Chapter 1: Prologue
Chapter Text
PROLOGUE
PAST – HARRY
January 2017, London
The discussions about the band’s hiatus and its possible end are ongoing, a never ending sequence of meetings with management, with the label, with the whole band, one-on-one – and it’s going nowhere. When in the beginning of 2017 they still haven’t officially decided on anything and pressure increases, the boys are called in for a meeting with SyCo all together. They’ve all been summoned each on their own, Harry knows himself, having to turn up at the snap of Simon’s fingers, and every time the particular boy has been left shaken or irritated or whatever negative emotion comes to mind. Most of the words that have been exchanged during those meetings they weren’t particularly keen on sharing or even repeating.
So, when they’re finally in a room gathered together with Modest! Management at the end of January, the tension is palpable. Harry has made clear in those one-on-one meetings that he’s not up to continue as it was before if there aren’t any major changes happening. He’s positive the rest of the boys stand by the same point. It’s not them as a group that’s the problem, it’s never them, not that they wouldn’t want to keep working with another. In fact, that’s the one hard pill to swallow. It’s the fucking situation and that shitshow of a management and record label.
For some reason, Simon seemed to have seen reason at some point, it was like he has given up on convincing them to stick with him, finally catching that he could never offer them anything appealing. He must have realized he wouldn’t gain a single thing from forcing them into continuing as a four-piece if they weren’t in it with their hearts and souls. That’s the only plausible reason Harry can come up with for the fact that Simon acted a little reasonable, almost tame all of a sudden, since a few weeks ago. The burning questions, the convincing, the shoves in the right direction kept getting lesser and lesser each time Harry has seen him. Still, there’s nothing in this world this man could do to ever make Harry gain a grain of sympathy towards him.
“Alright boys,” Simon eventually begins when none of them say a single word, clapping his hands once. “Thank you for coming in today.”
Harry snorts at that. As if they’ve had any other choice. Simon looks at him with a raised eyebrow and slight annoyance in his gaze. Louis reaches out a hand under the cover of the table to squeeze Harry’s knee but stays unusually silent. Not that Harry can’t imagine why. Louis has been shut off ever since Jo’s death in December. Hell, Harry is still mourning her, but he won’t let it show in order to be a steadying force for Louis.
Simon tracks the movement with his eyes, clearly irritated by the gesture. Fucking homophobic. Harry doesn’t give a shit. In about an hour, they should be free of him and his fucking stupid management. Well, at least they should be on the right path and on their best way to being rid of them.
“You were saying?” Liam urges on as Simon keeps staring Harry down with that weird look. It’s turning into a mixture of hatred and slyness, and Harry can’t place where the second emotion is coming from. He suddenly has a bad feeling creeping in, and he starts picking his cuticles subconsciously.
Simon tears his gaze from Harry to look down at some papers in a folder, notes probably.
“Right. So, I take it none of you wish to continue your work in the band.”
Niall, from Harry’s left side, gives all of the boys a short look, checking for their opinions and support. Faces set straight, they convey their messages to him without so much as a nod or the need for words.
“Not under these circumstances, no,” Niall states calmly, diplomatically. He’s always been the best at concealing his emotions towards Simon and the management.
“Are you sure?” Simon tries again regardless, one last time, and Harry feels like being back in one of those countless meetings where he tried to push an opinion, a choice onto them. He thought they were past that.
“Simon,” he growls in warning, frustrated, and Niall places a hand on his arm before he can say anything else he’ll probably regret later.
“I simply want you to think good and hard on this, boys. This could be the loss of your lives.”
“This wasn’t a life,” Liam says, and he sounds only a little bit bitter. “This was a prison, for all of us. And if we didn’t have each other, none of us would’ve been able to get through this. Look what happened to Zayn.”
Harry reigns in his cringe. He doesn’t want to think about Zayn. Even after almost two years, it still hurts too much. He pushes the thought away, locking it in that special corner of his mind.
“Zayn was… that was unfortunate.” Simon looks affronted, accused, and Harry could almost – almost – believe him, if he wouldn’t know him for over six years, couldn’t read every tiny flick of emotion on his face by now. Instead, he feels the urge to punch Simon in the face, that’s the only thing he wants to do to the man sitting in front of him.
“That was never the intention, boys. For you to feel that way.”
“Stop saying that, you’re lying to yourself,” Harry snaps. “You milked us dry, you overworked us, we were kids!”
“Haz,” Louis mumbles from beside him, fingers digging into his thigh through the fabric of his dress pants, and Harry can’t comprehend why Louis is so damn quiet. He used to be the loudest of them all, fighting with everything he had, for the band and for them as a couple, and now his mouth is rendered shut at the most important moment of all, and it makes Harry feel like he’s overreacting. Irritated, Harry shifts his leg from under Louis’ touch, resisting the urge to glance over.
“You really wish to annul those contracts, whatever it takes?”
“Yes,” Harry cuts in, not willing to hear any more of that manipulative bullshit. It has taken them long enough to realize what games Simon was playing, but once everything started to unravel, it was easy seeing right through him.
Simon was, is and will always be their enemy, and Harry will be damned if they grant him even the chance to open his mouth and tell one more lie.
“Well, I see that there’s nothing to convince you –“
“No,” Niall interjects this time. Harry is glad Niall keeps them grounded, or else things would have maybe escalated in the first five seconds. “This whole thing is over. We would have loved to keep working together, but not under your reign.” It’s a clear statement, leaving no room for interpretation, and Simon seems to finally get the message.
“Alright.” He dares to stretch a hand towards Liam, who doesn’t accept or return the gesture. “It’s been an honour working with you, even though I dislike the way we have to part.”
They stare at him blankly. He drops his hand, clearing his throat.
“Well then. I guess since your minds have been set on your choices, you’ve already made plans and set your eyes on other record labels? If you’re lucky enough to be considered.”
Technically, it’s none of his fucking business. But the statement enrages Harry, the fucking arrogance, it’s infuriating. He doesn’t care that it’s not official yet, no contracts signed at this point, but he has told the boys, and Simon is technically still supposed to keep his mouth shut about their affairs, so he spits it out.
“I’m signing with Erskine next month, you prick.” He knows Niall has conversations with Capital Records and Liam wants to take a break altogether, which is fine, and he sure as hell knows Louis has got offers. Offers, as in multiple, even though he hasn’t made a final decision yet. Simon can fuck right off.
“Haz,” Louis murmurs again, clearly trying to get him to calm down, but it doesn’t have the desired effect, the opposite actually. Harry feels anger rise inside of him, but he tries his best to hide it. They don’t need to go at it in front of Simon.
Simon, who smiles a small disturbing, somehow knowing smile at Harry that’s nothing short of unsettling. Like he’s aware of things that are invisible to Harry’s eyes.
“Alright boys,” he starts up again after a long stretch of silence. “Let me sign you off, and then you’re free to go.” Harry’s heart begins to pound, blood rushing in his ears. This is it. The moment has finally come.
Simon pulls three identical sheets of paper from his folder, sliding each of the boys one across the table. Each, except for Louis.
Harry’s brows draw together, staring at Simon intently. “What is this? You said we’re free to go.”
Simon seems delighted by Harry’s confusion and lack of knowledge. He smiles brightly. “I also said you’re free to sign with whoever you want.”
Harry watches in horror as he pulls out another document and slowly, unnervingly slow pushes the damn thing over to Louis. He can very clearly make out the word ‘contract’ at the top, and his heart stops dead, plummeting to his feet. This has got to be some sort of sick joke. Louis wouldn’t –
“Simon,” Louis says quietly, pained, and that’s how Harry’s hope shatters into a million pieces and the world stops spinning. The hurt in Louis’ strained voice, it’s clear as day this is true. The final clue that this dreadful feeling of impending doom is indeed justified. Harry thinks he might be unable to breathe, his chest squeezing tight. “Do we have to do this now?” Louis asks, small and tired.
Harry whips his head towards Louis, ignoring Niall’s and Liam’s equally confused glances, zeroing in on Louis’ expression only. So full of guilt. Fucking guilt. Without allowing it, Harry tears up in the middle of the conference room, giving Simon exactly what he undoubtedly wants, he’s aware and still can’t help it.
“Lou,” he whispers, not trusting his voice enough for more. “Baby, what is this?”
Louis swallows, jaw set tight, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of Simon, who impatiently drums his fingers onto the table top. And Louis looks so small, he makes himself so small, Harry instantly hates the sight of it. And Louis refuses to meet his eye, that’s worst of all.
“He’s not signing this,” Harry declares to no one in particular, voice tight and strained. “Why would he sign this?”
Nobody says a word, until Louis blinks up at Simon from behind the hair that has fallen across his eyes. “Please, Simon, I haven’t had the chance – “
“Oh?” Simon says, and Harry can tell the surprise or any shroud of sympathy he might force into his voice aren’t genuine. “You didn’t tell them?”
“No,” Louis grits out, now clearly frustrated to no end as well. “So would you please –“
“Well since we’re all gathered here anyway, it would be the perfect opportunity to let them all know you’re signing with me, right?” Simon announces cheerfully, and the room falls dead silent.
Harry gasps, thinks his chest might cleave open at any point now, he can feel the colour draining from his face as he stares at Louis in absolute and unconcealed horror. It’s also the moment he feels something wet track down the left side of his face, the first tear having finally slipped free. He’s convinced this is a mistake, Louis is emotionally vulnerable right now, with his mum and everything, and –
The rushing in his ears nearly drowns out Niall’s quiet “What the fuck?” and Liam’s “What have you done?”. Harry keeps sucking air into his lungs, forcing it out again, needs to remember how to breathe, stares and stares at Louis who’s still avoiding his eyes, instead shooting daggers at Simon, and Harry doesn’t comprehend. He doesn’t fucking understand why Louis would do this. To himself. To Harry. To them.
Harry feels his mouth start to quiver, and he refuses to give Simon the satisfaction of actually full-on crying in front of him, so he grits his teeth, hard, to the point where his jaw starts to ache.
“If you all could please sign at the bottom of the pages, you’re dismissed.” Simon has the nerve to sound unbothered, bored even, as if the whole universe hasn’t stopped existing just now. Harry pays him no attention while Liam and Niall reluctantly accept matching pens from Simon’s assistant and hesitantly sign their respective papers.
“Lou?” Harry pleads tightly, and it’s maybe the crack in his voice that makes Louis finally, finally look at him. He’s fighting tears as well, eyes rimmed red, and Harry gets the impression he tries to convey a message he can’t say out loud right now, but Harry doesn’t understand. He doesn’t want to understand.
Louis looks like he’s sorry, but there shouldn’t even be anything to be sorry for, that was never the plan. Harry refuses to believe it, even though the fucking paper on the desk in front of Louis burns a hole through his retina. Harry fights the urge to rip it to shreds.
“Louis?” Simon interjects their silent communication. Louis cringes at the demand in his tone.
Come on, Harry thinks – pleads in his mind - , come on and tell him to fuck off.
“It’s true,” Louis finally croaks out and shatters each and every of Harry’s dreams with these two words.
Louis picks up the pen, signs the line at the bottom of the page, signs his life – their life – away to that monster of a man once more, and looks at Simon with tired eyes, void of emotion. Harry flinches at the horrible sound of the pen scraping against the paper. If he doesn’t leave this room in the next ninety seconds, he’s going to have a panic attack.
“I suppose I am to stay after this?” Louis says hollowly.
Simon waves an unbothered hand, clearly dismissing him along with the rest of them. “No, we already discussed the important details, you’re free to go. For now.”
For now. Harry feel’s he’s not going to be able to fight the sobs clawing up his throat for much longer, chest hitching with each ragged breath. This can’t be real. It can’t be. This is not how things were supposed to turn out. Louis, out of al of them. Louis, who apparently entertained the idea for a while, and never ever breathed a single word to Harry. Louis, who Harry would have thrown his whole career away if it would have meant for them to be together. And he didn’t even bother telling Harry he planned on signing himself away, erasing their chances of changing everything for them. Harry feels like he’s mourning a relationship that’s still very much existing. It is, right?
“Harry?” Simon asks, all smiles and innocence. Harry keeps his gaze locked on Louis’ side profile, with his head hanging low, the fringe falling across his eyes. “Or are you planning on staying as well? How ironic.”
Harry whips his head around so fast he actually catches the moment Simon drops his façade for a split-second, looking smug as fuck as he extends another pen towards Harry. He needs to remind himself that it’s against the law to punch people.
“Fuck you,” he seethes, rips the pen from Simon’s very own fingers and forcefully scribbles his name onto the dotted line, applying so much pressure the paper almost rips at the Y in Styles. He chucks the pen down and is out of his chair in a heartbeat, storming towards the door. He can’t do this right now, it’s too much, and he needs some fucking air. They’re done here anyway.
“The pen is a parting gift,” Simon calls after him, and Harry barely resists the urge to throw him the middle finger, instead slamming the office door shut behind himself with so much force that for a second he fears the tinted glass might shatter. It doesn’t, though, providing some much-needed cover from prying eyes as Harry stops fighting and lets out the first blissful sob.
When Harry arrives at their house four hours later, there are no more tears left to be shed. He’s exhausted, and his head is pounding, eyes puffy and raw. Niall and Liam tried calling him several times but he ignored the buzzing of his phone. He can’t bear talking about this to anyone other than Louis himself. He briefly considered calling his sister, but Gemma would have insisted on coming over and helping them fix things, and that’s honestly the last thing Harry wants right now.
The front door is unlocked and there’s a soft gloom falling into the hallway, a small streak of light creeping from under the door to the kitchen. Louis is home then. Harry wasn’t sure if he’d find Louis here, for some reason. Louis didn’t try to call him, didn’t even shoot him a quick message, and Harry can’t figure out what that means.
Slowly, Harry pushes the kitchen door open to find Louis standing at the counter, preparing himself some toast. His back is turned to Harry, but the tension in his shoulders gives him away, he’s aware of Harry’s return. His hands don’t stall in their movement, though, but Harry thinks he sees them shaking a little, just the slightest bit. When Louis doesn’t say a word, reaching for a plate in the cabinet instead, Harry sighs. He shouldn’t be the one to start this conversation, if he’s being honest.
“Hey,” he croaks out.
“Hey,” Louis returns tightly, and after a long pause Harry guesses he’s not going to say anything else, but he does. “Where’ve you been?”
Is that really what he wants to talk about now? Harry’s temper rises swiftly and wholly unbidden. “Epping Forest,” he says regardless, but his tone has gone a bit icy. His gaze lands on the single piece of paper sitting on the kitchen island. He doesn’t need to take a closer look, he knows exactly what it is.
“Could’ve left a note,” Louis says.
“You could have texted and asked,” Harry counters. This is not what he wants to argue about. In fact, he doesn’t want to argue at all. He wants Louis to tell him this is a joke. Louis doesn’t. He puts two more slices of bread into the toaster and pushes the button.
“You want some toast?”
Harry can’t take another second of this. “No, Louis.” Louis. They only ever use their full names instead of nicknames or pet names when they’re fighting, so this whole situation has officially just upgraded to a fight. Louis must have noticed as well, because he finally – fucking finally – turns to face Harry. His face looks pale, eyes hollow, but there’s also anger laying underneath, and Harry doesn’t know where that is coming from, and why it’s directed at him. “What I want is a fucking explanation.”
Louis crosses his arms. “Could’ve given you one if you hadn’t ran away, leaving me to get a ride from Niall. Fucking delightful that drive, really.”
“Are you seriously blaming me for needing some time to think after you dropped that bomb on me? After you could have told me weeks ago, apparently?”
“I – “ Louis’ demeanour falters for a millisecond, and Harry cringes at the sliver of twisted delight he experiences at that. Louis’ gaze flickers to the side, lower lip worried between his teeth, before returning to Harry’s face. “That’s not how I wanted this to go,” he confesses softly.
“Then how?” Harry really, really wants to understand, he tries to calm down, but he simply can’t bring himself to.
“I don’t know, okay?” Louis says, throwing his hands into the air. The toast pops up, ignored and forgotten by both men. “Just… not like this.”
Harry shakes his head, disappointed, sad, tired. “I can’t believe you did that. I can’t believe you didn’t trust me enough to tell me.”
“Look, I – this has nothing to do with not trusting you. I knew you’d react like this, maybe that’s why,” Louis tries to explain. It’s steady yet with a gentle edge, as if to soften the blow, but Harry takes a step back even though they’re separated by the whole span of the kitchen island. Harry has always been a sensitive soul, he knows, and he tries to not take things to heart so much, but he guesses the situation justifies him being upset. Louis also never ever held Harry’s emotions over him.
“Fuck you,” Harry breathes, tears he didn’t know he had in him anymore gathering at the rim of his eyes. Louis turns from the sight, and that’s also the first time ever he doesn’t comfort him when Harry is crying. Harry closes his eyes, head tipping up towards the ceiling, and bites the insides of his cheeks to keep from having another breakdown. He feels ashamed of his feelings for some reason, horribly vulnerable and naked in a way he has never felt with Louis.
“Just tell me why,” he manages after a minute, lowering his gaze to stare at Louis’ back once more. He’s finishing up preparing his meal. It’s really hard to try and stay calm and reasonable with Louis giving literally zero fucks about this conversation. While being forced to talk to the back of his head, Harry turns with him as he wanders through the kitchen in search of some ingredients or whatever.
“Not now, Harry.”
“Then when?”
Louis shrugs half-heartedly. “Once we’ve cooled down probably. I can’t talk that through with you right now.” And fuck, that hurts like hell. As if this is Harry’s fault, as if he’s overreacting. Harry watches as Louis grabs his plate and a glass of juice and tries to slink past Harry, out of the kitchen.
“Louis,” Harry croaks out, voice tight and on the edge of breaking. He can’t deal with this, this is all wrong, and Louis won’t fucking talk to him. He’s not too proud to beg. “Talk to me,” he pleads.
“You wouldn’t like it,” Louis simply states.
“I don’t like this,” Harry exclaims, gesturing between them, and a tear escapes and slips down his cheek. He doesn’t bother wiping it away. Louis glances at him and swallows at the sight, and Harry is weirdly relieved to have some confirmation Louis still cares about his feelings. “We would have been free in a couple of months, Lou. What the hell happened to that?”
He doesn’t understand, he really doesn’t. As soon as they’d have been officially free from all ties binding them to SyCo an Modest!, they would have been free to do whatever they pleased, be together on their own terms, be open on their own terms when they thought the time was right.
Louis shakes his head slowly, looking tired as shit, Harry has to admit that. “No. No, we wouldn’t have been.” Harry doesn’t know what that means and he’s about to ask for clarification, but Louis cuts him off before he can even open his mouth. “You wouldn’t understand, Harry. Just… accept that I’m signed to him again and let’s not talk about it, okay?”
Harry wants to protest, wants to demand answers, wants to force them out of Louis, but he simply keeps staring, the situation so absurd. They never ever have any secrets with each other, there has never been anything they couldn’t talk about, and the fact that Louis is refusing to let him in is scaring the living shit out of him.
“You wouldn’t understand,” Louis mumbles again and makes his way to the door, ready to take his meal in the living room or wherever.
“How long does that damn contract let him have you?” Harry asks on a shaky exhale.
Louis halts once more, slowly pivoting to face Harry, and he swallows hard before giving an answer. His gaze strays to somewhere over Harry’s shoulder, and Harry gets a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He instantly knows it’s bad.
“Six years,” Louis confesses, wincing at his own words.
“Six –“ Harry almost chokes on his own tongue, coughing violently and staring at Louis wide-eyed. He surges up all over again, anger and pain rising in his chest, creating a weird mixture of emotions he doesn’t really know how to handle. So, naturally, he gets loud. “Six years, Louis?!”
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s as long as we’ve been together and you want me to just accept that? We’ll be… I’ll be twenty-eight by the time we’re gonna be rid of him!”
“I know.”
“We wanted to get married,” Harry gasps, fighting to get the words out.
“I know…”
“Louis.”
Louis then matches his energy, straightening his shoulders and looking him square in the face. “I know, okay? I won’t pretend to like working with fucking Simon again. But it has to be done, Haz, grant me the choice, alright? Jesus. Do you think I made that decision light-hearted? Do you think I thought only of myself? I thought of everyone but me, thank you very much.” He’s out the door a second later, and Harry is left in the kitchen with that cursed contract sitting on the counter, and he momentarily thinks about burning it in the sink. Preferably with Louis’ rainbow lighter.
Louis slides into bed only in the early hours of the next morning. Harry would usually be sound asleep at the time, if it wasn’t for the restlessness that’s been keeping him awake. He doesn’t let Louis know, though, and so he’s forced to stifle his crying when Louis’ lips brush against the back of his neck, his nose nuzzling the fine hair for a moment.
“I love you,” Louis whispers, and Harry wishes he’d said that earlier in the kitchen.
