Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The summer comes and goes and so does the heat and the cold, the rain and the sunshine. It’s the black and the white, the contrast on the spectrum of colors he’s feeling. It’s blue like the sadness pooling in his lungs, red like the anger flaming in his mind, green like the jealousy tugging at his heart and black like the darkness when it all becomes too much, too hard to think about. All he does is sleep, sleep for days because it’s easier than to think about the soft press of Louis’s lips against his, the way he’d tasted against his tongue, the way his skin had felt under the tips of Harry’s fingers. Because he remembers, of course he does, he remembers it all like it’s been printed across his skin. The ink spilled over every part of his body, taking him over so fully that his mind is a loop of louislouislouis all day, every day.

Sometimes mum takes him out to the grocery store and afterwards he helps her cook, trying out new ingredients and playing music in the kitchen as they chop and stir. Sometimes Niall calls him and they spend an hour or two on Skype where he tells Harry about being back home, about seeing his old friends and his baby cousin. He tells him every detail of his day from the funny shirt he almost bought to the number of pints he had the previous night and when he asks Harry to tell him about his in return, he just hums. Niall prods and Harry gives a weak i saw some friends because telling Niall he spent his entire day in his sweats, moping at home and binge watching Amazing Race feels too depressing. Sometimes Gemma drags him along for a pub night with her friends but he feels too out of place sitting plastered next to one of her girlfriends in a small booth. He feels out of place when they ask him about his love life, nagging until he tells them with a drag in his voice that he’s single, but his face must show every emotion he tries to keep out of his voice because he receives a pat on the back and an oh sweetie before he’s left alone again.

He takes long walks when he can’t sleep at night, when the stars shine too bright, too knowingly. They only bring him back to lying on rooftops, Louis’s body so close he could feel it burning against his own. He walks and walks until his feet ache and the sun starts peeking its head out over the horizon. He walks and walks until the trees begin to look alike and his footsteps disappear. Holmes Chapel’s good for long walks - all country side with its big fields and towering trees. It’s a good place to get lost in without the buzz of the big city holding him hostage. Here he can let his thoughts fly away instead of feeling them get trapped inside his mind, bouncing off the walls.

Some days when he feels himself loathing in self pity and misery he checks Instagram and looks up Louis’s profile. It’s plastered with photos of cities, places Harry can hear him talking about in his head. Paris with its echoing beauty, Madrid with the hustle of its streets, Rome and its ancient history. They’re all spread across Louis’s profile through filtered shots, every part of their trip so carefully documented as to say that these are memories they’ll only remember one day, but right now they’re still in present tense, something they’re in the midst of.

There’s some shots of the two of them clubbing as well. Those hurt the most to look at. Harry only clicks on them on the days he feels the worst. On the days he’s brought back to hazy memories of Louis’s mouth on his, the soft pressure applied and the way their lips had slotted together so seamlessly, as if they’d done it a million times already in another lifetime. The photos are grainy, black turned grey with flashing neon colors in the background and Louis stood next to unknown faces with a drink in his hand. He’s always got a big smile plastered on, but it looks worn around the edges, as if he’s been pretending for so long it’s become part of his new normal. His eyes don’t hold crinkles around them and it looks as if he’s trying harder than he should be with the alcohol taking him under and turning his eyes glossy.

The summer drags on, the days coming together with the repeating of routine. He goes up to London and sees Liam once. Niall’s back in Ireland for the entire summer but Liam’s home as well. The two of them meet up at a dingy pub and order rounds of pints as they fill each other in on their summers. Liam talks and talks, his stories blurring together as Harry zones out more than once, watching the streets outside their window. It’s a Saturday night. There’s the clatter of high heels against the pavement, there’s the echo of laughter as a big group passes outside. It’s half a dozen people walking close together, their arms brushing and voices loud as they try to make themselves heard above the cars passing in the background. They create a beat of their own, the honking and swooshing of the loud engines and tires turning, coming together as they rush past on the busy street.

