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English
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Published:
2021-12-04
Updated:
2025-01-12
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23,763
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4/5
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Half As Bad

Summary:

 

Or Harry is an older and wealthier man that marries a very young and poor Louis who's beautiful and has a lot of sisters.

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

"He's not half as bad," the blue-eyed boy explains, dusting off his new cotton pants.

"I don't know, Lou," the blonde boy trails behind a rock. His face is smudged with dirt, and his clothes are powdered with dust.

"You should come sometime," Louis says, settling onto the wooden deck of a small stone hut. The sky above is gray, with slight blue tones, and the sun peeks through the thick pine trees.

"He would mind," the blonde boy, Niall, replies, picking a piece of grass and twirling it between his fingers, observing it cautiously.

"No, I—I think not," Louis says, his gaze following a cloud rushing across the sky, hinting at the probability of rain.

"So he let you keep the kit?" Niall asks, exhaling heavily, his tired and sad demeanor apparent.

"Yeah," Louis admits, his tone a bit listless. A few months ago, he looked just like his friend, but now his clothes and duties have changed.

"You think you'll be able to come for Christmas?" Niall steps onto the deck and sits beside Louis.

"Uhm, yeah. I think," Louis answers uncertainly. "He's a good bloke. Not half as Grimsey."

"He looks like a werewolf," Niall scoffs, and for a moment, Louis considers it. He really does.

"Yeah," Louis concedes, straightening his back briefly before slouching again. "Do you know anything about Zayn? It's been two months," he says, letting out a long sigh.

Niall shakes his head and walks closer to Louis. "After you married, he ran away. Some say he might be in Hampfortship."

"Do you think he is?" Louis leans slightly toward Niall's arm.

"No, not really. He's always been fidgety."

"What about his father?"

"He's too angry to care. Last time, he was talking to your father, and they said they were moving up north near the coast." Niall's gaze shifts to the sky, which mirrors the stormy blue of his eyes.

"It's too cold to fish or raise sheep. What are they planning?" Louis studies his friend's face, but Niall doesn’t look back at him. Instead, he continues to fiddle with the piece of grass.

"I think they just want to leave. They're embarrassed."

Louis looks out at the landscape stretching below them. "They should be looking for him," he says quietly, then glances back at Niall.

Niall shrugs, letting out another tired sigh.

"Do you think it was my fault?" Louis asks, scrutinizing Niall’s face.

"No. What choice did you have?" Niall finally meets his eyes, the sincerity in his gaze steady. "Are you gonna see your sisters?"

"Maybe tomorrow," Louis answers before standing up.

 

"Dinner's ready, boyo," the chubby gray-haired woman said to Louis. Mrs. Lydia was easily the kindest person in this house, so he nodded in response. Before he could say anything, the heavy wooden front door creaked open.

A tall, dark-haired man stepped inside, shaking rain off his coat. His sharp eyes immediately landed on Louis, who was sitting by the fireplace with a kitten circling his feet.

"Is dinner ready?" the man asked while pulling off his leather boots. Louis nodded again. Everyone called him "the wolf" because of his constant scowl, though Louis had yet to witness it.

The man tugged off his second boot and looked at Louis once more. "Go wash your hands," he ordered. Louis stood up without a word and headed to the kitchen.

The man wasn’t what anyone would call friendly—far from it. He was reserved, a little intimidating even, but he had never mistreated Louis. Not once had he raised his voice, either at him or anyone else in the house.

Louis entered the kitchen, scanning for the washbowl in its usual place. Before he could spot it, the rustic wooden doors—thicker but otherwise identical to those of the stable—swung open.

"I left a bucket of water outside," Mr. Smith said, walking in with a slight limp. He set his hat and keys on the wooden table before gesturing to the door.

Louis pushed the door ajar, spotting the bucket just outside. As he washed his hands with the yellow soap resting on the windowsill, he wrinkled his nose. The soap left his skin dry and rough, a custom of this new home he wasn’t particularly fond of.

When he returned to the dining area, the table was already set with four chairs, as always. Louis took his usual seat facing the window, nestled between Harry and Mrs. Lydia. Life here had its own rhythm, with schedules and customs far removed from the chaotic freedom of his past. They still felt foreign, and he could only hope he wouldn’t grow weary of them over time. Leaving wasn’t an option.

The stew on his plate was far more substantial than usual—turnips, parsnips, carrots, barley, meat, potatoes, and onions. It was a feast compared to what he was used to. Potatoes had always been his favorite food, not because of taste, but necessity. Back then, potatoes, beer, and milk had sustained his one meal a day.

Once everyone had washed their hands and offered thanks to the Lord, they began to eat.

"I went to town today," Harry said, unwrapping a lint-sealed brown bundle to reveal a round, brown, stone-like loaf. Louis recognized it immediately, though he had never tasted it before.

"Bread?" Mrs. Lydia’s voice was filled with awe as she stared at the dense pastry.

"Yes," Harry replied. "We can cut it into four. I figured it’d go well with the stew." He glanced at Louis, whose expression remained neutral. The bread didn’t look particularly appetizing, but Louis knew it was expensive, especially with raisins.

"I’ll get a knife," Mr. Smith said, limping quickly to one of the drawers and pulling out a sturdy black stone knife.

Dinner continued in the usual quiet. Louis sipped his tea alongside Harry, while Mrs. Lydia and Mr. Smith enjoyed their pints. The warmth of the stew filled Louis's belly, a rare comfort he was beginning to appreciate, even if this life still felt unfamiliar.

 

 

Louis lay on the dusty red carpet, gazing into the fire as he absentmindedly stroked the kitten's soft belly. The tiny creature purred in its sleep, its contentment a sharp contrast to Louis’s constant wariness. He didn’t like taking his eyes off the kitten for too long, especially when Harry was around. He still wasn’t convinced Harry wouldn’t toss the poor animal out into the cold street.

“You should pay attention to him,” the black-haired man sitting in the armchair said, his face hidden behind the newspaper. “He’ll think you don’t want him.”

Louis smirked, glancing over at the large dog sprawled near the fireplace. "He won’t. All he does is sleep.”

The dog cracked open a tired eye as if on cue, then shut it again with a groan. Louis didn’t dislike dogs, but he had always been uneasy around them. Back home, they were trained to hunt, and he’d seen enough rabbits and foxes torn apart by them to keep his distance.

