Harry is on hour three of trying to paint something remotely good, and he's getting more and more frustrated.

Millie lays belly-up on the hardwood floor, right in the middle of a stream of sunlight poking through the window. Sometimes, Harry wishes he was a French bulldog laying in the sun. Things would be much simpler.

The canvas on the easel in front of him is covered in eraser marks from failed sketches, things he thought maybe he could start, but lacked the creative drive. He wants to paint, he loves painting. It's usually what fills his time on weekends when Louis isn't there. Why is it so difficult right now?

He sets his paintbrush down, next to his pencil, and picks up his tea to take a sip. He looks around the room, what they both usually call the guest room, although they've never had a guest. There's not even a bed, just Harry's painting supplies and a few boxes they still haven't unpacked. They had both liked the spare bedroom when they found the house a few months ago, an unspoken use for it in both their minds, but neither have verbalized it.

Harry stares at a corner of the room, the pile of brown moving boxes slowly morphing into the image of a wooden baby cot. He blinks hard once, twice, but it won't go away, maybe even intensifies.

It's always there, in the back of his mind, tucked in the corner of any room. He wants it, and Louis knows that, and he knows Louis wants it too, but. Maybe he wants it sooner than he had thought.

He turns back around, and almost automatically reaches for his paintbrush. Starts dipping it in paint and covering the pencil-scuff marks without a sketch, letting his mind and his hand wander. He hears the front door open and close, but doesn't stop, so focused on his creation that he only notices Louis in the doorway when the familiar smell of smoke fills the air.

Harry looks up, sees Louis, unshowered and tired and giving him a soft smile. "Hey, darlin'."

"Hi," Harry replies, tilting his head upward expectantly. Louis' grin widens, eyes weary as he walks over and indulges, kissing him sweetly. Louis then moves to stand behind him, looking over his head at the painting, and they both fully realise what Harry's painted at the same time.

It's a wooden cot, like Harry had imagined in the corner of that same room. There's no baby in it, instead tall flames rising out of it and over the bars, spreading halfway down the frame. It's unfinished, the start of the hardwood floor in the corner, a paintbrush covered in brown paint still in Harry's hand.

Louis doesn't say anything. Harry hears the catch in his breath, but doesn't dare look back at him. After a moment, Louis' arm is in front of his face, resting down across his chest. A kiss is planted on top of his head. He almost thinks there's going to be something, a conversation about it.

But, Louis just mumbles "'M off to bed. Gonna shower later, before dinner."

Harry feels a little deflated. He just reaches up and squeezes Louis' arm as an acknowledgment, and Louis kisses the top of his head once more time before leaving the room. Harry looks back at his painting. He doesn't have the stomach to finish it anymore.

♛

Louis sleeps until after dinner is ready. The table is set, it's on the table, and Harry waits fifteen minutes before going to the bedroom to wake him up.

It's hard to, because he looks so content sleeping. No furrow in his brow, face lax as he hugs Harrys pillow to his chest. Keeping his footsteps light, Harry approaches the bed, climbing up onto it and sitting against the headboard. He runs his fingers through Louis' hair, watching him wrinkle his nose slightly.

"L," Harry whispers. "Babe."

"Hm?" Louis hums.

"Time for dinner, love, 's ready," Harry says. Louis preens under the touch of his hand, sticks his arm out of the comforter and feels for Harry's leg before fully maneuvering himself so his head is in his lap. Harry continues to card through his hair, deciding not to tell Louis about the two grey ones he finds.

"Slept too long," Louis mumbles, words slurred with sleepiness as he presses his cheek into Harry's thigh. "Soz."

"'S okay. Y're tired," Harry amends, moving his hand down to Louis' face and cupping his cheek, stroking his cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. Louis turns his head slightly to kiss the palm of his hand. "Another call last night?"

"Mm," Louis affirms. "Not too big, but took forever to put out. I drove the truck, Joe fell 'sleep in the passenger seat on the way back. He can't hang."

Harry snickers, shaking his head. "Saved any cats from trees?" He teases, and Louis wrinkles his nose again.

"No," He grumbles, poking Harry in the tummy playfully. He's quiet for a moment before opening his eyes and adding on, "Saved one from the fire, though."

"That's my boy," Harry says with a grin, holding his fist out. Louis grins sleepily, tapping it with his own and making Harry giggle softly. He brushes Louis' hair out of his face, whispering "I ever tell you how proud I am of you?"

"Probably everyday for the nine years I've known you," Louis closes his eyes again with a fond smile, pressing his cheek into Harry's thigh, sleepy. "Thank you, though, baby."