Liam, just like Niall had, asks him about his summer with curious eyes, but Harry never knows what to answer. He doesn’t do anything, his days boring and never ending, they seem. He walks, he sleeps, he spends time with his family, keeping up this facade he’s let overtake his life. He knows they know something’s bothering him, their gentle words and soft gestures not going unnoticed, but they never ask and he doesn’t provide an answer. He repeats his standard reply of seeing friends to Liam, despite not having had seen anyone in weeks. Liam just gives him a warm smile and Harry changes the subject quickly, asking him about the girl he started seeing.

Suddenly it’s August and Harry’s packing his life together again, moving the things back into the same boxes again, piling the few books he took out and folding his shirts and trousers, before taping them shut and carrying them down the stairs. He places the boxes in the car and says his goodbyes. He hugs his mum, Gemma, Robin and gives them all variations of the same sentiments. I’m going to miss you. I promise to call. I’ll try and visit more. I love you too. Then he’s off, just him and his life packed neatly together in the trunk, driving to London again. Back to London, where every street is littered with memories of Louis, where every corner holds another word, another story, another thing he’s going to be reminded of once he enters the halls of school and starts another year.

+

They meet up at the pub down the street a couple of days later. Zayn’s back home and none of them have seen him yet since his plane touched down the previous day.

Harry arrives later than the rest, blames it on a meeting with his professor to discuss his coursework, when in reality he spent his time lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He’d traced every bump, every shadow cast from the lamp, every stain he could find, his eyes drawing lines between the dots. It was a nice distraction of sorts, one that let the part of his brain that lives for patterns - early morning crosswords, suduko puzzles - come out and play. He makes it 42 minutes before he becomes restless, before his bones start to buzz and he starts checking his phone. There’s one text from Niall and two from Liam, all wondering where he is, despite the lie he fed them earlier.

In the end he let’s himself give in to defeat and tugs on a plaid shirt over his white t-shirt, stuffing his phone and keys into his pockets before he’s out the door.

Seeing Zayn’s weird. He greets Harry with a warm smile, one that lights up his entire face as he spots Harry walking through the door. He raises a hand in greeting, gives a small wave and Harry gives him a nod in return. Once he makes it over to their booth he’s immediately wrapped up in a big hug, Zayn’s arms around his shoulders. Harry returns it, albeit a bit stiff. He doesn’t let himself sink into his embrace, doesn’t let himself enjoy the warmth of Zayn’s skin against his, as he once would’ve. He just gives Zayn an awkward tap on the back before they’re breaking apart, distance being created between their two bodies.

He sits down and Niall slings an arm around his neck in greeting. He tries to tug Harry into his side but he scoots forward, busying himself with the beer they ordered for him. He lifts the glass and swallows once, twice. The alcohol tastes warm coming down. It’s gone a bit stale from the wait but it scratches against the walls of his throat, waking him up with every drop that makes its way through his body.

Niall retracts his arm slowly when left without a reaction and puts it on the table, leaning forward as he turns away from Harry and places his look on Zayn. He’s picked up the story he was telling them earlier, something about finding an antique bookstore in Paris with first editions of Fitzgerald’s works. His eyes are lit up, a small fire created within them as he speaks with every word, every sentence heavy of the passion he carries for books, for literature.

Harry let’s his gaze settle upon Zayn’s face. He looks older, more mature, as if the stories and adventures he holds have helped him grow into his skin, as if he’s more secure in himself now. He speaks like it, with stories of getting kicked out of bars and watching the sun rise after a night out. It’s like it all it took was for the two of them to hop on a train around Europe and let strangers become friends, ones they could explore and create memories with, for Zayn to have found this inner peace. The restlessness he used to carry around with him, the one Harry has come to recognize in himself, the one wanting to break out, is gone.

Zayn’s grown a full beard now, the light stubble he used to have before the summer gone. He scratches it while he speaks and when he sees Harry staring at it he gives a small laugh and explains he meant to shave it, but instead he ended up crashing on the couch as soon as he got the keys to his new apartment the night before.

“Yeah, when are we going to get to see your place, man?” Liam asks, nudging him in the side from where he’s sat on his right.

Zayn looks over and gives a small shrug in reply, accompanied with a shy smile. “Whenever you want, really. The place’s a bit of a dump now, haven’t got anything set up, but you’re free to come over anytime.”