“He’s old,” the man remarked, a faint trace of amusement in his voice.

Louis studied the dog more closely, noticing the gray creeping into its muzzle and eyebrows. He was oddly endearing, with his sagging skin and snoring that sounded like a pig about to choke. Louis chuckled softly; the dog really did resemble a walking carpet.

“People say...” Louis began tentatively.

“People?” the man interrupted, raising an eyebrow over the newspaper.

“Yes, people,” Louis continued, rolling his eyes slightly. “They say the kid cried a lot when you bought him.”

Finally, the older man lowered the newspaper and looked at Louis stretched out on the floor. “It’s an old hunting dog. He wasn’t useful to them anymore, so they stopped feeding him. He would’ve died if I hadn’t bought him.”

Louis nodded, his hand still idly running over the kitten’s fur. The man turned back to his newspaper.

“How are you doing with your classes?” he asked after a moment.

“Good,” Louis said, stifling a yawn. In truth, the classes were dull, and his two teachers were relentless in their corrections.

“Do you know how to read?”

“Almost,” Louis muttered. About as well as he could sew—just barely.

“What can you read now?”

Louis glanced at him, but the man’s face remained hidden behind the paper. “The city pamphlets the teacher brings.”

“Would you like to go to the city?” the man asked, lowering the paper just enough to reveal his watchful eyes.

Louis thought for a moment, staring at the wooden ceiling. “I went when I was a child. Didn’t care much for it,” he admitted. How could he feel otherwise? The city only reminded him of how little he belonged. They couldn’t afford anything, and people always looked at them like peasants with two heads.

The room fell silent except for the crackling fire and the faint clatter of Mrs. Lydia tidying the kitchen. Louis’s eyelids grew heavy, and he closed them for a moment, lulled by the warmth. Rain began to patter softly against the windowpanes.

“I know it was hers,” Louis suddenly said, breaking the quiet, his voice barely audible. “But I’d like to learn to play the piano.” He glanced nervously at the man, waiting for his reaction.

The piano—his wife’s, or maybe his ex-wife’s. She was never spoken of, and there were no photos or paintings of her. The man never seemed to miss her, nor did he ask Louis to tend to anything of hers.

“It wasn’t hers,” the man finally said, his voice calm. “It was my mother’s.” He folded the newspaper slightly, his dark eyes glinting in the firelight. “And yes, you can learn to play the piano.”

Relief washed over Louis, and he whispered his thanks. The silence returned, warm and heavy, and before long, both had drifted off, the firelight casting flickering shadows on their faces.

They were woken later by Mrs. Lydia, who clucked her tongue and ushered them off to bed.

 

Louis sat in his dim bedroom, staring at the embers in the small fireplace, their glow fading against the icy air creeping into the room. He pulled the duvet tighter, eyeing the children’s book on his nightstand. Reading until he fell asleep—or until the cold got to him—seemed his only options. But the chill made even turning the pages feel like an ordeal.

With a sigh, he sat up, stroking the cover of the book absentmindedly. Moments later, he put on his shoes and padded quietly down the hall, the old wooden floor creaking under his weight.

A faint glow escaped from beneath Harry's door. Louis hesitated, staring at the doorknob, before twisting it cautiously. The door creaked as he peeked in. Harry sat on his bed, engrossed in a book, his posture relaxed. Harry always read before bed. It explained why he constantly urged Louis to read—it was likely the only activity they could share beyond the unspoken silences that defined their evenings.

Louis stepped back, gently closing the door before knocking.

No answer.

He opened the door slightly again and found Harry's green eyes already on him.

“Hi,” Louis murmured, stepping in tentatively. Harry put the book on his lap and studied him.

“What do you need?” Harry’s voice was neutral, but his gaze was sharp.

Louis walked to the edge of the bed and perched on its side, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. His words tumbled out awkwardly. “I—I was wondering if...” He faltered. "I want to go to the village for Christmas."

Harry tilted his head slightly, considering. “What day?”

“The 23rd and 24th. I want to see my family and my friends.” Louis spoke softly, the chill in the room visible in his breath. “You could come, too,” he added hesitantly, glancing at Harry.

Harry’s expression didn’t change, but he raised an eyebrow. “What about the 25th?”

“Your sister’s coming,” Louis reminded him, his voice almost a whisper. He glanced at the fire, avoiding Harry’s gaze. Louis remembered their first meeting vividly. Harry’s sister had been quick to judge, her disapproval evident in every remark. But Harry hadn’t looked at Louis with scorn. Instead, his expression had been thoughtful, as though analyzing a painting.

“Yes,” Harry said, as if just recalling the visit.

Louis shrugged. “So, we’ll be here.”

Harry nodded after a moment, closing his book.

“Okay,” Louis said, but he didn’t move. His eyes flickered between the fire and the pillow. Finally, he asked, “Can I sleep here?”

Without waiting for a response, Louis pulled back the quilt and the heavy wool blanket and slid in. He sank into the warmth of the bed, the firelight casting a comforting glow. The scent of Harry’s linens—field flowers and leather—wrapped around him, soothing him more than he expected.

Harry hesitated, then murmured, “Uh... yeah.”

Louis nestled into the pillow, his body relaxing for the first time in days. The heat of the fire and the thick duvet was enough to lull him into drowsiness.

At some point, a voice stirred him faintly.

“Did you put out the fire?”

Footsteps echoed, followed by the sound of a door opening and closing. Small, soft meows filtered into the room, growing closer. Then the bed dipped slightly as Harry returned.

Louis barely registered the movement before succumbing entirely to sleep, the warmth and quiet enveloping him like a cocoon.

 

Louis turned the knob gently and peeked into the room, his breath steady as he saw Harry lying on his side, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm as peaceful as the crackling fire. Even in sleep, Harry maintained an effortless allure—though the open mouth and soft snores hinted at his human imperfections.

In his hand, Louis held a tiny ball of fur—a kitten that had been his unintended companion for the past few nights. Harry had brought it to their bed once before, so Louis doubted it would bother him again tonight. With careful steps, he closed the door softly behind him, ensuring no creak would disturb the quiet.

He approached the fire, where the old hunting dog lay curled up. The dog opened one eye lazily as Louis crouched down, the kitten wriggling in his hands. Without protest, the dog grumbled lowly but allowed the small creature to be placed against his side. The kitten purred contentedly, nestling under the dog’s floppy ear. Over the past few days, the dog had given up on fighting the kitten’s antics, resigned to its persistent companionship.