The days after are quiet. Harry doesn’t feel up to being turned down again, so he doesn’t ask or bring it up, and Louis doesn’t seem prone to talking either. They still do their day-to-day activities together, they share meals, they sleep in the same bed, but they don’t really speak more than necessary.
Harry notices when Louis starts to feel a little guilty, because he tries to make light conversation over minor things, trivial little silly bits and details he tries to warm Harry up to. And he laughs at every small thing, trying to gauge a reaction from Harry. One time he even slides up behind Harry while he’s busy making breakfast at the stove, looping an arm around his waist and resting his chin in the dip of his shoulder. Harry feels Louis breathing deeply as if savouring the closeness, feels the discomfort at the tension between them radiating off of him, and he almost caves.
Harry doesn’t take the bait though, not even after several days of Louis trying to strike up a conversation, Harry at most smiling tightly and answering in short precise sentences, until Louis eventually gives up. Harry doesn’t want to talk about anything, he wants to talk about that contract and nothing else. And he wants Louis to approach him about it, not ignore it until the end of time, not have Harry do the talking again. So for once, he doesn’t try to mend things, letting Louis feel the effects of his silence instead.
It’s the most challenging thing he has ever done, because he usually is the type to feel the need to fix things as soon as possible, to talk everything out until there is nothing left to say on either side, until every doubt or disagreement is wiped away.
It goes on for about six days, Harry fears they might never broach the topic, before Louis finally breaks. It's Sunday and Harry sits out in the winter garden, reading his book, when a tea cup is set down in front of him and he raises his eyes only to be met with Louis’ cautious smile.
“I made tea,” he elaborates, completely unnecessary.
“Thanks.” Harry drops his gaze back to his current read.
“Look, Haz…” Louis starts and heaves a sigh. “I’m really sorry I didn’t talk to you before but there’s really nothing to be done.”
Harry locks eyes with him over the rim of his book. “Why did you sign with him?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because you wouldn’t understand and you’d be mad and probably throw a fuss. Which is useless, it’s not gonna change anything. I know you want to protect me, and I’m thankful, really, but this is on me.”
“So this is me not being mad?” Harry asks bluntly, because he’s really eager to see what Louis’ perspective on this thing looming over them is. Is the current situation of their relationship how Louis thinks it’s going to be for the foreseeable future? Is this okay in his eyes?
“This is you being mad over a thing that is worth being mad over.”
That’s absolute nonsense. “What?”
“You’re being mad because I’m not spilling my reasons, which is fair enough. I get it.”
He's not making any sense, and Harry blinks at him slowly, deliberately, cocking his head to the side. “I’m not following.”
“I’d rather you be mad at me for this, than be mad at me for the actual reason I signed with Cowell.”
“Why?”
“Because you wouldn’t understand my reason, and you’d be mad because of that, but that’s something I wouldn’t be able to fix. I’d make the same choice again if I had to.”
“But you think you can fix me being mad about you not talking by… still not talking?”
“We are talking,” Louis points out, and Harry’s irritation rises.
“Not going in the direction I want, so… You get my point?”
Louis sighs, running a hand through his own hair and tangling his fingers with the strands at the nape of his neck. “Haz, I’m going to be honest. As honest as I can be: there is a reason I signed with him again, and for me, it’s a good fucking reason, so I need you to trust me on this. We promised to trust each other through everything, remember?”
He cautiously reaches out to brush a finger across the ring on Harry’s left hand resting on the coffee table. Harry wants to withdraw his hand but finds himself unable to. He misses Louis’ gentle touches, there’s no denying it.
“Six years, Lou,” he rasps instead, swallowing hard and tearing his gaze from the engagement ring to find Louis’ eyes again. “Six more years.”
“I know.” Louis’ shoulders curve inwards and his eyes stray from Harry’s for a split-second. “I need you to trust me.”
“I’m trying,” Harry exclaims. “I want to, Lou. I just can’t make it make sense.”
Louis shakes his head. “You don’t have to. I made it make sense to me, and so I’m the one who’s gonna shoulder it.”
Harry’s eyes grow damp, because fuck, he didn’t even consider what being signed to SyCo would mean for Louis, being so focused on what it would inevitably mean for them, for Harry himself. He’s afraid, not only for their relationship, but for Louis as a person. He’s so afraid about the overworking, the queerbaiting, the stunts, the emotional pressure he knows first-hand Simon can deal out. He’s afraid and he feels like shit and selfish because he didn’t even spare a single thought to what this is going to be like for Louis. The guilt comes creeping in, settling next to worry and confusion in his stomach, and Harry feels his face crumble.
“I don’t want you to have to shoulder it. Not alone. We could have been in this together.” He’s serious, he realizes. If it would have made a change, he would have stayed behind with Louis, if only it had meant to take some of the burden from Louis’ shoulders.
“Not this time, love,” Louis says softly and goes as far as linking their fingers together. “This is on me, alright?”
“No, it’s not alright,” Harry whimpers.
“Come here,” Louis says gently and pulls him forward against his chest. Harry lets out a small sob, wondering why he’s the one receiving consolation while Louis is the one who is undoubtedly going to go through literal hell for the next six years.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers into Louis’ shirt, draping his arms around Louis’ middle and clutching tight.
“What are you sorry for?” Louis lets out a small laugh, stroking a gentle hand down his back.
“For not even considering what this means for you,” Harry gasps out. “For yelling and for making everything worse.”
“You’re making nothing worse. You’re the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Harry stay silent, so Louis peels himself from his grasp and takes his face between his hands, forcing Harry to look at him. “You hear me? The best fucking thing, sun.”
Harry feels his bottom lip start to quiver, brows drawn together, but manages a nod. Louis smiles softly at him, leaning in and pressing their lips together.
This is not the end of it, though. Harry should have known. They have similar discussions and arguments over the course of the next one and a half years, and every time the topic comes up, it’s getting worse, more heated, the silent periods afterwards stretching longer with each fight.
There’s never any actual outcome. Harry is clearly still upset about them being in the closet, and Louis won’t tell his reasons. After the fourth time they have that same old argument, Louis stops fighting back, stops exploiting his points, stops talking back and reasoning. And that’s honestly somehow worse than when they were arguing, Harry thinks, because at least then he knew Louis was fighting for something, fighting for them, while now it seems like he simply doesn’t care what happens to them.
And eventually Louis stops telling Harry he’s the best thing in his life, and Harry comes to the conclusion it’s because Louis stops loving him.
They break up when Harry returns from his solo tour in July 2018. It’s been coming for a while now, but Harry refused to give up for longer than it has made sense. He’s tried for almost 18 months to fix their relationship, to keep a shred of what they once were alive, but in the end he loses still, too exhausted from fighting a war he’s the only soldier in.
So he tells Louis it’s finally becoming too unbearable and is only met with silence. It shouldn’t be surprising, because Louis has gone numb to the topic ages ago, but it still hurts, and Harry knows it shouldn’t hurt anymore at this point. He cries as he packs his bags, because deep down he still hoped Louis would stop him at last. He doesn’t.
Chapter 2: Chapter 1
Summary:
Louis gets a call from an unexpected person revealing the most horrifying news he could have imagined.
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“Haz,” Louis interrupts him, and he wonders how his voice is so steady while wet streaks track down his cheeks at the very same time.
“Yeah?” Harry whispers, stopping his constant stream of apologies and rambling.
“You’re not serious, right?” Louis says, even though he knows the truth, feels the weight of it settle over him, over the world. “You’re joking.”
Harry chokes out another sob that tears at Louis’ heartstrings. “Do you think I’m joking?”
Notes:
Okay, so I originally planned on updating once a week, but as I am impatience personified, I figured why not twice? I'm done writing anyway, and I just wanna put it out there. So I'll try to do Wednesdays and Saturdays if I can. Here you go, hope you enjoy.
(Well, as much as you can, bc we're off to a painful start... I'm sorry. Please tread carefully with this story, it's addressing some very difficult subjects, but I think that's obvious.)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
PRESENT – LOUIS
October 2024, LA
“Louis, your bloody phone’s been ringing four times in the last ten minutes!” Louis lifts his head to watch Lottie march out the door to the terrace, mentioned device in hand and steer for Louis’ spot on one of the sunbeds.
“Well, why don’t you just take it, Lots, if it bothers you that much?” He’s on vacation, and everyone important enough to give him a ring right now is here with him. Besides, Louis doesn’t mind if one of his siblings answers his calls. His eldest sister extends his mobile phone towards him, screen facing him, and raises a perfectly groomed eyebrow.
“Because it’s him.”
Him. It’s him. And Louis should be ashamed of himself that he knows, immediately, whom she’s referring to just by the simple statement in a certain tone. It’s him.
Louis and Harry haven’t spoken in nearly six years, not sober at least. Their last drunken encounter dates back three years, almost exactly to the date. Drunken encounters being mostly reduced to post-breakup-sex, quick, precise and desperate couplings that came from a place of frustration and unresolved emotions, when they ran into each other at some event. Most of the times, it resulted into feelings of irritation and being left shaken afterwards, more complicated than anything else, and they never ever talked about it. Not sober anyway.
But even those drunken meetings (or occasional calls) had stopped since that one time in 2021 when Harry had been the bigger person (he just simply happened to be sober that night, as he had made very very clear) and walked away from Louis throwing himself at him at a private club during a mutual friend’s birthday celebration.
They haven’t spoken since.
Louis stares at the caller ID for a moment, the one he always saves first, every time he changes his damn phone number. It’s a pathetic thing to do. How on earth did Harry get his number, though?
It's ringing and ringing in Lottie’s hand, and he proceeds to stare at it until she gets visibly annoyed, presses the green button and shoves the thing into Louis’ hands. He fumbles, nearly dropping it in the process, expecting it to burn his fingers for some inexplainable reason.
From the little distance between his ear and the phone in his hand, Louis is unable to make out if Harry is even saying anything, but he’s still unsure if he even wants to answer the call. Well, technically, he did – Lottie did, to be fair, but Harry doesn’t know that – and hell, he’s not going to chicken out now. He’s a grown man, and he can talk to his ex-bandmate-slash-boyfriend like an adult, thank you very much (he doesn’t really know if they count as ex-fiancés since neither of them officially broke off the engagement, even though it’s obvious).
In slow motion, Louis lifts the phone to his ear, mouth suddenly going bone dry despite his best intentions to be brave and civil.
“Hello?” he finally says. It’s breathless and quiet, and he’s about to clear his throat and force his voice to be steady and repeat the greeting, when Harry’s voice filters through the speaker.
“Lou?”
Lou. The nickname strikes him like lightning, making every hair on his body stand straight. Then he registers the tremor in Harry’s voice. Shit, is he crying? He’s definitely crying.
“Harry?” Louis asks cautiously, and is only met with a gut-wrenching sob that threatens to cleave his chest in two.
“I’m so sorry, Lou,” Harry gasps, and Louis is flooded with the horrible dreadful feeling of impending doom, of something being terribly wrong, that he can’t explain. He breaks a cold sweat and a shiver settles over him, chilling him to the bones. Louis has rarely witnessed Harry break down in a way he seems to be doing now, uncontrollably sobbing into the phone, making it unable to form words.
“Harry, what’s wrong?” he forces himself to ask. He needs to concentrate really hard to understand what Harry is saying through the weeping.
“Z-Zayn just – just c-called me.”
That’s… that’s bad. Not that Louis actually still has shit going on with Zayn, but for him to call Harry? It has to be bad. Louis is on high alert in an instant. “What happened?”
“I’m – I’m sorry, L-Lou, I’m s-s-so sorry,” Harry cries so hard, Louis is barely able to make out the words.
“Haz,” he says softly, set on calming the younger down. The nickname slips out before he can think about it. “Tell me what happened, okay?” Despite the fact they’re not really on speaking terms his instincts still kick in and all he wishes to do is make Harry feel better, to get him to calm down.
There’s some sniffling on the other end of the line before Harry’s quiet voice says the words Louis will never forget in his entire life, making his heart stand still for a beat and then go rapid crazy, threatening to jump right out of his ribcage.
“It’s Liam.”
“What about him?” Even though he doesn’t know what happened yet, he knows somehow, just by the tone in Harry’s voice and the fact he called him at all. Call it intuition, but in his gut, he knows what’s wrong, and tears spring to his eyes even before Harry has a chance to explain any further. Louis doesn’t want him to explain, doesn’t want to hear him say what some rational part of him already knows, doesn’t want this feeling of dread become a reality, doesn’t –
“He’s gone,” Harry chokes out, and the tears in Louis’ eyes spill over, he’s silently crying now, not comprehending what’s happening.
“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry, Lou, I’m –“ Harry repeats the words over and over again, not stopping to take a fucking breath, and Louis briefly fears he might dive headfirst into hyperventilation.
“Haz,” Louis interrupts him, and he wonders how his voice is so steady while wet streaks track down his cheeks at the very same time.
“Yeah?” Harry whispers, stopping his constant stream of apologies and rambling.
“You’re not serious, right?” Louis says, even though he knows the truth, feels the weight of it settle over him, over the world. “You’re joking.”
Harry chokes out another sob that tears at Louis’ heartstrings. “Do you think I’m joking?”
Louis stays silent, the only noise being Harry’s quiet sniffles over the phone. In the background the waves of the ocean crash onto the beach, but he has drowned out all sounds around him, wholly zeroing in on the call.
After a minute, Harry speaks up again. “I – I called you be-because,” he hiccups in between the sobs, then seems to take a couple of breaths to continue speaking, “I didn’t want you to – to find out from the media and – Niall can’t stop crying, fuck, he only saw him two weeks ago, shit, I should check on him again. And Zayn… he didn’t think it was a good idea to have him call, so I volunteered, and god, Louis, I’m so sorry, I –“
He's rambling on and on, not giving Louis the opportunity to fucking process all this information and get his thoughts in order.
“How,” he eventually asks right over Harry, voice hollow now. Harry stops, hesitating for a heartbeat too long, and Louis fears his words, just like everything he has said up until now.
“He fell from a hotel balcony,” Harry whispers, words selected carefully, and the unspoken words linger between them. Because all of the boys know about Liam’s addiction in the past, and even if it’s unfair that’s where Louis’ mind goes first. Did he relapse? Or worse, is this… is this possibly a suicide? No. No, he can’t let his mind wander there. Gooseflesh rises on the skin of his arms, the mere thought of it making him feel sick to his stomach.
Harry starts weeping again, picking up his apologies all over in between gasping breaths, and it irritates Louis to no extend. Why is he apologizing?
“Haz,” he shushes through the phone, and it’s so quiet he’s surprised Harry even catches it, but he does, he stops mid-sentence and awaits Louis’ words. What was he even planning to say?
“Haz, are you okay?” Harry releases a shuddering breath that sends another tremor through Louis’ body.
“No.” And his voice is so small and tired and breathless, that Louis wishes he could hold him in this moment, despite everything that went wrong between them. The irresistible urge to comfort Harry and take away all his pain is still there, even after all this time. It’s almost as present as his own grief and hurt beginning to drown him from the inside.
“Lou, I’m so sorry.” Harry sounds calmer now, obviously still shaken, but at least he’s not sobbing anymore and Louis can hear him more clearly. “I know you’re on vacation with your family. I just needed you to hear it from one of us.”
Them not being on speaking terms aside, Louis is left wondering how Harry knows about his trip. They don’t follow each other on any socials, and he thought Harry was on his much-needed break, from touring and social media. But then again, Louis is also well aware of Harry’s whereabouts most of the time.
“Thank you,” he says, and means it with his whole heart. He gives Harry great credit for the fact he broached their radio silence in favour to break the horrible news to Louis himself.
“I’m so sorry.” Those three words seem to be the only ones left in Harry’s repertoire at this point.
“Stop apologizing,” Louis says softly, not wanting to scare Harry away, but also needing to let him know that there is nothing to apologize for. They all lost a friend just now, even if Louis is the one who kept up with Liam the most.
Past tense.
It hits him right there and then that there aren’t going to be any more late-night phone calls, no more weekend-getaways, writing sessions that never made it to the studio anyway, no more face-time calls when one of them was stuck on a song, or just to catch up, talking about the past, the band, their families, anything that came to mind.
Louis feels the reality of this crashing down on him right there on the sundeck of their rented LA getaway house, and he can’t fucking keep his emotions in check as well as Harry’s. He needs to handle one at a time.
“Are you alone right now?” he asks, mind running a million miles per hour.
“No,” Harry answer, causing Louis to loosen a breath. “Gemma just came over.” Okay, Harry is safe. Harry isn’t alone, and his siter is there to comfort him and keep an eye on him once they’re off the phone.
Thinking of Harry’s sister makes his thoughts stray to his own siblings hanging out back inside, still blissfully unaware of the horror that Harry revealed to him merely five minutes ago.
“I’m sorry Harry, I need to go.” Unspoken, they both choose to ignore the pain and regret prominent in his tone. “Need to tell the girls. We’ll talk, yes?”
“Okay. I’ll call Niall again.” Isn’t that typical Harry? Always putting everyone else first until he spends all of himself. Louis is having none of that.
“Go look after yourself, talk to Gemma. I’ll give him a ring later. Call me if you need anything, yes?”
The fact that Harry doesn’t object speaks volumes. “Okay.”
Louis has a feeling Harry won’t reach out again, but at least he extended a hand, if Harry is ready to take it.
In trance, Louis gets up from the sunbed, slowly walking back inside the holiday home he has shared with his siters and their partners for the last couple of days. He doesn’t know how to tell them, doesn’t want their perfect little bubble here in LA to pop, doesn’t want to ruin their trip and take away the feeling of comfort and contempt they built here.
He contemplates whether it’s possible to simply keep it to himself, to not share the news, until they’re supposed to leave in four days, just so they can keep that tiny bit of peace a little longer. That’s not an option, though, not in reality.
And then he’s standing in the doorway to the living room, phone clutched tightly in his hand, and he stares at Lottie’s back while she sits on the floor, entertaining Lucky. She seems to sense his presence after a minute, turning her gaze towards him, and her face falls from soft and smiling to worried in the blink of an eye.
“What happened?” Then she seems to remember who exactly called him a couple of minutes ago, and she cautiously gets up from the floor. “Did you two finally talk it out?”
He silently shakes his head, doesn’t even acknowledge the unmistakable jab in their direction. Fresh tears well in his eyes, and Lottie takes note, looking horrified now.
“Seriously Louis, you’re scaring me now. What’s going on?”
“Oh my god!” Someone cries form upstairs, Phoebe or Daisy, he doesn’t pay close enough attention, and Louis closes his eyes, knowing that the secret is out now and he can’t keep them from this any longer.
There are footsteps on the stairs, hurrying down towards the landing. Daisy stops dead in her tracks when she reaches her siblings, eyes widened in shock. Louis briefly glimpses some news page open on her phone screen, and he doesn’t want to read the headline, spotting his friend’s name only and averting his gaze, shifting his eyes to Daisy’s face once more. She notes the pained expression flashing across his features, and her eyes start to dampen in an instant.
“Louis,” she breathes out, face contorting in pain. “Please tell me this isn’t real.”
Louis is unable to answer, rooted to the spot, so he just opens his arms for her to rush into, squeezing her tight and letting her cling to him like she’s the one in need of consolation. That’s his job, looking out for his siblings first and foremost.
Lottie carefully approaches the pair, putting a gentle hand on Louis’ shoulder.
“You wanna tell me what this is about?” she prompts in a soft quiet way that indicates she gets the severeness of the situation. Daisy hands her phone over without further comment, immediately wrapping her brother up in her arms again right after.
“Oh Louis,” she cries against his chest, squeezing him so tight he’s unable to take a proper breath. Or maybe that’s the sobs finally clawing their way up his throat.
“No,” Lottie breathes, hand over her mouth, eyes wide, and she flicks her gaze up to his for confirmation. Louis locks eyes with her over Daisy’s shoulder, unable to form words, so he just nods. He feels his face crumble then, he blinks rapidly, but it gets pretty clear he can’t fight this anymore. Giving in to the urge at last, he buries his face in Daisy’s hair and lets out a gut-wrenching sob. The tears flow freely now, all the fight going out of him in one mighty rush of emotions, and he doesn’t even notice Phoebe joining them until her arms encircle him as well.
In a sudden wave of weakness, Louis sinks to the floor in the middle of the hallway, taking his twin sisters with him. They keep him close, hugging tight as if they were set on never letting him go and keeping him from shattering into a million pieces, and he distinctly thinks about how wrong this all is. He’s supposed to be the one to be there for them, no matter what, be the strong one, the rock in the wild waters of the sea. Not the other way around.
He can’t pull himself together though, and so he lets them, just for a few precious minutes, he tells himself.
The rest of the family has joined them by the time Louis manages to blink most of his tears away and raise his head. He doesn’t even give a fuck that this whole scene would make him feel embarrassed to no ends under usual circumstances. They all stare at him with pity in their eyes and he can’t fucking stand it. The only thing keeping him from starting to yell are the tears in his sisters’ eyes.
