Chapter Text
Harry swallows the lump in his throat and for the thousandth time this week, he wonders if he should just swallow his pride and move back to Holmes Chapel.
He always puts on a peppy voice whenever he is on the phone with his mum, but the truth is, life in Bristol is kind of shit. His flat is a verified trainwreck. There are more rodents inhabiting the space than people, and even then the people that do live there loathe him. Sure, he doesn’t exactly pay his share of rent on time, if ever, but they’re still painfully rude about it. It had started with polite reminders, offers to pay up front and allow Harry to pay them back, and then it had moved into passive aggressive sticky notes on his door, and eventually glares aimed his way. Sure, the glares were after they offered him a bite or a cuppa, but he still felt them.
Today, though, has brought a whole new level of shit to his living situation. Or really lack-thereof.
He's running late to work, tugging on his boots with his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth.
"Harry," Cerys greets, popping her head into the hallway. Harry waves at her briefly, but doesn't say much for fear of spitting foam at her. "Can you come into the living room for a second?"
Harry looks at her, eyes wide and shoe dangling. "I'm late," he says, but it comes out as more of a gurgle.
"It's really important," she says, pleading, hand on her hip. He groans and moves back to the sink to spit and rinse. He finishes with the boots and then hustles to the living room to see what she wants.
The others are already in there-- Cerys, Alfie, and Nikolai. They form an odd bunch: Cerys and Alfie are both university students, but Nikolai is approaching mid-forties and still lives in a degenerating flat with twenty-somethings. He creeps Harry out most of the time.
"Harry, I'll be blunt," Alfie says, voice firm and practiced. "You don't pay your share. We can't let you live here."
Harry coughs into his fist, feeling awkward. "I signed a lease, though."
Cerys and Alfie exchange a look. "We talked to the landlord. He agreed that you not paying is hurting all of us, and um, breaking the lease to begin with. He is willing to let us sublet your room for the rest of the term."
"Are you serious?" he asks, looking at all three of them. They stare blankly at him. Harry's not one to typically explode with anger, but right now, he feels betrayed. They went behind his back and talked to the landlord? How long had they been planning this?
The heat fills his belly, spreading up to his face as he works himself up. He knows he's shit at paying, but they understand that. They know that he's in a tight spot money-wise and struggles to just pay for the basics. He feels shame for getting to this point, of course, but he also resents that they've just now chosen to confront him with this.
"I need to go," he repeats, looking at the clock ticking away on the wall. He is really late now. "I guess I'll have a think and talk to you guys later."
He rushes out the door, remembering to grab his keys and wallet before doing so. Not that it really matters; only moth balls inhabit his wallet these days.
He hustles down the street, practically bowling people over in his haste to get to the shop. He throws himself into the door, apologising over the sound of the tinkling bell.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he says, casting his eyes around for his boss.
"Okay," John responds from behind a wall of records. His voice sounds quite dull-- most of the time he's a jovial, free spirit sort. He's never mad if Harry shows up late, but he always shows some kind of emotion. Harry throws his coat behind the counter and hoists himself onto the chair behind the till.
Looking around, he notices that there's no one in the shop. It's not a surprise. It's not a very profit-gathering shop-- only hipsters buy vinyl these days, or older folks who can't let go of their youth. Even then, people are eager to buy records for cheap off eBay, not daring to go into the intimidating record shops in town.
Granted, Harry had started working here when he moved to Bristol, and it just made sense to hold on to it when he quit uni.
Now that he's at work, he lets himself think back to getting accosted by his flatmates. Getting kicked out, fuck. He knows he's been shit at paying rent, but his credit card bill has been weighing down on him extra hard recently. John's been putting him on less shifts the last couple months. He's cut down on food purchases recently, just sticking with starches and frozen veg, but nothing seems to help.
He should probably just swallow his pride and move home.
His phone buzzes in his pocket. Harry glances around for John before he pulls it out. While he knows he could save money by cancelling his phone, then his mum would really know something's up. It's a text from Louis.
we're still on for tonight, yes? other lads will be there...
