The next day they went to buy Harry a bed and his own dresser and night stand. Standing there, watching Harry try out beds, Louis was more amused than embarrassed. The salesmen seemed to get a kick out of him when he bounced and tried out a variety of positions.

After what seemed like a very long time, Harry decided on a queen size pillow-top bed. They made arrangements for it to be delivered, then went a few stores over and Harry found a dresser and nightstand that he liked. Louis approved of his choices, because, of course, they always seemed to have the same tastes.

"Happy times!" chortled Louis as they walked out of the store after arranging to have the other pieces delivered as well. "I'm glad that's over with." He had been afraid Harry would be super picky and would keep changing his mind, being fickle about the purchases.

"That bed is wicked, isn't it?" asked Harry, seeking Louis' blessing.

"I reckon I rather like it meself," admitted Louis. "It's proper sick lookin' and comfortable too."

Yes, Louis had tried the bed out. He'd waited until Harry wasn't on it, of course. With his luck, Harry would be liable to cuddle up in front of the salesmen, no less.

Next they went and got Harry a nice thick sherpa comforter. It would also serve as a bedspread, since it was very attractive by itself. It was a rich cocoa brown, and it made you want to bury your hands into its plush furry softness. It would certainly keep Harry warm.

As they made their way back to the Rover, a turquoise camaro drove through the parking lot, and Louis felt his blood heat up. He knew that car. It was Joe's, the guy from Harry's ex-band.

"Hey, there's that asshole Joe," Louis said to Harry. Joe stepped on the gas, and soon all they could see was Joe's middle finger sticking up near the roof of the car as he burned rubber out of the parking lot. Harry and Louis both laughed. The guy had been too much of a pussy to even stop and harass them.

"Real mature, that one," Louis said drily.

Although Joe didn't seem to pose much of a threat, Louis still worried about Harry when he was out alone. And he still kept an eye on people around them at all times. Careful not to be obvious, he stayed aware, and encouraged Harry to do the same. Fortunately, Harry took it seriously and acceded to Louis' request.

Harry still hadn't decided on a band. To make things awkward, Joe and the other two had been sniffing around two of the bands they thought Harry was likely to join. And the members of those bands didn't hesitate to tell Harry. Harry apologized for their behavior, and hoped it wouldn't hamper his chances of joining. But the other musicians were so eager to get Harry in their bands that the troublemakers didn't seem to have much of an impact.

Harry had heard his old band, Clockwork, was looking for another lead singer, and so far, had not been successful. They were bitter. He heard these things through the grapevine when he interviewed band prospects. And interviewing was really the only way to distinguish what Harry was doing, because all of the bands wanted him. They'd heard him sing, seen him perform, and it was just a matter of Harry deciding which band he wanted to join.

Harry would always go home and run everything by Louis after interviewing a band, telling of their merits, any downfalls, and what personalities the band members possessed. They discussed the musical talents of each band, the positives and negatives of joining said band; discounting some for various reasons, and keeping others cataloged for further consideration. Harry needed to make a decision soon; not so much for financial reasons, because he still had plenty of money, but because he was missing music so much. It was an essential part of him. No matter how often he listened to it, it could never take the place of actually singing and performing himself. He missed the stage, the excitement, the audience's reactions—all of it.

Many times, he sang to Louis at night. Along to the radio, or by himself. Louis, as always, was entranced. When Harry's voice got husky and earthy, Louis found himself wriggling his butt just a little bit, attempting to get more comfortable. But that wasn't all of it. He couldn't get comfortable for a reason—it was because Harry's essence made him horny; well, really much more than simply horny. It was much deeper than that, but he couldn't put a finger on it. Whatever it was, it felt smooth, silky, and lush. It infused warmth within him. But horny and those other things combined didn't seem to go together. At least, they never had before in Louis' world. It was new, and it was fascinating.

