It surprises everyone but Harry when it's Niall who turns out to have the secret HIM fetish.
Louis laughs over it until he's almost blue from lack of oxygen, lying half-off the couch in their tour bus while Harry tries to console a furiously pink Niall. Harry just knows he's picturing those fans they run into backstage sometimes when they're visiting, decked from head-to-toe in black and dressed like The Crow mixed with Poe.
"I promise it's not like I've some kind of. I don't like your da' or anything, Haz." he's stammering a little bit, so maybe he's lying, but it's not like Harry's never come across a friend who wanted to bone either of his fathers before. Besides, later, after a show and when they're all tipsy and high on adrenaline, maybe this'll be fun. He'll put on some kohl and do the famous dance Ville Valo did like, twice, and see if Niall starts turning funny colors again.
"I know, it's fine, Nialler." He ruffles Niall's hair and leans in to snatch the iPod away where it's still playing Heartache Every Moment and reaches over with his other hand to slap Louis's chest just this side of too hard.
"Give it a rest, Lou, or I'll sign you up for-- I dunno, one of those sites that let your whole Twitter know what's in your music." Louis shakes his head, flushed almost redder than Niall now and breathing hard, because he knows Harry would never.
Still, he shuts it and lets Niall be for a moment, and they get to be quiet while they're all recovering. They don't get nearly enough time to just be the way they are now.
Just his luck that their momentary peace is shattered by the very person they're talking about, though, isn't it?
"Hey Dad. Just the bus. Yeah, but the driver, y'know, he. We got sidetracked for food."
Louis's got his breath back and he leans in and yells, "Hi Bam!" just because he can, burying his face in Harry's shoulder when he visibly winces. Lou would find some way to get almighty revenge should he ever say it, but he was much worse of a spaz when he first met Harry's other famous father. Harry still teases him about it sometimes, all Maybe I should cut my hair a little, eh, Lou? Or get myself some fatter shoes like Dad has. when Louis's brushing his teeth, until he streaks toothpaste across the sink trying to catch Harry and shut him up.
"Hey Louis, how you holdin' up? Treating Haz right, right? Don't make me get his uncle over there to show you his prize-winning jabs." It's an old, harmless threat, and Louis just laughs, always laughs, elbowing Harry like he could funnel it to Bam somehow and saying,
"Been a perfect gentleman as always, haven't I, love?" Harry can't actually keep talking then, as he barks out a laugh and folds over his knees. Gentleman to Louis just means winding a bra he stole off the stage around the doorknob to keep Zayn from walking in on him eating room service off Harry's chest on the floor. It's not like Harry's ever been all that much better, but the thought of Louis calling himself--it's too much.
"Yeah...yeah, Dad, you know Lou, he's practically heroic." And now they're all losing it, even Louis, and Niall is watching them like he does a zoo exhibit, weirded out and fascinated.
"All right, where are you playing tonight? Think we can make it out by the time you go on?"
Harry stops a moment and thinks and can't even remember. He tells his dad that, feeling kind of embarrassed about how out of it he must be, and snickers at his sound of recognition. Sometimes it takes things like that to remind him that only ten years ago, both of his fathers were exactly the same. He was away from them for so much of them growing up, so much of him growing up; he sometimes forgets.
"I miss you, Dad, really hope you can," he says quietly, and there's a long exhale on the other line. Dad's probably leaning back in his chair, shut up in his office and hiding while he calls. Harry remembers how he used to do that back during the bad years when he called Papa--how Grand-mum used to keep him away when he was tiny and curious but he could still hear the same kind of desperation he does now through the door.
"I'll definitely do my damnedest, Harry, you know that." He does, and it must show in his face, because familiar hands wrap around him and pull him against a firm shoulder and squeeze. He looks over and can't help but smile to get the look of worry off of Louis's features; Louis's face is made for joy and Harry tries to keep it looking that way.
Louis smiles too, leans in and butts his shoulder blade with his nose and gives him big, over-exaggerated bats of his lashes, and Harry chuckles.
"Let Papa know I love him, okay? And I'll text you about the venue and tell the team to keep an eye out for you, just in case."
There's warmth in his father's voice, and Harry wonders if he's guessed what made his mood change. Probably--he has this eerie sixth sense about him and Lou, says they remind him of how they were ten years ago, as if that's not the creepiest thing ever to tell your kid about his sex life.
"You got it, kid. Go get 'em and knock 'em all dead either way, right? I love you."
Harry closes his eyes for a moment, even with his face tucked up against Lou's soft hair, and sighs, wishing he were home, at the Castle, sat up on top of the Pirate Bar with the curry only his Papa makes right and watching the two of them looking like they were his age, throwing soap bubbles at each other while they pretended to be responsible and do dishes. Louis would be right there, too, with his own bowl, sopping it up with bread and ignoring the faces Harry made, mock-attempting to kiss him without a single worry that a camera would catch it. Their voices would mesh together, his and his dad's, yelling in protest until they gave in, and after, Dad'd grab Harry and tug on his hair playfully, when he and Lou handed them their used dishes, smirking.
It's almost unbearable at that moment to be so far away. If Louis didn't feel so much like home all the time, if Harry couldn't dig his nose harder into his skull and relax immediately like he always had since they met, he'd find a way to ball up and never say a word again, so sick with missing his parents it hurts.
"Love you too," he mumbles, and hangs up, and Louis's right there when he turns to curl into something for comfort, squeezing him tight and singing the kind of music Bam will always make fun of him for into his ear, just soothing him. He needs it, and he doesn't want to ignore Niall, who's still in the room--never is the type to ignore anyone, especially when he loves them as much as he does the lads--but he doesn't want to move or talk or remember when he pulls away they'll probably still be driving somewhere further and further from his home, either.
"We're somewhere near Phoenix, I think, Haz, if you want to let them know," Louis says, only a whisper, just a breath on his ear, and Harry nods, short and sharp.
He will, and they'll make it, and he'll see them. It'll be all right, for another night.
"Go on, text him then." Louis shifts them both up and Harry looks down at his phone before he opens up the browser to search it out: the picture of Louis with his hair styled into devil horns and the time, barely hours from the gig tonight, and the alarm he sets just in case either he or Lou fall asleep too close to show time.
Shaking his head, he leans in and kisses Louis's lips, still pouted in concern over him, and grins when he pulls back.
'Hey so we're playing at--' he starts the message and snuggles deeper into the couch and by the time his dad knows how to get to him, he's closing his eyes and dropping everything, every bit of his stress and the extra weight of his baggage in his body, on Louis.
Louis kisses the top of his head and moves with him, like they always do, like magnets designed in a pair with poles specific to only each other. He can take it, all of it, everything Harry can give, and be everything Harry needs until he's got his family around him again.