Louis whispered a soft “shh” to the kitten, then kicked off his shoes and padded to the bed. He slipped under the duvet beside Harry, the older man’s even breathing filling the room. The scent of field flowers and leather enveloped him once more, a comforting reminder of the warmth and care that Harry, intentionally or not, exuded.

Louis allowed himself a moment of stillness, listening to the faint hum of the rain outside and the kitten’s soft purring blending with the dog’s snores. Maybe bathing daily wasn’t such a bad idea; Harry always smelled fresh and clean, something Louis found himself appreciating more and more—though Mrs. Lydia and Mr. Smith still preferred their usual habits, citing the ever-present chill or rain as their excuse.

He drifted off, cradled by the firelight and the subtle reassurance of Harry’s presence.

Morning came with a light touch on his hand.

“Wash up,” a deep voice instructed.

Louis blinked his eyes open, squinting against the morning light to see Harry’s figure towering above him. The man’s face was softer in the early glow, his features blurred as Louis struggled to adjust to the brightness.

“Mm,” he mumbled, nodding groggily as Harry turned and left the room, his footsteps fading into the house’s quiet hum.

Louis sighed and closed his eyes again, sinking back into the lingering warmth of the bed for just a moment longer.

 

Louis darted through the kitchen after his lessons, a rush of excitement propelling him forward. Mrs. Lydia was busy dusting off the counters, barely glancing at him as he announced, "I think I'm gonna take a walk."

"Don't go too far, boyo" she warned without pausing in her task.

He responded with a mischievous grin, sneaking a gulp from her pint before wiping his mouth with his sleeve and dashing out the back door, nosebag in hand.

The best part of this new life, Louis thought, was the freedom. Sure, he had to attend his lessons and make sure he was home before Harry, but no one truly controlled his days. He savored the simplicity of that.

 

“Hello, Mr. Horan! Where’s Niall?” Louis asked, gasping for air as he stumbled into the barnyard. His cheeks were flushed from the run.

The older man, tall and wiry, frowned at him in concern. “What are you doing here, Louis?”

“Visiting,” Louis said nervously, his grin faltering under Mr. Horan’s steady gaze.

“Does he allow it?” The man’s tone was skeptical, his hands resting on a pick leaning against the sacks of oats.

Louis suppressed a groan. Why was everyone so concerned about Harry? Louis had been sneaking out for weeks, and if Harry noticed, he didn’t seem to care. “Yeah, he doesn’t mind,” Louis said, adjusting the collar of his shirt and brushing the sweat off his brow.

Mr. Horan didn’t look convinced, but he nodded toward the field. “Niall’s picking potatoes. They’re ready.”

Louis’s face lit up. “Good harvest!” he exclaimed before taking off toward the hill.

 

“Nialler!” Louis called out, startling Niall so badly he dropped the sack of potatoes he was carrying.

“What are you doing here?” Niall asked, eyes wide as he looked around nervously.

“Visiting,” Louis said, shrugging as he knelt to help gather the fallen potatoes. “Why does everyone ask me that?”

“Because he looks mean,” Niall said, shaking his head as he tied the sack again.

“He’s not,” Louis replied, slightly out of breath as he scooped up another handful of potatoes. “And I don’t ask permission. I know he doesn’t mind.”

Niall gave him a skeptical look. “Why are you so sure?”

“Because he’s busy.” Louis grinned, though the truth was, he didn’t really know what Harry did all day—something about cattle, maybe?

"Are you almost done?" he asks looking around the field.

"Halfway" Niall nods dragging the sack downhill.

"I'll help. I brought bread and milk" Louis hugs his nosebag and grabs an empty sack following Niall.

"From where?" But Louis knows that this is a rhetorical question since he could never have gotten something like that out of his house, not even from the neighbors.

"Where do you think?" Louis sets his nosebag next to the already full sacks. 

"Do you think he'll notice?" Niall ties an already full sack with a piece of yarn.

"If he does I'll lie and say I was hungry" Louis opens the empty sack and leaves it on the ground before dropping a couple of potatoes. Harry never denies him anything to eat sometimes he even gives him his slice of bread.

"At the beginning, I was sorry for you. Now I'm starting to feel sorry for him" the blonde boy chuckles whipping off the sweat. At the beginning, everyone felt sorry for him. When they got married at the small church in the village half the town waited outside as if they were witnessing a funeral.

"So you don't want the bread?" Louis looks at him inquisitively. 

"I didn't say that" Niall huffs smiling. 

 

The two boys sat on a large stone, the rolling green hills stretching out in front of them like waves frozen in time. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden light over the fields. Louis gnawed on a piece of raisin bread while Niall drank milk straight from the bottle.

“Are you coming for Christmas?” Niall asked between bites.

“Yes,” Louis said, pulling off his shoes with one hand while holding his bread with the other. “I asked.”

“And he said yes?!” Niall’s jaw dropped in disbelief, crumbs clinging to his lips.

Louis nodded, amused by his reaction. “I even told him he could come.”

Niall stared at him, stunned. “And what did he say to that?”

“He didn’t answer.” Louis shrugged. “But I don’t think he’d come. He’s... not much of a people person.”

“That’s an understatement,” Niall said with a chuckle before his face grew thoughtful. “You know... he likes you.”

Louis blinked, frowning slightly. “He married me.”

“Yeah, but we all thought you’d be more like a... servant,” Niall admitted, his voice low. “You know?”

Louis nodded, his chest tightening. He’d heard that before. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, but it was one he’d had to confront—why had his father agreed to this arrangement, knowing it could’ve been worse? Maybe because life was hard, and you just had to endure it.

“Good thing that didn’t happen,” Louis said lightly, though the words felt heavier than they sounded.

Niall nodded, finishing his bread. “Yeah. But... I think he actually likes you.”

Louis laughed, trying to brush off the statement. “I hope so. Otherwise, I’m screwed if he finds out I sneak out and steal food.”

Niall smirked, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Oh, he knows.”

Louis froze, staring at him. “What?”

“Come on, Louis,” Niall said with a knowing grin. “He’s not blind.”

Louis frowned, staring at the horizon. If Harry knew, why didn’t he stop him? Why hadn’t he said anything?