Sleep doesn’t find Louis. It’s three in the fucking morning and he can’t fucking sleep. He has stopped crying hours ago, the tears dried on his cheeks, like he’s got no more left in him. He feels hollow, empty, dead, and it’s horrifying how familiar he is with the feeling, it’s almost like getting in touch with an old friend again, and Louis wonders why the fuck he needs to go through this a third time. Why does he keep losing the people he loves? Why does life fuck him over anew every few years?
He sits on the sundeck, looking out at the ocean and the night sky, the moon dancing along the waves. He nurses his third bottle of beer, not experiencing the usual buzzing effects of the beverage.
At his side his phone pings with a new text message, and he contemplates outright ignoring it, just like the hundreds of concerned texts from friends and family alike. Honestly, he isn’t sure why he unlocks his screen and chooses to take a peek this time. Maybe it’s because it’s the middle of the fucking night and he still waits for Niall to text him back after their time spent on the phone earlier.
It's not Niall.
H: How are you?
There’s a time difference of eight hours between LA and London, so Louis isn’t surprised by the ungodly hour of Harry’s text.
It's strangely comforting thinking about Harry existing in the same time, thinking about him in this exact moment, even though it’s morning in the UK right now while Louis still has to get through the night.
L: Can’t sleep.
H: Neither could I.
L: Gemma still with you?
H: No, I sent her home after breakfast…
L: Why?
H: I can’t stand the pity on her face. It makes me want to puke.
Louis doesn’t tell him that he spent a good twenty minutes in the bathroom hurling up what little food Lottie forced into him at dinner time. Harry doesn’t need to know that.
L: Yeah. Me too.
His phone stays silent for a few minutes, and Louis didn’t know uncomfortable silence could exist over text, but then he gets another notification.
H: Do you want me to call?
Louis smiles sadly to himself. Harry used to do that back when they were still together, and when he knew Louis was struggling while they were separated. They used to spend hours talking on the phone while half the world separated them, until one of them fell asleep eventually or the sun rose.
L: No it’s alright. I’m enjoying the quiet and the lovely company of my own thoughts... Thanks though.
To soften the rejection, he snaps a picture of the peaceful ocean beneath him, the reflection of the moon being one of his favourite things to look at in the whole wide world. He attaches the image to their text thread.
H: It’s beautiful. Peaceful. I wish I was there.
Louis also wishes Harry was there but he can’t exactly tell him that.
L: It is. Pity I’ll never be able to enjoy this place again.
H: I’m so sorry, Louis. I really am.
L: Stop apologizing. It’s not your fault.
H: It’s not yours either.
Even after years of not talking, even half the world away, Harry can still read Louis’ thoughts and that scares him a little. Because Louis does feel like it is his fault, to some extend at least. It’s been a couple of weeks since he last spoke to Liam, and maybe, if he had taken the time to give him a ring, or even text him, he would have noticed if anything was wrong. Liam was never the one to reach out when he struggled, Louis needed to just simply show up for him and shove his support at him. There’s a chance he could have been aware, if he had paid a little more attention.
Thoughts like these consume his mind again, and he apparently takes too long to reply, because one more text comes in.
H: It’s not, Lou.
It's useless to pretend that’s not exactly where his mind has been wandering, so he doesn’t deny it.
L: Thank you.
H: Send me a pic when the sun rises, will you?
Louis can’t help the small smile playing along his lips. Harry loves the sun. He loves sunrises and sunsets, while Louis is more of a moon and stars kind of person, and that strangely fit them in a way. It wasn’t out of the blue that he used to call Harry ‘sun’. It originally came from the fact that Louis always thought his whole world revolved around Harry, that Harry was the centre of his universe and everything else spun around him.
And when the night is finally over, the first rays of sunshine flooding the patio with soft golden beams of light, he takes out his phone again and sends the photo.
When Louis gets a notification on his phone that afternoon, it’s from a new groupchat called _insert name_ , literally. It takes him a couple of moments to figure out who’s in it. There’s Niall’s and Harry’s numbers, which he has obviously saved, and one unfamiliar to him. His mind works as slow as a dead snail on zero hours of sleep, connecting the pieces and it takes him a heartbeat to figure out that this is probably Zayn. Louis honestly doesn’t know when the last time was he talked to Zayn. He isn’t even sure if he ended things on worse terms with Zayn or Harry. It’s two completely different things, that’s for sure.
N: I think I need you guys.
Louis stares at the message, remembering Niall’s sobbing over the phone and the conversation he tried to have with him through the weeping. He has never heard Niall that desperate. It’s a first time for Niall losing someone so close to him, and even though Louis envies him for the fact he hasn’t lost any close friends or family until now, he wishes he could take the burden onto himself. Even though Harry is the youngest, Niall was always the baby of the group somehow, everyone looking out for him especially.
N: Do you think we could meet up in a few days, maybe?
Louis is glad Niall is reaching out to them, one because he knows if Niall asks for support, he really really needs it, and second because Louis is too much of a chickenshit to admit he also wishes to see the boys. The situation calls for an emergency meeting. He thinks they can lay aside their differences under the circumstances. He suddenly realizes that out of the three of the others, Niall is the only one Louis speaks to these days, and that’s something to be ashamed of, honestly.
Harry likes the message instantly, three small dots appearing at the bottom of the screen. It’s past midnight in London, he honestly should be in bed by now.
H: That’s a lovely idea. I’ve cancelled all my further commitments anyway. I feel like no one really gets me right now…
Z: I’d love to join you if you’ll have me.
Louis wells up without warning, thinking about how even now, even in this horrible situation, Zayn is unsure whether he’s welcome in their group. How on earth did they ever let him feel that way? All their past problems suddenly seem to not matter a single bit. God, they wasted so much time holding grudges that in the meantime they forgot about the bond they used to share.
H: Of course we’ll have you, is that even a question?
N: Tommo?
Louis realizes he has been silently stalking their conversation from the metaphorical corner.
L: I’m in.
N: When will you be home?
Home. In England. Because that will always be where he belongs.
L: Bags are packed, our flight is tomorrow.
The family has talked about finishing their vacation properly, sitting out the remaining four days, but it got pretty clear that it wouldn’t have the desired effect, that each of them of them would be too restless to enjoy any of it, most of all Louis.
Z: I cancelled my shows, so I’m free whenever.
Right. Zayn was about to start his tour. Just because they weren’t talking doesn’t mean Louis has been oblivious to what the others were up to. He knows Zayn hasn’t stepped on a stage in a long long time, and to think he was finally ready, and now… Shit. That’s so fucked up.
N: Let’s say in four days’ time?
Z: Do you guys think we could maybe do an extended stay? There’s so much to talk about, I’m not gonna be able to say all the things I need to say over a simple dinner.
None of them question him.
H: How long were you thinking? I could use a break from all the fussing and pity.
So Louis isn’t the only one getting highly irritated by people checking in on him every five minutes. He acknowledges it comes from a place of love, but it’s unnerving and he needs to breathe deeply every time so he doesn’t lash out like he wants to.
N: Yeah me too. I appreciate the concern but… drives me nuts, honestly.
Seems like they’re in the same boat in this.
N: For however long we want. I don’t wanna see another face for at least a week.
H: We can meet at the holiday house.
The holiday house. Louis rereads the last text, staring at the words. The holiday home he and Harry bought during their time in the band, the beautiful cozy getaway house in Reculver with the pretty view of the sea and the secluded beach in that somewhat private little town. The residents were mostly elderly people, with a few young families sprinkled about, but no one really ever bothered them, not a soul sold them out, ever.
Louis wasn’t aware that they were still in possession of that house. It does something to his chest, knowing Harry never sold it, with his name on the ownership license.
It's honestly perfect for their reunion.
A reunion. Gods, he talked about a band reunion with Liam a dozen times in the past, mostly joking and dreaming about what could have been without ever really believing it would come to life. Not with the shit between them and Zayn, between him and Harry. Now there will never be a proper reunion, not one with Liam in it. So the term ‘reunion’ somehow repels Louis, with one of them now dead.
N: Okay thanks. So, at the holiday house on the 22nd, yeah?
Z: I’ll be there.
H: I’ll stock us up on supplies.
N: Louis?
Louis realizes he stopped being part of the conversation again some time ago. He swallows his emotions, typing a reply.
L: Yeah. I’ll be there.
Notes:
Sooo, I cried thinking about this, then cried writing it, cried again during editing and rereading. What's new?
Chapter 3: Chapter 2
Summary:
The boys gather at the holiday house, and Louis has to face more than one past mistake.
----------
“Seems like everyone couldn’t wait for the reunion, right?” Harry says, squaring his shoulder, no doubt preparing to face Niall or Zayn, whoever is at the door. Louis swallows, clenching his eyes shut anew, and without missing a beat, voice laced with concern, Harry asks: “What’s wrong?”
Another tear slips down Louis’ cheek.
“Please don’t call it that,” he breathes, not trusting his voice.
Harry nods, swallows and opens his mouth, then nods again. His eyes glisten with fresh tears. “Okay.”
Notes:
It is Wednesday, my dudes.
(Oh god, what have I done, now I'm gonna think about this every other time I'll update...)
Anyways, ignore my ADHD brain and enjoy this chapter as much as you can with the topic at hand.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
PRESENT – LOUIS
October 2024
Louis arrives in Reculver well before the previously agreed-on time. He has a feeling he needs to get accustomed to a couple of things again before facing the boys. The boys. He’s still referring to their group as the boys. They’ve grown so much since the band, gotten a decade older, and are nowhere near the age that could justify the term. It’s just habit, he guesses. Gods, they were so young, even by the time the band split up. So young, and yet they thought they knew everything, flying on the high of being the biggest boyband in the whole world. What fools they were.
When he parks in the driveway, Louis grants himself all of two minutes to sit in the car and prepare himself for what he’s undoubtedly going to be faced with, and it’s coming closer in bigger steps than he would like. He forces several deep breaths before pushing the driver’s door open and unloading his single bag. He didn’t pack much, he’s not much of a dress-up person when he’s at home or with friends and he figured this stay isn’t calling for fancy attire. He stuffed another pair of proper jeans into the bag last minute, at least. The ones he’s wearing right now are the first passable pants he’s wearing since the day he learned of Liam’s death, and it’s also the first day he’s had a shower.
The three steps to the front door greet him like an old friend, creaking under his feet just as they used to, and Louis is hit with a strange sort of nostalgia. God, they spent so many days here whenever they had a free weekend or an actual whole week. All five, eventually four of them, but especially Harry and him. It was theirs after all, even though they always told the other three they could use it whenever, which they never did as far as Louis is concerned.
The key he fishes out of his back pocket is a familiar weight in his palm. He’s surprised he even found it in between the chaos of his home. Then again, it didn’t take much debating on where to check first. The box he usually, under no circumstances, would pull out of the back of his closet. Not sober at least. The life he had with Harry, the few things he couldn’t get rid of, even after years of silence, packed into a single box. He told himself once he would get rid of one item at a time, but in the end, he never did. It’s useless anyway. The tattoos on his body tell a story he won’t be able to erase, and those reminders won’t be thrown away or wiped out, no matter how much it hurts sometimes looking at himself in the mirror.
Louis takes another steadying breath and thrusts the key into the lock, opening the front door.
The first thing that comes into focus is the wall of pictures in the hallway that is still the same as a couple of years back. Louis doesn’t let his gaze linger too long on any of them, afraid of the feelings these photographs might stir up.
The second thing are the plaques and awards lining the cupboard underneath the pictures, achievements from their time during the band, and also some of Harry’s from his early solo career. Unsolicited and utterly inappropriate, memories come flashing back into Louis’ mind, of the time Harry and him came back here after a trip to the BRITS when Harry won British Artist Video of the Year for Sign of the Times. That was in 2018, a few months before everything actually went to shit. Of course, Louis hadn’t been able to attend the awards show with Harry, but he’d stayed backstage to watch the whole thing.
Louis plucked the trophy straight from Harry’s hands, placed it somewhere between the others, and kissed him right there in the hallway, not even pretending to wanting to make it to their bedroom. They had sex against that very cupboard now decorated with Harry’s new award. Louis can still hear the clanking sound of a plaque tumbling over echoing in his head, and that’s not the only thing he remembers from that night.
PAST – HARRY
February 2018
“Your very own BRIT,” Louis murmurs against Harry’s lips, walking him backwards through the hallway, snatching said trophy from his fingers and carelessly setting it down on the smooth surface of their award shelf. Louis’ hands fumble to loosen the buttons on Harry’s shirt and he unceremoniously gets rid of it, tossing it somewhere on the floor. “I think you need a reward.”
“I already have my very own brit, just for myself,” Harry teases jokingly, feeling light-headed and dizzy from this night’s events. His bum hits the wooden surface of the cupboard and Louis’ hand shoves at his shoulder to make him plop down a little so he’s seated on top rather than leaning against it. Louis wastes no time to steal another kiss, then kneeling on the floor in front of him, scooting into the space between his legs. His fingers firmly dig into both of Harry’s thighs, making him spread his legs a little wider. Harry sighs in anticipation, drunk on more than just alcohol and the ecstasy and excitement of the past few hours. Louis’ touch is intoxicating, even after all those years together and these moments between them have become a rare thing over the course of the last year. Where nothing else seems to matter and they’re just… them.
Nimble fingers fumble with his belt buckle, then with the zipper of his trousers, and sneak their way inside his boxers to wrap around his semi-hard cock.
“Oh, and what do we have here?” Louis keens, tugging at the waistband of Harry’s dress pants to pull them further down for better access.
Harry’s tongue flicks out to wet his lips, his eyes never straying from the sight of Louis kneeling between his legs, impatiently tugging at his boxers to get him fully naked. Harry reaches out a hand and buries it in Louis’ hair at the first touch of Louis’ lips on his dick. The muscles in his stomach go taut, and he sucks in a shuddering breath. Louis’ mouth on him always has a very certain effect on him.
“Lou,” he rasps out, his other hand shooting out to brace himself against the cupboard. He thinks he might have tipped over some award, but he can’t bring himself to look. His head cranes up towards the ceiling while his eyes fall shut.
“I would have liked for you to be there,” Harry suddenly spills. He doesn’t know where it’s coming from, now of all times. Of course it’s true, he wishes for Louis to be able to attend these kinds of things with him – together, like properly together – all the damn time, but he doesn’t need to ruin a perfectly good night like this by bringing it up. They’ve had that same conversation plenty enough, but tonight of all nights, he doesn’t want to fight about it again.
Louis responds by sucking his head into his mouth, making Harry’s hips twitch involuntarily, chasing after the feeling. He pops off and when Harry shifts his eyes back down, he finds blue eyes looking up from under Louis’ lashes, dark gaze heavy on Harry’s face.
“You know I can’t,” he says, voice deep and rough. “But I can still reward you for winning, right?”
Harry wants nothing more than for Louis to continue what he’s been doing, so he simply tugs at his hair a little and nods. Louis sucks him down deep in answer and the action punches a yelp out of Harry.
So Harry wins his first solo award, and to celebrate him properly, Louis swallows two times that night.
PRESENT – LOUIS
October 2024
Blinking back to reality, Louis shakes his head at himself and the turn his thoughts have taken without his permission. It’s this place, he tells himself. This damn place he never thought he’d set foot into again.
Louis slowly makes his way towards the living area, where several plants come into view, the same they had back then but much bigger now. Someone must have been looking out for the house over the course of the last couple of years.
When he fully steps into the living area and is able to catch a glimpse of the adjoining open kitchen space, Louis is startled to find he’s in fact not the first person to arrive, and he abruptly comes to a halt. This couldn’t have gone any worse, honestly.
Their parting words replay in Louis’ mind.
“Fuck you, Tomlinson. Stop playing with me, I’m not doing this anymore. I don’t ever wanna see your face again.”
The last thing Harry said to his face, ever. How is this going to work out, for fuck’s sake? He didn’t think this through, honestly, drowned in grief and pain.
Awkwardly clearing his throat, he makes his presence known and Harry flinches where he leans against the kitchen counter, staring out the double glass doors to the patio, and almost drops his steaming cup in the process.
His gaze whips over and Louis is met with those startling green eyes that always seem to stare right into his soul. Those green eyes are rimmed red with the ghost of dark circles underneath, and Louis instantly feels like crying, the sight tugging at his heart strings. He swallows dry. He’s not prepared to be facing Harry, least of all alone, with none of the others here to maybe reduce the tension.
There’s a teeny tiny moment where they look at each other for a heartbeat before Harry cautiously speaks up.
“You’re early.” It’s not judgemental, not at all, and Louis is thankful for Harry to make the first step. He doesn’t think he would have been able to himself, mind having gone completely blank.
“So are you,” he replies.
Harry’s gaze flickers away for a second, and he seems almost guilty, shoulders hitching inwards and head ducking a little. “I’ve been here since Sunday.” That’s –
“That’s two whole days,” Louis concludes. Harry has been here for two days straight? All on his own?
“I –“ Harry starts, then blows out a breath and sets his cup down on the counter to rake a hand through his hair. “I couldn’t… I don’t know.” Louis can’t stand the sight of Harry being all anxious and insecure. It’s something he used to hate and quickly decides he still hates to this day.
“Hey,” he says softly and waits for Harry to meet his eyes once more. He tries to put as much sincerity behind his gaze and words as he can manage. “You don’t have to explain yourself or justify anything, alright?”
Harry’s eyes quickly fill with tears and he nods tightly, and then he’s moving. Moving towards Louis, eating up the distance between them in quick strides on long legs and before Louis can comprehend what’s about to happen, Harry reaches for him and tugs him close to his chest.
Louis guesses the situation is bad enough for them to set aside their usual kind-of-nemesis status for now.
Finally being held by Harry again, the familiarity of the embrace he finds himself in, the unmistakable sniffles right next to his ear – it’s too much and he’s caught unprepared, it makes all his barricades crumble and break in mere seconds. Louis drops his bag to the floor and brings his arms around Harry’s waist, letting out a strained sob.
For the first time since Liam’s death, he feels like someone gets him. Because Harry shares Louis’ pain, Harry can understand what he lost, Harry lost the same thing, and it feels right to grieve with him. Sure, Louis’ family is trying to be there for him and support him through this, but they don’t experience that same intense level of pain.
“I’m so sorry, Lou,” Harry cries into his hair. Louis realizes he hasn’t let himself cry since the day it happened and being faced with Harry’s unapologetic and genuine emotions cleaves his chest open, leaving him vulnerable with just the simple action of a hug.
“It’s alright,” Louis whispers in an attempt to shush Harry, fingers clenching in the fabric of Harry’s shirt. Nothing is alright.
Harry’s chest hitches with a shuddering breath. “No, it’s not.” His voice is tight and breaks on the last word. Louis feels like he’s going to combust any second now with the combined force of their grief and pain, it’s so unbearable.
They stay like this for what might be seconds or hours, just clinging to each other.
“You kept the house,” Louis finally states on a whisper, the words almost swallowed up by Harry’s shirt. Harry slowly detangles their arms and steps back, pulling his sleeve down over his hand and wiping his eyes on the back of it.
“Did you ever have to give up your keys?” Oh right. That should have been indication enough.
“No.” Then, something dawns on him, and Louis can’t help but ask. “Did you… do you come here still?”
Harry shakes his head, but his throat bobs once before he gives a reply. “Not anymore. I used to during –“ , his eyes focus to a spot above Louis’ shoulder for the briefest of moments before returning to his face, “during the first year, and then later during the pandemic.” It doesn’t take much brain to know what he’s referring to. Their split in 2018, and the first year after. Is he meaning to tell Louis if he had ever come back here, there would have been the possibility of running into each other? He doesn’t know what to make of that.
“I have a housekeeper coming in each month to take care of things.” That explains the thriving plants and the general state of the house.
The doorbell gives a shriek, making both of them jump, and they awkwardly laugh at themselves afterwards.
“Seems like everyone couldn’t wait for the reunion, right?” Harry says, squaring his shoulder, no doubt preparing to face Niall or Zayn, whoever is at the door. Louis swallows, clenching his eyes shut anew, and without missing a beat, voice laced with concern, Harry asks: “What’s wrong?”
‘What’s right?’, Louis thinks. He hates to do this, he wants to pull himself together and not let it be a big deal, but it is. It is a big deal to him and if he can’t be honest about this with the boys, then who else?
Harry places a gentle hand onto Louis’ shoulder, thumb moving to stroke at the side of his neck the slightest bit. The urge to lean into the touch gets overwhelming, but Louis forces himself not to, opening his eyes instead. Harry’s worried expression makes the noise of the doorbell ringing again drown out. Another tear slips down Louis’ cheek.
“Please don’t call it that,” he breathes, not trusting his voice. Harry sucks in a breath, eyes widening as in realization what term Louis is referring to, and why he’s reluctant to call their gathering that.
