table and opens the door quickly before Louis can knock again. He can’t stand to have Louis knock at this door as though he doesn’t have the right to walk in anymore.
It doesn’t take long for Louis to apparently fix whatever it is that went wrong with the faucet, and Harry’s mind races to find some reason to make him stay.
“Thanks for fixing it.”
“Yeah, I was around so--no problem, really.”
“Wanna beer? I’ve got your favori--I’ve got Bent River pale ale in the fridge.”
“Yeah? Um, sure I could use a beer.”
Harry checks the time to make sure Gemma won’t show up unexpectedly as he isn’t sure how he’d explain Louis being in the house without looking as desperate as he actually is. She isn’t due for another two hours, so he’s probably safe as long as Louis leaves before then, or unless somehow this beer turns into Louis declaring his undying love and begging for forgiveness. A man can dream.
Harry grabs out a bottle for him and turns on the television to the Cubs game, which honestly is about the most desperate thing he’s done yet. He’s not exactly the biggest baseball fan, but he knows Louis was probably thinking about going back to Lottie’s to watch it. Louis shoots him a look, but Harry glances away and busies himself with opening his own bottle and slowly putting away the bottle opener.
He comes out into the living room and wants so badly to curl up on the couch with Louis and rest his head in his lap like they’ve done so many Saturdays before this one. It pains him to sit in the recliner with a lump in his throat and the memory of Louis’ fingers combing through his hair. He takes too large a gulp of beer to cover up any emotion playing out on his face and chokes on it.
He’s coughing and spluttering, and Louis actually feels the need to jump up and thump him on the back a few times.
“Better slow down, Styles,” Louis says with a grin, his hand now resting on Harry’s lower back. Harry stills because if he doesn’t, he’s going to melt right into Louis’ touch. He doesn’t even blame himself. It’s always been this way.
Louis drops his hand. He clears his throat and sits back down on the couch.
>>>
“Ready to go, H?”
“Yep!” Harry ambles towards Gemma’s car with a bit of a spring in his step. He knows he shouldn’t be so happy to have spent time with his ex-boyfriend, but he can’t help it. Louis isn’t just an ex. He hates feeling like he’s also lost his best friend in this breakup.
“What are you so happy about?” Gemma asks curiously as soon as he plops into the seat. “All I’ve seen you do is mope around since--well, you know.”
Harry tries to school his expression into something less than absolutely delighted to have spent the last hour and a half watching the Cubs beat the Cardinals just because he got to do it beside Louis.
“Nothing! No reason besides being happy to go shopping with my favorite sister.”
“Mmhmm. Yeah, right. Oh! Ohhhhhh--did you meet someone?” Gemma turns to him wide eyed. “You did, didn’t you? Did you meet a pretty little omega after your own heart? I knew it! I knew that if you just--”
Harry’s never been good at hiding his emotions. He’s fairly certain the look on his face is telling her all she needs to know because she abruptly stops her teasing. “No. Jesus, Gemma. The love of my life just broke up with me for that exact stupid reason--well, at least that’s why he says he broke up with me anyway. I’m not out trying to meet anyone.”
He can feel the hot rush of tears flood his eyes, and he tries his best not to let his emotions spill over. If Gemma weren’t a beta, she’d be able to sense his upset even more than she already can. Hell, if she weren’t a beta, she’d already have smelled Louis’ scent in the house.
He stares out the window as they drive to the boutiques. He has himself fairly under control by the time Gemma parks the car. Before he can open the car door, she stops him with an outstretched hand.
“I’m sorry what I said before about--I didn’t mean anything by it. Really.”
“It’s fine,” Harry replies. He knows he doesn’t sound fine. “I just can’t imagine ever getting over Louis. And to be honest, I don’t think I want to ever get over him.”
>>>
Harry spends an entire week trying to think of something else to text Louis. He could text him about baseball. He could text him casually asking after his family. He could text him about work. Every night he stares at his phone and wills Louis to text him instead, but a text never comes.