“How’s the kitten?” Niall asked, breaking the silence.

Louis smiled at the thought. “Good. I think he’s adopted the old dog as his mom.”

Niall laughed, and they sat in comfortable silence, finishing their bread as the sun dipped lower, signaling it was time to head back.

 

 

 

Louis woke up to the sound of a familiar voice, gently shaking him from his slumber. He blinked up at Harry, already dressed in his dark blue clothes and black leather gloves, his hair neatly styled.

"Louis, wake up. We're going to town," Harry's voice was soft, yet insistent.

"Mhm?" Louis mumbled, his mind still heavy with sleep as he turned to face the man, who was already moving toward the door.

"Take a bath. They're just making breakfast," Harry said, leaving a towel on the bed before closing the door behind him.

Louis lay there for a few minutes, drifting in and out of sleep until the words finally registered. He jumped up, hurriedly slipping out of bed, and headed down the hall to the bathroom. The promise of a hot bath was enough to get him moving quickly.

By the time he was dressed and ready, breakfast was waiting. Harry watched him quietly throughout the meal, his gaze steady and observant. Before they left, Harry fixed Louis's clothes, even combing his hair. Then, as they boarded the carriage for their trip to town, Harry sat unusually close to Louis. When the carriage jolted over a stone and Louis instinctively grabbed Harry’s leg for support, Harry didn’t pull away. Louis couldn't help but notice the small shift in their dynamic—there was something different about Harry today.

The town was nothing like the village. It was bigger, and brighter, with bustling streets, shops on every corner, and horse-drawn carriages clattering along the cobbled roads. Louis had heard rumors of cars in the capital—vehicles that didn’t require horses or donkeys to move—but he'd never been there himself. The idea of it fascinated him. Mrs. Horan visited relatives there once a year, sometimes taking Mr. Horan along, but Louis had never been invited.

They arrived at the town center, where the shops were all lined up in neat rows. A boy, slightly younger than Louis but tall and thin, offered to help them load their purchases into the carriage. He looked malnourished, though not as much as Louis, and Louis couldn’t help but feel a sense of solidarity with him. People here weren’t as inclined to help each other as in the village. In town, everyone seemed focused solely on themselves.

Harry led Louis into a clothing store, and Louis chose a couple of items but quickly grew bored. He sat on a stool, swinging his legs while he watched the world outside. The clothes were fine—pretty, even—and they felt good on his skin, but what was the point? The people around him didn’t care about appearances. The only people who would notice were the ones Harry knew, and those were the very people Louis wanted to avoid. Harry could pick the clothes for him; he didn’t mind.

Louis’s gaze wandered across the street, and he spotted something that caught his attention—a shop with windows full of floating candles. They glowed softly, stacked on top of each other, creating a mesmerizing effect.

"Ready?" Harry asked, breaking Louis's reverie as he held several boxes, the young boy standing behind him with more in hand.

Louis nodded and stood, his eyes still on the glowing candles. "Can we go in there?" he asked, pointing toward the shop across the street.

Harry glanced over at the shop and then at Louis before giving a small smile. "In there?" he asked, still holding Louis’s hand.

"Yes," Louis insisted, eager to see what was inside. Harry pulled him closer as they navigated through the crowd of townsfolk, snow beginning to fall lightly around them.

"Okay. Come on, boy," Harry called to the young boy who had been following them, before guiding Louis across the street.

When they entered the shop, Louis’s eyes went wide with wonder. The store was filled with decorations, toys, and oddities, but one thing stood out—a massive figure that resembled a pine tree, adorned with strings of cranberries, popcorn, and miniature sleigh bells.

“What is that?” Louis asked, pointing at the tree in awe.

“It’s a Christmas tree,” the man behind the counter explained, keeping a polite distance.

“It’s as big as a real one!” Louis exclaimed, a grin spreading across his face as he turned to the man.

“It is,” the man agreed, watching as Louis’s excitement grew.

Louis’s attention shifted as he noticed the workers starting to blow out the candles on the tree, the light slowly fading. He was amazed at how beautiful the tree still looked even without the glowing candles.

“Is this a tree store?” Louis asked, still caught up in the magic of the moment.

“No, I—I believe it’s a toy store,” Harry explained, glancing around the shop while swinging his gloves in his hand.

“A toy store?” Louis echoed, taking in the shelves that stretched high above them, filled with colorful wooden toys of all shapes and sizes.

“Yes. Uhm, you should buy a couple for your sisters. Pick whatever you want,” Harry suggested, still holding Louis close, guiding him to the other side of the store.

Louis was hesitant at first but then grew excited as he picked out a few items—a nutcracker, a porcelain doll, marbles, and an oak rocking horse. Harry never left his side, even suggesting colors that might suit Louis’s sisters. Louis couldn’t help but notice how attentive Harry was, despite his usual distant demeanor. It was a strange thing—he didn’t seem to care about many people, yet he was aware of Louis’s needs, even when Louis hadn’t asked.

By the time they finished shopping, Louis was more than a little confused about what to make of Harry. There was something about him that didn’t add up, but Louis couldn’t deny that, in his own way, Harry was looking out for him. And that was more than anyone had ever done before.

As they leave the store, the boy and the salesman in tow with boxes of toys, Louis can’t help but gaze at the streets stretching endlessly before him. The city feels different today. The buildings seem taller, and the bustle of the crowds louder. He can’t remember the last time he felt this way about the town—usually, he couldn’t wait to return to the quiet of the village. But now, with so much attention showered upon him, something feels off. It’s as if he’s being pampered too much, and perhaps that’s a trap.

Why would a practically stranger like Harry give him so much? Louis has nothing to offer in return—he can’t cook, clean, or mend clothes. He barely knows how to read or write. They’ve never even kissed, and he certainly can’t give Harry children. There’s something wrong with this, but Louis can’t put his finger on it.

Harry’s voice interrupts his thoughts, gently taking his hand and guiding him across the street and around the corner. They stop in front of a beautiful shop with big windows, the wood of the counters painted dark green. Ink and paper samples are spread out, catching Louis’s attention as he runs his fingers across the different textures. Harry talks to the owner for a moment, and Louis wanders off, distracted by the shelves filled with hundreds of books. Their spines are adorned with intricate patterns and delicate lettering.