Harry nods, swallows and opens his mouth, then nods again. His eyes glisten with fresh tears. “Okay.”
By the third time the bell shrieks, Harry is on his way to open the door, and Louis is left trying to regain some semblance of himself. Multiple voices filter in from the hallway, and Louis isn’t wondering anymore who it is, because it’s obviously both of them. Niall’s thick Irish accent is unmistakable, even though Louis can’t make out any words. And then there’s also the lilting drawl of Zayn’s voice. Louis sighs heavily. Another of his past regrets he has to face today.
And it’s indeed Zayn, appearing in the doorway to the living and kitchen area first, eyes immediately locking with Louis’.
Louis doesn’t have time to come up with something to say, because Zayn unceremoniously dumps his luggage and throws himself at Louis, starting to weep brokenly. Louis is left useless, forced to steady them both as Zayn clings to him.
“I’m sorry, Lou,” Zayn chokes out, “I love you, I’m so sorry.”
Louis can’t deal with all the rollercoaster emotions today, and he finds himself welling up for the umpteenth time in the last fifteen minutes. He senses that Zayn’s words go beyond Liam’s passing, to something that goes way back. The thing that was the beginning of their end, the thing that led to the band parting ways, but also the thing that saved Zayn’s life, Louis realized that a long time ago but has been too proud to admit.
He's hit with a sudden pang of guilt and regret, and so he buries a hand in Zayn’s hair and cradles his head to the hollow of his throat. Louis stares blankly and silently crying at the doorway where the other two, plus Amelia, appear. Louis has met her a couple of times, and he’s not surprised that she came to drop Niall off. Lovely girl, honestly.
“It’s alright,” he croaks out a second time today, finally reacting to Zayn’s apology.
“No, no it isn’t,” Zayn sniffles and pulls back, wet tracks on his cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Lou.”
Louis forces a small, sad smile. “I’m sure we’ll have time to talk about everything,” he assures Zayn and the other man sighs heavily, nodding regardless.
Louis turns his attention to Niall and walks over, giving his friend a short but tight embrace.
“How are you holding up?”
“I’m… not so good actually,” Niall confesses, eyes tired and heavy. Louis gets the feeling. He squeezes Niall’s shoulder once and turns to Amelia.
“Hey. Thanks for dropping him off.”
She smiles softly, but there’s a sadness to her expression, and that little bit of pity Louis is coming to hate. She means no harm, but that look right there is exactly what he’s trying to escape. Still, he’s grateful she’s there for Niall to lean on.
Amelia eventually addresses the four of them. “Alright, I’m going to check in on you guys in a week, make sure you’ve got everything you need and you’re not holing in and dying in here.” She realizes her mistake a split-second after it leaves her mouth, and she cringes at her own choice of words. “Shit, sorry.”
Niall tightens his fingers around hers and rubs a thumb across the back of her hand, and she flicks her gaze to him. “Just a quick check and then I’ll be out of your hair. Let me know if you need anything in the meantime. Take as much time as you need.” Then she locks eyes with each of them, one after the other. “All of you.”
The boys try to make themselves busy while Amelia and Niall say their Goodbyes. Louis still glances their way. They share a short kiss, Amelia placing a hand on Niall’s cheek afterwards and caressing the skin with her thumb.
“I love you,” she says gently.
“Love you more,” Niall replies, leaning forward to rest his forehead against her shoulder. Amelia buries her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and whispers something Louis isn’t able to make out, lips moving quickly.
“I’m a phone call away, yeah?” she says louder, for all of them to hear, when they part. A small piece of paper appears between her index and middle finger and she places what Louis presumes is her phone number on the kitchen counter. “Anytime, alright?”
Louis feels his throat close up, heart swelling at the gesture. He wants to thank her, but he can’t trust his voice, can’t find the right words to express the gratitude he experiences.
“Thank you, Mia,” Harry steps forward on behalf of all of them, placing a hand in the centre of his chest.
Amelia smiles tightly, pecks Niall’s cheek once more and then she’s gone. The sound of a car engine is the only noise while the four of them stand in the middle of the kitchen, unsure how to proceed, how to start this conversation. Where to start.
Harry turns to Niall. “Hold onto her. She loves you very very much.” Louis gets the same impression, and of course he’s happy for Niall, but he can’t help but envy him a tiny bit. Louis has never been able to recreate the feeling he had while with Harry, and he craved that kind of love ever since.
A small but genuine smile plays around Niall’s lips when he confesses: “I’m planning to. Been working out a way to pop the question for some time now.”
“No way!” Zayn shouts and tackles Niall in a bear hug. They cling to each other and come away grinning but teary, clasping each other’s shoulders. Despite everything else they can still feel joy, there are still bright moments, and there is still hope for better things to come.
Louis’ gaze slips towards Harry, unnoticed, and he watches him take in the scene with an expression of longing on his face. Louis connects with those feelings very well. He remembers the day he proposed to Harry in vivid detail.
It was back in 2016, when they decided that everyone would pursue some solo stuff for a while, even though Louis didn’t like that one bit, he had really believed the hiatus would be only that: a short break. But the point was: they wouldn’t reunite under SyCo and Modest!Management, that much they agreed on, without question.
They would continue the band at some point under much different circumstances, make their own choices, be themselves, be free.
So Louis took his chance, did what he wanted to do for a while at that point, and, at just 24 years old, asked Harry to marry him.
That was before reality hit them in the face, before everything went truly to shit. None of them knew it wasn’t going to be that easy, none of them ever realized they’d never completely get rid of that stuff, and they certainly didn’t spare a single thought to the fact that nothing was ever granted. They were also blissfully unaware of his mother’s sickness at the time.
They were so naïve.
PAST – HARRY
MAY 2016
Despite everything people are saying online, Harry and Louis don’t get engaged until May 2016.
It's a lazy sunny morning, Harry is currently curled up in a chair in their backyard, finishing up his latest read, when Louis sets down two mugs onto the coffee table. The strong smell of fresh ground coffee hits his nose, and Harry lifts his gaze to smile up at Louis.
“Thank you, love.”
Louis leans down to drop a kiss to his hair, murmuring a soft “You’re welcome”, squeezing a tray with breakfast onto the table as well. Harry scans the contents, snatches up a croissant and plucks a strawberry from the bowl of sliced fruit.
Settling into the chair beside him, Louis watches him take a bite of the pastry.
“What?” Harry chuckles once he’s swallowed his food down.
“I wrote a song I’d like to show you,” Louis says, and Harry’s heart leaps with excitement. Louis has been so uncertain about doing something solo, Harry knows he’s been feeling insecure, and now he’s written a song! On his own. Just for himself. That’s… massive progress.
Harry nods excitedly, grinning widely, even though Louis briefly sinks his teeth into his bottom lip and only hesitantly pulls his phone out. He keeps glancing Harry’s way as he connects his headphones. Then, he hands the phone over and Harry’s so excited, he barely keeps from snatching it from Louis’ fingers. There’s a title written across the screen.
Unpredictable
Harry clicks play, closes his eyes to fully experience the song, and waits. The melody immediately starts upbeat, it makes Harry slightly bob his head and tap his foot. It’s good, got a summer vibe. And then Louis’ voice sets in, and Harry knows one thing for sure: it’s about them.
I couldn’t see this coming,
From a mile away,
Oh yeah we started something
That we can’t escape
The smile stretches across Harry’s face now, he remembers how utterly wild and unbelievable it was to fall in love with Louis, and to have him return the feelings. What was the chance anyway? He also didn’t see it coming, but it’s been the greatest thing in Harry’s entire life, next to being in a band with his best friends.
Louis tells a story of how he unexpectedly found something he’s never really believed in: love. He talks about how Harry has captured his heart from the first moment and how scary it was in the beginning to submit to those strong feelings, but that it bloomed into something incredibly strong he’d never want to be without now.
The last note ends, but there’s some kind of static noise, Harry can’t really pinpoint it, but he gets the feeling the recording isn’t finished yet, so he sits and waits for a few seconds. He’s right, and Louis’ voice comes back in.
“Marry me.”
Harry’s heart stumbles for a beat before he manages to pry his eyes open. He sits up straight, staring out at their garden for a second before flicking his gaze over to Louis, not daring to breathe. Louis smiles at him softly, but a little uncertain and anxious, and the sight is so fucking adorable.
“Lou,” Harry breathes, mind racing a million miles per second.
“I – I didn’t know how to ask,” Louis stutters out, cheeks going a shade pink. “And actually, you deserve something bigger, but I just know I wouldn’t have gotten a single word out, and honestly, I also didn’t wanna wait any longer to ask. So I used the only way I’m good at – music.” He shrugs a little, babbling, and it’s endearing as shit, Harry thinks.
He's going to implode. Or cry. Or both, maybe.
Clearly thrown off by Harry’s loss of words, Louis shifts in his chair, tugs at the hem of his shirt subconsciously. He clears his throat, eyes scanning Harry’s face for any kind of reaction, and then he nods his head towards the coffee table. “I did get a ring, though.”
Harry flicks his gaze to where Louis is pointing, a small wooden box sitting on the edge of the table. The box alone is beautiful, it’s got an engraving on the top, the sun and the moon. Harry recognizes the emblem of one of their favoured jewellers on the side, but he doesn’t reach for it.
He doesn’t care about the ring. Well yes sure, he loves jewellery, but that’s not the point of this. He’d take Louis without the ring, and the song as well, but it’s just so them, it’s… Harry can’t even find the right words.
“Are you…” Louis trails off.
“Huh?” Harry says dumbfound. He blinks at Louis, doesn’t register what he’s asking right now.
“Not gonna say anything?”
“Oh! Uh, no.” He needs his brain to start working again, soon. Catch on, catch on, catch on for fuck’s sake. He still hasn’t given Louis an actual answer. But in all honesty, it’s not even a question.
“No?” Louis cocks his head, but there’s a hint of a smile crinkling in the corners of his eyes. He obviously senses Harry’s mind going blank.
“No that’s –“ Harry scrambles to explain. His damn fucking brain. “I mean, yes. Yeah. Yes of course. A hundred percent yes.”
“Haz,” Louis interrupts his rambling, voice gentle and eyes so full of love, Harry thinks he might combust with all the feelings reflected in them.
“Yeah?” he asks, a little breathless.
“One Yes would’ve been enough,” Louis chuckles, takes Harry’s hand with shaking fingers and brushes a kiss to his knuckles. Harry giggles then, feeling himself grin from ear to ear, and maybe he’s also tearing up a little. And because his mind still doesn’t deign to produce useful words, he settles for grabbing Louis’ face and bringing him close for a longing kiss.
It sinks in only slowly, while they savour the way their lips fit together, just like they were made for each other (they probably were).
He's going to marry Louis, and they’re going to be free.
He can tell the whole world Louis is his.
They’re going to be free.
Fucking free.
PRESENT – LOUIS
A decent amount of sleeping accommodations has always been the number one priority back when they started looking for a holiday house to invest in. So there’s enough rooms for each of the boys to have their own space, with even one small spare room – Louis wouldn’t exactly call it a proper bedroom, but it does have a bed – on the ground level.
While the rest of the group move into their respective rooms, Harry helping Niall and Zayn to settle in, Louis makes himself busy setting up for dinner. Harry and Zayn pondered over some new recipe one of them wanted to try, and they agreed to cook together. Louis’ still mostly useless in the kitchen, there’s a few things he perfected over the years, but it’s nowhere near as good as theirs, so he gladly lets them do the task. That doesn’t mean he can’t make himself a little useful.
So, just like the old times, when they spent their breaks here as a group, he pulls out the slide table to accommodate all of them so they won’t have to squeeze together. It’s a small hassle to do it alone, but he doesn’t want to disturb any of them right now. He’ll manage. That’s the least he can do.
“Hey, uuh, Louis?” Zayn asks, stepping into the kitchen tentatively, steps light and careful. “What’re you doin’?”
Louis shoots him a confused look, cocking his head. What does it look like he’s doing? “Extending the table?” he says, matter-of-factly, but also in question.
“You –“ Zayn’s eyes go soft and he takes another cautious step, as if Louis’ a scared animal he doesn’t want to scare off. A sad, almost apologetic smile ghosts across his lips, brows pinched together. It’s the look of pity, and Louis is momentarily annoyed by it. “You don’t have to.”
“Why?” They never had enough space sharing meals in the holiday house, they always extended the table, back when all five of them –
Oh.
“Oh,” Louis says dumbly, staring at the wooden table top, where not five but only four of them will be having dinner tonight. Oh.
“Lou,” Zayn starts, but Louis is already crumbling, covering his face with his hands as that horrible emotion he’s too used to at this point washes over him in one mighty wave. He isn’t even aware he’s slowly sinking down until he hits one of the chairs.
He starts sobbing before Zayn is able to cross the distance between them and wrap his arms around Louis’ body. Louis doesn’t have it in him to be embarrassed, he’s just tired.
“I – I forgot,” he whimpers brokenly, in between the sobs that leave his body shaking in Zayn’s embrace. “For – for a second… I forgot.”
“It’s okay,” Zayn shushes him, hand coming up to comb through his hair comfortingly. If someone would have told Louis only a week ago – no, he doesn’t want to go there right now.
“Nothing is okay.”
“You’re right. It’s shit. Everything is shit, and wrong.” It is. It’s all wrong, and unfair. “But I’m so glad to be here with you,” Zayn confesses, and it only makes Louis cry harder.
“Me too,” he manages somehow.
It's a long while before Zayn leans back and wipes the tears from Louis’ cheeks. “Want to help me prep dinner?”
Louis would gladly take any kind of distraction right now, so he nods. Most of all, he doesn’t want anyone else see him start to bawl five minutes into their little gathering. Zayn takes him to the kitchen, and they silently slice vegetables until the other two join them, and Louis gives up his cutting board for Harry.
So, Harry and Zayn make dinner together. It’s strangely comforting and nostalgic, Louis thinks, seeing Harry back in that kitchen, conjuring up some kind of meal. Louis is rendered useless once more, and he sits at the dining table with Niall, nursing a bottle of beer, picking at the label and staring at Harry’s back.
Zayn seems to be falling right back into a comfortable conversation with Harry, and Louis wishes it could be like that for him, too. But he knows, he knows that even though they may have laid aside their problems for the moment, that things won’t just simply solve themselves, and either an emotional conversation or another fallout is about to come their way. Louis isn’t sure whether he’s ready to tell the whole story of what went down between them, why it went down, why he did what he did, and that he’s aware how badly he fucked up, how badly he miscalculated.
“You two ever… talk?” Niall murmurs for only Louis to hear from beside him and nudges his elbow when he fails to react. He’s referring to their breakup, Louis doesn’t need to ask for clarification, he’s neither stupid nor ignorant. He foregoes an answer, shaking his head instead.
“Maybe you should,” his friend suggests, and Louis can’t help but scoff. “I mean it.”
“And what good would that do?” Louis asks, the words tasting bitter in his mouth. “It wouldn’t change the fact that I behaved like a dick, and Harry eventually left for his own sake. Rightfully, so.”
“Then why did you – “
“Niall, I appreciate the concern, but it’s not gonna change anything. I did what I did, and I’d do it again.”
Niall stays silent for a moment, Louis feels his eyes on himself regardless, it’s a little unsettling, but he sets his jaw and doesn’t return the gaze. At last, Niall clicks his tongue and heaves a sigh. “You never told anyone why you signed with Cowell again after we split up, so I guess that would be a start.”
“It’s nobody’s business,” Louis insists, taking a swig.
“Oh but it is, because we all tried to escape that asshole and it seemed like you went back willingly, you know? We were worried.”
Louis shakes his head, irritated. Sure, they’d all like to know what went on in his fucked-up brain, what possessed him to choose that path, right? “Drop it, Nialler. I’m not up for discussing this.”
“Maybe not with me, but please think about talking to Harry, at least.”
Sighing, Louis rips a small piece from the label on his bottle, rolling the paper between his fingers into a tiny ball. “I don’t know… We aren’t on the best of terms.”
“And yet. Can you imagine what Zayn’s going through right now? Do you think he doesn’t regret all the shit that’s kept him from reaching out to either of us these past years? He apologized like a thousand times to me on the way here, and I feel like he’s trying to make up for never being able to say those words to Liam. He’ll never be able to tell him. Think about it at least, Tommo. Tomorrow isn’t guaranteed.”
With that, Niall gets up to join the other two, putting a hand onto Louis’ shoulder in passing. Louis stares after him, thoughts somersaulting in his head.
Tomorrow isn’t guaranteed.
What if it had been Harry? Louis hates the thought, because it can’t get any worse than Liam dying, he doesn’t even want to make the comparison, it’s unfair, and losing any of the boys would be just as bad. It’s just… sure, Liam and him also had their quarrels throughout the years, silly little arguments, but they never left things unsettled, it was never that serious and they were always on good terms. The last time Louis spoke to him was not a month before the accident.
Thinking about Zayn’s position though, the way he must be feeling with so many things left unsaid, forever, and the suddenly very real possibility of losing someone you have so many things left to say to, carves a hole in Louis’ chest.
So what if it had been Harry?
Tomorrow isn’t guaranteed.
Without wanting to draw any attention to himself, Louis silently raises from his perch at the table and slips out onto the patio overlooking the small backyard and the beach beneath, taking his cigarettes and his lighter with him. He needs a smoke and some fresh air.
“Hey,” Harry’s quiet voice comes from behind him some time after. “Dinner’s ready.”
Louis blows out a long breath, forearms braced on the railing of the patio. “I’ll be with you in a second.”
Harry’s presence doesn’t vanish though, and sure enough Louis’ ears pick up a tentative step in his direction. “You okay?”
And Louis really wants to lie, he really really wants to say ‘oh yeah, mate, all good’ like he always does, but he doesn’t have the energy to deny his feelings, not with the boys anyway. So he sighs and slowly shakes his head. “Not really, no.”
Harry is quiet for a few moments, so Louis turns his head to look at him over his shoulder. There’s a sad sympathetic smile playing around Harry’s lips. “Me neither,” he confesses softly. “We still need to keep going, Louis.”
But that’s all he’s ever done, the thing everybody always told him to do, every single time he lost someone: Keep going, Louis. They fucking praised him because he kept going, because ‘he did so well’. When in reality he’s tired, he’s just so so tired of having to keep going, of losing people and having to push forward.
Louis huffs a scoff, not willing to let himself cry yet again, so he looks out at the sea once more. “Yeah, but where to start?”
“Right now?” Harry says. “Dinner. And then we’ll see what comes next.”
Louis forces a small smile and finally faces the house again. Through the glass door, he can see Zayn and Niall at the table, already loading their plates with food and chatting among themselves. There’s an underlying sadness, of course, but despite everything, they’re smiling. Louis’ heart hurts in the good kind of way at the sight. And he hopes he can be part of that as well. He wishes Harry can be part of that.
“Right. Let’s.”
Dinner time is filled with chatter about everything and nothing, none of them mentioning the reason for their little reunion – and Louis still hates the word – in order to not let the light-hearted conversations fade out. They silently agree that there has been enough crying for one day, and enough emotional overload, so once they clear the table, one by one, they retire to their rooms. It’s rather late anyway, and they’re exhausted from the past few days.
Zayn is the first to depart, and before he makes his way upstairs, he halts at the bottom of the stairs. He glances back to where the rest of the boys are cleaning up the last remnants of their dinner and drinks, and watches them for a moment, eyes heavy and full of longing.
“I love you guys, I hope you know.”
Harry smiles gently. “Of course we do.”
“I wish I could say the things I want to say right now, hell I wish I would have said them a long time ago, but I think that’s a conversation for tomorrow. But I will talk to you.”
Niall nods at him, already on the verge of crying again judging by the tight expression on his face. “Tomorrow.”
Zayn flicks his gaze to Louis’, conveying a question with a simple look, seeking approval. Louis feels his throat go tight, but he manages to dip his chin. “Tomorrow.”
“I love you,” Zayn says again, softly and almost inaudible, before he takes the steps. The three of them watch him drag himself upstairs on heavy feet. Never in a million years would Louis have guessed he’d reunite with Zayn under those kinds of circumstances.
“Love you too!” Niall shouts just before the second to last step on the stairs creaks its signature squeaky noise. They never got that fixed after all, despite always talking about it. Zayn’s throaty chuckle is the only response, but it’s enough.
This is enough. They’re all here, and they’re gonna talk, and everything is gonna be fine. At least the things that can be fixed. Louis swears to himself he won’t allow any of them to leave before things are fixed. He’s unsure if that extends to the thing looming between him and Harry, though.
“Alright,” Harry announces, “I’m done for today as well.”
“Yeah, me too,” Niall joins in. “I’m exhausted.”
Louis lingers behind as the two of them follow Zayn. Harry turns around halfway up the stairs, so he’s only just in Louis’ field of vision before he disappears out of sight.