Harry glares at the message. He hates having to share Louis sometimes. They've been best mates their entire lives, grew up in each other's back pockets, and went off to uni together. Sure, things got a bit twisted, with Harry quitting and Louis joining the OTC programme, but they've always been the most important people to each other.
Harry just hates Louis' twatty university friends. Well, ‘hates’ is a strong word. He's sure they're decent people, it's just that he's heard a few comments thrown out over time that make him cringe. Whenever one of them says something ignorant, whether it be about a server or a pull, Louis and Harry will meet eyes and smirk. Harry rolls his eyes, Louis smiles on, and yet Louis still remains friends with them. Harry doesn't get it.
wouldn't miss it!, he texts back.
He's not looking forward to spending the night feeling bad for himself, drinking water as to avoid spending money, ignoring hunger pangs. Not to mention the reminder of Louis' impending departure-- actually separating them for the first time in over a decade.
Unfortunately, Louis has a lot of people to spend time with before he leaves, so these group outings have been more and more frequent.
Over the course of his six hours at the shop, he rings up about four purchases. He greets another few people who wander in, stroll about the aisles and flip idly through the discount bins before leaving and avoiding his eyes.
Just past seven he flips the sign on the front door to closed, and moves to count up the money in the till. He's had to restart on the coins twice when John lurks on the other side of the counter.
"Harry, pause that for a second. I need to talk to you."
On hearing the gravity of his tone, Harry's heart plummets to the earth. There's no way that what he's about to say could be any good.
Harry listens to the clink of a coin hitting the counter as he waits for John.
"I know you asked about your shifts," John starts. Harry's heart seizes in on itself. He's about to get fired. He's about to get fired and kicked out of his flat on the same day. "Truth is, I've been trying to run more shifts alone because things have been tight around here. It has nothing to do with you-- you've always balanced everything fine. It's just that no one's shopping these days. Property values in this horrid neighborhood are going up. I've been leaking money for months now, just trying to hang on because I love this place."
"I love this place, too," Harry says. The walls are full of old posters and memorabilia. The till is wonky and completely out-dated but makes a satisfying ping.
"I think at the end of the month, I'm giving it up. There's just no use. I've tried to work the numbers, but even without you, I'm bleeding funds."
"What if we added CDs?" Harry asks.
"No one buys CDs either, Harry. It's all iTunes and pirating. Keep up with the times, really."
Harry laughs, but it's hollow. "You're closing the shop?"
John nods sadly and looks around. Harry fiddles with the hole in his jeans. "Yeah, sell off the products to see what I can salvage. Hope the missus makes enough to support us both."
Harry smiles sadly and tries to ease the ache in his chest. He's struggling to breathe right now, but trying to contort his face into something resembling supportive. After all, this shop is John's life. It’s shite for Harry-- but this is John's world.
"Anyway. I'm sorry, Harry. Like I said, s'nothing to do with you. It's that rubbish economy. People care more about funding wars than funding small businesses. But anyway. Let me know what I can do for you. I'll give you a glowing recommendation to anyone."
Harry nods and goes back to counting, head down. If he focuses on the counting, he can ignore the rest of the panic creeping up his chest.
He leaves with a shout to John, and trudges back outside and towards the pub Louis specified. He's a little late-- but when is he not-- and when he bustles in, he spots Louis and a couple of mates at a table. Louis grins around a chip and waves him over. Harry stops to get a glass of water, and then plops down with the other lads.
"Alright?" he asks. He hopes his voice sounds chipper, because he's really trying.
"Yeah, cheers," Louis says, smiling at him. Harry catches it when Louis' smile falters, sensing something's not right. Harry's smile isn't as wide as it usually is.
"Water?" Jones asks, nodding at the glass.
Harry nods wordlessly.
"I'm going to grab some food at the bar," Smith says, pushing back his chair. "Styles, do you want something to eat while I'm up there?"
"No, cheers," Harry says. His stomach grumbles uncomfortably. Of course he would love food, but he's going to have to hold off until he heads back to his flat for some beans on toast.
"Will you eat some of these chips," Louis says, pushing the plate forward, staring Harry down. "I probably shouldn't eat them before training anyway."