Louis reads a dozen titles, but they make no sense to him. He’s content to simply admire their beauty. The books seem to stretch endlessly across the shop, stacked so high they almost touch the ceiling. Some covers are bright with color, featuring elegant illustrations of people or children, while others are more subdued, represented by simple, thin lines.

As he reaches the end of the shop, his hand brushes against a shelf, and he’s stopped in his tracks by a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t walk away. Let me keep an eye on you,” the stern voice says, followed by a glance that borders on annoyance.

“Sorry, I was looking at the books. They’re pretty,” Louis mumbles, gesturing at the shelves full of titles.

“Pick a few,” Harry responds, glancing at the shelves once more before walking away to give Louis some space.

Louis hesitates, unsure, but then starts to pick out a dozen books. He can only understand a few of the titles, the rest Harry will have to read for him. He picks classics he’s heard of or seen in other places—The Picture of Dorian Gray, Dracula, The Importance of Being Earnest, The Time Machine, The War of the Worlds, Heart of Darkness, Tess of the D'Urbervilles, and The Invisible Man.

“You picked good,” Harry comments when he sees the selection, admiring the beautifully decorated covers. The man behind the counter wraps a pack of paper along with nibs and inkwells.

“Are they good?” Louis asks, standing on tiptoes to try and see the cover of the book Harry is holding.

“I don’t know. Most of them are new,” Harry responds, showing the cover to Louis. Louis shrugs, unable to make out the title.

Once they’ve paid and finished up, they walk back toward the carriage, the boy carrying the stack of books and a squared box. Harry tips the boy for his help, wishing him well. They make their way back through the streets, heading toward an eel, pie, and mash shop. As they pass, Louis continues to take in the sights around him—painted signs hanging above shops, the glow of the streetlights, and the people strolling by.

The women’s dresses are elegant, adorned with flowers and bright, colorful hats, while the men wear long dark jackets and black leather riding boots, topped with top hats. The town feels so different—alive, vibrant, and full of possibility. Louis watches it all, silently taking in the world around him, trying to make sense of his place in it.

 

 

Louis sat on the wooden deck, watching the hills stretching out before him, the vast expanse of the endless horizons. Niall sat nearby, legs stretched out, feeling the coolness of the grass beneath him. There was a strange comfort in these moments—away from the expectations, the gazes, the judgments. Just a simple afternoon spent in the quiet company of a friend who didn’t ask too many questions, who didn’t demand answers.

Louis chewed the black pudding slowly, the rich taste filling his mouth, before wiping it away with his hand. The simple pleasure of food had always been one of his few comforts, and now, in the midst of everything else, it felt like a small rebellion.

"Have you seen your sisters?" Niall asked, his voice easy and unbothered, a stark contrast to the weight pressing down on Louis's chest.

"No," Louis replied, his voice distant, his eyes still tracing the distant hills, as though looking for something—anything—to distract him from the mess of thoughts clouding his mind.

"Why?" Niall pressed, taking a bite of a fried potato cake, chewing thoughtfully as he waited for Louis to answer.

"I'm embarrassed," Louis admitted, his voice soft. He sighed deeply, feeling the words hang in the air between them. It was a vulnerability he hadn’t shared with anyone, but Niall, in his unassuming way, seemed to understand without needing explanations.

"What about?" Niall asked, brow furrowing in mild confusion as he looked at Louis. "Let’s see: you married a man twice your age, your best friend can’t even look at you, and you’re dressed like some toff boy in these clothes."

Louis's stomach churned at the mention of Zayn, the one person who seemed to know him better than anyone else. His marriage, the life he now led, felt like an illusion—built on something he didn’t fully understand himself.

"I married for money," Louis said, the words feeling bitter as they left his mouth.

"They know," Niall said simply, not even looking up from his meal.

"I know they know," Louis continued, his voice cracking slightly. "That's why I’m even more embarrassed to go see them."

He hugged his knees to his chest, feeling small, even though the hills stretched out before him as though offering a world of opportunities. But here, in this moment, in the quiet of the deck, there was no escape from the gnawing feeling that he was living someone else’s life.

"I know," Niall agreed softly. "But they know you’re doing what you have to. They don’t visit because they don’t want to upset him."

Louis’s mind wandered back to Harry. He thought of the man’s calm demeanor, his sternness, the way he could be both generous and distant. Sometimes, Louis wondered if Harry truly cared for him or if it was all part of some unspoken deal. And then there was the kitten. Harry had been against it, but Louis had brought the little creature home anyway. It was small rebellions like that which made Louis feel human again, like he was more than just the property of someone else.

“They won’t! He won’t mind,” Louis huffed, his voice defensive, though he wasn’t entirely convinced. He stared at Niall, who had moved on to munching on another potato cake. "Besides, I haven’t been able to sneak anything decent for them. Only a couple of potatoes and carrots here and there."

Niall gave a small, reassuring smile. "Believe me, they’re doing good. You’re helping them."

Louis nodded, but the unease remained. The thought of Zayn, his once closest friend, lingered in his mind like a heavy weight. He looked up at the oddly blue sky, the puffy clouds drifting lazily overhead. There was something beautiful in the simplicity of it all, but it was hard to see beauty when he felt like his life had turned into a tangled mess of contradictions.

"What do you know about Zayn?" Louis asked after a long silence, his voice quieter than before.

"They say he was in the capital, but some think he went back to Hampfortship," Niall replied, casually eating the last crumbs of his black pudding.

"Did his family leave?" Louis asked, his eyes never leaving the sky.

"Yeah, two weeks ago. Except for his brother. They’re trying to convince him to move and become a fisherman," Niall said, shrugging. "But he doesn’t want to leave. He’s good here."

Louis turned his gaze down to his boots, now scuffed and worn, but still looking almost too clean for someone like him.

"Sometimes I’m glad he’s gone," Louis confessed, his voice almost too quiet to hear. "We both had big dreams, even though we were poor as dirt. We wanted to travel, see the world, live by the sea. But I knew Zayn wouldn’t leave until he was sure his family was taken care of first."

Niall frowned, confused. "Zayn?" he asked, his face scrunching up as he tried to piece the conversation together.

"He would be upset," Louis explained, his voice wavering. "When Zayn found out I was getting married, he… he yelled at me. For fifteen minutes. He was so mad. After that, we didn’t talk, but Niall told me Zayn was outside the church on my wedding day, waiting in case I changed my mind."

"Why?" Niall asked, genuinely curious.