“You coming?” he asks as Niall takes the last few steps.
Louis waves a hand. “You go ahead, I’ll retire in a bit.”
A crease appears between Harry’s brows, and he cocks his head a little in the way he used to when he tried to figure out if Louis was lying to him. Louis doesn’t think he’s doing it on purpose, but the gesture is so familiar, it hits him right in the chest. “You sure?” he asks and takes a single step down again. “You okay?”
Louis nods, heart squeezing in his chest at the thought that it’s only the fucking miserable situation that makes Harry care about his wellbeing right now. But he’ll take whatever he can get, even if it’s just pure sympathy and pity, he’s pathetic like that. “I’m alright for now. Thanks for dinner.”
“Louis –“ Harry starts, but Louis cuts him off.
“Go and rest, Harry. I’m fine.” This is going to lead nowhere, they’re all exhausted, and he really is planning to go to bed soon. He just needs another smoke and a little bit of time to get his thoughts in order before even attempting to sleep.
Harry hesitates, but nods eventually. “Goodnight, Louis.”
“Night, Harry.”
Notes:
Yup, so that went... surprisingly well?
Feel free to give me feedback if you feel like it :)
Chapter 4: Chapter 3
Summary:
Louis navigates being faced with Liam's absence, Harry's presence and Zayn's apology.
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And Louis knows, he knows, for god’s sake, but hearing the words out loud from Zayn himself makes it so much worse, so much more real. For the umpteenth time today, Louis tears up, eyes starting to burn mercilessly. He clenches his jaw to keep his chin from trembling.
Deep down, he’s always been aware of how fucking close they were to losing Zayn – forever. He just didn’t know how to cope back then, and so he pushed it away, turned his pain and worry into anger, let other people tell him how to feel about all of it.
Notes:
Here we go, another chapter, hope you like it :)
(Oh, and btw, the title of this fic is a slightly altered lyric from "Someone To Stay" from Vancouver Sleep Clinic. Give it a listen if you want, it's going to make you cry.)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
PRESENT – LOUIS
Louis didn’t sleep well last night, and so he’s not particularly surprised he’s the first one up in the morning. They didn’t talk about whether they’d have breakfast together or make any other plans, and he doesn’t intend waking anybody up, wanting to let them sleep for as long as possible. They sure need it. Hell, Louis would have needed it, but sleep wasn’t very generous.
After half an hour of tossing and turning, he decides to get up, takes a quick shower and pads down to the kitchen. He’s kind of hungry, the first time since that dreadful day last week he actually feels like eating something, and he doesn’t want the feeling to go to waste. It’s a good sign, right?
He rummages through the cabinets, finding that Harry has indeed stocked them up on a little bit of everything, and quickly decides on making French toast. Since that’s one of maybe five things he’s capable of cooking, it’s not a tough choice. He’ll make the other boys some as well as soon as they’re up, he wants them to have a nice breakfast and to actually do something for them.
Louis briefly debates turning on the radio but decides against it. The news are for sure full of reports about Liam’s passing, and he doesn’t need another reminder. So he connects his phone and lets some playlist play softly in the background.
Louis’ digging produces all the ingredients he needs, plus some fresh fruit, and while the first toast sizzles in the pan, he makes himself busy cutting up apples and strawberries. He knows the boys will probably laugh at him, because back in the day there wasn’t a single healthy thing one could force into him, but he slowly came to like some of it.
God, they were so young. He was twenty-three when the band ended. He was fucking eighteen when he signed his soul away.
“Oi, fuck,” Louis swears, hissing through his teeth when the knife slips and he cuts into his finger. He examines the cut, it’s not particularly deep, but blood starts welling regardless and Louis quickly grabs a handful of paper towels to stench the bleeding.
“Fucking –“ he grumbles, scowling at his unfinished meal sitting by the stove as if it’s personally attacked him. He’s suddenly not hungry anymore. The one time he feels like having a proper breakfast, it needs to bite him in the ass.
“What’re you doing?” a voice asks from behind him, and Louis whirls to find Harry lingering by the kitchen island, brows pinched together, but the hint of an amused smile curling his lips upward.
“I –“ Louis starts, it comes out high and out of breath, so he clears his throat and starts over. “I tried making French toast…”
“Tried,” Harry repeats slowly, leaning his hip against the counter, arms crossed casually over his chest. His very naked chest – oh good god, Louis is going to melt into a puddle. He swallows, tries and fails not to let his gaze quickly travel to that fucking butterfly, and the accompanying abs it’s displayed on. Is Harry doing this on purpose? He has to, there’s no other explanation. No other option than for him to want Louis to suffer. He has to know what he’s doing.
Harry coughs pointedly, Louis forcing his eyes back up to his face. Shit. Not trusting his voice enough, Louis lifts his hand into view, and he’s sure his face is flushed red in embarrassment. From being caught, and from being too clumsy to even cut some damn strawberries.
Harry only raises an eyebrow, and so Louis forces himself to give an actual explanation.
“Cut my finger slicing the fucking strawberries…” he mumbles lowly, eyes focusing on the floor at Harry’s feet. Said feet start to move towards him, and he’s quick to flick his gaze up to watch Harry come closer with calm and confident steps.
“Here, let me,” he offers, reaching out and gently manoeuvring Louis to the side by his hips – Louis heart stops for a second – and continues making Louis’ breakfast, flipping it over expertly. It’s already a touch too dark on the underside.
Harry has always been better at cooking anyway, but Louis wouldn’t have ever believed Harry would make his perfect French toast for him again, not in his wildest dreams.
Needing some kind, any kind of distraction so he doesn’t keep staring at Harry’s side profile, standing at the stove – fucking bare chested, Louis has to mention it again – softly humming to himself, Louis unwraps the paper towel from around his finger. The tissue sticks to the wound and when he eventually just rips it off, the skin splits anew.
“Fookin’ –“ he swears, accent thick, while a fresh droplet of blood slips down to the second knuckle.
Harry glances at him sideways for only a second, and then reaches for Louis wrist, dragging him forward a stumbling step, and before Louis catches on, before he can step back or do anything against it, Harry pushed Louis’ finger between his lips.
Louis stands frozen, rooted to the spot, while tingles race from his fingertips through his entire body from the touch of Harry’s tongue on his skin, lapping up the droplet of blood. Louis feels the blunt edges of his teeth at the tip of his finger, and in a strange and twisted sort of way he wants Harry to bite down, only a little bit.
Harry used to do that, kiss away Louis’ scratches and cuts and burns and whatnots, every little ache. But that’s another one of those things Louis thought he’d never experience again, so it catches him off guard, and his heart keeps doing funny things in his chest.
Harry lets the digit slip from his mouth, inspecting the cut that of course has stopped bleeding, like even basic biology knows Harry’s touch is magical. He brushes a tiny little kiss to the spot.
“There, all good,” he says and drops Louis’ trembling hand without even looking up, like he didn’t just rearrange Louis’ whole being. Louis stares at him a little longer before he stutters out a thank you.
Soon enough, Zayn trudges down the stairs and puts Louis out of his misery – if being alone in a room with Harry can be called a misery, but Louis’ mind needs other things to focus on than Harry’s back muscles flexing when he flips the toast in the pan. Louis needs to remind himself it’s very much his own fault that he doesn’t have the luxury of Harry anymore.
“Mornin’,” Zayn says, yawns, and plops down onto one of the bar stools at the kitchen island.
Louis makes himself busy pouring him a cup of coffee – black, two sugars – and sets it down in front of him. It’s only then that he realizes he doesn’t know if Zayn still likes his coffee like that.
“Do you – is that…?” he trails off, searching Zayn’s face for any kind of rejection, but finds none. Instead, he smiles openly at him and gladly picks up the cup, inhaling the fresh scent.
“You still know all the important stuff,” he taunts and takes a sip.
Niall joins them shortly after, and while Harry finishes up the French toast, the rest of them set the table. They heave breakfast in companionable silence.
The day is unusually beautiful for England in October, the slight breeze is only a little chilly, and so they decide to have a bonfire down by the sea in the evening, for old time’s sake. The afternoon is filled with the challenge of producing suitable wood – Louis decides to check the local farm store for fire wood after an unsuccessful stroll along the beach, and the owner is quite surprised but equally pleased to see him after all this time – and preparing for an evening outside.
By the time Louis carries the box of wood down the path to the beach, there’s various pillows and blankets strewn across the space, four camping chairs standing to the side, and Niall is currently pulling beer and snacks out of a tote bag that’s filled to the brim.
Louis is about to start building the fire, when Zayn’s voice reaches them from the backyard. “Absolutely fucking not!” he shouts, laughing. Louis watches him come closer, down the path from their house to the beach, and draws his brow in confusion. “We’re not doing it the Tommo way, Lou.”
Louis levels a flat (but half-hearted) glare at him. “Funny. I actually do know how to set up a bonfire now.”
“Oh?”
“I matured.”
Zayn snorts, and Louis should be offended by the lack of trust, but he’s too busy being grateful for that small sliver of happiness and carefreeness on his friend’s face to bother.
“You could help me, how’s that?” he teases instead, and Zayn springs to action as if he’s actually afraid Louis is going to set fire to the blankets if he doesn’t lend him a hand.
“Where’s Harry?” Louis eventually asks as they finish up their task. He was afraid to ask before, but now they’re nearly done, and the sun is setting soon, so they’re about ready to start.
“Didn’t feel well…” Niall says, clearly evading a more explicit answer. “He said he’d be down by 4.30.”
Frowning, Louis checks his phone. It’s 4.42.
“Someone go check on him?” Zayn suggests, empathizing the first word. Before Louis can even come up with an excuse, Niall chips in. “Z, I actually need you over here, if you could help me out with the snacks, yeah?” Zayn lurches at the opportunity to abandon Louis.
Louis heaves an exasperated sigh, fully aware of what’s going on here, but he doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it. They’re here because of Liam, and he can try to be civil and treat Harry the same way as the rest. Checking if everything’s alright with him won’t do any harm.
“Bring my guitar while you’re at it,” Niall hollers after him. Louis throws him the finger.
Louis catches sight of Harry before he even enters the house. The glass doors to the patio perfectly display the living space, and right there on one of the sofas Harry sits, with his head tipped back against the back of the couch, staring at nothing. What’s bad are the tears on his cheeks. He’s silently crying, there’s no sound, no reaction whatsoever as Louis slips through the sliding door.
Hesitating for only a short moment, Louis walks over on soft feet, and comes to stand behind the couch. He doesn’t bother asking what’s wrong, it’s a useless question. He knows what’s wrong, it’s what’s weighing down on each of them. Instead, Louis follows Harry’s line of sight, spotting the painting hung up on the wall over the TV. He smiles sadly.
“He gifted that to us,” Louis remembers. He doesn’t let himself say the rest. Liam made this painting for them back when Louis had asked Harry to marry him, it was an engagement gift. It’s mostly shapes and colours, abstract even, but they know fully well what’s displayed: their hug at the final show the band played. When they decided to fuck management and their scolding, they were going on a break anyway, and no one in the whole world could stop them from embracing each other in front of thousands. Louis remembers how the whole arena shook with applause and screams to the point where his ears went numb, remembers how they clung to each other and came away smiling, eyes bright.
“I wanna burn it,” Harry confesses on a breathy exhale, and Louis is momentarily rendered speechless, until Harry goes on. “And at the same time I never wanna look at anything else ever again.”
And the thing is, Louis gets the feeling. It’s a strange, twisted emotion, he wishes to not see a single thing that might remind him of the friend he lost, and yet he’s not ready to let even one of those things go.
“I know,” he simply says, gently. “I think we should keep it right there.”
“Yeah,” Harry agrees and wipes a sleeve across his face, sniffling a bit. “I kinda hate it.”
Louis feels a stab of pain in his chest. Is this only about the painting reminding Harry of Liam? Or is it the scene pictured there as well? He wouldn’t be surprised if it’s both.
With nothing else to say, he repeats himself. “I know.”
And only because he can see fresh tears spill down Harry’s cheeks, he leans down and places a kiss to the top of his head. It’s stupid and reckless, but he feels the strange urge to comfort Harry in any way. He doesn’t realize it’s possibly a bad idea until he straightens again. But either Harry hasn’t really noticed or he doesn’t care, because the scolding doesn’t come. Instead, he inhales a shaky breath, wipes his eyes again and rises from the sofa.
He turns to face Louis, and the pain reflected in those beautiful sea glass green eyes makes Louis want to hold Harry for eternity, or at least until all his worries go away. If Louis hadn’t fucked up, he could properly support him during this time. Now though, he isn’t sure where the line is, and so he settles for a tentative smile and holds out a hand.
“Come on?” he requests. “We’re done.”
Harry sniffles, nods, and to Louis’ utter surprise, takes his hand. He goes as far as letting Louis lead him back outside, even if he detaches himself once they’re out on the patio.
“You forgot my guitar, didn’t ya?” Niall teases as soon as they join him and Zayn again.
“Shit, sorry,” Louis cringes. That was honestly the last thing on his mind when he found Harry in such an emotional state.
“Unbelievable,” Niall says with a hint of a grin, shaking his head.
“I can go and – “ Harry offers, but Louis quickly interjects. No fucking chance.
“I’ll go. Do we need anything else while I’m inside?”
They figure they’ve got everything they’ll need, and so Louis returns with Niall’s guitar two minutes later, all of them having selected a spot around the fire pit. Louis is condemned to sit directly across from Harry, only the awakening fire between them, heat warping his view.
Okay. This is… okay. It’s going to be okay.
They silently share drinks and some snacks, watching the autumn sun set, until it’s crossed the line on the horizon, disappearing into the sea for good. There’s an underlying atmosphere, something in the air Louis can’t quite place, but he knows they’re going to talk tonight, and it’s not going to be easy or pleasant. It will be necessary, though. For now, they simply enjoy the companionable silence, the presence of the other men, each of them reminiscing in old memories.
Niall strums on his guitar, plucking mindlessly at the strings until some familiar melody catches Louis’ attention. It’s much slower than the original, but it’s unmistakable, and unbidden tears well in Louis’ eyes. He listens to the strumming a little longer, then opens his mouth and sings softly, lips barely moving.
“Written in these walls are the stories that I can’t explain….”
Harry locks eyes with him, takes over for the second line, just as quiet.
“Leave my heart open but it stays right here empty for days…”
Unspoken, Niall carries on with the next part.
“She told me in the morning she don’t feel the same about us in her bones…”
They all simultaneously seem to register the words that come next, Niall abruptly stops strumming, but then Zayn of all people goes on, voice barely more than a whisper:
“Seems to me that when I die these words will be written on my stone.”
Not being able to look any of the boys in the face, Louis tips his head back against his chair and stares at the partly clouded night sky. Tears slip out of the corners of his eyes, trickling directly into his hairline. The stars that peek through here and there seem to wink down at them. He wonders if Liam is watching as well, somehow.
The only sounds are the soft waves lapping onto the beach, the wind rustling through the marram grass, the occasional crackling of the fire.
Of all the songs… That’s one that hurts particularly bad.
Louis remembers the video shoot for Story of my Life very well. When they pitched the idea to their creative director, Harry having come up with the concept, they were all excited that it actually got accepted. Out of all of them, Liam was the proudest to have his family, his parents, his sisters, involved in this. The picture he chose caused a small riot on his siters’ side but he would just cackle and not move an inch from his decision.
“Fuck,” Niall whimpers after what feels like ages but has probably only been minutes. Louis turns his head in time to see him crouch over and bury his face in his hands. Niall’s shoulders start to shake, and before anyone else can make a move, Zayn is out of his chair and squats down in front of him to wrap him in a hug.
Louis watches the scene, blurry through his own tears, with an aching heart. As comforting as it is to have the boys here with him, it’s also just as difficult to face and handle their grief as well as his own. Still, he wishes to be nowhere else right now. There’s no one better suited to share that burden with.
“Hey,” Harry says quietly from across, and when Louis flicks his gaze towards him, he finds Harry already watching him. He’s unmistakably crying as well, eyes shining bright with tears. The fire flickers between them, creating a visible barrier in addition to the one that is palpable but invisible. “You okay?” And the question is so gentle and raw, so full of genuine concern, Louis needs to swallow against the emotion clawing its way up his throat.
He's everything but okay, but Louis makes himself dip his chin in the slightest nod, shrugging a little, hoping it will convey the message. It does, apparently, because Harry – who’s obviously also very much not okay – smiles a tight sympathetic little smile and nods.
“Me too,” he confesses.
“Boys,” Zayn announces once he’s released Niall and the Irishman wipes his eyes dry. “I have things to tell you.” He looks at each of them before returning to his chair and plopping down, taking a shaky breath in what Louis guesses is preparation for what’s about to come.
They don’t push him as he takes a minute to gather his thoughts, nursing their bottles and looking at Zayn expectantly, giving him their undivided attention.
“Okay so…” he trails off, fiddling with the label of his beer. “Back in 2015, I – shit this is hard. I mean, I reckon you know where this is going…”
Of course they do. Louis does, at least, and he’d be surprised if the other two didn’t. A lot of things went wrong in the past, and it’s on each of them, to be fair. Even Liam fought with Zayn from time to time, all of them struggling to cope with their own shit and trying to support their friend who didn’t really want to accept any help at the time. Louis though, he thinks he’s the one who made the biggest deal out of it, taking things to the fucking public eye, which was unnecessary as shit. He regrets those days, but it’s done, and he’ll never be able to take it back. So he kind of gets why this is so hard for Zayn.
“Z,” Louis says gently, waiting until his friend meets his eyes. The expression on his face is painful to watch, especially when regret is an emotion Louis is all too familiar with. “You don’t have to say it. I think we know.” He hopes he speaks for the rest of them as well. “We don’t need to hear it, if it’s too difficult to talk about.”
“No.” Despite struggling to find the right words, Zayn shakes his head, determined to finish what he started. “Maybe you don’t need to hear it, but there’s things I need to say. I need to say them out loud, and I need you to listen, alright?”
“Take your time,” Harry offers.
Zayn throws him a small grateful smile and swallows tightly. He sets his bottle down but finds another distraction for his fidgety fingers in pulling at a loose thread on his sleeve. Straightening in his seat, he breathes deeply once, twice.
“I think I… god, it’s still so hard to spell out. It shouldn’t be this hard. Okay. It’s probably best to just…” He waves a hand as if to say ‘out with it’. “I think I wouldn’t have survived the band. Like… truly not survived.”
And Louis knows, he knows, for god’s sake, but hearing the words out loud from Zayn himself makes it so much worse, so much more real. For the umpteenth time today, Louis tears up, eyes starting to burn mercilessly. He clenches his jaw to keep his chin from trembling.
Deep down, he’s always been aware of how fucking close they were to losing Zayn – forever. He just didn’t know how to cope back then, and so he pushed it away, turned his pain and worry into anger, let other people tell him how to feel about all of it.
“We know,” Niall says softly, and his voice sounds as strained as Louis fears his own might be if he dared to speak at all.
“I’m so sorry,” Zayn chokes out, and Louis forces himself to look into his friend’s face. Another friend he came so close to losing with no chance of bringing back. A single tear slips down the side of Zayn’s cheek as he searches each of their faces for something – forgiveness? Validation? Louis doesn’t know, but he’ll give him whatever he might need to close this chapter. He doesn’t want to fight with Zayn. He doesn’t even want to be strangers. He wants to be friends. He wants back what they had, all of it.
“You don’t have to be sorry for anything,” Harry reassures him, but he’s also not far from crying, Louis can see it. “We know you needed to quit for your own health. We might not have come to terms with it at the time, but we do understand. Right?” He glances at Niall, then Louis, to help back him up. They both mumble their agreement. Louis gets why Harry was the only one Zayn told himself – even if it was over the phone. He was always the one trying to make everyone feel safe, seen, validated. Still is to this day, apparently. Louis would have been surprised if that had changed, to be honest.
Still, Zayn goes on. Since the conversation is started, there seem to be more things he needs to get off his chest. “I was… I was so scared to tell you before I made that decision, because I knew, deep down, if I’d have to talk about it with any of you, see your faces, I wouldn’t have gone through with it. I wouldn’t have been able to leave you, to be away from you, while simultaneously I knew I needed to get away. It was a choice I needed to make for my own sake, and I couldn’t bear the thought of how I’d let you down, how fucking disappointed you’d be.”
“We would have understood,” Niall fills the emerging silence.
“I know. That’s not it. Even thinking about you made me doubt if I made the right choice. I couldn’t ever bear to look you in the eyes and tell you I wanted to leave.” There’s a pause and Louis glances over again to find Zayn’s face twisted in pain, tears now spilling freely from his eyes. He’s visibly upset about this, seems desperate for them to understand what happened back then, where he came from. Louis swallows tightly at the sight. “I would’ve stayed,” Zayn whispers brokenly but it’s loud enough for them to hear over the crackling of the fire. “But that wasn’t an option anymore.”