Harry rolls his eyes and gives Louis a pointed look. Harry's not dumb. Louis plays this game all the time. He feigns that he doesn't like his food, or there's something he's allergic to (some new, previously unknown, and completely made up allergy), or he's supposed to be eating healthy. It's all a bunch of shit, really. He knows Harry's struggling. Harry's too proud to accept help from anyone except Louis anyway.
He reaches over and grabs a chip. "You're a saint," he says sarcastically.
A half hour later, Harry is left with Malik as the other three mill about the pub. Of all of Louis' twatty pre-Army friends, Zayn is probably the least twatty.
"You're engaged?" Harry gasps. "When the hell did that happen?"
"Two weeks ago," Zayn says. "I was bricking it."
Harry's jaw drops a bit, still trying to process the information. "Don't you think you're both a bit young for that?"
Zayn takes a swig of his drink and shrugs. "Like, I get why people say that, but no. I just knew it. Besides, it's really common in the military, to get married so young. Like, soldiers want their families taken care of when they're gone. If a soldier knows their wives-- or partners, sorry-- are being, like, paid and fed and supported, they're more likely to focus on the operation."
"I guess I understand that," Harry says slowly, trying to take it in. "But doesn't it feel wrong?"
"Not at all," Zayn says. "I knew it from the start."
Harry shakes his head, mouth feeling a bit dry. He can't imagine that kind of commitment, really. It's not that he's a serial dater by any means, but he just can't see himself settling down with anyone. All of the guys he's met in Bristol are either in Louis' OTC group (and thus off limits) or on the music scene. And those guys are pretentious and annoying beyond belief, at least in Louis' eyes, so none of them ever get the okay.
Louis settles in across from him again and takes a sip of his beer. "Oh, gross, I forgot I hate Black Sheep." He pulls a disgusted face, which Harry suspects is completely legitimate. "Haz, you like a good pale ale, don't you?"
Harry blinks several times at Louis and doesn't respond. Louis, for his benefit, doesn't crack, just stares at him wide-eyed like he couldn't remember what kind of beer Harry likes. Like they hadn't spent years hiding away and sipping on beer even before they were eighteen.
"You know I like Black Sheep," Harry says dully.
"Be a love and finish that then while I go get something else. Thank you, Haz. You're too good to me." Louis laughs and flits off back to the bar, leaving Harry, Zayn, and the almost-full pint of beer.
Zayn looks over at Harry with a smirk planted firmly on his face.
"He's ridiculous," Harry sighs, taking a sip, enjoying the bitter taste. It's more than welcome after his shit day.
"I can't imagine being friends with anyone as long as you two have been mates," Zayn observes. "I can't stand most of my childhood mates. Especially not enough to buy them drinks and share my food."
"That's the difference, Malik," Louis says, swooping back into his chair with a new glass of beer, most likely wheat. Louis has been on a wheat beer kick for the last year. "I don't mind sharing."
Zayn laughs and shakes his head, and excuses himself to the loo. Smith and Jones are still by the bar trying to chat up a couple of birds, so it's just him and Louis.
"Alright, out with it," Louis says, as soon as Zayn's away from the table. "What's got you down?"
Harry wrinkles his nose and takes another chip, shoving it in his face.
"I've had the worst day," he says simply.
"What is it?" Louis asks, leaning back in his chair. "Too many girls flirt with you at the old record store?"
Harry levels him with a look that tells him this is serious.
"Well, the record store is really old," he says slowly. "Basically, my boss is getting rid of it. Like, at the end of the month. So I'm kind of out of a job."
"Oh shit," Louis sighs, leaning forwards again. "We'll find you a new one," he maintains.
"Also my flatmates are kicking me out. They ganged up on me this morning and basically said the landlord is breaking my lease."
"What? Why?" Louis asked, angry.
"Well," Harry said slowly, eyes directed towards the ceiling, "I may not have been paying my rent."
Louis' head drops onto the table with a dramatic thud. "Harry!" he sighs, exasperated.
"Don't," Harry snaps. "I know. I know I'm an idiot. But what was I supposed to do? What am I supposed to do?"
"We'll figure it out," Louis says again, trying to placate Harry.
"No, Louis, I literally don't know what to do. I can't move home. My mum is already embarrassed that I quit uni, and she and Robin are trying to downsize to a smaller flat."