Louis swallowed, his throat tight. "I like him," he said quietly, almost as if he were admitting something he wasn’t entirely ready to accept. "He’s good to me." He paused, looking down at his hands. "But Zayn would never forgive me. He would think I’m a prostitute. A phony. And I… I don’t want to be that."

Louis breathed out, feeling the weight of the confession in his chest. When he married Harry, he thought he’d be a servant, just another decoration in the house. But now, Harry had shown him more kindness than Louis thought he deserved. And yet, Louis couldn’t escape the guilt—the guilt of marrying for convenience, for survival.

"Do you sleep with him, the man?" Niall asked suddenly, his voice low and hesitant, as if afraid to ask the question but needing to know.

"Yes, but..." Louis trailed off, unsure how to explain. "We don’t touch."

Niall turned to look at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "You don’t?"

"No," Louis replied with a slight shrug. "And it’s optional. I have my own room."

Niall remained silent for a moment, digesting this new information, before shaking his head. "Zayn wouldn’t hate you. He’d be jealous, maybe, but I don’t think he could ever hate you." He gave Louis a gentle nudge. "Do you hate him, Lou?"

Louis swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as he wiped away a tear that had unexpectedly slipped down his cheek. "Sometimes," he whispered. "What I hate most is how right he was. About everything. About how I would never get over the embarrassment of marrying for convenience. And what I hate most is that it had to happen this way in the first place. Why couldn’t I have met Harry under different circumstances? Why couldn’t it have been for love, and not for survival?"

The wind whispered through the grass, the world moving on around them, but Louis felt as though he was standing still, trapped in a life he never asked for.

 

The room was silent except for the soft crackling of the fire and the occasional rustle of the kitten snuggling into its warm corner. Louis had barely spoken since he returned from Niall's, his thoughts swirling with everything that had happened that day. The world felt heavy, like a thick fog that refused to lift, and it was hard to shake the feeling of being caught between two lives—one that he was expected to lead and another that he longed for.

He entered the room with the small kitten in tow, setting it down gently in its usual spot by the old hunt. The warmth from the fire seemed inviting, but it couldn’t chase away the chill that clung to his skin, or the unease gnawing at him. He crawled into bed, the familiar softness of the sheets a comfort, and faced the fire. He closed his eyes, seeking the kind of peace he could never seem to find.

Harry's voice cut through the silence, the sharpness of it pulling Louis from his thoughts.

"You've been drinking?"

Louis barely acknowledged him, his response little more than a hum. Harry's tone remained steady, though there was a hint of concern beneath it.

"Louis?"

"Just a pint," Louis muttered, pulling the quilt up over his shoulders, seeking warmth, though it felt like it could never be enough.

"You shouldn't drink, you're too young."

Louis felt the familiar pang of irritation at Harry’s words. He didn’t want to be treated like a child, not now, not when so much had happened, when he’d lived through things that would have broken others. He couldn't bring himself to answer at first, but the words tumbled out before he could stop them.

"I’ve been drinking since I was thirteen," he mumbled, his voice thick with annoyance. The memories that followed were sharp, painful—of hunger, of nights spent on the streets, of doing whatever it took to survive. He hadn’t asked for any of it, but it had shaped him, hardened him.

"And you think that was good?" Harry’s voice was softer now, more questioning, but it still carried a weight that made Louis’s chest tighten.

"It was good enough when we ran out of food," Louis replied, his throat closing at the thought. It wasn’t something he liked to remember, but it was the truth. Back then, it was the only way to numb the hunger, the only way to escape the gnawing emptiness.

Harry’s voice grew more insistent. "You’re not poor anymore, Louis. Drink tea."

Louis scoffed, turning away slightly. He didn’t want to hear it. It was so easy for Harry to say, so easy for him to sit there in his comfortable life and tell Louis what to do. But Louis wasn’t the same boy he had been. He wasn’t the same person who had to scrape by with whatever he could find. And yet, he still carried the scars, invisible to most, but deeply etched into who he was.

"Arsehole," Louis muttered, moving to get up.

Harry’s voice stopped him, softer this time, gentler. "Don’t leave."

Louis hesitated, the tension still hanging in the air between them. He felt the pull of Harry’s hand on his arm, but it wasn’t the usual demand, the usual ownership—it was something different. "Stay. I won’t make any comments."

It was an odd offer, one Louis wasn’t sure how to interpret. But after a long moment, he reluctantly sat back down on the bed, pulling the quilt over himself again. He turned his back to Harry, the warmth of the fire still not enough to chase the coldness in his chest.

Harry’s voice, when it came again, was more of a warning than a plea. "I don’t want to see you stumbling drunk through the door, ever."

Louis huffed, the irritation rising again. "I won’t," he muttered, though the words felt empty.

"Louis?" Harry’s voice was quieter now, and Louis could feel his presence close behind him, a warmth that somehow still felt distant.

Louis rolled over to face him, meeting Harry’s gaze. There was something in the older man’s eyes—something soft, something that made Louis pause. Harry reached for him then, lifting his chin gently, forcing him to meet his gaze fully.

"Do you know I care about you?" Harry’s voice was barely above a whisper, but the weight of the words hung in the air, heavier than Louis had ever expected.

Louis froze, unsure of how to respond. He wanted to pull away, to close himself off, but the sincerity in Harry’s voice made it harder than he expected.

Louis shrugged at first, unsure of how to process it, but then, almost against his will, he nodded. The act felt like a small surrender, an acknowledgment of something he didn’t fully understand.

Harry’s hand remained on his chin, his touch gentle but firm, and for a moment, the world felt smaller, quieter, as if everything had narrowed down to just this moment, this conversation. Harry’s voice dropped even lower, almost a breath against Louis's skin. "Even if you don’t think so, I do. I care about you."

Louis’s heart stuttered in his chest, and for the briefest of moments, he thought Harry might lean in, might kiss him, but it never came. Instead, Harry pulled him closer, guiding him gently to lie against his chest, his arms wrapping around Louis like a shield.

Louis wasn’t sure what to make of it all—the words, the touch, the way Harry seemed to care, but didn’t know how to show it. He thought back to their wedding night, how Harry hadn’t kissed him then either, how he had only held his hands in his. Louis couldn’t quite understand it. It was all so complicated, so tangled in ways he couldn’t untangle.

