For God's sake, why had he not taken in the significance of all Harry's remarks, signals and flirtations all these months until now? Had he thought Harry was kidding around? He'd been sleeping in the same bed with Harry for days now, at Harry's invitation, yet he hadn't absorbed the true meaning of it all.
Harry wasn't an impetuous person. He wouldn't have asked Louis to stay in his bed recklessly. He wouldn't treat something like that lightly.
Louis wondered why he'd been in denial, if that's what it was. It seemed too good to be true. Louis had been the one to begin flirting in the first place, and Harry had joined in, but maybe he'd thought Harry had been just wanting to fool around, whereas Louis had been hoping for more.
Going back into the house was frightening. Louis wasn't afraid of anything specifically – he just didn't know what to expect. So he played it safe and didn't say a word. They undressed and got into their sweats and t-shirts again. It struck Louis as a little comical when they turned their backs on each other to change clothes. But he was much too tense to laugh, and then have to explain why.
Back in bed, Harry turned to him. "You've gone quiet. That makes me jittery. Wanna tell me why?" he asked.
Louis swallowed, trying to lubricate his parched throat. Harry handed him one of the two cups of water they had been bringing to bed every night from the nightstand. Funny, how this was already a ritual. Louis smiled his thanks and took a sip. It helped. A few sips more and he was ready to make the effort to say something.
"I'm . . . um, I guess . . . a little in shock right now." He was proud of himself for conquering the hurdle of getting past the first word.
Harry cleared his throat, looking down at the covers as if the words might magically come to him.
"Me too," was all he managed to say. Then he compelled himself to say more. "It's been a long time for me, and . . . I guess I've kinda . . . lost my touch," he confessed.
"No," said Louis quickly, and perhaps he sounded a little too hasty and harsh. Harry raised his eyebrows.
"What I meant to say was," Louis continued, "no, you haven't lost your touch." His voice was quieter this time. He had to look away from the drilling insistence of those mesmerizing green eyes. Embarrassed again. Only now worse than ever. Now that they'd kissed.
Harry blushed himself, making things a little less painful for the both of them.
"I just . . . I just never expected for you . . . to be the way you were . . . tonight," Louis added.
"What were you expectin'?"
This tied Louis up in knots. What a loaded question, and how was he to answer it? Honestly, of course. He'd just have to bite the bullet.
"Um, maybe . . . rougher? Not so . . . tender." Louis wished he could stop flushing with almost every sentence. His ears were hot, and the blood pulsed there.
Harry pondered this briefly. Then, uneasily, "And is that what you would prefer? Rougher?"
"No," Louis replied so quickly that Harry knew he was telling the truth. "It was . . . perfect."
There! He'd said it! Exactly how he felt. Louis was proud of himself despite the embarrassment.
One thing was for sure. He had been downright bewildered at being treated with what seemed to be tender adoration.
Harry grinned slightly, and Louis could tell he was pleased, but trying not to look like it.
"I'm glad you like my . . . style," said Harry shyly.
"Well, we know Harry Styles has superior style, yeah?" Louis fought a smile, but when Harry smiled, he allowed his to escape too.
"Wanna crack a cold one?" asked Harry.
It was still early – only nine o'clock, and frankly, a beer might soothe their nerves. This was a very trying time. A pivotal point.
Louis nodded, and Harry went to get them a beer each.
Once again, Louis wondered why he'd been almost aghast at Harry kissing him. The signs had been there for some time. The flirting, the compliments, and the fact that Harry had told him he was gay, and that Louis was his "type" should have been plenty. Way past obvious. But Louis, somehow, had not taken it seriously. He'd found it just too far-fetched to believe.
Harry entered the bedroom again, holding the two beers. Louis was pensive, remembering the kiss.
"Here, take this one," Harry said with a twinkle in his green eyes. "It's the one I shook up."
"Bastard," grumbled Louis. "How do I know if you're lyin' or not?"
"I was tryin' to be amusin,' but apparently you don't see the humor in it." Harry stuck his lower lip out as if he was pouting, and Louis wanted to kiss that plump pink lip so badly.
"My luck, you really did shake it up."
"Okay then. Give it to me. I'll drink it. And you can have mine."
"So the one you have is the one you shook! Shoulda known."
Harry laughed until his eyes became teary. "If you're so fuckin' scared, I'll drink 'em both and you can go to the kitchen for your own!" He was still laughing.
So Louis just smiled and opened his beer. Nothing happened. He gave Harry a long, hard look as he took a healthy gulp.
