𝓔𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓢𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓘 𝓣𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓭 𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓦𝓪𝔂 | 𝐿𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑦

I

Harry wasn't sure how he got there but he sometimes thought it must have been fate. Standing in the creek, cool water swirling lazily around his legs and a beautiful golden body with its back turned just in front of him, he felt as if he must be dreaming. Louis' shoulders were glowing in the afternoon light, his skin dripping with water as soap suds ran down the small of his back and floated away with the current. Harry was struck dumb, the bar of soap left useless against his belly, and when Louis glanced back his lips twisted in a smirk.

"You oughta close your mouth or you'll catch flies," Louis told him, drifting close enough to take the soap from Harry's slack fingers. "Here," he said, working it into a quick lather and running it over Harry's chest. He felt the goosebumps that rose across his skin and his eyes sparkled in delight. Harry was always so sensitive to his touch. Louis hummed as he brought the bar lower on his belly, ducking his head to press a lazy kiss to Harry's sun-pink shoulder.

They met on Harry's wedding day in 1949 on a hot autumn evening that felt more like August than November. Harry had spent the day sweating in his suit and pulling anxiously at the tight cravat around his neck.

"Harold, stop that," his mother had scolded, slapping lightly at his wrist. "You'll wrinkle the silk."

He folded his hands back in his lap and licked his chapped lips.

"I can't believe you forgot to go to the barber," she tutted, combing more pomade through his hair and ignoring his winces as the comb pulled at his scalp. "There's no time to cut it now. We'll just have to hope that your hat covers it."

"It'll be fine, Mama," Gemma said, placing a placating hand on her arm and shooting Harry a soft smile. "Everyone'll be too focused on Audrey to notice his hair."

"You're right," Anne sighed, setting the comb down and smoothing the flat of her palm over Harry's hair. "It'll just have to do."

The back room of the chapel was a mess of frantic bridesmaids and cloying hairspray and Harry had been shut out with loud shrieks about superstition every time he got within fifty feet on it. He'd been relegated to the small classroom where he'd gone to Sunday school as a child and told to stay there until it was time for the ceremony. When his family went to rejoin the guests and entertain his various aunts and uncles he was left alone, nothing but the saints on the walls to keep him company.

Everything sounded louder when he was alone. His footsteps and his breath and his heartbeat. The click of his glossy black dress shoes on the old stained linoleum reminded him of how badly the shoes pinched his toes and he wondered if he could take them off for a minute without his mother noticing. She'd probably notice, he decided, because she noticed everything. She had a special ability to find his flaws and point them out.

He could feel a blister forming on his right pinky toe.

He sat down on one of the miniature desks, afraid that he'd break any of the little chairs if he sat in one, and tried to slow the rapid pounding of his heart.

It would all be over in a couple of hours, he tried to reason with himself. He'd stand in his too-tight shoes in front of the altar and he'd nod along and speak when he was prompted to and he'd sign his name on the line and that would be that. He'd let Audrey do the talking at the reception - she was good at taking the lead in conversations. He'd hold her little hand in his and he'd kiss her powdery cheek and her red lips and his family would be happy. They'd be relieved to see him married at last, the burden of his bachelorhood finally put to rest.

No matter how he rationalized it he couldn't stop the thudding in his ears and the stinging at the corners of his eyes.

It would be alright, he thought, being married to Audrey. She was smart, and nice enough. His mother loved her and his sister liked having somebody to shop and gossip with. She was the sort of girl who made his friends clap him on the back and ask how he landed her. She was the perfect girl, really, a hit at luncheons and always made up to the nines. Harry should feel lucky to be her groom, should be honored that she said yes.