That night, the cold crept into the room despite the warmth of the fire and the blankets piled over them. But with Harry’s chest beneath his head, and his arms around him, Louis allowed himself to nestle in, to close his eyes and pretend for a moment that it could be enough.

Just for tonight.

 

Louis hurries up the hills, avoiding the roads, venturing between the cattle and the stones to quickly reach the cabin where the potatoes are kept.

"Mr. Horan! Is Niall here?" he yells, excited since he hasn't seen Niall in almost a week. After the little disagreement he had with Harry, the man hasn't left him alone. Every morning for the past week, Harry would watch him take his classes and then take him horseback riding for most of the day. Louis recently learned that Honey is quite tame with him, so it wasn't bad but a little unsettling.

"No, he's with the cows at the stable," the thin and pale man says, looking at how sweaty and exhausted the boy tends to be every time he visits.

"Thanks!" Louis runs uphill.

"Don't run, boyo! You're gonna twist your ankle one of these days!" the man yells, watching him run like a deer and disappear inside the stables.

"Hey!" Louis greets Niall, who is milking a cow.

"Hey, running again? Are you really allowed to go out?" Niall examines him. His clothes, although new, are quite dusty and wet with sweat, and his face has a healthy glow, looking tanner than before.

"Yes. Where are you going?" he asks, sitting on a straw bale to catch his breath.

"To deliver an order of milk. You can come if you want, but you'll have to help me carry the can," Niall stops to seal the milk can.

"Sure," and they return the cow along with the others that graze outside.

Together, they carry the heavy jug of milk, walking quickly a few houses ahead of Niall's.

"What is this?" Louis asks, looking at the very familiar cabin.

"It's your home. Well, your dad's," Niall knocks on the door, wiping the sweat off with his shirt.

"Why is it so different?" Louis takes a few steps back, noticing how much it seems to have expanded to the sides.

"Big, isn't it?" Niall smiles at him, and the wooden door opens, revealing a gray-haired man with reddish skin.

"Oh! My boy!" The man pounces on Louis, hugging him tightly.

"Hello!" Louis says, barely able to breathe.

"Come in, come in!" the man ushers them in, helping Niall with the jug and inviting them to sit. The cabin is bigger than before; it used to have a small table with four chairs, a kitchen, and two beds. Now the kitchen occupies most of the space with a dining room for six people, and instead of beds near the front door, there's a discolored couch in good condition.

There's an archway without a door between the living room and the dining room, where it seems to be a corridor.

"It's so good to see you," the man holds Louis's face and combs his hair, then seems to remember something. "Girls! Lou is here!" he yells, and a noise coming from the corridor can be heard.

"Oh!" A blonde girl with blue eyes appears in the archway, completely stunned. She covers her mouth and walks toward Louis, giving him a hug. Lottie was his second-in-command when they needed to find something to eat, and now her face looks fuller with a healthy blush.

"How are you, kid?" Louis caresses her long hair.

"I missed you," she cries, hugging him tighter.

"I missed you too. Why didn't you come visit me?" he asks, looking at her rosy face. Lottie won't stop hugging him, even snuggling into his chest without letting go.

"What happened to the house?" Louis asks, but she keeps sniffing into his shirt.

"Sit, sit. Come, Niall." His father pulls out a chair for them and enters the archway, saying, "I'll pay you," and "Lottie, bring the bread!"

After that, another blonde girl comes out and looks at Louis in shock. Only a couple of months ago, he saw them, and now they look so different they even have a twinkle in their eyes. Fizzie runs to where they're sitting and cries just like the other girl. A few minutes later, a pair of twins joins them.

"Are you coming for Christmas?" his sister Fizzie asks him, combing his hair while their father watches the fire stove. Louis smiles at the twins, sitting on his lap, as Niall gives them a piece of bread each. The first time Louis had bread was the Christmas after Lottie was born. His mother had helped a wealthy lady get to town, and she paid her with a piece of bread. They never had bread again in the house after that. Well, until now.

"Yeah, yes," Louis takes another piece of bread and looks at his father. "Where is it gonna be?"

"At Horan's as always," the man turns slightly, still watching the flames.

"The house is much bigger now," Louis tells them, and Lottie walks up to him, smiling.

"Yes, we have two rooms now; one for the girls and the other for me," his father takes two cups, filling them with aromatic water.

"We have pigs too!" one of the twins says, feeding her bread to Louis.

"Since when?" he asks, still chewing.

"Harry-" Fizzie says, but she doesn't finish. Instead, she looks at her father. "Harry."

"Harry?" Louis asks, looking at him as well.

"Uhm, yeah. Yes, son, after your wedding, he came to visit, once a week," he explains, giving them the cups.

"He never mentioned it," he never even implied it.

"He seems like a very busy man," the father shrugs and goes back to serving himself a cup.

"I'm glad you're okay," Louis looks around the house. It's cleaner, and his sisters look taller than the last two years. Maybe his decisions aren't that deplorable.

"More than okay, son," the man assures.

"So Christmas at Niall's," Louis continues, taking a sip of tea.

"Yes, we'll bring the tobacco and a few rabbits," the man smiles, patting Niall's shoulder.

"What should I bring?" Louis looks at them. He still doesn't know if he can count on Harry's resources, but even if he doesn't let Louis take food, he'll manage to sneak out some bread.

"Whatever is fine, but don't bring beer. That's our specialty, and my mom is in charge of the potato and cabbage mash," Niall says, smiling proudly, taking another piece of bread.

"Noted," Louis nods.

"Let me serve you some milk with honey," the father offers, walking to a small wooden cabinet, pulling out a jar, and opening it.

"Honey?" Louis offers his cup, and Niall follows.

"Yes, we traded a couple of boxes for honey. It doesn't spoil," he explains, pouring the honey.

"I didn't know," Louis looks at his father, who takes a small bowl with milk and puts it on the table. Niall reaches for it, pouring a little into his tea.

His father sits next to him and takes his shoulder with one hand and his hand with the other. "How's everything, Lou? Is he good to you?"

"Yes, he's very nice," Louis looks at his father's eyes, his forehead and cheeks marked with wrinkles.

"Are you sure?" the man asks again, stroking his cheek with calloused hands.

"Yes, don't worry about it," he nods and smiles, taking another sip of his tea. He's fine, but it's his pride that is killing him. At first, it was the reminder that he probably didn't have an ounce of self-love, then the opinion of others, and now the fact that he likes Harry more than just as a wealthy provider.