"I guess Gemma being about to pop doesn't help in that direction either," Louis muses. He's seen Gemma's pregnancy oversharing on Facebook enough to know that that wasn't an option, either.
"No job, no home," Harry grouses, taking a long swig of the beer. "No best friend." He grabs another chip, mood successfully soured.
"I'm still going to be your best mate," Louis says. "Please finish this plate and this beer and come back to mine. You look a bit hysterical. I don't fancy bailing you out tonight if you snap and assault your creepy old flatmate."
Harry reluctantly drags the plate closer to him and really digs in earnest. Louis doesn't say much else, just patiently waits for Harry to finish up.
"We're heading out," Louis mouths to his mates, gesturing to Harry. "See you later!"
Louis' flat is fairly close to the pub, about a ten minute walk. "You know, despite the water and the parks, Bristol is shit, innit?"
Harry chokes on a laugh and looks around. A man pissing on a mural. A group of capital L lads cheering down the street. When they first moved here, they were in love with the city. The festivals, the cafes, the art everywhere. They've lived here for about 3 years, just enough time for Louis to go through university. But the last few months have been the hardest-- knowing that he's stuck in a rut, and worst of all, Louis getting ready for his big fancy Army officer training programme. Thinking about living here without Louis has ruined his perception of the city.
Harry unzips and toes off his boots at the doorway of Louis' flat. They've never lived together, despite moving to Bristol at the same time, since Louis' priority was access to the university, and Harry's was cost. Louis' own set of flatmates are alright. They seem like normal students-- kind of snobby, but still naive enough to think they can make a difference.
"Hey Harry," Posey greets from the sofa. He waves.
Louis leads him into his bedroom, shutting the door behind them with a click. He blinks around the darkness for a moment until Louis flicks the lamp on. Harry instantly climbs on top of Louis' bed and face plants across the pillows.
"We'll figure it out," Louis says, for what seems like the fifteenth time in the last hour. "I don't know how yet, but we will."
"But here's the thing," Harry croaks, flipping onto his back. He stares at the spot where Louis perches at the end of the bed. "I did this to myself. I feel like this is all some karmic payback for something. But I made my bed and I should lie in it."
Louis doesn't argue, but Harry can tell he doesn't agree. He looks at Harry without saying a word, mouth twisting.
"Okay, we'll suspend this conversation for now."
Harry laughs a little. They've always been weirdly entwined in each other's lives.
(Granted the whole 'Army' thing came up before Harry had any say. Louis has always been a bit of a hero. His mum reading King Arthur tales to him as a child hadn't helped.)
Harry makes room as he and Louis argue what to watch on Netflix. It's not even arguing, really, since they've been marathoning both Mad Men and The West Wing in fits and bursts.
Balancing the laptop on his lap, Louis groans, but presses play for another episode of Mad Men. Harry starts to drift off after the first episode, the stress from the day finally taking its toll.
"I'm going to go set up on the sofa," Harry mumbles, moving to sit up.
Louis reaches out and grabs his wrist. "Posey and her friends are still out there," he says. "Just stay in here."
Harry shrugs and stands. He peeks out into the living room where the girls are still sitting and cackling away. In the toilet he splashes water on his face, uses some plain soap to wash it down. He has a toothbrush he keeps here-- Louis had bought it, and every few months a new one appears, and Harry knows it's always for him. He steals a bit of Louis' toothpaste and scrubs, relishing the way it chases his beer and chip breath. He fills a cup with water and heads back to Louis' bedroom.
Harry crawls back into bed as the episode plays on.
"Do you want me to shut this?" Louis asks.
Harry shakes his head wordlessly and curls up on his side, letting his eyes drift shut. He listens to Don Draper do something selfish as he finally lets himself unravel.
Morning comes faster than he expects, so when he stirs and feels his body come into its own, he realises that he's not in his flat. It's warmer, much warmer, so much so that he's shucked a bunch of the blankets down below his waist.
He flips to the other side and sees Louis there, awake and scrolling through his phone. Louis' eyes are wide, red-rimmed, and he seems surprised at the movement.
"Ah, morning," he says.
"Morning," Harry mumbles, voice raw. "Time?"