“I get that,” Harry says softly, clearly trying to get the point across – again – that there’s nothing to apologize for and that they do understand. Nobody’s holding any grudges anymore, no matter what went down a couple of years back.
“And still… When I left, I was so broken, and some part of me was just… gone. The band was my life. It was as if that life had just… ended. And then… then I watched you go on as a four-piece, and while I never wanted any of you to have to quit and still wanted the band to thrive, it –“ Zayn breaks off, searching for the right words. The rest of them patiently wait for him to find his footing again. “It… irritated me that your lives seemed to be going on without me just fine. As if I never even existed.”
Hearing him say those things rocks Louis to the core. He never even imagined what leaving them must have felt for Zayn, watching them go on tour, make an album with the band he no longer was a part of. When in reality, he was as much a vital part as any of them.
Louis shakes his head vehemently, not even bothering to wipe the tears from his cheeks. “That was never the case,” he croaks out. He needs Zayn to know they didn’t simply forget him, didn’t easily get over him leaving, didn’t want to forget him.
Zayn gives him a small, soft smile that conveys so much gratitude that Louis thinks his heart might burst from all the emotion he’s feeling tonight. “I’m aware now. You coped in the only way you knew: you went on, kept going. But back then, I felt like you never even needed me in the first place. And it made me angry in some ways. It was childish and stupid, and I’m sorry for the things I said at some point. I wish I could take them back, but I can’t, so I’ll give you an explanation and an apology instead and hope you’ll accept them. I’m really sorry, and I hope you understand where I’m coming from.”
“Of course we do,” Niall says tightly, and Louis nods his agreement.
He looks towards Harry for backup and catches him already watching him across the flames. His eyes hold a message that is undoubtedly for Louis alone, even though Harry addresses all of them when he speaks. “I’ve found that apologies can mend a lot of things. Explanations even more so.” Louis is a coward and so he averts his gaze.
It's quiet for a short while after that, and Louis listens to the sound of the water and the soothing noises of the fire. The wind has been picking up and a chill creeps under the fabric of his sweater, so he grabs one of the blankets they brought down and drapes it across his lap. Without needing to ask, he picks the remaining blankets up from beside his chair and tosses one to Niall and Zayn each. They both catch them with grateful smiles. Harry though sits across from him, and when Louis bunches the blanket up into a ball and dares to raise his eyes back to Harry again, Harry chuckles and shakes his head.
“Don’t throw,” he mumbles softly, rising from his chair. “You’re gonna set the thing on fire.” Louis tracks Harry’s measured steps as he rounds the bonfire, crosses the space between them, and comes to a halt only when he’s one foot away from him. Louis has to tip his head back to be able to look Harry in the face. He wordlessly extends the blanket and holds his breath when their fingers briefly touch as Harry reaches out to grab it.
“Thank you,” he says, smiling slightly, and Louis thinks he’s never looked better than in the moment the firelight reflects in his eyes. Of course, by tomorrow, Louis will think Harry looks the best while preparing breakfast shirtless, or huddled up on the sofa reading his book. And Louis is very aware he has no right to think any of this. He’s almost grateful when Harry returns to his own chair, because he’s sure he would have kept staring and it would have gotten uncomfortable after more than five seconds.
“I would have wanted the break either way,” Harry confesses quietly after a while where each of them dwell on their own thoughts. “Just… to put it out there. It wasn’t working for me anymore as well. Maybe not to the same extend, but… still. I would have quit at some point.”
Neither Louis nor Niall or Zayn comment on the confession. Louis knew, of course. They talked about it a lot back then. They argued about it, which was silly. He doesn’t know how much Niall and Liam guessed, but Harry made it obvious to him he didn’t want to continue.
“And I felt weirdly anxious and like an ass being the first one to put out a solo record.”
“What?” Niall snorts.
“That thing is a masterpiece, Hazza,” Zayn agrees.
Louis doesn’t comment, thinking it better to keep out of this particular conversation. He remembers how fucking proud he was of Harry and his project– despite everything that was beginning to fall apart at the edges already. It made him want to scream from the rooftops ‘that’s my fucking fiancé, you fuckers!’.
Harry was the first of them who had been brave and confident enough to put himself out there after the band, and it made Louis realize more and more that Harry would always be too good for him, too brave, with too much life ahead of him.
“I was so fucking nervous when I realized we’d probably run into each other at the ’16 AMAs,” Niall says a little sheepishly, addressing Zayn once more. “I had no idea if you even wanted to see any of us, but outright ignoring you wasn’t an option, not one that I wanted.”
Zayn chuckles. “I’m so glad you reached out that hand, because I don’t think I would’ve. God, we were so stupid.”
“We were,” Niall sighs, leaning his head back against his chair. “But that’s in the past.”
“It is…” Zayn muses. “Any more confessions to make?”
Louis’ body tenses. This could be the perfect opening. This is his chance to spill his guts, tell his truth. Maybe try and fix some things, mend things over with the boys, with… Harry. And yet...
Despite everything else, Louis needs to remember this isn’t about his failed relationship. This trip is about Liam and remembering him, grieving together. Not for Louis to bring up all of his past and present failures, to feed that stupid, wholly irrational little seed of hope growing inside him. He can’t give in to that. He can’t talk to them about what happened in 2017 or the years after, he just can’t. He doesn’t want them to feel bad, or be upset, or think any of this is their fault, because they will, he’s sure of it. And even if it’s years back, it was still all for nothing if they beat themselves up about it now. He protected them back then and he keeps protecting them now.
Besides, he kept his reasons to himself for so long, they’d probably just be upset for him to come out with it now, while they’re all vulnerable and possibly emotionally unstable. He doesn’t want to exploit their extraordinary situation to get them to forgive him merely because they’re all in a state of heightened emotions and grief. That’s not how things work, and it would only crash later. Plus, the thing between Harry and him doesn’t concern anyone else, not even Niall and Zayn. He’d have to shift that particular conversation elsewhere if he didn’t want to have things get awkward real quick.
No, Louis decides, despite the fact he can feel several eyes on him, he’s going to hold his tongue. So he continues watching the flames lick at the darkness and stays silent, sitting in Harry’s quiet disappointment. He can literally feel it.
“Alright,” Harry says after some time, and it sounds a tad bitter. Louis doesn’t blame him. “I think I’m heading in.” He rises from his seat and grabs his stuff.
“Yeah, me too,” Niall joins him, picking up his empty beer bottle and blanket to trail Harry back to the house.
Zayn makes to follow them but stops and turns back when he notices Louis isn’t moving. “You coming?” he asks tentatively.
Louis shakes his head, waving a hand, trying to act nonchalant and ignore the ache in his chest, the horrible but familiar feeling of having fucked up again while simultaneously having no other choice. “Don’t wait on my account, I’m gonna put the fire out and stuff.”
Zayn nods and is about to follow the others when he halts once more. He hesitates, as if unsure whether to say something. He decides to, in the end. “You just missed a chance there, you know?”
“I’m aware,” Louis says quietly. He’s used to reflecting on his wrong-doings, dwelling on how, when, why things went wrong, but he’s also so so tired of it, of having other people judge them as well.
“Why did you, then?” It doesn’t sound judgemental, only genuinely curious, and Louis finds himself unable to argue anymore.
“Wouldn’t make a difference anyway,” he sighs heavily, rubbing a hand across his face. God, he’s so exhausted, maybe he should join the rest and go to bed.
“How do you know?”
“If I can’t forgive myself, I don’t expect anyone else to.”
There’s a short silence and at first it seems like there won’t be another answer. But he’s proven wrong once more. “You should try it, Lou. It may take some time, but you deserve forgiveness.”
Louis scoffs humourlessly. “Thanks mate.”
“I mean it.”
“I know you do.” He tries for a smile, but even he can tell it’s tight. “Thank you.”
“Want me to stay?” Zayn offers.
“No need.” Louis waves him off. Some time to reflect and calm his racing mind might not be the worst idea.
“Okay. You tell me if anything comes up, alright?” Louis nods. “I love you, Lou,” Zayn says and takes the few steps back it takes him to reach Louis in his chair. He leans down and places a peck on Louis’ hair, ruffling the strands in a loving way afterwards. This time, Louis smile is wholly genuine.
“Love you too. Thanks for talking to us. I appreciate it.”
“So you do forgive me?”
“’Course. Do you forgive me?” All the shit he’s said, wrote in the past, it’s… Louis’ doesn’t even want to think about it.
“A long time ago.”
Louis is still smiling after Zayn is long gone.
Notes:
Sorry (not sorry) for all the hurt in this fic... I live for drama.
Chapter 5: Chapter 4
Summary:
The boys watch the video diaries, and Harry and Louis eventually have to acknowledge that there are some unspoken things from the past between them.
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“There’s nothing you can lose.”
Fuck, that shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. But Harry is right. There’s nothing more to lose, because Louis has already lost everything. He lost his mum first, and then Fizzy, and he eventually lost Harry somewhere in between, and now he’s lost Liam as well. It hurts so fucking much.
Chapter Text
PRESENT – LOUIS
For the next two days, they share the house, sometimes they go out for a short walk but stay mostly to themselves, not wanting to draw attention. Harry goes for swims in the sea, trying to make one of the others join him, is met with vehement resistance because of the freezing water temperatures, and goes anyway. They share breakfast, lunch and dinner.
Most of the time, each of them does their own thing, but they usually hang out together in the living space while pursuing their stuff. Harry reads a lot, Zayn keeps busy by trying new recipes throughout the day, forcing homemade snacks onto them any given chance, Niall combs through old photo albums and stuff he finds in random boxes and cabinets.
And Louis… Louis does the only thing he’s good at and the only way he knows how to handle his emotions: he writes. It’s nothing serious, mostly bits and pieces that come to his mind, fleeting thoughts and lines, but he makes it a habit to scribble them down and keeping them safe in a notebook or on his laptop.
The whole thing is still a little strange and uncoordinated, aimless, and yet it feels like they’ve travelled ten years into the past. Except that Liam’s not here and everything is too quiet.
Periodically, one of them can be found in some corner of the house, silently crying, and they make it a thing to huddle together, finding comfort in silent sympathy. There are no words needed, they all live through the same thing right now, and it’s strangely comforting for once not having to talk about it. It’s just… simply crying and being held by someone.
Once, it’s Niall in his bedroom just after breakfast, and it’s only by coincidence that Louis hears his muffled crying when he goes to fetch his laptop from his own room. He silently scoots onto Niall’s bed beside him, offers his arms to crawl into, and Niall does so without hesitation, curling up against him, until the other two come looking for them and join in.
Then it’s Harry, whom Zayn watches from the window as he goes for a swim in the freezing cold sea. Except Harry doesn’t go for a swim, he just stands there in the sand of their secluded piece of beach and stares out at the waves for ages, until Zayn fetches Louis, Louis takes one look at Harry’s hunched back and wordlessly leads the boys down through the marram grass to comfort Harry. Zayn takes his face between his hands, wipes the tears from his cheeks, and tugs him against his chest.
And Louis tries, he really tries to hide the next time he has a little breakdown, even though he made the others promise to never deal with their emotions on their own. But he’s found out regardless, admittedly, the patio is not a good hiding spot, and being out for twenty minutes in the freezing wind honestly called for one of the others to check in on him. They manoeuvre him back inside, settle onto the sofa, and provide him with a steaming cup of tea.
Zayn is a little more open with them, there’s one time in the afternoon on the third day when he simply steps into the living area after having taken a nap, tears streaming down his face, when he announces he needs a hug. They all scramble to fulfil his request.
Louis marvels at the fact that Zayn used to be the most closed up about his feelings back in the band, and now he’s simply voicing his needs. He briefly thinks it’s a good sign, that Zayn trusts them like this.
And the thing is, Louis feels closer to the boys than he has in ages. Hell, he hasn’t even seen Zayn since 2015. He also hasn’t seen Harry since 2021. And even though things with Harry can’t exactly be considered good, it feels like they hit pause on whatever grudge they might be holding, for the sake of grieving Liam. Louis can’t help but feel a strange sort of peace encompass them, a sensible, fragile thing that’s about to break as soon as one of them makes a wrong move, says the wrong thing.
“So what’s the plan for tonight?” Niall asks over dinner on their fourth night in Reculver.
“What do you mean?” Zayn asks around a mouthful of Harry’s heavenly salmon linguine.
“I just thought… Nevermind.” Niall hides his face by fixating his gaze on his plate. Louis has never known Niall to be shy or hesitant, and he definitely doesn’t like the sight. He reaches out a hand at the same time Harry does, so there’s a short moment where both their hands linger in the air above Niall’s and they stare at each other, before Louis quickly draws back.
Harry smiles tightly and gently squeezes Niall’s arm. “What did you have in mind?”
Niall looks at them, eyes heavy and sad. “We’re just… I thought we could do what we did the second night…”
“Another bonfire?” Louis asks. “Sure we can, I’m in, don’t worry.”
“No,” Niall shakes his head slowly, heaving a sigh. “I meant… sitting down together, I don’t care what exactly we’ll be doing, but I liked the talking. It’s… I don’t know, it’s comforting reminiscing on the past, even if it hurts. I just wanna actually spend time with you guys.”
Louis knows what Niall is referring to, and by the looks on both Zayn’s and Harry’s faces, they do as well. Sure, the conversation with Zayn hurt as hell, and Louis wasn’t able to fall asleep way after he finally went upstairs, but it has been enlightening and brought him a weird feeling of closure.
Niall looks at them, seeming more determined now as he’s only met with open expressions.
“And… and I feel like we’re just living side by side here. Don’t get me wrong, I like having a little space, and I’m glad we respect each other’s privacy and stuff but… We’re here together. We could actually be doing something together, not just share meals. Like… I don’t know, maybe once a day. Any activity, I honestly don’t really care what it is.”
“I’ve been thinking…” Harry starts, nibbling on his bottom lip, debating. His gaze briefly darts towards the TV space before landing back on the rest of them. They don’t push him, waiting for him to decide whether to pitch his idea or not. He apparently decides it can’t turn out worse than them dismissing. “We could watch the video diaries or something.”
The first thing Louis thinks is ‘oh hell no, please, no’. No way in hell is he going to be able to process seeing Liam. Young, and happy, and alive. Even thinking about it, Louis’ breathing turns shallow, and he forces steady breaths in and out of his lungs, gripping his fork so hard his knuckles are turning white.
“That sounds great,” Zayn says softly, and Louis thinks he doesn’t just imagine the silver lining Zayn’s eyes. Niall sniffles and nods his agreement.
It's down to Louis now, and he really wants to refuse, but he also doesn’t want to take something from the boys that might help them handle Liam’s loss. Maybe it will help in some kind of way. So he swallows the retort down as the rest of them look at him, expectantly, and forces a curt nod.
When they put their dishes away, and it’s only the two of them by the sink for a moment, Harry grabs Louis’ wrist. Louis locks eyes with him, Harry’s filled with concern, eyebrows knit together. “Are you sure you’re alright with this?”
Not wanting to make a big deal out of it, Louis shrugs. “It’s not like we can’t stop if one of us gets overwhelmed.”
“Of course,” Harry reassures him, voice soft and gentle, and Louis gives him a small thankful smile.
It's not alright. Louis is far from alright when they’re only thirty minutes into watching the X-Factor video diaries. He tries to focus on anything else but Liam, laughing his way through their conversations, smile never fading, eyes crinkling at the corners.
What hits Louis like an arrow to the heart is something he didn’t even pay a single thought to in advance: Watching his own younger self make an utter fool of himself just to get a smile out of the curly haired boy who gazes at him like he hung the moon.
This right here, the weeks in the X-Factor house, is where they started. Where Harry confessed his crush on Louis, and Louis reciprocated. Where they shared their first kiss, and shared a room each night after (even though nothing further happened – yet), where it was so obvious to everyone else what exactly was going on. Where Simon hadn’t caught on yet, or simply didn’t care because they still were nobodies, and they could do as they pleased, even in public.
It started as a childish thing, and yet it never stopped, only grew with them, and some time after they decided that crush wasn’t big enough of a word for what was blossoming between them. They upgraded to boyfriends.
Louis isn’t even watching the TV anymore after an hour, gaze fixing on whatever piece of interior decoration he can spot from his seat on the sofa. He’s squeezed in between Niall and the armrest, trying to focus on anything, but everything he’s looking at reminds him of the things, of the people he lost. Liam. Harry. Liam and Harry. Not in the same way, but… Fuck, how did it come to this?
The rest of the boys seem to be okay, to some extent. Not unbothered, sure they display matching sad smiles, the occasional sniffle, but there’s also chuckling and eyes glistening with amusement. So Louis keeps his mouth shut for their sake.
Instead, he tries to focus on breathing, forcing his racing heart to calm the fuck down, and eventually he closes his eyes for a moment, sinks further into the cushions, making himself smaller to hide the fact that he’s far from being okay with this.
Having those early days when everything was simply and wholly good and exciting reflected back at him is only making everything that is not good right now that much more present and real.
Louis realizes his knee is bouncing restlessly only when Niall places a cautious hand onto his thigh. He opens his eyes to find his friend watching him with concern and an unspoken question flickering in his gaze. Louis tries to say he’s okay but he doesn’t bring himself to say the words. Something is holding him back. Instead, he tries to smile in what he hopes is reassurance, but he wouldn’t even need the change in Niall’s expression to know it’s wholly unconvincing.
Niall opens his mouth, undoubtedly wanting to offer something else for them to do, alerting the other two of Louis’ discomfort. But Louis doesn’t want anyone else to notice he can’t even handle a few hours of facing their past, so he swiftly rises from the sofa, announcing he needs a wee.
No one questions when he goes upstairs to use the bathroom instead of the one on the ground floor, or maybe they simply don’t notice. Louis doesn’t particularly care, he just needs to breathe for a few minutes, piece himself back together before sitting through the rest of this.
Once inside, he sits down on the floor next to the sink, back resting against the wall, and lets the tears he suppressed for almost ninety minutes now flow as they please.
It's not even three minutes after he left the living room and the door creaks open. Louis doesn’t have to look to confirm who it is, though he’d recognize those ankle tattoos anyway. Louis is far too overwhelmed and tired to hide the fact that he’s crying. He’s exhausted, and there’s no point in denying the truth, especially not with the boys. So he doesn’t bother wiping away the wet tracks left on his cheeks as he rests his head back against the wall with a heavy sigh.
“I’m sorry, that was a shit idea,” Harry mumbles. “Like, we’re all grieving, and I thought watching the diaries back might help a little, for old times’ sake, bring back the fun we had and stuff. I – I didn’t think much of it. I’m sorry, Lou.” He meets Louis’ eyes, looking guilty as shit, and Louis can’t stand the fucking thought of Harry beating himself up over nothing, over the wrong thing. It wasn’t a stupid idea, and the boys love the trip down memory lane, even though it’s tough watching their younger selves, watching Liam.
But that’s not the only thing that upset him. Louis was fully prepared to be hit by a wave of grief watching his friend be young and funny and smart and giddy and alive. He was not prepared to be faced with watching his own younger self fall head over heels for someone who would become the love and the loss of his life in equal parts.
Louis wipes a sleeve across his eyes and exhales a long breath. “We were so whipped, H,” he whispers and Harry’s eyes go a little wide before he’s able to catch himself.
“Oh. So that’s what –“ A cautious smile sneaks onto his lips but his expression is still a little sad, almost like nostalgia paired with a hint of regret. “Yeah, we were.”
They stare at each other for a little while, and the silence stretches on and on, should be uncomfortable at some point, but Louis can’t bring himself to care. He blinks up at Harry in the doorway, silently soaks in his beauty – there’s no other way to describe it – until his mind quiets down.
“I’m sorry,” he eventually says quietly, putting all his intention behind the words. “I really am.”
Harry watches him for a moment longer, eyes boring into Louis’, and Louis is positive he gets the meaning behind his words. He picks at his cuticles, and Louis wants to reach out, wants to stop him, wants to –
“You know, you never said you were sorry for how things ended back then.” It’s not an accusation, just a simple plain observation, but it makes Louis feel like shit. He swallows against the tightness in his throat that doesn’t seem to ever go away these days.
“I really am sorry. For all of it, and for never saying sorry.”
Harry lingers by the door a moment longer, hesitating, but then he grabs the doorknob, takes a step inside the bathroom and with a quiet click, softly shuts the door behind himself.
“It’s hard watching us be so in love, isn’t it?” he asks, sliding down with his back against the door, until he sits across from Louis, a respectable distance away, only his long legs sprawled out in front of him.
Louis settles for a nod, scraping his hands down his face. He feels like crying again, but he doesn’t know whether it’s because of Liam or because of this. Probably both.
“But it’s just as hard to forget how it went to shit,” Harry continues. Again, his voice isn’t stern, not accusing or reproaching, only soft and tired and small. Louis doesn’t know which of the two options he’d prefer, anger or this… numbness. It’s clear as day Harry’s still hurt by all of it. Unsurprising.