“You’ve got everything moved in, though, right?” Liam asks, his inner mother hen emerging as it always seems to do around the five of them, Zayn in particular.

“Yeah, mum drove up a few days ago with the boxes. But I haven’t got anything unpacked yet, ‘s just sitting there.”

“No worries, mate, we’ll help you out, yeah,” Niall chimes in. He nods enthusiastically as Zayn raises his eyebrows and starts to protest, but Liam punches him on the arm and he gives in with a roll of his eyes.

“Thanks, I suppose. You know you don’t have to do that-”

“We know , Zayn. We’re saying we want to. That’s what friends are for, idiot,” Niall interrupts, his voice fond as he speaks and takes a swig of his beer, downing half of it in one go.

“Well, thanks then,” Zayn says, his voice gentle and looks around, aiming warm smiles at all of them, even Harry. Harry gives him a weak smile in return, holding his gaze for one, two beats before he’s shying away, uncomfortable under the heavy weight of Zayn’s stare on him.

His skin is crawling, his pent up nerves getting the best of him. The pub seems to have grown louder during their exchange with it’s chatter of people, thumping music and the rhythmic sound of glasses being dragged against wooden tables. It’s as if his senses are flooded, everything getting heightened at once. He picks up on every scraping of chair, every loud laugh, every phone buzzing. It’s all wrapping around him, punching at him, making it hard to keep his eyes clear and the lump out of his throat.

Around him the others are immersed in conversation again. Zayn’s started in on another story and Liam’s chiming in with questions and Niall with positive encouragements (“ That’s so sick, mate!” ). Harry wonders why he’s even here, what he’s contributing to the conversation, if his presence makes any difference in their eyes.

His mind starts spinning again, his eyes roaming around the room, picking up on small details he’s overlooked in the past. He’s got his head resting in his hand and his ankles crossed underneath the table to stop his leg from twitching. He loses himself in their surroundings for a bit, zoning out of the conversation being held around him.

He’s brought back Zayn mention Louis though. His head snaps up at the name being spoken, his focus back on the three of them. It’s a fleeting mention, nothing big, just something he told that was part of the story, but hearing his name, hearing him talked about in such casual terms when Harry’s spent his entire summer torn between ignoring his existence and letting it take him over entirely, is hard. Zayn speaks of him with a lightness to his voice, as if it’s just Louis and not Louis standing in bold colors with exclamation marks after his name.

Harry used to talk about him like that once, months ago when he wouldn’t let himself linger on touches that lasted a beat too long or looks that held unspoken promises. Back then it’d been easy, with the hiding of feelings, now it’s all a mess, complicated and hard. He doesn’t know where one feeling starts and another one stops, how he’s supposed to figure it all out inside his mind. He doesn’t know where to begin, which thread to pick up and begin untangling, where it’s going to lead him if he does. He doesn’t know if he wants to find out.

+

“What does this one do, again?” Liam says as his hand emerges from behind the tv, holding a red cable in it.

“You connect it to the one I was just showing you,” Niall replies from where he’s sat on the couch, absentmindedly munching his way through a bag of crisps. He’s got his feet propped up on the newly put together coffee table and he’s scrolling through his phone with his other hand.

“Which one?”

“We literally just went over this, mate, how’d you already forget it,” Niall says, his voice remaining calm as he speaks. He doesn’t look up though, just pops another crisp into his mouth as he’s met with a deep sigh from Liam.

“I’m so confused, Niall.”

“Just take the bloody cable and connect it to the round thingy I showed you five minutes ago,” comes Niall muffled reply around another dozen crisps.

“There’s, like, five different round things back here, you’ll have to be a bit more specific, y’know.” He’s out of sight, but the eye roll doesn’t go unnoticed by the tone of his voice. “Can’t you just come and help me. I’m so confused.”

“Alright, hold on, one sec,” Niall replies as he quickly stuffs the remainder of the bag into his mouth, fitting a surprising amount of crisps in, before he brushes the grease off on his trousers and stands up. He tosses his phone on the couch and walks over to Liam and begins to help him, Liam’s thank yous echoing across the room to where Zayn and Harry are stood in the connected kitchen.