"Just before 10," Louis answers.
Harry nods and closes his eyes again. It's not that he expects to fall asleep again-- or that he needs more of it-- just that Louis' bed is so comfortable.
The bed shifts and Harry listens to the slap of Louis' bare feet leave the room. He comes back a few minutes later and settles back in.
Harry peeks out of one eye, to see Louis with a container of leftover Chinese and a fork.
"Chinese for breakfast?" he croaks incredulously.
"It's practically lunch," Louis maintains. "Brunch."
Harry sits up and opens his mouth, looking for a bite.
Louis sighs and obliges, stuffing a fork of cold noodles in Harry's mouth.
"Thanks," Harry says. He stretches his back a little bit, feeling things pop into place. He cracks his neck and ignores the way Louis grimaces.
They sit in silence for a moment as Louis digs through the takeaway container.
"You look like shit," Harry says.
Louis huffs out a laugh. "Wow, thank you."
"You're welcome."
Louis pulls a funny face at him, which Harry instantly copies.
"I was actually awake all night," Louis admits. "Thinking about what to do."
"Louis, this isn't your--"
"Wait. Hear me out on this. Let me-- um. Yeah. Basically, I have an idea."
"Okay? Why do you sound like that?"
Louis turns and puts the takeaway box on the side table, ignoring the way the fork tips it over.
"Zayn and Perrie are engaged," he says slowly.
"I know," Harry agrees. "We were talking about it last night. They're mental."
"Yeah," Louis continues, fidgeting. "But it kind of makes sense, though, right? She gets to live in the barracks and have all that support while Zayn's training and on ops."
"I guess," Harry shrugs.
"I think we should get married."
Harry laughs so hard, he disturbs the birds outside, causing them to scatter away. His laughter cuts off when he sees Louis' face.
"Oh, you're not laughing," he points out.
"No. I'm being serious."
Harry shakes himself to make sure he didn't fall back asleep. He sits back on his heels, getting a good look at Louis.
"I have known you a decade, and you have had some crazy ideas, but this is by far the craziest thing you have ever said."
"Not crazier than moving away to Bristol for university," Louis starts.
"Far crazier than that," Harry corrects.
"Listen," Louis says, "I kept thinking about you last night like, on the street or homeless or as a rentboy."
"I'd be a good rentboy," Harry argues, trying to lighten the mood.
"Too good!" Louis says. "I can't just watch you deal with this on your own. I need to help you and you need to let me help you."
"I don't know," Harry starts, "can't you just help me fix up my CV?"
"Your CV is shit," Louis points out.
"Wow, what a pal," Harry drawls. "I should definitely just marry you instead."
"No, this is a good idea. Listen. One: you get to live in subsidised housing on the barracks. Two: Six months at a time you get the place to yourself."
"Because you're at war!" Harry interrupts, hardly believing what Louis is saying.
Louis ignores him and moves on. "Three: You get out of Bristol. Four: New friends!"
Harry flops back down on the bed in frustration. "I'm not Army wife material, Louis."
Louis snickers, earning a glare from Harry.
"I know that, Harry. Or so you tell me."
Harry viciously kicks out at Louis.
"Spousal abuse, help," Louis laughs.
Harry sits up again, shaking his head.
"It's nice that you want to offer that, but we just... can't. First of all, it's illegal."
Louis shakes his head vigorously. "No, no. It's not like one of us is gunning for a visa."
"Listen to yourself," Harry laughs, shaking Louis' shoulders. "Don't you think it's a bit weird to con the country you're supposed to be serving?"
Louis rolls his eyes. "You know perfectly well that I don’t care about the greater good."
"So I've heard a few times. Doesn't mean you're not proposing fraud."
"If we're getting technical, I think it's more of a scam."
"You're an idiot. A good friend, but an idiot." Harry says, brushing the topic off. "Do you mind if I use your shower?"
Louis shakes his head. "Of course not. Don't use Posey's shampoo-- the colour-treated stuff. She'll murder me."
Harry grins and tip toes through the flat to the toilet. He turns the shower on nice and hot, letting the steam waft through the small space. Among all of the other things that are better in this flat than his own, the water pressure here is pretty good. At his flat, it's more like showering under someone who has a spitting problem. Harry hates spitters.