After tea, they say goodbye and make their way back to the barn.

"You were right," Louis sighs, watching the mud stain his trousers with every step he takes.

"See? I told you not to worry; they're fine," Niall smiles, putting his arm around his shoulders.

"They're not as rawboned," Louis recognizes, seeing the houses on the road that haven't changed at all. They still look as ransacked as before.

"Do they help?" Louis looks at the slightly taller blonde and hugs his waist.

"Us? Sure! They bring rabbit once a week," Niall nods willingly and squeezes his shoulder.

"Good," the smaller boy huffs, and they keep walking. The sun is still high in the sky, but the breeze is cold. Even on the worst days of winter or after their mother's passing, the Horans were there for them. Zayn's family as well, but they were almost as poor as them. Whenever they were hungry, they knew they could go to them and get at least a plate of potatoes with cauliflower and milk. Meat was as rare as the bread in anyone's home in the village.

"Do people ask questions?" Louis dares to ask after a minute. Don't ask what you don't want to know.

"About what?" Niall frowns and kicks a rock out of the way.

"My family? The house? The rabbit? Me?" he breathes out, looking at the ground.

"No, they don't," Niall was always a lousy liar, and Louis was always an expert at reading between the lines.

"They really don't have to. Do they?" he looks at the small cabins with smoke coming out of them.

"Louis. Don't worry about it," Niall smiles, shaking him a little.

"That snake really changed your life, didn't it?" the blonde laughs, and Louis can't help but do the same. "Maybe I should go to the field and try my luck," he keeps teasing him, and Louis shoves him away playfully. "Come on, Lou. I'm playing," Niall laughs and puts his arm around his shoulders again. Louis sighs and hugs his middle.

 

 

Louis looks at the piano as his fingers jump from key to key, watching the teacher's reflection in the polished wood. He paces back and forth, touching his chin. Louis plays Liszt's Consolation No. 3. Chopin and Liszt have become his favorites, especially the slower pieces that evoke a melancholic feeling.

When Louis finishes, he turns to see Harry and Mrs. Lydia next to the professor, clapping. He's still a bit slow, but he has practiced for an hour every day after lunch, before his classes. He smiles faintly and makes a small bow to the unexpected audience. The piano gives him a trance-like feeling every time he plays, as if he's traveling with the notes in the air, getting lost in the song.

The class ends, and Mrs. Lydia exits, leaving the three in Harry's private studio.

"You've practiced well, very good, Louis," the teacher praises, touching his shoulder, and Louis returns the smile.

"Master, wait. Let me pay you," the teacher says as he walks to the man's desk, and Louis takes this as his cue to leave. For some reason, he dislikes watching Harry pay for anything related to him.

He plays with the kitten in the living room, trying to distract it from nibbling on the poor dog's ear. Finally, the men leave the study. As they stop to lock the door, Louis sees the professor whisper something in Harry's ear, who turns to glance at the lanky man as they continue chatting. Whenever the teacher speaks about him, he tilts his head and seems to be talking to the floor, with only Harry's reaction giving him away. Louis turns just in time to avoid being caught by them.

 

"After dinner, we're going to have you read for us in the living room," Harry decides, cutting a potato in half. And there it is. That idiot professor.

"I don't know how to read," Louis looks up from his plate. It's not that he hasn't tried, it's just that he doesn't care for it.

"That's why you're practicing. You can already read pamphlets; books aren't more difficult than those." Louis nods, and they continue eating his potatoes with green onions and a fried egg.

After dinner, Harry gets up to pick a book from his study, and Louis waits for him in the living room, anticipating the lecture. It's only the two of them at that moment, so Louis lies near the fireplace to read more clearly.

Harry comes out with a book under his arm and gives it to Louis, already lying on the floor next to the kitten. The man sits in his usual armchair and orders a cup of tea with milk and honey. Louis isn't in the mood to drink anything, already feeling nervous at the thought that it's just the two of them, at least while Mrs. Lydia clears the kitchen and Mr. Smith takes a bath.

Louis takes a deep breath before reading the first lines.

Morning-room in Algernon’s flat in Half-Moon Street.

The room is luxuriously and artistically furnished.

The sound of a piano is heard in the adjoining room.

The first time Louis met the man who now rests in the armchair smoking his pipe, he was sixteen years old and boiling with fever. He was lying on a mattress of duvets inside the small stone hut overlooking the hills.

He and Niall had gone to visit Zayn in hopes of picking branches of heather and gorse. They packed a piece of bread with a slice of cheese and went down to the moor. After gathering enough branches, they got ready to eat under a tree a few feet away. Louis finished first and walked back to the coarse grasses, looking for more gorse to make tea for his sisters, since they had always liked it. They said it tasted like coconut or peas.

The moment he grabbed the branch of gorse, he was thorned and jumped back. Immediately, something cut through his old and worn shoe. Louis fell to the ground while a black adder shot out to hide in the grass, probably alarmed by his screams or the possibility of being crushed.

Zayn was next to him in seconds while Niall was trying to find the animal that bit him. They tried asking Louis, but he kept screaming in pain. Zayn carried him on his back while Niall carried the plants tied with string in the hope that one of them would help him.

When they finally arrived at the stone hut, Louis already had his foot swelling, red, and bruising. They sent Zayn's older brother to look immediately for Louis's father, while Zayn and Niall were looking for the doctor, who, although he lived in town, had to visit the village daily.

When the doctor finally arrived, Louis's lips were swollen, and he couldn't breathe.

Louis remembers pieces of what happened because he felt very dizzy and confused, the voices of people sounding like distorted echoes. However, he remembers clearly that before he passed out, he saw a pair of black leather boots behind the doctor, standing in the frame of the little hut.

Eight months later, Harry showed up at his door with Mr. Smith, carrying a bread and butter pudding.

He sat in one of the few functioning chairs and asked his father for his hand before turning to ask Louis.

Neither of them knew what to say, so they just looked at each other for a moment before asking Harry for an explanation for that sudden appearance. They had never seen each other before; Louis had only heard of him, but they weren't acquaintances.

Harry simply said that he thought Louis would make a good husband and left, giving them a period of two months to think about it.

In February of the following year, he married the man at the small church. Louis was seventeen.

He never saw Zayn again after that.