It’s a couple of days since they’d met at the pub and they’re all over at Zayn’s new apartment, helping him unpack. The room’s littered with boxes, some of them opened and emptied already. They all hold words written in sharpie across them, things like kitchen, bedroom, clothes, all marking different aspects of their new adult lives.

Zayn and Harry are currently unpacking the fancy plates Zayn’s mum had gotten them as a graduation gift, saying they were old enough to not eat off of paper plates anymore. Knowing Zayn and Louis though, Harry’s not sure the plates will come to much use, but it’s still a nice gesture. A very mum gesture.

The air in the room’s light, the four of them working in nice harmony. They’ve all settled into a  rhythm during the hours they’ve been over already. There’s soft music coming from Zayn’s laptop that’s propped up on the kitchen table, floating through the room, into every corner and spilling through their bodies. There’s Niall and Liam’s bickering from the living room. There’s the faint vibrations of the street outside. It’s still summer and it’s been a surprisingly warm one this year. They’re all wearing t-shirts and tanktops despite it being August and that the remainders of summer should be fading into autumn already. Soon the rain will be back and they’ll all be wearing knitted sweaters and their wellies but for now there’s heat spilling through the open window. Zayn hasn’t got an ac, his flat far too dingy for such luxuries, but he’s got a small fan bought from the ninetynine pence store down the street that’s buzzing from its placement on the floor. It’s not doing much, but its noise helps Harry settle down, helps him stay grounded when his mind is swimming.

“Looks like that’s the last one,” comes Zayn’s voice from behind him, bringing Harry out of his thoughts.

“Huh?”

“That was the last plate, we’re all done with the kitchen now,” Zayn says as he nods toward the cupboard where they’d been stacking plates and laughs at the confused look on Harry’s face.

“Oh, right,” Harry deadpans. He must’ve been out longer than he noticed, carrying out the motions of putting the plates on the shelf out on reflex.

“You hungry?” Zayn asks as he turns around, not waiting for an answer and picking up the now empty box. He carries it over to the pile of cardboard boxes they’ve got stashed in one corner of the living room, ready for Zayn to dispose of once they all leave.

Harry scratches his neck awkwardly, his eyes watching Zayn walk back over to where he’s now leaning against the counter. He goes to stand beside him and nudges their hips together. “Harry, you alright, mate? You seem kind of out of it today.” He laughs, but his eyes are painted with worry.

Harry shakes his head, blinking his eyes roughly a couple of times so the momentary haze creeping up around the edges of his vision disappears. “Yeah, I’m fine, just didn’t sleep too well,” he replies, his voice coming out a bit thin. Zayn doesn’t comment even though Harry sees how his eyes linger for a beat too long. Instead, he places a hand on Harry’s shoulder and gives it a small squeeze, the warmth seeping through layers of clothing and into Harry’s skin.

“Alright then, so how about we get some pizza to wake you up, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Harry says, forcing his lips into a weak smile. His dimples don’t come out, but he tries to keep the corner of his lips up until Zayn’s retracting his hands and walking into the living room. Harry hears him call out for Liam and Niall, asking them the same thing, and doesn’t bother telling Zayn that he doesn’t do much of sleeping nowadays, not really. How can he when all his dreams are flooded by big waves crashing against the shore, the water painted the color of Louis’s eyes, haunting him even in his dreams where’s left to the darkness, his safe space flooded with unwanted thoughts of memories he’s trying his best to forget?

--

They’re sat around Zayn’s newly put together kitchen table, all of them placed in white plastic chairs. They’re old and worn around the edges, property of the previous tenants. They’d left them on the balcony in too bad of a condition to take with them to their new place. Zayn had picked them up instead. He always did hold a love for old things and the way you’re able to turn them into new ones so easily. Maybe that’s why he’s an artist, Harry thinks - because they’re able to take something mundane, something painted a million times and renew it with the colors they use, with their brush of strokes, with the way they look at the object and see it as something new, something they can reinvent with the help of a blank canvas.

The others are bickering about pizza toppings - Liam claiming he didn’t order his with pepperoni on top and Niall claiming he did, that he clearly heard him utter the words, Liam disagreeing. It’s a back and forth going nowhere. They’re talking to hear their voices make noise, to pass the time along, all of it useless and boring in the sense that it doesn’t lead anywhere. It’s a distraction to make it seem as if with every tick of the clock there isn’t seconds being wasted and spilled, being used for nothingness.

