I Do?

Driver's License

The following day Harry finds himself flicking through the various Netflix channels with Louis on the couch next to him. A cool breeze sends a chill down Harry's back, so he drapes a brown blanket over his shoulders to warm up. 

"Did you eat," Louis questions. 

"Not yet, why," Harry replies. Green eyes stare at Louis for a moment. The questions from the night before and the guest run through Harry's head. He doesn't know how to bring it up and he's not entirely sure if he should. Louis told him that it was a personal situation, but Harry's curious nature is getting the best of him, admittedly. 

"Dunno, might order a pizza if you'd eat some," Louis suggests. Harry shrugs and turns his attention back to the television. He scrolls aimlessly through the different movie options, but nothing is grabbing his attention. The only thing that Harry can think about is why Louis' phone was pinging at his house, Liam, and the stupid file on the island. 

"Why'd your phone ping at my house yesterday," Harry starts. He turns to Louis who lets out a loud sigh. Quickly, Harry adds, "You don't have to tell me about your mom or anything, just the phone." 

Louis takes a deep breath and, for a moment, Harry's terrified he's upset Louis. Finally, Louis explains, "My phone was dead for a while and my location didn't update from when I left here last I guess. When I turned it back on with the charger you texted me about Liam, so it updated the location." 

The explanation gives Harry momentary peace of mind. It makes sense, he supposes. Of course, it's not like anyone is tracking Harry's phone or that he's had experience with phone tracking in the past, but it makes sense for a phone to have to be on for the location to ping. 

"Makes sense," Harry murmurs as he tosses the remote between the two of them. "You pick something, I can't find anything interesting."

Louis' hand reaches between them and grabs the remote. "I'm ordering a pizza, fuck it. Can you grab my card from my wallet? It's on the counter I think," Louis asks. Harry sighs loudly, not wanting to get up from his spot. Louis' buying though, so Harry decides to get up and grab the credit card for his friend is worth it. 

Grumbling loudly, Harry stands and shuffles towards the island. The manila folder sits on the counter next to Louis' wallet and car keys. Harry's never really seen Louis' wallet before. Admittedly, it's nice. Harry runs his fingers over the tan leather as he opens it. 

The first thing that Harry notices, however, is the driver's license in the front pocket of Louis' wallet. Nothing seems off about it at first. 'California' is typed in all caps in the top left corner and a picture of Louis underneath it. Surprisingly, Louis looks nice in his picture. Harry's never had the luck of looking attractive in his. He's never looked ugly in a driver's license picture, but Harry's never looked ugly a day in his life anyway. 

Harry's eyes scan the cards opposite of the license. A dark blue credit card peaks over the top of a pocket and Harry begins to slide it out when his eyes land on the license again. His stomach drops as he realizes what the ID means, but... that can't be right. 

Shaky hands slip the driver's license out of its transparent pocket. It feels as real as Harry's does. "What's this," Harry questions, turning back to Louis. The blanket slips from his shoulders as he does. Louis spares Harry a glance before continuing to tap on his phone. 

"My driver's license," Louis answers nonchalantly. 

"I know it's a driver's license, but why do you have one," Harry presses. He can't tear his gaze from Louis, who sits on the couch as if nothing's happening. As if Harry's whole world isn't beginning to crumble around him. 

"So I can drive, Hazza. What're you going on about," Louis sighs loudly. They make eye contact and Harry can feel the tears starting to press against the backs of his eyes, but he forces it away. 

"This is a California driver's license, Louis. You have to live in California to get one of these," Harry starts. He can hear his voice starting to shake but he continues anyway. "One of my friends in high school had to go through a ton of trouble because he was French. He had to have a bunch of paper to prove he lived in California permanently because he wasn't a US citizen." 

"Sucks for him, but what's that got to do with me," Louis questions. 

"It has everything to do with you! Tell me Louis, how the fuck were you able to get a California driver's license if you aren't a US citizen and you don't have a permanent residence in California. I'd love to fucking know," Harry says, unable to hide his anger. The entire reason they stayed married all this time was for Louis to get a different visa, but if this is true it would have been for nothing. All the pain that Louis' brought out in being here would be for nothing. 

Harry watches as Louis' face falls. Slowly, Louis places his phone on the couch and stands. "Harry, just take a seat alright," Louis starts. No. The serious expression that rests over Louis' features sends a flare of heat in Harry's stomach. 

"I can explain alright. Just have a seat and try to understand," Louis starts. 

"I'm not fucking sitting down Louis, just fucking explain this shit. Tell me that all of this wasn't for nothing. Tell me that you're getting your fucking visa so I never have to see you again," Harry spits. He throws the license at Louis, who stands only a couple of feet in front of him now. Louis doesn't flinch as the card sails past his face. 

"The visa stuff was a lie, alright? I'm really sorry. I'm a dual citizen. My dad's English, and my mum's American, but I was born in California. I was only here for like 2 months before my dad took me back to England and I was raised in England, I didn't lie about that. Since I was born in America, though, I'm technically a dual citizen," Louis explains. 

Tears stream down Harry's face as the lies come crumbling down. Everything that Harry's felt and experienced because of the shit with Louis was built on a lie. "So, what, you were just going to keep lying to me this whole time about the fucking visa then? Do you realize the absolute pile of dog shit I've been through the last couple of months because of you being here? Do you know what kinda shit being around you has done to me?" 

"I figured you knew! You have to prove citizenship to get married, Harry! It's not like someone can just fucking get married to anyone overnight, especially when they're fucking plastered! I'm sorry that you've been so deep in the fucking closet and that you're just now realizing that you've been there this whole time, but don't blame me. That would've happened regardless of me being here or not."

"I'm sorry I don't fucking know the marriage laws, Louis. It doesn't magically excuse you from lying to me for months! You uprooted my entire life for what? Why the fuck didn't you just get the divorce and leave, Louis? Why fucking stay? It's been two months! We got married in September and Thanksgiving is a week away! What's your fucking excuse because I'd love to hear it," Harry snaps. The salty taste of his tears hits his lips as he shouts at Louis. 

Louis' shoulders sag and he takes in a deep breath. Harry sniffs loudly, almost unable to contain the snot that's starting to collect in his nose. He realizes how ugly he must look right now. How pathetic he is standing in front of Louis, crying like a kid with snot and spit and choked sobs. He doesn't care. Harry's life was normal before Louis came into it and wrecked it and it was all avoidable. None of this would've happened if Louis just went home when Harry told him to. 

"I don't know why I stayed. I wish I could tell you. You're not the only one who's had a fuck ton of emotions in the last couple of months okay? You're not alone right now, Harry. I'm just as fucking confused as you are! My entire life I thought I was straight and maybe I'm not? I thought straight was just the default and I never had feelings for a guy so I was straight. I get here and I'm fucking married to you and... and, I don't know," Louis replies. Harry watches as a couple of tears slip down Louis' cheeks and the first instinct Harry has is to reach out, but he doesn't. He glues himself to his spot. 

"Get the fuck out of my house."