Harry leans down and kisses his forehead. "I made chicken, 'm sure you're hungry," He mentions, and Louis grins again, grunting in appreciation.

"I sure am," Louis leans up and nips right below his navel through his shirt, his hand resting high up on his thigh. Harry yelps, and Louis laughs wickedly.

"Are you forgetting your lovely, doting husband just made you dinner?" He asks, but does nothing to stop Louis as he travels up his torso, kissing above his belly-button, between his pecks, his collarbone. He finally grabs Louis' face and kisses him, deep and hard as Louis hovers over him, mumbling "It's gonna get cold," Into his mouth.

"Mm, 's what...microwaves were...invented for," Louis manages out between long kisses, Harry's hands reaching up to tangle his fingers in his hair. Slowly, Louis moves down to nibble at Harry's neck, muttering against his skin. "Bet the inventor had a gorgeous husband he was kept away from, 'n when he got home, he wanted to go down on him so bad, they forgot to eat dinner-"

"You're such a dork," Harry giggles, but he's breathless and warm from Louis' touch, preening under the attention as Louis sucks at the base of jaw. "Hey, hey, 've got work on Tuesday."

Louis huffs, displeased, but kisses the spot softly instead. "Gotta mark you somewhere," He mumbles, possessive, but he leans back up and starts to kiss him on the lips again. "Don't want those-" Kiss. "-little brats-" Kiss. "-gettin' any-" Kiss. "-ideas."

"Menace," Harry comments, but he squirms a little in delight as Louis' tongue slowly enters his mouth, his thigh inserted between Harry's legs. It reminds him of being nineteen, snogging on the twin bed in Louis' tiny first flat. Some days he'd like to go back.

Louis nibbles at his bottom lip, Harry's hands on his cheeks, the smell of smoke still lingering between them. Louis brings his hand up to hold Harry's face, and Harry grabs his arm. "So, can I?" Louis asks against his lips.

"Hm?" Harry hums, pouting a little when Louis leans back from him with a laugh.

"Can I go down on you?" He asks. Harry's face becomes furiously hot, even though Louis asks for consent every time. He nods wordlessly, and Louis laughs a little again at his sheepishness. He kisses him again, his fingers on Harry's waistband when they hear little nails and the jingling of a collar entering the room. Louis groans.

"Impeccable timing as always," He remarks with a grumble, getting out of the bed and scooping Millie up. Harry sighs, the tightness in his trousers easing up as Louis carries Millie out of the room and shuts the door.

Louis runs his hand over his face, the bags under his eyes especially prominent in the low light of the bedroom. "'S like having a toddler, I swear," He mumbles lightheartedly, but he must see the way Harry deflates a little, because he frowns.

"Lou," Harry says after a moment. Louis walks back over to the bed, sitting down on the edge of it.

"I know," He says softly. "'Ve been thinking about it too."

"Yeah?" Harry hums. Louis doesn't answer, just looks down at the floor. Slowly, Harry sits up all the way, scooting closer to Louis. He sticks his hand up his t-shirt, rubbing his back as he closes his eyes.

"I'm not ready yet," Louis says after a moment, voice barely a whisper. He seems so tense saying it, so Harry leans over to kiss the skin of his arm. Louis reaches his arm back and runs his hand over Harry's hair, looking back at him. "...Is that okay?"

"What?" Harry laughs a little, turning his head and pressing a kiss to the inside of Louis' wrist. "Yeah, 'course it is."

"Because if you want it now," Louis says gently, moving his hand to Harry's face and smoothing his thumb over his lips. "I'd feel terrible about making you wait 'cos of me."

"I'm okay waiting," Harry assures, grinning fondly when Louis moves his hand to rest it on Harry's cheek. "'Ve got all the time in the world for you, L."

Louis cracks a soft smile, leaning forward and kissing him. "You're so good, baby," He mumbles. Harry melts under the attention. He thinks the gooey, puppy-dog look in his eyes would make people sick if they could see him. Louis let's out a quiet sigh. "Effectively killed the mood here, huh?"

"That's alright," Harry assures. "You had a long night, love."

Louis leans forward and kisses him again, standing up off the bed and stretching. "'M gonna go wash up before dinner."

"I can go stick dinner back in the stove," Harry stands up as well.

"...Or you could come join me?" Louis suggests, raising his eyebrows. "And we could eat cold chicken together?"

"You're such a dork," Harry repeats, but he laughs when Louis grabs his hand with a devilish smile, leading him out of the bedroom.