Amaryllis

26

The first time Harry meets Bobby Horan, he is terrified. It's not that the man himself looks particularly terrifying at all, really, but he may or may not be holding a pistol in one hand and a longbow in the other.

"How much longer do you think?" Zayn asks, bored, from above them as he drags on his cigarette.

"Any minute now," Louis says.

True to his prediction, Niall finally stops arguing with his dad. They glare at each other for a moment, then start walking towards the front porch, where Harry and Louis and Liam are seated. Their gait is the exact same, and they're both looking strangely sinister in their matching black clothes – Harry would take a moment to coo, and maybe point out the similarities in their features, but he doesn't get the chance before they stop. Then, Bobby Horan is towering over Harry and looking at him with a slight frown on his face, like he's trying to figure him out.

"Um," Harry clears his throat. "Hello, sir."

Niall snorts like a dying animal, but Bobby seems to appreciate Harry's polite ways, just like his mum had taught him people would. In seconds, the frown slips off his face, and is replaced by a smile full of teeth that looks incredibly familiar.

"You must be Harry, then," he says, puts his gun into a holster on his belt and extends a hand to shake. His accent is stronger than Niall's, Harry observes.

"Yeah, I mean, uh, yes. That's me. Harry. Styles. It's a pleasure to meet you," he stutters out, ever eloquent. "I've heard a lot about you," he adds, and immediately wants to stand up and go bury himself in the garden. At his side, Louis chokes on a laugh, but before Harry can be hurt, he feels Louis's arm run soothingly across his back, stopping to rub between his shoulder blades.

"Same here, lad," Bobby Horan grins. "I'm Bobby. Please don't call me sir."

"Okay, sir. I mean, Bobby."

Zayn hangs his head, shoulders shaking with laughter, and puts out his fag inside an empty flowerpot, and Bobby finally, blessedly turns away from the sight of Harry's no doubt rapidly reddening face. Harry watches the afternoon sun glint off the polished bow in the hunter's hands with a vague sense of dread.

"Louis," Bobby says, inclining his head. He's got a stern face on, all furrowed eyebrows and set jaw, but Harry can see the amused tilt to the corner of his mouth.

"Bobby," says Louis happily, bouncing in place. "Always a joy. What do you say we take this inside?"

And so they do. Harry picks himself up slowly, the last one to enter the house, and he can't help the cautious look he throws over his shoulder before he closes the door. By the time he catches up, Louis has put the kettle on for tea and is raiding the cupboards Harry's just reorganised, looking for mugs. Completely unaware of the other people in the room, Harry zeroes in on him and how incredibly adorable he looks in his beanie and Harry's jumper and standing on his tiptoes. He doesn't even think when he goes over, pats Louis consolingly on the hip and starts setting out mugs from their new designated cupboard.

Louis pouts immediately. "Why there? That's stupid," he says quietly. Harry pecks him on the cheek.

"They're right above the kettle, babe. So you don't even have to open your eyes when you're making a cuppa in the morning."

Louis tilts his head to the side, obviously considering this. Harry grins at him and leaves him to it, turning to sit down at the table. It's not until he pulls his chair closer and laces his fingers on the tabletop that he realises Bobby Horan is quite unsubtly staring at him.

"What?" he asks, maybe a teensy bit defensive. It's not a good idea, especially when he starts thinking of all the places a person can hide a sharp object if they really want to.