“I know,” Louis manages and forces himself to swallow the lump in his throat. “I never expected you to.”
“Lou, I –“
But there are things Louis needs to clarify, things he needs to say, before Harry can make a mistake, before he can make a mistake, before they try to mend things that will never be mended. He doesn’t wish for Harry to say something he might regret later or – god above – say he forgives Louis, for things that are absolutely unforgivable. Hell, just because they need each other right now, doesn’t mean Harry wants him back in his life, needs him back, and it’s Louis self-proclaimed duty to save him from making rash decisions.
“I’m sorry. I really am. But there was no other choice, I stand by that.”
“You’d do it again?” And now there is something like irritation, disappointment in Harry’s voice, or worse hurt – and Louis doesn’t want to be the cause of that feeling again, but he has to be truthful, that’s the least he can do.
“A thousand times,” Louis confirms, speaking softly as he delivers the blow.
Harry shakes his head, hurt making his eyes shine bright. “Why?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
They’ve been here before. Hell, they’ve had that same conversation a hundred times with no outcome, because Louis wouldn’t reveal his reasons. It’s 2017 all over again.
Harry takes a shuddering breath, closing his eyes for a moment, before his intense gaze meets Louis’ once more.
“Then why don’t you tell me what went wrong back then and maybe help me understand?”
Louis doesn’t know what to tell him. Harry wouldn’t understand, so he reckons it would make no difference. “I –“
“There’s nothing you can lose.”
Fuck, that shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. But Harry is right. There’s nothing more to lose, because Louis has already lost everything. He lost his mum first, and then Fizzy, and he eventually lost Harry somewhere in between, and now he’s lost Liam as well. It hurts so fucking much.
But Louis can’t give up that little bit of normality they are currently forming, that life they’re currently sharing, even if it’s all on borrowed time, maybe two weeks or however long their little getaway will last. He could lose that still. He could lose the boys’ – Harry’s – support in grieving Liam, could lose the opportunity to be there for them through all of it.
“You’d get mad,” he finally says, shrugging.
Something like disappointment flashes across Harry’s face, and that’s an emotion Louis is familiar with at last. Harry sucks on his teeth for a moment before replying in a low voice: “I am mad. Nothing would change.”
Louis flinches. He knows, of course he knows Harry is mad, that was kind of the plan, wasn’t it? To make Harry want to leave, to split up, to never want to see Louis again, so it would be easier for him to see reason and break up with Louis, not have Louis break his heart the other way around. But it still stings, hearing Harry say the words, sensing the unmistakable anger radiating from him, directed at Louis.
It hurts more than any other time they bumped into each other, where the words were snarled or shouted or yelled. This time it’s quiet and collected and like Harry is fine being mad at Louis. Like he’s content with the feeling he has towards him. Louis needs to remind himself that’s how it should be.
Putting aside the fact that these last couple of days almost began to feel like they were starting to mend things. Louis knew it wouldn’t last and would lead nowhere, but he’s still caught unprepared. Of course, sooner or later the topic would have come up, and he wouldn’t have been able to explain, and everything would have gone to shit again. Not would. It is going to shit, in this very moment.
Louis blinks away fresh tears.
“You wouldn’t understand,” he repeats, for once not caring if Harry sees how affected he is by his words. He deserves Harry being mad, he deserves the anger, he deserves all of it. But he can’t hide the fact anymore that he isn’t unbothered. He does care.
Harry scoffs. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before but you never even tried to explain, did you?”
Louis keeps his mouth in a straight line, avoiding Harry’s gaze. He’s not set on discussing this right now, they sure do have other things to worry about. Harry heaves a long, exasperated sigh and rises slowly. Hand on the doorknob, he hesitates and turns to Louis once more.
“I don’t wanna fight right now, Louis,” he says, turning the knob, and suddenly he sounds only tired and full of sorrow. Louis focuses on a different detail instead. ‘Louis’, Harry said. They’re back to ‘Louis’ again. “I have no fight left in me.”
Louis shakes his head. “Neither do I.”
“Care to join the boys again?”
“Fuck,” Louis says, laughing hollowly, “they’re out there grieving, and we’re here whining about... We’re shit friends.” He eventually concludes.
“We are.” Harry extends a hand towards him. “Come on?” It’s a cautious request, as if he’s unsure whether Louis will accept the offered hand.
He does, though, carefully grasping the younger’s fingers. He’s still caught off guard when Harry tightens his grip, swiftly pulling him to his feet. They’re suddenly too close, so close that they’re sharing air for a moment, so close Louis can make out that little bit of brown in the green of Harry’s eyes, as close as they can get without actually touching. If Louis would move just an inch or two –
Harry clears his throat and Louis steps back, quickly dropping Harry’s hand. He thinks he catches the corner of Harry’s mouth briefly quirking to the side despite everything. That’s the longest conversation they had in forever, and it could have gone worse. Even if they technically didn’t unpack anything, but they’re able to be civil.
Harry pushes the door open and lets Louis exit first, hand twitching as if he’s stopping himself from touching Louis in passing. Louis’ mind is making things up, he’s sure. He needs to get his feelings in check, for god’s sake. He wants to keep Harry at a distance, but at the same time he craves nothing more than to be close to him, as close as he’ll allow. It’s neither rational nor fair to any of them.
They rejoin Niall and Zayn in the living room where they have moved on to their first performances as a band. Louis tries to catch Niall’s gaze who in the meantime conveniently shuffled closer to Zayn, so the space where Harry was sitting previously is occupied now and the whole left side of the couch is free. Both Zayn and Niall avoid Louis’ gaze, naturally.
Louis is grateful when Harry doesn’t mention a thing and scoots in next to Niall. Then he realizes he’s now left with the choice to either squeeze onto the sofa with the three of them – next to Harry – or be the only one to sit in one of the armchairs from now on.
Both options are horrible, and even though Louis doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it – not in front of the boys – it is. Debating on what’s the better choice, Louis lingers beside the couch hesitantly. He’s about to stall and grab another drink from the kitchen, when Harry looks up at him and their eyes lock automatically, like they’re drawn to each other.
Harry tries for a small smile – Louis can tell it’s a little forced, but who cares – and slightly nods his head towards the free seat next to himself, prompting. Louis exhales and follows Harry’s silent request, careful not to let their bodies touch too much, not to get too close. It’s no use, though, because the sofa is way too small for four people, but earlier his thigh was pressed up against Niall’s, whereas now he feels every inch of hard muscle shifting in Harry’s leg.
Louis is hyperaware of all the places their bodies are touching in and he absolutely doesn’t need that right now, so he pulls his knees up towards his chest and puts his feet on the couch. After a moment of rethinking, he shifts his knees again, leaning them against the armrest to his left, away from the warmth of Harry’s body. In the process, his bare feet slide sideways and knock into Harry’s thigh. Shit.
At the quiet chuckle from his right, he glances over and finds Harry watching him out of the corner of his eyes.
“Are you done?” Harry whispers for only him to hear. Louis just knows he’s going beetroot red, and he’s usually not one to blush. He simply nods, silently suffering from embarrassment.
“Good,” Harry says, returning his attention back to the TV, and, to Louis’ utter shock and definite doom, casually rests a gentle hand on Louis’ foot. While Louis is trying to remember how to breathe and blink, Harry’s thumb starts to absentmindedly stroke circles onto the skin of Louis’ ankle.
Louis’ heart is threatening to leap right out of his ribcage and he feels like there’s not enough air to fill his lungs. He doesn’t move away though, and so they stay like that for the better part of another hour, clicking through random videos of the band suggested by YouTube.
When Niall eventually announces he’s going to retire to bed, Harry’s fingers still and return to his own lap. Louis is in equal parts relieved and slightly disappointed. He doesn’t know how much longer he would have been able to tolerate Harry’s touch, while at the same time he doesn’t want him to stop, either.
Louis detangles himself from the sofa, waving a hand at Zayn who’s reaching for the empty glasses on the coffee table.
“Leave it,” Louis offers softly, grabbing the tray from beside the couch, “I’ve got it.”
Zayn also bids his Goodnight and trudges up the stairs. Some kind of awkward silence fills the space, and Louis makes himself busy cleaning up their dishes, stacking glasses and bowls onto the tray. He knows Harry is still in the room, can feel his presence, but Louis doesn’t really know whether to acknowledge their conversation or the way they were practically cuddled up on the couch mere moments ago.
The rustling of fabric behind his back tells Louis Harry is putting the cushions and blankets back in place and sure enough, when he straightens with the tray in hand, Harry is neatly folding the throw blanket Zayn used and puts it back onto the armchair to the left. It’s strangely nostalgic watching Harry clean up before turning in for the night, he’s never been able to leave things out of order.
“You know we’re gonna use them again tomorrow anyway,” Louis chuckles.
“I know,” Harry returns, “but then we’d never have to clean up.”
Louis shakes his head, smiling at the way this little argument is so familiar to them. “Alright, clean-freak,” he teases.
Harry raises an eyebrow in challenge, but there’s a hint of amusement twinkling in his eyes too. “Not everybody thrives in chaos, you know?”
“Not everybody can coordinate chaos,” Louis corrects him, “there’s a difference.” It almost feels kind of domestic, the way they’ve had that sort of discussion before, when… when they were still together. Louis always used to cause chaos, and Harry never ever said anything mean about it, simply teasing him, and Louis shot right back, but it was always in a playful manner.
Harry breaks a smile, nodding his head towards the tray in Louis’ hands. “Let’s put those in the dishwasher and then we can head upstairs.”
“Oh,” Louis makes dumbfoundedly. “I can do that.”
“No, no it’s alright, let me help,” Harry insists and heads for the kitchen, leaving Louis no choice but to trail behind him.
“You’re just worried I’ll load the dishwasher wrong.” Harry actually has a system, as he always called it, to place dishes into the dishwasher, Louis never understood, so he puts the tray on the countertop and watches the younger carefully load the thing.
“Oh, fuck off,” Harry chokes out on a laugh. The noise sends a tremor down Louis’ spine and he realizes he could get drunk on the sound. It’s fucking endearing. When was the last time he heard Harry genuinely laugh? When was the last time he was the cause of said laugh? He stands there for a second, unable to move, until Harry is finished with his task and catches him staring.
He cocks his head to the side in question, dimples displayed on his cheeks, nose slightly crinkled. “What?”
“I –“ Louis trails off, at a loss for words. How is he going to explain this without making an utter fool of himself? He eventually shakes his head, deciding it’s for the better to keep certain things to himself. “Nothing. Nothing.”
Harry looks at him for a moment, contemplating, and Louis is almost sure he won’t let him off the hook so easy, when Harry nods and leans down to close the dishwasher. “Alright then, time for bed.”
Notes:
Thought we'd get a little clarity in this one? Haha nope. Too easy. We're gonna suffer some more.
Chapter 6: Chapter 5
Summary:
Harry and Louis find a little comfort in each other's comapny and Louis reveals a tiny secret. The boys continue their list of activities to remember Liam.
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Louis watches his friends revel in memories, and he feels his chest fill with warmth at the fact that they can still find joy in remembering Liam. It’s bittersweet, sure, and it hurts, but it doesn’t necessarily have to be bad. He wants to remember Liam, even if it’s going to be painful at times.
Notes:
So, this chapter is a mix between present and past. Also, things start to turn a little awkward.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
PRESENT – LOUIS
Sleep doesn’t find Louis that night, and after two hours of tossing and turning, thoughts running around in circles, he decides to have a smoke on the terrace, willing the nicotine to calm his nerves. He passes the other boys’ bedrooms, with only Harry’s door being slightly ajar. There’s no lamp on, only a sliver of moonlight falling onto the carpet in the hallway.
Harry has long foregone sleeping in absolute darkness like they used to during the band, where they had to catch sleep whenever they had an hour to spare. Sometime after the band’s split when things had quieted down, they learned again what a normal, healthy sleeping schedule was, and Harry insisted on sleeping with the blinds never completely shut, explaining to Louis how it’s good for the body’s natural rhythm. Louis didn’t particularly care where and how they slept, as long as they were sleeping next to each other, so he gladly let Harry have his way.
Even though the rest of them are fast asleep, Louis skips the one step on the stairs that creaks on his way down to the ground floor. He slips through the glass door to the patio and grabs a cigarette from his pack and a lighter he left at the small table there. They’re here for only a few days, and Louis’ stuff is already scattered everywhere. It’s of little help that he knows this place like his own home in North London.
He's not even halfway through his smoke when the door slides open behind him and he’s suddenly no longer alone. Louis doesn’t need to look to have confirmation it’s Harry. He recognizes the footsteps padding across the wooden floor, even after years spent apart. Seems like Louis isn’t the only one lacking sleep tonight.
So Harry joins Louis in looking out at the moonlit scenery in front of them, bracing his forearms on the patio’s railing. They stay like that for a while, until Louis stubs out the stump of his cigarette, and Harry chuckles. Louis glances over from the corner of his eyes.
“What?”
“The wind makes nice waves,” Harry says, sounding almost smug.
Louis snorts, can’t help but reply: “That’s true.”
“Couldn’t sleep?” Harry eventually asks after a short pause.
“Nah.”
“Me neither. I heard you get up.”
Louis scoffs and shakes his head, but doesn’t fight the tug at the corner of his mouth. “We’re quite the pair, are we?”
Harry hums in answer. “Niall’s blissfully out, at least. I checked in on him before I came down.”
Louis sends a silent prayer of thanks to whatever god is listening. He’s glad Niall is able to catch some sleep, he sure needs it. As would Louis himself, but he’s especially restless tonight.
“I passed Zayn’s room on my way to the bathroom earlier. I’m surprised you can’t hear the snoring all the way back to your room.”
“Liam used to snore the loudest,” Harry chuckles, but the sound is sad and weak.
Louis’ face falls and he sighs. “I’d give anything to have that sleep-stealing boy in a room with me again. Or on a tour bus.”
Harry senses the shift in mood apparently, because he reaches out a hand, wrapping his long fingers around Louis’, and squeezes gently.
“Me too,” he says softly, sympathetically.
Louis gets it, if Harry feels even a fraction of the urge to comfort him as Louis does with him. It’s ever-present and he tried to tone it down a little so far, but it’s the middle of the fucking night, and the evening was emotional and hard, and there’s only the moon to witness this moment of weakness as Louis laces their fingers together and sweeps his thumb across the back of Harry’s hand.
“I –“ he starts but shuts his mouth, shaking his head. No, this right here is risky enough, and he doesn’t need to make Harry feel bad or pity him or anything. Louis hesitantly retracts his hand, catching something almost like hurt flickering across Harry’s face. He’s sure he must have imagined it.
“What?” Harry prompts, of course.
“Nothing,” Louis tries to play it off, shaking his head again. He feels Harry’s intense gaze on him, tries to avoid eye contact, but he fails. “It’s stupid.”
“I’m sure it’s not.”
Louis stays silent for a minute, debating if spilling his guts will do any harm. Harry said he has nothing else to lose, so what’s the worst that can happen when he opens up about one little pathetic thing? The thought of simply going back inside to their respective rooms, laying alone in the dark, unable to sleep, also doesn’t sound very appealing. Harry wants him to be honest, so here Louis is, deciding that now is as good a time as ever to start, with something so small. Baby steps, he tells himself.
“I sleep better with someone next to me,” he finally mumbles a confession, and it’s so quiet that at first he’s uncertain whether Harry heard him at all. It’s embarrassing, is what it is. He’s a grown man, shy of thirty-three years old, and he never really learned to sleep on his own. Never liked it, at least.
“Oh?”
He shrugs. “Never got used to sleeping alone.”
“Me neither.”
Louis finally turns his head, is met with soft green eyes that hold so much sympathy Louis’ chest constricts at the sight. No, he’s not imagining things. He swallows.
“Harry –“ He doesn’t get to finish the sentence.
“Come inside,” Harry offers in a rush, and Louis doesn’t really catch on or understands what exactly Harry is offering, until he goes on. “Only for tonight, just so we’ll get some sleep. We both need to rest.”
Louis stares at him a little dumbfound. Harry doesn’t show an ounce of insecurity, of hesitance, and Louis once again marvels at how easily Harry can voice his thoughts, his needs, sometimes.
This is a stupid idea, Louis’ mind tells him, say no, it’s not safe, it’s wrong, say no. He’s done it before, letting Harry in when he needed him, back when Fizzy died. Only to send him away as soon as he’d been able to pull himself together, hurting Harry time and time again.
But his heart is loud and persistent. Say yes, say yes, say yes. It’s different this time around. It’s Louis needing Harry, but it’s also Harry needing Louis. It’s mutual grief and mutual comfort. And Louis is so so exhausted.
“Okay,” he decides before he can think any better and just as his mind catches on and is about to turn on the alarm in his head, Harry grabs his hand again and leads them back inside. The touch makes Louis’ head go quiet, renders it useless, and he follows willingly.
It's only on the way upstairs that Louis notices Harry is only wearing boxers and nothing else, and Louis is grateful Harry is walking in front of him so he won’t notice the way Louis’ cheeks heat up. He’s not going to survive this.
Despite what he tried to convince himself of a few minutes prior, it does not feel wrong lying next to Harry. They don’t even touch, Louis spread out on his back while Harry is curled up on his side, facing him. Louis feels Harry study him in the low moonlight for a moment, and it feels so right, and Louis feels so emotional, so raw, so vulnerable, that his mouth works before his mind does, and he tells Harry a secret that’s been locked away inside of him for several years now.
“Remember the last time I went to watch you on tour?” Louis asks quietly. Harry hums his confirmation, curiosity palpable in the simple noise, so Louis confesses to the dim room: “I went back to the hotel before you were done because I was bawling my eyes out during Sweet Creature.”
It's quiet for a minute. “What?” Harry whispers, and the sound is so small and broken, regret washes through Louis all over again.
PAST – HARRY
June 2018, New York
Harry inhales deeply, holds his breath for a couple of seconds, and exhales slowly. He has a very specific feeling this particular song is going to hurt extra hard today. The reason sits way up behind tinted glass windows, watching him perform his second night in New York. It took him several tries and a whole lot of begging to have Louis eventually agree to actually come out and watch a show again. He hasn’t supported Harry at a concert in a while now, and Harry thinks that says a lot. Sarah threatened to cut off Louis’ balls if he hadn’t given in (Harry didn’t tell him that, though).
Eventually, the chords start playing and his cue comes closer by the second, so he braces himself, takes another steadying breath and performs.
Sweet Creature
Had another talk about where it's going wrong
But we're still young
We don't know where we're going
But we know where we belong
There was never a single doubt that Louis and Harry belonged right next to each other. No matter where they went, as long as they went together. Now, Harry is not so sure anymore.
And oh, we started
Two hearts in one home
It's hard when we argue
We're both stubborn, I know
But what if the arguing gets too intense, too regular, too much? And what if they never actually fix a single thing anymore, instead just simply pushing their problems away for a couple of weeks until they resurface?
But, oh
Sweet Creature, Sweet Creature
Wherever I go
You’ll bring me home
Sweet Creature, Sweet Creature
When I run out of road
You’ll bring me home
Harry used to know exactly where he stood with Louis. All the time, without a doubt, no question. Up until that dreadful day a year and a half ago. Now he literally feels like they are running out of road. And neither of them can help the other find their way back.
Sweet Creature
Running through the garden
Oh, where nothing bothered us
But we’re still young
I always think about you
And how we don’t speak enough
And oh, isn’t that the truth? They never talk things out anymore. They never really speak about what should be spoken about. They either avoid the topic, or they fight over it, throwing insults and accusations around like confetti on New Year’s Eve.
And, oh, we started
Two hearts in one home
I know it's hard, we argue
We're both stubborn, I know
But, oh
Sweet Creature, Sweet Creature
Wherever I go
You’ll bring me home
Sweet Creature, Sweet Creature
When I run out of road
You’ll bring me home
Harry feels himself lose his battle to the tears forming in his eyes. He’s positive the fans have noticed by now, and it’s fucking embarrassing. He knows that they don’t mind, but they’re not dumb. He keeps glancing at the VIP box, where Louis is currently watching the concert and he can’t help but picture him sitting there stone-faced and bored to death with his arms crossed over his chest.
Those tears that threaten to spill any moment now aren’t tears of love or joy like so many before when he got emotional during specific songs. He’s afraid. They’re tears of loss and mourning, because he knows, deep down, that what he has – had – with Louis is finally coming to an end. This isn’t working anymore. He can’t keep it going like this, and the fact that he wishes for nothing more than this show to be over so he can hide and cry on his own is underlining his point, is the final straw.
Harry realizes right there in the middle of the fucking stage in New York that the only real relationship he’s ever known in his entire life, the one that only grew with them growing up, the one he saw himself keeping for the rest of his life, is over now.