He sinks under the warm water, letting himself think more on the last twenty-four hours. There are times, and this is one of those times, where Harry wonders if he's the focus of a reality tv programme. Like that Jim Carrey film, The Truman Show. Because days like the last day just don't happen to normal people. First getting booted from his flat, then getting fired from his job, and then having his best friend propose to him.
Jesus. If he and Louis ever married, the world would be in trouble. Their friendship has been a disaster from the start, with them one-upping each other and generally causing a ruckus wherever. Harry's always had a hard time saying no to Louis, so whenever Louis comes up with some grand idea, he's likely to go along. Like that time Louis decided a last-minute road trip before their A-Levels was a good idea. They ended up stranded in Wales.
Harry smiles to himself. As shit as everything is, the fact that his best mate actually suggested marriage is truly laughable. Amazing.
His mum would piss herself-- she loves Louis more than him.
It's actually kind of a huge deal, he reasons with himself as he lathers the soap up in his hands. Louis has always wanted to be married. Harry, too, but never had they entertained the thought that they could marry each other. If they were to do it, eventually they'd both find people they truly want to be married to, and then they'd just... get divorced? Could they still be friends? Aren't divorced people supposed to hate each other? His parents don't get on, and neither do Louis'.
It's not even the whole crime-fraud-scam aspect that bothers him, if he's being honest. He just can't let Louis spend his time married to him. It'd be wasting time that they could use to get married to people that weren't each other. Scoping the scene, as it were.
It would be one thing if Louis would be deployed all the time. Harry could almost picture it then. Louis wouldn't have time to be out dating if he were on ops, but with the post-deployment windows of time, they'd still have to live together. Do married, domestic stuff.
What would Louis even be gaining if they were to do it?
If they were to do it, his mind repeats as he shuts off the water. He stumbles out of the tub, careful not to fall. He stands there, dripping onto the bath mat before he finally blinks and grabs a towel.
Somehow Louis always finds a way to get Harry to go along with these ideas.
He wraps Louis' dirty towel around his waist and balls up his trousers in his hands, heading back to Louis' room.
"Okay, so purely hypothetically," he says as he walks in the room, "what would you be gaining from this? I'm gaining a place to live and some stability. And you?"
Louis smiles. "Hypothetically, I would be able to rest easier knowing my best mate isn't out there giving a blowie for ten quid."
"Excuse you, I'd charge more."
"I mean, I wouldn't be able to stand it if I knew you were, like, homeless or dealing or doing something else extreme to avoid moving home."
Harry raises an eyebrow and does not point out that a fraudulent marriage also constitutes extreme behaviour.
"I know I haven't like said anything because, you know, feelings and all, but I'm pretty terrified about the future. Like, yeah deployment scares the piss out of me, but even just being at training for the next year. Just life in general. I've always had you around since I was a horrific prepubescent and all. There hasn't been one day where I couldn't count on you to be there for me. So like, I don't know where I'm going to be stationed, and I guess part of me feels like having you around would be nice. I'm actually being selfish, you see. And childish, what with my refusal to grow up and all."
Harry nods silently.
"That's incredibly unselfish, actually, but I get it. I don't really want you to go anywhere either. The thought of living in Bristol without you makes me a bit ill."
Louis chuckles, still leaning back against the headboard. "Yeah, we've always been a bit codependent."
Harry smirks and shrugs.
"So hypothetically, how long would this last?" Harry asks again, kneeling on the bed.
Louis sits up and digs through his drawer, throwing a pair of running shorts at Harry wordlessly. Harry slides them on and moves to hang up the damp towel, completing the series as Louis thinks it over.
"Last night I was thinking about this as you were passed out. I'll probably only do my minimum contract, so about five years. And I feel like maybe that should be it, right? Five years, and that way, if something happens to me, you can take care of the girls. I would trust you to do that."
"Nothing's going to happen," Harry breezes, "but I see your point. So five to six years. We'd be in our late twenties by then. That'd be the longest relationship either of us has ever been in."
Louis snorts into his hand. "The sad truth."