He brushes off Zayn and Angelique on Friday night and spends most of it sulking and eating butter pecan ice cream. When he finishes off the carton, he decides to take out the now full garbage in the kitchen out to the garage. The door leading to the garage is squeaky again, and it annoys him. He knows better than to text Louis about it though. He’s not that pathetic--yet. He squirted WD-40 on it a few weeks ago, and it solved the problem. Although apparently not permanently. He lets it be squeaky for now even though it bothers him. He needs other things to focus on that aren’t Louis.
Harry wanders through the farmer’s market on Saturday morning. It’s quite brisk for an April morning, and he tries to focus on the market and the cold seeping through his jacket rather than what he normally did on Saturday mornings. He and Louis never made it to this market. No, Saturday mornings were for something else entirely for them.
Saturday mornings meant the slick feel of Louis’ skin against his own. They meant Louis’ whispers of how beautiful he looked like this, and his hoarse moans in his ear. They meant Louis’ knot filling him full as he cried out Louis’ name. They meant Harry’s homemade pancakes that he hasn’t made since Louis packed his belongings and drove them out of Harry’s life.
When he walks back in the house, the hinge squeaks at him, and he slams the door shut. He feels like he’s going to crawl out of his skin. His phone buzzes with a few texts, and even though he knows it won’t be Louis, his heart gives a treacherous lurch anyway. It’s just Niall and Liam. He hasn’t seen them in weeks. He sighs and texts back that he’s in for whatever they’re doing tonight.
When he returns later that night after hours of Niall’s laughter and Liam’s smiles, he feels slightly more like himself. The door still squeaks as he enters, but it doesn’t bother him quite as much. When he lays down in the bed he once shared, he wonders what the future will hold for him.
Is he just being stubborn in thinking that he and Louis will find their way back to each other? Or is this going to be his life? A day by day series of events until one day Louis’ name will just be a small hurtful squeaky door hinge that’s bearable to live with. It hurts anew to think that he’ll ever be over Louis because it means that one day Louis will be over him, too.
When he wakes up late the next morning, he’s determined to take care of the damn door. He googles how to fix the problem, so it doesn’t keep reoccurring, which all leads to the mess he’s currently in with the door completely unattached from its hinges. He honestly has to laugh or else he’ll cry. He takes a picture with his phone and texts it to Louis.
What the hell did you do to the door Styles??
I tried to fix it??? It was squeaky.
Louis sends a series of laughing emoji faces, and Harry smiles at his phone.
You wouldn’t happen to be in town and want to help me put the door back on would you?
I am in fact in town. I can be over there in an hour if you need me.
Harry swallows down a lump in his throat and just barely keeps himself from sending back a text that says, I’ll always need you.
Instead he just sends back, if it’s not too much trouble, I’d appreciate the help.
When Louis arrives, it’s with a smile and a twinkle in his eyes.
“Don’t laugh,” Harry warns even though he’s already nearly giggling himself.
Louis lets out a brief laugh anyway. “I can’t believe you took the whole door off.”
Harry lets his lips form a pout. “Popular Mechanics said to take the hinge pin out and coat it with grease.”
Louis lets out a louder bark of laughter. “Yeah, but probably not both hinge pins at the same time.”
“Well, they should have been more specific.”
“At least you didn’t hurt yourself,” Louis says as he props the door against the wall. “Did you grease the pins yet?”
“Yeah, Popular Mechanics said to use lithium grease, so that’s what I did.”
Louis nods approvingly and holds the door in place while Harry replaces the pins. When they’re done, they stand next to the door, grinning a bit silly at each other.
“Um, well I should--” Louis begins.
“If you want some--” Harry says at the same time.
“What were you--”
“Sorry, you go--”
They both stop and smile a bit sheepishly. Louis motions at him to speak first.
“I was going to order take-out, maybe Thai? If you wanted to like--stay. Er--eat. As a thank you sort of. For helping me with all these dumb problems I keep having.”
“I’m happy to h--I mean--uh, yeah. I’m in for some Thai food.”
Harry can’t help beaming at him. Louis looks a bit taken aback probably by what he sees written all over Harry’s face. He tries to tone down the fondness he’s sure anyone could see there.
“Great. I’ll go put in an order.”
He turns away to further hide the emotion that rolls through him. He calls in their favorite meals from their favorite Thai restaurant and hopes this is the beginning of finding their way back to each other rather than a goodbye.