Zayn’s humming along on Harry’s left, throwing in an offhand comment every now and then to spur the discussion on further. He sounds as bored of it as Harry is, but when Harry finally looks over there’s a small smile shining across Zayn’s face. His eyes are following the movements of Niall and Liam’s hands as they talk, their words reduced to background noise. The brown in his eyes is speckled with gold, a brightness to them that lifts his face, makes it glow with the colors of the sun setting outside the window. He looks happy, at ease, and there’s a longing tugging at Harry’s heart, one that’s reaching out and asking for the feeling to take root in Harry as well. He longs for the languid movements that come with it, the way he could sit around and watch his friends talk about things that wouldn’t matter in the morning, but still feel as if he was floating through the clouds. All of them surrounding him like a faded haze, but the words and actions glowing like the sun peaking through, a strike of lightning amidst the muted colors.

He’s awakened, his thoughts running off in different directions, breaking apart, as Zayn’s phone rings. It’s on vibrate and placed on the table in front of to them and when it rings, the entire table buzzes with it. Harry’s fingers are resting atop the wooden surface and the static jumps of electricity creep underneath his fingertips and dance to the beat.

Zayn picks up the phone, the conversation dying down as he glances at the screen. “It’s Louis.”

Niall and Liam let out cheers, urging Zayn to answer the call, but he just looks at Harry, their eyes locking. He doesn’t say anything but he’s the only one Harry’s told about the kiss, the only one that really knows, even if it’s just such a small fraction of it. His eyes hold the words is it okay , a beat and then they seem to shift into are you okay and that’s a question Harry doesn’t hold an answer to, so instead he takes a deep breath and says, “Pick up.”

Zayn keeps his eyes pinned on him for another beat, the phone buzzing in his hand before he breaks their stare and slides his thumb across the screen, answering the call.

He puts it on speaker, so they can all hear the static coming through the phone. A second passes, the only sound heard the noises passing in the background. It’s as if he’s on the street, the rumblings of cars and voices mixing together to create a loud soundtrack, before there’s a small cough and Louis’s voice calling out, “Zayn? You there?”

They all echo their answers, different versions of hello spilling through their mouths and through the phone and to Louis.

“You’re all there?” comes his voice. It’s hard to make out with the static cutting it in half, making it sound shaky.

“Yeah, all of us!” Niall replies, his voice beaming to match the big grin that’s intact on his face as he stares down at the table, his eyes glistening with happiness.

“Sorry, the reception’s kind of shit here. I can barely hear you,” Louis says. His voice sounds distant, his loud surroundings drowning it. It’s as if the distance can be heard through the phone, as if the miles of land and ocean stretching themselves between them is there in the way his voice falters a bit, in the loud noise coming from the street around him, all of it carrying through the phone.

“It’s kind of hard to hear you too, mate. Where are you, anyway?” Liam jumps in, the rest of them staying silent as a beat passes, the sound of a car passing spilling through the loudspeaker.

“I’m in Porto at the moment, just for a bit more. But I dunno where I’m off to next,” he says and laughs. The sound is so light, just like Harry remembers it but it echos empty to his ears, as if Louis’s keeping up a facade of i’m alright . As if he’s trying to convince himself as much as he is them.

They’re all buying it is the thing, they’re all listening to Louis talk, listening to his words and stories that buzz through the phone with grins plastered to their faces, asking him questions in return. They’re all accepting that he left, the he walked away without looking back, without sending so much as a text, so much as a shitty postcard. He walked away and none of them asked why. They didn’t ask why he stuck around despite promising to return with Zayn, why he’s in Portugal of all places. Why he isn’t back.

Hearing his voice, the accent that’s less prominent, the way he wanders off in his stories, getting distracted and jumping onto another one without finishing it - all of it screams of distance and unfamiliarity. Harry doesn’t feel as if this is his Louis, the one he used to connect himself to, create a harryandlouis that beat as one, that was a them . This is someone else, someone that speaks in patterns he isn’t used to, whose words he can’t trace and follow with the tip of his finger. They’re friends turned something more turned strangers. It’s a path he never saw them heading down and the realization that this was inevitable - a static phone call from thousands of miles away, hits him like a breath stuck in his throat, one that clogs up his airways and won’t let go.