"This is totally tactless," Harry admits, hands up and placating, "but would we have an, er, open marriage?"
Louis starts laughing like a hyena. Harry still thinks it's a valid question.
Louis catches his breath, and then, still chuckling says, "Yeah, you could suck some dicks, H."
"I'd be discrete, naturally."
"But like, you couldn't bring him to the barracks."
Harry balked. "Oh no. I would never. And that goes for you too, obviously."
"Right," Louis agrees. "I feel like during deployment I'll have more on my hands than another guy's dick, but like when I'm home, totally. Absolutely. Yeah."
"Okay, um, what's life like in the barracks?" Harry asks.
"Better than your flat," Louis says immediately. "But I mean, it's nice. Better than either of us is used to, I think. Cheap rent, cheap food. Good community."
"I'd still need a new job," Harry points out.
Louis brings up Google on his iPhone. "There are heaps of jobs for military spouses to find work. Look, daycare staff, assistant," Louis prattles off, waving the phone in Harry's face. It moves too quickly, so the screen just looks like a blur to Harry all the same.
"Military spouse? I never saw the day."
"Oh, come off it. You get along with all my OTC mates."
"I loathe your OTC mates," Harry points out.
Louis gasps. "You've never said a bad thing about them! Besides, I know you like Zayn!"
Harry rolls his eyes and smiles. "I loathe Zayn the least."
"Zayn's the best. You have no idea what you're missing."
Harry steps on the feeling of jealousy that rises up. "Why don't you fake-marry Zayn?"
Louis laughs. "Because Zayn is real-marrying his girlfriend. Fiancée. Female person."
"Okay, so what you're saying is that we'd get married... when? Soon?"
"Before I leave for Sandhurst," Louis agrees, nodding.
“And would I stay here while you’re there? Or head to Holmes Chapel just temporarily?” Harry asks.
Louis shrugs. “Whatever you’d like. I’m sure our mums would love to see you for a few months, and Gems might appreciate the extra hands.”
Harry looks down at the blankets piled near the foot of the bed. While moving home had been something he wanted to avoid, it might be nice as a temporary solution. Especially being around people he cares about while Louis is off doing... whatever at Officer Training. He looks back over at Louis, a smile drawing across his face.
"Okay, then we'd be looking at six-years max, right? Unless there's someone else you want to real-marry. Keep in mind your first husband would need to approve the second husband."
"I'd never forget that," Louis says, hand across his heart.
Harry looks down, and lets out an out-of-place cackle.
He looks back up and meets Louis' eyes. "Do you think our broken families contributed to our complete ruination of the sanctity of marriage?"
Louis starts laughing, too, slapping his leg. "Yeah, I'm willing to bet there's something in there. Psychology textbooks will study us. ‘Daddy issues led to scam marriages and military service.’"
Harry gets up and stares out the window at the street below. People have finally started to move through the streets, muffled conversations carrying up to the second-floor window. It's pretty grey out, but that's not a surprise.
"Bristol is shit," Harry concludes, spinning away from the window. Louis looks back at him from the bed and nods in agreement. "I'm ready for something new, I think."
Louis' face splits into a grin. "Oh yeah?"
Harry strolls back over to the bed before kneeling down in front of Louis.
Louis instantly starts laughing. "You really don't have to," Louis says.
Harry himself starts chuckling, struck with how absurd his life is.
He bows his head and slides one of his necklaces off, letting the chain slink down into his palm. It's still damp from his shower. He has a bad habit of not removing his jewellery before showering; hopefully Louis will take better care of it.
"Louis Tomlinson," he says, with a grand air of importance. "Would you do me the honour of being my lawfully wedded-- yet oddly fake-- husband?"
Louis snorts again, trying to cover it up with his hand. "I've never seen a more romantic proposal than this... considering I'm the one who brought it up first."
Harry grins and shrugs. "So what say you?"
Louis pretends to think it over. "I don't know, Harry," he says slowly, sarcasm dripping through his tone. "I mean, we just met. It's moving awfully fast." He laughs and his voice returns to normal. "Nah, let's do it."
Harry drops the necklace over Louis' head ceremoniously. He holds his fist out for Louis. Without hesitating, Louis grins and bumps it.