Things were changing, and quickly. Louis was developing a real affection for Harry. It ran deeper than Louis wanted to admit. He could never discuss it with Harry though, because he felt like a freak. And he was afraid Harry would feel the same way. Harry would be nice about it, of course, and understanding, but just the same, he'd think Louis was slightly unhinged. Louis was sure of it.

One night, as Harry sang. he caught Louis with his eyes closed and a gentle smile, as if he was having a wonderful dream. When Harry finished the song, it took Louis a moment to wake up to reality again, although he hadn't been sleeping. He had just been lost in Harry's voice. His eyes looked faraway and dreamy as Harry gazed at him.

"What's up?" asked Harry gently.

"Your voice . . . it gives me all the feels," confessed Louis, tired of denying it.

Harry was thoughtful for a few seconds. "Well, that's what it's supposed to do," he explained smoothly, not making Louis feel foolish at all. "If I hit something emotional in you with me singing, that is actually me goal. You want your audience to connect with you on a musical level. I'm so happy it's happened with us."

Oh, you don't know the half of it, thought Louis. But he couldn't help being pleased. He didn't have to tell Harry about the horny part. Thank God that wasn't required, and Harry seemed satisfied with his admission. Louis didn't think he suspected anything about the horny part. In fact, Harry looked a little like he was floating on air himself. His art, which was his singing, was so integral to him, so important. And he wanted to make people feel good, take them to another time and place, or merely allow them to use the enjoyment of his voice in any way they liked. That was his job, and he took tremendous pride in it.

"I'm glad you're into it," he said, honesty lighting up his face.

"I wish you could sing everything you know to me," said Louis in a rare moment of putting words to his reverency. He was in awe of Harry's talent, and also his insight, which he supposed naturally went along with singing with passion. You had to feel the words, embrace the emotion. It had to be a powerful thing to be able to put people into a particular state of mind with merely your voice.

Louis didn't know if other people felt as he did, but Harry made him feel humble, whereas he'd seldom felt that way before. He'd always had the bravado going on, and the singing seemed to strip that away, until he was almost raw. It had frightened him at first, but after he saw that nothing bad happened when he let himself go to enjoy Harry's singing, he realized he could lose the tight hold he had on himself and truly enjoy for once. And it was all thanks to Harry. But as far as articulating it to Harry—he didn't think he was capable. At least, not yet.

"You're slayin' it," he said, wanting to pay Harry a compliment, this being the most comfortable way for him to do it.

Harry beamed. He absolutely beamed with pleasure. "You think so?"

"It's kinda like . . . well," Louis wasn't sure how much he could say without sounding like an idiot.

"You can tell me. By now you know you can trust me with your feelins,'" Harry murmured, and Louis knew he was right.

"Yeah . . . you're the first person I've trusted in ages, except for me family, of course. Okay, I'll tell you if you promise you won't laugh."

"Never. What you have to say is important to me," Harry said sincerely.

"Okay, well . . . the experience of hearing you sing—especially certain songs—is almost, kinda, well, spiritual to me."

Harry looked to be in disbelief. He almost thought Louis was kidding at first, but when Louis' eyes didn't leave his, he realized Louis was as earnest as he could be. He knew the older man by now. He knew all the little nuances in his speech, his body language, and it was clear that Louis was one hundred percent sincere.

Harry was delighted, and he moved forward impulsively, to hug Louis. That was one of his favorite ways to show appreciation with a close friend. And he hadn't had a close friend in a while, so he craved a good, massive hug. And there was no one he'd rather get it from than Louis.

Louis hesitated, even though he knew Harry would never do anything inappropriate. Still, he was embarrassed; felt unsettled and awkward. Even so, he moved forward also, and they met halfway.

They did the "man hug" at first, but Harry, instead of patting Louis' back as Louis was doing to him, began to do more of a rub on Louis' back. A tender rub. More like a stroke than anything, while his other hand rested on Louis' waist. And he held Louis super close, turning his head into Louis' hair, but not too much. Not enough to seem out of line. He knew Louis had boundaries and he appreciated them.