"See? You were wrong, yeah?" asked Harry.
"Not until you take a drink of your own," Louis insisted with a determined narrowing of his eyes.
Oh, he was a die-hard.
Harry opened his with a snick and took a swallow, wiggling his eyebrows at Louis, taunting him.
"Okay, so I was wrong. But next time I probably won't be." Louis looked a little relieved and a little disappointed.
Harry went into a fit of giggles again. "I love the way you're so whimsical. I never know, from one minute to the next, what you'll say or do."
Louis had no comment except to address his hungry, growling belly.
"That crock pot's smellin' good," he commented on the aroma of the chili they'd prepared that morning and had been simmering all day.
"It's done," Harry said, tasting it with a spoon when they had both gone to the kitchen. Truth be told, he'd almost forgotten about the chili with Louis' allure distracting him. As hungry as he was, Louis was his dish of choice.
"Here, taste it." He held a spoonful of chili in front of Louis' face. This somehow felt intimate to Louis. It was the same spoon Harry had used. He opened his mouth and Harry inserted the spoon. It was delicious.
After they were done eating, Louis wiped his mouth on his napkin and put one hand on his belly.
"That was some kick-ass chili," he said. "Me belly's burnin' up."
"That's the only way chili should be. Nice 'n spicy. Kinda like you." Harry was flirting again.
They washed the dishes, Louis took a gulp of Pepto Bismol, and they went back to bed.
"You gonna be alright?" asked Harry.
"Yeah, I'm tough," Louis declared.
"Oh, I know that. But you're also vulnerable in certain situations." Harry's tone was suggestive, reminding Louis of the kiss. As if he needed reminding. He could think of nothing else. He felt the blush crawling up his neck. He really had to find a cure for blushing. He'd probably make a billion.
Harry deliberately steered the conversation elsewhere. He figured Louis had had enough teasing and seducing for the night. He didn't want to overdo it, even though what he wanted most was a repeat, or two or three, of that kiss.
He missed Louis cuddling up to him. Tonight there was none of that. Louis was apparently afraid, and in some ways he reminded Harry of a deer that had been captured. Huddling over there on the edge of the bed. He was ever-vigilant, keeping Harry at arms-length.
When Harry turned out the light, he smiled sweetly at Louis, hoping it would reassure him
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The next day it wasn't raining, and Harry came to the conclusion that it was probably best to end their holiday. If it continued, it would only make Louis feel trapped and/or pressured.
They worked together as a team, as they always had. There was never any attempts at one-up-manship, no competition. They simply got the job done, whatever it might be. There would be a curse word here or there, but they would just try again until they accomplished the task.
When Harry would hit his mark with a loop as they chased a cow or calf, Louis would smile and say, "Nice one." If Louis hit his target, Harry would let out his signature loud cackle of a laugh that only happened when he was really pumped.
They continued to sleep together in Harry's bed, but the kiss did not happen again. Harry could hardly stand being in the same bed with Louis, and not touching him. The moment Louis slipped between the sheets, Harry felt strangely cloaked in softness. He could feel the heat from Louis' body now and then during the night, and the temptation was crushing.
It was cold in the house now that fall was nearly upon them. The wood burning stove heated the living room and kitchen, but didn't do a whole lot for the bedroom. Harry thought about body heat. But he had to admit to himself that it was just an excuse. He just wanted to hold Louis close – although the warmth would be nice too.
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One night Louis mentioned to Harry that he had recalled more memories.
"I can remember being in that place I told you about where there were other kids, and I was called aside by some woman for being too rough or sommat when playin.' Can't remember exactly what the infraction was. She took me into a room and said she'd be right back. There was a telephone sittin' on the desk, and there was a small note taped to it that said, 'do not dial nine.'"
"And?" Harry asked.
"I dialed nine," Louis divulged.
They both laughed.
"That would be sommat you'd do! What happened when you dialed nine?"
"Can't remember," Louis looked dejected. "Wish I could."
"Well what happened after that?"
"Can't remember that either. But I do have a dim memory that I was in even more trouble."
"No doubt."
"I think I was at that place for quite a while. And several other places too," Louis said thoughtfully.
Harry was beginning to think Louis had spent much, if not most of his childhood in a group home for foster kids. The other places he mentioned he'd stayed at might have been foster homes. If Louis was as uncooperative and intractable as Harry suspected, he might have been shifted around a lot.