“I-I have to go,” he stutters out as he pushes his chair out and grips onto the table, his fingers circled around the edge to steady him. He feels woodchips crawling into his skin from how hard he’s pressing down, but doesn’t care. They’re just another invisible scar scattered across his body.

“Harry, are you al-” Liam starts, but he breaks him off with a muttered i’m fine as he backs away from the table. He walks across the living room in five big steps before reaching the small balcony and opening the door and is met with a gust of fresh air.

He closes the door and leans against it, his legs giving out as he sinks to the ground. He’s thankful he can’t be seen from the kitchen, their worried looks too much for him to handle right now. He bends his knees and pushes them against his chest. Wrapping his arms around them, he holds on tight enough that his fingernails press half moons into the fabric of his jeans, strong enough for the pattern to be inked onto the skin lying underneath.

The soft breeze soaring through the air punches at his cheeks, painting them pink from the blush that’s creeping up over them. It’s ticking into night and he’s a bit cold in only his t-shirt, the material too thin to shield him from the heat turned cold. He hugs himself tighter in response, hoping that the skin that’s still buzzing with warmth from inside can transfer itself through his body.

Louis’s voice is playing on a loop in his mind, the static and the rush of the street surrounding him, all of it reminding Harry of the ocean of distance created between them. He’s too tired to shut it out, to pretend as if this isn’t affecting him, as if the lingering touch of Louis’s skin against his isn’t ever present. As if the faint brush of Louis’s mouth pressed against his isn’t there when he touches the tip of his fingers to his lips, a ghost whisper that crashes against them with every touch. As if he isn’t so in love with him that every bone in his body feels weightless in Louis’s presence, even his voice making them echo with the memory of being with him. As if he’s coping, as if he’s on his way to becoming his own person again, someone separated from Louis, just Harry.

As if he doesn’t miss him.

+

School picks up and it serves as a nice distraction amidst everything else that’s keeping his mind busy. It offers him classes and coursework to focus his attention on, to keep him occupied. If he’s busy writing essays and attending lectures, he has less time to think about Louis and to check his instagram franticly for any new photos he might’ve uploaded. It’s his third year and he’s already drowning in work, but for once he doesn’t find himself complaining about it.

August is fading into September, the leaves changing colors and the wind picking up. The heat’s gone and their shorts and thin t-shirts have been replaced with sweaters and jackets to shield them from the cold. It’s raining a lot, as it always seems to be doing in England, but Harry likes it, the rain splattering against his umbrella as he walks to class, with his headphones in his ear and music spilling through them. It’s calming. He always find it’s easier to breathe when he has something to match his heartbeat to. He used to match it to Louis’s, when they were pressed close and he could feel the beating underneath his ribcage, but he’s gone now. The rain serves as a good alternative, the drops falling in quick succession, almost as if they’re following an invisible beat of onetwothree onetwothree .

The weather seems to mirror his mood in the way it shines through shades of grey. It’s gloomy and all of the colors seems to become muted, the vibrant streaks of light that shone through them during the summer gone as the wind swept over the city and took them away with it. It’s fitting he supposes,in the way he struggles to smile and keep up appearances, all if it a black tugging him down.He knows Niall and Liam have caught on. He hasn’t told them yet, but they’re not oblivious to the dark cloud above his head that follows him wherever he goes. If Niall is streaks of yellow shining through and Liam steady like the orange of the falling leaves in Autumn, then he’s a sullen dark grey with bits of black speckled amongst it. It’s hard not to miss, really.

He distances himself from his friends the best way he can - he denies their offers to go out to the movies, to go to the pub, to go out to eat. Whenever they call him up, he comes up with another lie about how he has to study, is tired, isn’t in the mood. He repeats himself so many times that Niall starts calling him out on with a muttered tired again are you whenever he tries to explain why he can’t go with them to Zayn’s.