The gentle strokes of Harry's hand on his back made Louis want to melt into him, but he maintained his dignity. He wanted to stroke Harry's back as well, but governed himself sternly.

When the hug was broken—mainly by Louis; he was left not knowing what to do.

"It wasn't purely spiritual though," Louis said immediately when they parted.

"Yeah?" Harry waited for Louis to continue.

"There's another . . . element there besides the warm fuzzies and the serenity. I feel I should tell you—not hold it back."

"Certainly," Harry's smile and positive manner gave Louis some incentive to keep talking. But at the same time, he was torn. Wording it was the most difficult part. It couldn't sound undiplomatic—not with a person like Harry. He tried desperately in his head to think of a synonym for horny, but he also knew he needed to call a spade a spade and not beat around the bush.

"It makes me feel . . . desirous." Louis almost shocked himself with his word choice.

Desirous? Really?

This rendered Harry speechless—not surprising. It took him a good minute to utter anything at all.

"Desirous? Um . . . like, lustful or sommat?"

"Well, yeah . . . I guess so. Aroused also fits the bill."

Now Harry had turned pale. He shifted on the couch slightly so he was able to face Louis.

Oh boy. Louis didn't need Harry gawking at him at an awkward moment as this. He lowered his gaze, feeling ashamed of his bluntness. Well, at least he hadn't said horny!

"Aroused, as in sexually aroused?" Harry's face looked grave, resolute.

Oh God. Fuck. What had he just entangled himself into?

"Yeah, but . . . in a good way, not a bad one," was all Louis could come up with. He was flying by the seat of his pants, and he didn't like the feeling one bit.

Harry looked confused, as well he should. Louis wasn't being plainspoken. He was circumventing to a degree because he didn't want to just come right out with the baldness of his desire for Harry.

"What are you sayin'?"

"I'm dodgin' is more like it," Louis said mournfully. "You see, I know you're sensitive, Harry, and I don't want to offend you."

Harry studied Louis' eyes, his lips; and Louis realized he was trying to get at the truth without forcing Louis to say words that might sound objectionable. He was concerned for Louis' anxiety.

"Aroused," said Harry quietly, as if he was talking to himself.

"You heard right," Louis nodded, trying to coax Harry to absorb how sweeping, how profound this was.

Harry cleared his throat, and Louis knew something intense was coming.

"The music arouses you directly . . . or sommat else does?"

Okay, so running away from this wasn't going to happen. Here was the question Louis could no longer get around—no longer deny. Was he going to lie, or half-ass answer Harry? Both felt wrong. This was the moment of truth, and Louis wasn't ready for it. He made a decision.

"Okay, Harry. Right now . . . let's put this on hold, can we? And talk about it later?"

This attempt to delay the inevitable might or might not be effective, but Louis had to try. If Harry didn't feel the same way about him, he'd look like a complete clown. He was so afraid of rejection.

"Why'd you bring it up then?"

"I . . . I don't know. I reckon it was a mistake on me part."

"Well, now I won't be able to sleep for tryin' to figure out what it means."

"I'm sorry. I'll explain some other time. But right now . . . just isn't the time."

"And one has to find the right words too, yeah?"

Louis smiled. Harry really did get it. He understood that Louis had spoken too soon, and needed to get his shit together so he wouldn't blurt out something that might be interpreted incorrectly. Although, how could, "You turn me on" be misinterpreted? Louis had to admit he was too much of a coward to come right out with it. But, knowing Harry as he did, he knew the curly-haired beauty wouldn't let this go. He had a memory like an elephant.

"I'm not tryin' to get you to tell me anythin,' but . . . just one more thing I'm curious about," Harry hesitated, and Louis nodded, signaling him to continue. He hoped Harry wouldn't push too hard.

"Could it be Brooke you're . . . wantin'? Desirin?'"