And Harry can’t stop the tears from coming, openly mourning their relationship in front of 18,000 people.
And, oh, when we started
Just two hearts in one home
It gets hard when we argue
We're both stubborn, I know
But, oh
Sweet creature, Sweet Creature
Wherever I go
You’ll bring me home
Sweet Creature, Sweet Creature
When I run out of road
You’ll bring me home
Harry can’t bring himself to sing the last line, so he changes the lyrics in a way he hopes no one will notice or think too much about.
You'd bring me home
Louis is no longer bringing him home, and in continuing to choose him, Harry is letting himself down. He has been denying it for long enough, not willing to accept the truth. Someone has to choose Harry, and if it has to be himself, then so be it.
He gulps down a huge breath, he only needs to play four more songs until he can disappear for a minute before playing the encore.
Louis is long gone by the time Harry works up the nerve to fetch him from the VIP box after the show. He’s asleep when Harry eventually returns to their hotel room, and he’s gone in the morning when Harry stirs awake after a restless night’s sleep.
Not even a month later, and it’s the end of tour. Harry flies back to London with one thing to do: Move out of their house. It’s the only logical choice, he tells Louis that much, and Louis doesn’t even try to stop him, doesn’t say a word as Harry packs most of his stuff into sports bags and a few boxes while forcing himself not to cry. He fails miserably.
PRESENT – LOUIS
With the memory of the last time they were together as a couple comes the memory of the first time they ran into each other post-breakup, and Louis wishes he could push it away, it’s a shameful thing for both of them, but he can’t.
PAST – HARRY
November 2018, London
Harry didn’t plan to shove Louis up against a wall and aggressively make out with him when he accepted the invitation to Jason’s engagement party. It just sort of happened. He didn’t even realize Louis would probably also be in attendance, didn’t spare a second thought to the tiny little detail that Jason is also Louis’ friend, was Louis’ friend before he was his, in fact.
To say he was surprised spotting those familiar blue eyes from across the room is a massive understatement. More like rooted-to-the-spot shell shocked. He’s seen pictures of Louis online, impossible to avoid even without trying to find any, but up close it’s something entirely different. The new haircut suits him, makes him look sharper, with an edge to his cheekbones that has always been there but was never quite as prominent with the way his previous hairstyle made his face look slightly rounder.
Louis looks over from his conversation with a couple of friends, locking eyes with him like he knows exactly where Harry is lingering by the snack tables. Louis doesn’t even pretend to not having seen him, he holds his stare for far too long, face blank, before he turns away again, leaving Harry feeling like being dropped from a three-story-building.
Harry seizes a bottle of tequila, and that might be the first mistake he makes that night, getting drunk. It might be the final reason – because it sure as hell isn’t the only reason – he finally has enough from all the repetitive secret glances only to be ignored once Louis is caught ogling him – or the other way around. It’s infuriating.
But it’s not stopping there, only getting more and more intense the longer the night stretches. Harry would describe the elongated stares as Louis literally undressing him with his eyes, and it drives him mad that he’s a) kind of turned on by it, and b) Louis doesn’t have the right to do so, because he clearly didn’t show any interest towards the end of their relationship.
Fate or the universe or whatever one wants to believe in gives them a shove when they pass each other in the corridor to the loo, both obviously drunk, and Harry’s brain simply short-circuits. His hand shoots out to grab Louis’ arm without his permission, and everything goes kind of white until he has Louis backed up against the wall with his tongue down his throat.
He'd be appalled at his own behaviour, if Harry wasn’t so out of his mind, and if Louis wouldn’t reciprocate the kisses he sucks onto his lips with the same urgency. Fingers plunging into Harry’s curls, Louis lets out a desperate moan and his eyes flutter shut. Harry might die on the spot at the touch and the sound alone. He doesn’t though, only crowding further into Louis’ space and snaking one of his own legs between Louis’. He’s hard. They both are.
A waiter passes them and spares them a single raised eyebrow and a pointed cough, but neither of them pays him any notice.
“I hate you,” Harry breathes into Louis’ mouth, the first words spoken to him since their split in July. And it’s true, it’s true, it’s true. Only it’s not, at the same time. He hates Louis for what he’s done, what he let them become, but he also loves him still. Harry can’t come to terms with those two wholly different, conflicting emotions towards the man currently grinding down on his leg, head thumbing back against the wall.
“I know,” Louis sighs breathily, but he doesn’t really seem bothered by it, and that drives Harry crazy mad. He wants Louis to know what exactly he’s missing, wants him to regret letting Harry go.
Even in his drunken state he decides that no, not here in the hallway, and manoeuvres them into an empty bathroom, clicking the lock shut. He has Louis backed up against the door not a heartbeat later, latching his mouth onto the spot where he feels Louis’ pulse hammering underneath his soft skin.
Louis keens deep in his throat, breath hitching under the ministration of his lips, and Harry takes that as encouragement. With shaking but urgent fingers he unbuckles Louis’ belt and unceremoniously shoves a hand inside his pants, cupping him mercilessly. The way Louis’ mouth falls slack and his hot breath puffs against Harry’s neck is reward enough. Louis desperately clutches at Harry’s arm, squirming under his touch.
In the morning Harry doesn’t remember much of what followed after, but there’s scraps of images of Louis’ cock in his mouth, and the ghost of fingers fisting his hair, directing his movements. His throat certainly feels like something happened the night before, and the darkening marks decorating his neck and collarbone tell a story of their own.
Harry hates himself. And he hates Louis.
However, this is not the only time something like that happens.
PRESENT – LOUIS
It's quiet for a long time, and Louis fears he might have made a mistake, when Harry speaks up again, softly. “Thank you for telling me.” Louis hears him shift, burying further into the pillow and sighing drowsily. “Night, Lou.”
Louis risks a glance and finds Harry’s eyes already shut. He looks peaceful, and Louis wishes it could stay like this forever. He fights the urge to reach out and tuck the curl falling across Harry’s forehead away. “Goodnight, Haz,” he mumbles and closes his eyes.
In the morning, Louis’ arms are wrapped tightly around a painfully familiar body, one of his legs tangled between Harry’s. He doesn’t need to open his eyes to confirm this is Harry he’s holding. He’d know by the scent alone, but also recognizes the soft even breathing, the lines of his body. Sure, Harry has grown of course, is bigger in every aspect, he’s lost his somewhat boyish figure that he didn’t quite got rid of until his early twenties, and he has packed more muscle. A lot more muscle, steeled by determination and workout.
But the telltale things that are entirely Harry, the things Louis has gotten used to in the past, those are still there. Those small details tell him this is undeniably Harry in his arms, with his back pressed against Louis.
Like the small patch of miscoloured skin right next to his spine. It’s not only different in colour but also in the texture of the skin, if only a tiny bit. Louis has always been able to blindly find the spot with his fingertips, his lips, his tongue.
Or the dimples in Harry’s lower back, the bumps between his shoulder blades.
The perfectly round shells of his ears.
The strong lines of his jaw and cheekbones.
The way his collarbones arch from his shoulders towards the centre of his chest.
Not to forget the two extra nipples, of course.
The small bump on the right side of his ribcage, where he cracked his third rib once.
The little nub of excess skin just underneath the left corner of his mouth.
The curve of his lips, damn Louis.
He could go on and on for hours listing details about this body that tell him this is unmistakeably Harry in his embrace, he could draw a map from memory alone.
In his sleepy state Louis momentarily forgets where they are, when they are and so he ghosts his lips across Harry’s bare shoulder, his fingers starting to stroke lazy circles along Harry’s ribcage. The younger sighs happily, the sound drowsy.
Louis caresses the skin, letting himself sink deeper into the feeling of utter comfort, while exploring Harry’s body anew. Content little noises leave Harry’s lips and Louis soaks those sounds up like a starving man.
His fingertips scrape over the nub of a nipple and Harry squirms in his sleep, arching his back a little, neck elongated and meeting Louis by pushing into him lazily. Involuntarily and entirely on their own accord, Louis’ hips twitch forwards a little, seeking friction in pressing his semi-hard member against the swell of Harry’s bum. A stuttering breath escapes from Harry’s mouth, warm air ghosting across Louis’ arm where Harry’s head is resting.
Louis’ hand starts travelling almost on its own, down the plain of Harry’s defined stomach, only to stop and hesitate for a second before resting against his hard-on over the fabric of his briefs. Harry groans low in his throat and arches further back into Louis’ body, blunt fingernails digging into the flesh of his forearm.
“Louis,” Harry rasps, morning voice rough with sleep. It’s enough to let Louis’ eyes snap open and he scrambles backwards, suddenly wide awake. Inches away from tumbling over the edge of the bed, he halts.
What on earth is he doing? Its’ fucking 2024, they are by no means on good terms, and he’s rubbing against Harry like a teenager, god damn it. Even half asleep there’s no excuse. His damn brain won’t work upon just having woken up.
Louis abruptly sits up on the bed, staring wide-eyed at Harry who turns onto his back to blink up at him, cheeks flushed and pupils blown. His face is an unreadable mask.
“Shit,” Louis curses, struggling for words. He’s gasping for breath, shaking his head in disbelief of his own actions. “Sorry. Harry, I’m so sorry, I don’t know – fuck. You were asleep, I – I didn’t mean… fuck. I’m sorry. This is –“
Harry cuts him right off. “I’ve been awake for a little while.”
What? What does that mean? What is Harry telling him? Did he let him – ? Louis stares at him, exhaling a shaky breath. “Yeah?”
Cheeks going a shade rosy, Harry nods slightly. “Yeah.”
Louis mind goes blank. “We –“
“I think I should leave,” Harry announces and throws back the covers to sit on the edge of the bed, searching the room with his eyes and getting up once he spots his pants over the back of a chair. Louis tries very hard not to stare at his crotch when Harry turns to face him while tugging the sweatpants up his long legs. “I’m gonna…” Harry trails off, clearing his throat, and gestures towards the general area of his very prominent problem, the fabric tenting a little. “Probably should take care of… that.”
Louis almost chokes on his own tongue. He tends to forget how straight forward Harry can be with these things. Louis used to love it. Used to be a sucker for how openly Harry voiced his opinions and desires regarding their bedroom habits. It catches him off guard now, instead.
The mere thought of Harry getting himself off, head tipped back in ecstasy, quiet moans falling from his slack lips, delicate fingers wrapped around –
No. Fuck no, he’s not going to think about that right now.
Opting for not commenting further, he points out: “This is your room.”
Harry halts in his movements of tying the string of his pants. Louis thinks he might imagine the way his fingers tremble almost unnoticeably. “Right.”
“I’ll go,” Louis announces and finally rises from the bed, tugging the hem of his shirt down where it rode up his stomach sometime during the night. Looking back up he catches Harry staring at the spot where a second ago his navel was on display.
When the silence stretches on for too long, Louis clears his throat, Harry’s eyes snap up to his once more, and there’s a strange expression on his face Louis doesn’t dare to interpret. Instead, he quirks an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” Harry says slowly. “Yeah, okay.”
Louis checks the hallway before slipping out of the room and quietly closes Harry’s door behind him. Only outside he lets himself loosen a shuddering breath. They’re in such deep shit.
“We could visit Liam’s favourite restaurant in the neighbouring town?” Zayn suggests over lunch when they try to figure out what exactly they want to do today. They agreed on Niall’s idea to have one mutual main activity a day. Maybe they should come up with a list to cross off.
“I wonder if they still serve that horrible liquor he used to down before every meal,” Niall muses, and so it’s an unspoken agreement that they’re going out for dinner this time.
Considering none of them brought any security – honestly that would have felt a bit weird and out of place – there’s no other choice than to be brave and simply go out for the night, just the four of them. Sure, they do feel kind of safe here, but it’s different now with the uproar in the media a picture of the four of them together would cause.
So Harry calls the restaurant in advance, and they find themselves at the table that has been their usual, one that’s at least partly shielded from view.
Niall orders five of the mentioned drinks, declaring that they have to gulp the horrible stuff down in honour of Liam. When their lovely server – Hannah, her name tag says – sets the shot glasses down in front of each of them, she frowns at the spare drink.
“Oh, I think I brought one too many, I’m sorry.”
Zayn smiles at her, taking the drink and placing it down in front of the empty seat at the table. “No, love, it’s alright. We ordered one for our late friend.”
Her face falls, the pleasant smile fading quickly, only to be replaced by quiet sympathy. “Oh.” She swivels her gaze between the four of them, and Louis knows in the moment she’s absolutely aware who they are. He gives her great credit that she doesn’t mention a thing, and makes a mental note to tip her generously later.
“I’m so sorry,” she says softly. “I’ll be back once you’re ready to order your meals.”
Surprisingly, the menu hasn’t changed much since the last time they came here. When was that? Louis muses. It has to be at least eight years back, since they didn’t really take vacations together in 2018 anymore. In the inevitable built-up to Harry’s and Louis’ breakup, the rest of the boys seemed to be careful to cross paths with them in case they got into a fight. Louis didn’t blame them back then, and he still doesn’t. So, he concludes, the last time he sat in these rooms with his friends has to have been December 2017, when they took an early birthday trip to celebrate Louis’ birthday before he returned home to his family in Doncaster.
They place their orders, and Hannah tells them the liquor she brought out earlier is on the house, but she doesn’t know Louis plans to compensate her greatly anyway.
Niall grabs his drink when she vanishes from the table. “To Liam,” he says.
They each lift their glass with the golden-brown liquid in salute and knock it back. Louis makes himself swallow and twists his mouth to the side, brows pinched together. He’s met with matching expressions from the rest of them.
“Gross.” Zayn makes a gagging sound.
Harry takes his glass of water and takes a sip in an attempt to wash the taste down. “Don’t ever make me do that again.”
“Anything for Liam,” Niall shrugs, but he also eyes the empty glasses as if they personally attacked him.
“I’m sure he wouldn’t want us to poison ourselves,” Harry counters.
“He liked drinking that,” Niall points out.
Harry shakes his head, huffing out a small laugh. “I’m positive Liam’s taste buds were dead.”
“He did have a weird liking for particularly disgusting foods,” Zayn chuckles.
“Do you remember the one time he made us try that pizza when we played in Milano?” Niall picks at his lower lip, face drawn in concentration. “What was it again?”
“Anchovy,” Harry immediately comes up with a reply.
“Urgh,” Zayn makes another retching noise. “Don’t remind me, I still have nightmares about that.”
Louis watches his friends revel in memories, and he feels his chest fill with warmth at the fact that they can still find joy in remembering Liam. It’s bittersweet, sure, and it hurts, but it doesn’t necessarily have to be bad. He wants to remember Liam, even if it’s going to be painful at times.
Louis joins them in coming up with all the horrible stuff Liam made them eat over the course of their time together. Soon they’re laughing, making it some kind of competition of who can bring up the weirdest stuff they ever tried.
“That,” Hannah says when she returns with their food, “doesn’t sound very pleasant.” She smiles and sets down their plates. “And I really hope you won’t talk about our food like that.”
Harry grins up at her. “I’m sure we won’t need to.”
“We’ve been before,” Niall elaborates. She’s barely past twenty, she wouldn’t know that they used to be regulars at one point.
“Figured,” she says, and the glint in her eyes tells Louis she catches far more than she lets on.
“Still the same chef?” Zayn asks, hungrily eyeing his plate of beef with roast potatoes and beans.
“As far as I’m concerned, he’s worked here for over fifteen years,” Hannah confirms.
“Wonderful,” Niall says and grabs his fork to dig into his food. “Then there won’t be any complaints.”
“Good to know,” she smiles cheekily and leaves them to their dinner.
Afterwards, they share Liam’s favourite dessert.
Under the pretence of having to use the bathroom before they leave, Louis walks back to their table where Hannah is clearing their dishes, while the rest of the boys are already waiting outside the front door.
“Hey, I wanted to tip you for – “ Louis stops mid-sentence when she flinches and whips her gaze towards him. Her eyes are rimmed red and there are tears shining in her eyes. She immediately looks flustered and embarrassed that he caught her in this state.
“Sorry, I –“ she scrambles for words, sniffling and wiping a sleeve across her face, and avoids his eyes. She stares at a spot on the floor, lips pressed tightly together. Louis cocks his head.
“What’s wrong?” he asks gently, because honestly, she’s so young – painfully reminding Louis of his twin sisters – and she looks so utterly lost right now.
“Nothing,” she’s quick to reply, but he doesn’t buy it. “I – nothing.”
Louis stays where he is and waits patiently.
“It’s silly…” she mumbles after a long moment where she must figure he’s not going anywhere. “Honestly. It’s… definitely not your problem.”
Right. Louis needs to remind himself he doesn’t know this person, she doesn’t know him, and maybe she doesn’t want to share her problems with strangers. Why would she? Louis can’t save the whole world.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “It’s none of my business.” He grabs his wallet and slides a few notes onto the table. “I just wanted to give you a tip. Thank you for serving us. And sorry. For intruding and… for whatever’s wrong.”
He backs away slowly, giving her space to collect herself, and right before he’s about to turn around and leave, she raises her gaze to meet his.
“My… my friend passed last year,” she says tightly. Louis wants to wrap her in his arms. “He – we didn’t exactly share friend groups, and seeing you guys tonight remembering and honouring Liam…” Louis doesn’t comment that she technically just gave herself away in being well aware who they are. He knew before but they didn’t actually address it. It doesn’t matter anyway. “I didn’t have anyone to grieve him like that, to share... It just… it hit me, I don’t know.”
Louis swallows. He doesn’t even want to imagine being alone in his current situation. Having the others share his pain, the unforgiving mutual understanding of each other’s grief, it’s his lifeline right now. An anchor in the stormy sea of missing Liam, losing his friend, navigating life without him.
Making a split-second decision, Louis takes a couple of steps back towards her. “Can I give you a hug?” he asks, because it’s the only way he knows how to comfort her.
Round, glassy eyes stare up at him for a moment, speechless, before Hannah nods. Her face crumbles before he even fully wraps his arms around her. She releases a shuddering breath against his chest, and Louis rests his chin on the top of her head.
Strangely enough, it doesn’t feel weird. He’s used to hugging strangers, sure, he hugs his fans a lot. But holding someone, that’s a different thing. He expected it to feel strange, but it doesn’t. Instead, he feels like the big brother he is, comforting one of his younger sisters. It’s the hair, he tells himself, she has the same hair as Phoebe and Daisy.
“I’m sorry,” Hannah mumbles when she detaches herself from his embrace. “This is… fuck, I’m embarrassed.” She laughs a little at herself, wiping tears from her cheeks.
Louis shakes his head. “Don’t be. Do you know how many times I cried since last week?” He doesn’t know where it’s coming from, how he can be so open and honest about this to a complete stranger. Somehow, in their grief, they’re connected. He wishes she’d said something earlier, when the rest of the boys were still here. They’re way better at this, at comforting people. But then again, he guesses it would have been weird for her to randomly bring it up.
“I hope you know how lucky you are to have those friends,” Hannah tells him, and her voice has turned steady.
Louis gazes towards the door, where he knows his three friends are waiting for him, to return to the home they’re currently sharing. He can’t help the small smile, eyes burning with tears. “I know,” he assures her, and when their gazes meet again, she smiles at him.
“I won’t tell anyone. In case you were wondering.”
Louis reciprocates her smile, and suddenly wonders if he should have tipped her more. “Thank you.”
“Thank you,” she says.
“See you around?” he asks.
Hannah shrugs, grinning a little. “Not up to me, is it?”
“Cheeky,” Louis chuckles. He likes her. “We’ll be back.” He’ll make sure of it.
When the freezing cold hits him as he steps out into the brisk night, Zayn elbows him, cigarette stub in one hand. “Took a dump or what,” he teases, eyes twinkling with mischief. Niall snorts beside him as they start to walk towards Louis’ car. Louis shoves his hands in his pockets, too lost in his thoughts to take the bait.
“No,” he simply says. If any of them is concerned by his lack of humour, they don’t let it show.
Zayn takes the wheel back to the house, and Louis ends up next to Harry in the backseat.
“What’s wrong?” he whispers once Niall and Zayn start up a conversation in the front and won’t pay them much attention.
“I spoke to Hannah.” Harry silently waits for him to go on, to explain further. Louis turns his head to look straight at him. “She lost her friend last year.”
A shadow crosses Harry’s face, his eyes turning heavy and sad. “Oh.”
“Yeah…”
They stay silent for the rest of the car ride.
Notes:
Right, this one was a rollercoaster with a little bit of everything.
I think the next chapter is my favourite, at least it has my fav scene in it (and if I can't wait that long, maybe I'm gonna post it a day early).
IdiotsWhoHaveMyHeart on Chapter 2 Sat 13 Sep 2025 01:01PM UTC
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estel_meleth_amdir on Chapter 2 Mon 15 Sep 2025 07:58AM UTC
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estel_meleth_amdir on Chapter 6 Sat 27 Sep 2025 05:24AM UTC
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