Louis was still impulsive to a degree, but Harry appreciated that trait in him. It made him fun. He might have been a difficult child, but now he only struck back when treated unfairly. Except for sarcasm, which he seemed to relish, and was damn good at. Harry, of course, had stopped treating him badly a long time ago, and Louis' true nature had come to the fore. He was very pleasant to live with for the most part. He did have a hair trigger temper at times, but it was usually justified.
The memories were surely returning, although they were very slow in coming. Harry both looked forward to and dreaded the day Louis remembered it all. It could be good news for them, or bad news for Harry.
As time went on, Harry came to the painful conclusion that the kiss had not been a good idea. It would, in fact, probably damage Louis' real life, when it came back for him. Harry started to feel more and more remorseful and selfish. He should not have taken advantage like that. He shouldn't have taken the kiss the way he had. They should have talked about it, and he should have shared his feelings, but not actually followed up on it.
Harry took full responsibility for the kiss, and he made certain he didn't come on to Louis again in that way. Until they found out what Louis' history and current situation was, Harry vowed to himself not to touch Louis again. He might have someone, somewhere, who loved him very much. Harry knew he had to bring the subject up to Louis, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it.
In the meantime, Louis was suffering with seriously mixed messages. First, Harry had been flirty, then he had finally kissed him one night, and now . . . now he avoided him at all costs. There was no more touching of any kind – not even the friendly hand on his back or shoulder. Louis was confused about what he could have done wrong. He'd stayed on his side of the bed, but that was only because he couldn't trust himself. It wasn't that he didn't trust Harry. He wanted to discuss it with Harry, but just like Harry, he kept putting it off, hesitant to bring the subject up. And so, each remained distant and also hurt, thinking they were being rejected.
Harry carried on, waiting in the morning for his raging hard-on to deflate before getting out of bed. It happened in the middle of the night too. It had always happened, but much more often now that Louis was in his bed. He wondered if Louis suffered from the same affliction from being near him.
It wasn't long after that that Louis brought up a foster home to Harry. He explained that was the only thing that made sense, and Harry silently agreed, nodding his head.
Louis' memory of a woman kneeling down to hug him must have been of his mother. Louis felt sure of it, because it didn't feel at all like it had been a foster parent, or someone at the foster home. It must have been before he lost her . . . He felt tears well up in his eyes at the thought. He had evidently lost his parents very early on. Another mystery was how he had ended up in the United States. He was resigned to waiting for the rest of his memories to emerge.
One day when they were in the barn, they heard a voice calling out. A woman's voice. Someone was at the gate Louis had erected to keep people out.
Reluctantly, they gazed at each other and left the barn, practically dragging their feet. Both were very leery of who might be outside of the gate. Louis was so afraid that he feared his heart would beat right out of his chest. Harry was pale, clammy and shaky.
It was with tremendous relief when they saw it was Mrs. Geisler, their neighbor to the west, sitting on a pretty sorrel mare.
"Hi Harry!" She called out. "I don't mean to bother you." As they walked closer, she smiled at Louis.
"Hi Louis!" She had remembered his name! Louis was flattered that she had cared enough to memorize his name. And now someone besides Harry knew who he was. He was gaining an identity. He smiled to himself.
Harry and Louis greeted her, Harry with suspicious reluctance.
"I just wanted to invite you two to dinner with us tomorrow night. You don't have to – but I thought it might be nice. I know the boys would like it too." She was referring to the two young boys Louis remembered playing in the hay loft that day he and Harry had gone to the Geisler place all those months ago.
Louis turned his head to Harry. He hoped Harry wouldn't be rude to her. She seemed like such a nice lady. Harry just stared back at him. That was when Louis realized Harry was waiting to see his reaction to the invitation.
Louis had to break the uncomfortable silence.
"Um, that's so nice of you, Mrs. Geisler," he said.
"Oh, call me Dawn, please."
"Dawn. Okay, Dawn. Right, we'd love to come," Louis blurted without even having had a consultation with Harry about it. He jerked his head in Harry's direction to see how angry Harry was going to be at him.
But Harry was smiling. It didn't quite reach his eyes, but he was obviously trying.
"Yes, we'll be there. And . . . thank you," Harry said to Dawn. "What can we bring?"
"Oh dear . . . nothing! Nothing at all! Can you make it by six?"
"Uh, sure," said Harry.
After Mrs. Geisler had left, Louis turned to Harry.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to answer for us like that. It just came out of me mouth."
"That's okay Lou. I understand." The look on his face, though, spelled defeat.
"Harry, what's wrong? For the last week things haven't been the same." Louis forced himself to bring it up.
Harry looked him in the eye. "Louis, we need to talk."