"Brooke . . . Brooke? You mean the bird from the dog park? Hell no! I told you she's not me type."

"I have to make a confession," Harry looked down at the floor uneasily.

Oh no! Had Harry done something with Brooke? Not that it should bother Louis—it was just that it made him feel a teeny bit jealous.

"That day you asked me to get your wallet outta your pants? Well, a piece of paper with her name and number fell out when I took your wallet out. It's been buggin' me. That's why I asked you if you're wantin' her."

Louis sighed in relief and then laughed, relieved in more ways than one.

"I wondered how it ended up on the floor of me bedroom. She gave it to me weeks ago, and I forgot to throw it out."

"Oh . . . " Harry's features relaxed, the tension seeming to drain out of him. Why was he acting so weird? It couldn't possibly be that Harry was actually happy that Louis didn't want Brooke, could it? No, that was too far-fetched. And too good to be true.

They didn't say any more about the incident, although Louis had the impression that Harry was wanting to say something, yet holding it back. Better to wait until they were both in the frame of mind to discuss whatever it was that was lurking in the background, he supposed.

Between walking dogs, going to the gym and working on self-defense, Harry and Louis stayed busy. They continued to get on well, rarely arguing or disagreeing.

The day Harry decided to go with a band called Uneven Emotion was a day for celebration. Harry had sought Louis' help on every level of this decision, and Louis felt honored. The remaining three members had lost their lead singer due to ongoing health problems. They did pop, pop rock, and dabbled in other types of music, but were pretty much dedicated to the first two genres. They all seemed to be candid, steadfast, sincere guys. Harry had known them from a distance for years, yet had never been close friends with any of them, and he liked what he saw. The drummer, bass player and guitar player were all accomplished, and Harry believed they would gain recognition some day on a wider scale than they currently were.

They played locally and semi-locally, and never had a lack of gigs. The places they played at weren't dives either. They were thrilled to find that, after all the looking he'd been doing, Harry wanted to join their band. They'd gotten the word that Harry had left Clockwork through other bands. Word got around quickly in the industry. They needed a strong lead singer, and they all agreed that Harry more than fit the bill for their front man.

Louis couldn't have been more proud, and was looking forward to meeting the other band members within a few days. The guys were flexible, and assured Harry he would have equal say in every song they performed. They, in fact, needed a front man who would also be a leader of sorts. A confident person who could make solid decisions. Harry was nervous, but also champing at the bit to prove himself as a gifted musician who would be able to guide the band and be on equal footing—something he hadn't had before.

So that night Louis and Harry celebrated. They had made a list of positives and negatives regarding each band Harry had interviewed. And in the end this band towered above all the others. While no band is perfect, let alone anything else in this world, Harry felt assured that joining Uneven Emotion would be a wise decision, and one that he would enjoy very much. That was the main purpose of being in a band besides to make money—being happy and fulfilled while making good music, and doing the thing he wanted most to do in life.

Sing.

Louis had bought champagne, but made it clear that he was not going to have more than three glasses himself, and that Harry could have however much he wanted, but if Harry had too much, he would kick his ass. They had a good laugh over it, but Louis hoped Harry would take the limit into consideration, even though it had been said light-heartedly, in a joking fashion.

"Three glass limit," Harry echoed him. "But won't three glasses be too much for me?"

"Maybe . . . but you won't get passed-out drunk if that's what you're askin.'"

Just sweet, affectionate and clingy, thought Louis slyly to himself. The tingles were shooting through his body, warmth surrounding him like a blanket. And this was only from the thought of having some champagne with Harry.

He wasn't going to take advantage of Harry in any way, but he doubted he'd repeat the mistake of shying away from another of those fabulous hugs that Harry seemed to want to dish out to him. He raised his eyebrows in anticipation of the evening, and Harry asked him what he was thinking.

"Oh, nothin' massive, just lookin' forward to relaxin' with a bottle of champagne and . . . you."