Amaryllis

13

A few weeks later, Harry decides that the house needs to be fixed up. His suggestion is met with little enthusiasm, and Louis lets him know, in a few choice words, that he's free to do whatever he pleases, but he's not getting any help.

Still, Harry is happy to be given free reign, and spends half an afternoon digging up and dusting off any useful equipment he can find, hidden well in nooks and crannies all over the house. Then, he sets his sights on the back porch first, and calls his mum to ask for renovating tips.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Zayn asks him, two days after he's started putting the steps back in working order. His foot had fallen through the rotten wood at least a dozen times before he'd gotten used to avoiding all the holes.

"Of course," Harry mumbles and looks up at Zayn confused, several nails held tight between his lips. He's got his hammer poised to strike. "Why wouldn't I?"

"No reason," Zayn answers, sitting down on the creaky garden swing (that one should be next, Harry thinks). "It's really nice of you."

Harry shrugs, tensing for a moment before bringing the hammer down, a sure stroke that drives the nail right in. "I'm here a lot, if you haven't noticed. It's not like I won't get anything out of this."

"True," Zayn says. Then, after a beat of silence: "Louis really appreciates it too, you know. He's never liked this place much because it was so run down, but he never felt like fixing it, so."

"Okay," Harry drawls, breathing shallow because he won't let his pulse quicken at the mere mention of Louis's name, that's pathetic. ”I mean, I'm glad he appreciates it. Why exactly are you telling me this?"

"Just thought things changed a bit between you two."

Liam chooses that moment to finally come outside from behind the glass door where he'd been eavesdropping. He sits down quietly next to Zayn, looking for all the world like he's been there the whole time.

"I guess," Harry says, not wanting to talk about it, but at the same time feeling like he's going to burst if he doesn't tell someone.

"I mean, you were sleeping together after the last full moon. On the ground. Naked." 


Harry pouts. "I thought nakedness was a natural werewolf thing."

"It is," says Liam, giggling, "but we don't sleep piled all over each other while naked."

"We weren't piled all over each other," Harry says lightly, trying to line up his next plank. "We fell asleep. We shifted during the night. We kept sleeping. The end."

"What did he say when you woke up?" Zayn asks, genuinely curious.

"Um. Good morning?"

For some reason, this sends them both into a fit of laughter. Harry frowns and goes about assembling his step.

"Did he actually?" Zayn asks eventually, wiping a an actual tear from the corner of his eye.

"Yes," Harry shoots back a little sharper than necessary. "It's the polite thing to say."

"Listen, Harry, be honest with me," Zayn leans forward, chin resting on his interwoven fingers like he’s a detective from a bad TV series. "Do you want to get into Louis's pants?"

Harry sits back on his heels. Thinks, shrugs. "I reckon yes." He doesn't even have a reaction, which is a testament to how far he's come in his late night thinking/wanking sessions.

"You reckon yes?" Liam's eyebrows furrow.

"Well, I mean, that's not the primary goal."

"Okay…" Zayn drags out, waiting for Harry to elaborate.