It’s not that he’s avoiding Zayn per se, but Zayn’s knowing eyes are too exhausting for him to handle. He feels as if Zayn’s asking him questions and demanding answers he can’t give, answers he hasn’t let himself figure out yet because they hold too much weight and leave him feeling too bare. He can’t go over to Zayn’s and hear him talk about Louis, the others always asking him if there’s any news, about where he’s currently at. When everything he’s running from catches up to him in the blink of an eye just by him walking through the door to Zayn’s apartment, it’s always easier to stay back. It’s always easier to take the simpler way out and give a half assed lie, not bothering to make it sound convincing anymore, all of it just so he can ignore the pooling anxiety in his chest for another second.

+

Harry’s lying on his bed, his cheek pressed to the soft fabric of the pillow and his body pliant and seeping into the mattress. He’s exhausted from a long day of classes and he’s happy blowing off some steam, letting himself relax. It’s one of the dark days as he’s started calling them in his mind, when everything seems dull and worthless. He’s struggling to stay afloat above the surface, his body sinking down down down, reaching for a bottom he can’t feel. Everything seems to drag on, every lecture, every word spoken had felt as if it was neverending and he’d spent the entire day struggling to keep his eyelids from drooping shut and for his mind to stay focused.

He’s got Kodaline playing in the background, the soft murmurs of take my body take my body soothing him to sleep when Niall walks in. He does so with a harshness to his steps, stomping against the ground, making it vibrate underneath his shoes.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” he says when he spots Harry eying him curiously from the bed.

“Um, yeah, just got back from class a bit ago,” he replies, giving Niall a nod in greeting as he walks further into the room. “I was just thinking about ord- Hey! ” He’s quickly cut off by Niall going over to the docking station placed on the window sill and pausing Harry’s music. “I was listening to that.”

“Harry, mate, I love you, but I swear to god, if you make me listen to that fucking album one more time I’ll throw your iPod out the window and watch it smash to the ground.” Niall crosses his arms over his chest and props his hip against the desk when Harry shoots him an disgruntled look, his eyebrows furrowed together and lips turned downwards.

“Listen, we get it, alright. Louis is all you want, I get that, Liam gets that, I’m pretty sure our entire fucking hall gets it by now.” The tone of his voice is impatient but there’s a smile tugging on the corner of his lips and his face is relaxed, no annoyed stare in sight.

“I never said it was about hi-” Harry goes to protest, but is cut off once again but Niall’s voice.

“We’re not stupid, Harry,” is what Niall settles on. His words are harsh but they come out wrapped in softness, dampening the sharp edges surrounding them. He turns around and dumps his bag on his bed and kicks his shoes off before settling against the wall, his body turned toward Harry.

“I don’t know what happened and you don’t have to tell me, I’m not asking you to, I’m just saying that if you gotta be all sad and moping at least change the music around will you.”

Harry just huffs in response, not sure what to say. Hearing it stated so blatantly, just thrown out into the air as if it isn’t this thing eating him from inside, hollowing his bones and making it hard to go about his days, feels wrong. He’d call him out on it but it’d lead to questions he doesn’t want to answer. He doesn’t know how to explain it, all of it so jumbled together in his mind, the feelings making his thoughts go fuzzy around the edges.

“Oh and before I forget, we’re going out on friday,” Niall pipes up from his side of the room. He startles Harry out of thought and doesn’t wait for his answer before he continues, “just the four of us.” He’s got his computer in his lap now and is lazily scrolling through some website and not paying Harry any attention as he aims his words at him.

“Oh,” is what Harry settles on. He’s still lying down in bed and he curls his knees up towards his chest and wraps his arms loosely around them, hugging them close to his body. The closeness radiates warmth and heats him up in their autumn cold room.

“You can’t get out of this one. I’m serious, Harry, you’re coming with us.” Niall looks up from his computer, their eyes meeting and he cocks an eyebrow at him, a smirk tugging at his lips as he does so.

“I wasn’t going to do that.” He sounds like a stubborn child, his lips jutted out into a pout and a whiny tone to his voice but Niall just laughs.

“Sure you weren’t, mate.”

Harry sticks his tongue out at him and Niall mirrors him, the two of them spending a full minute making silly faces at each other from across the room before they both dissolve into giggles.

“Idiot ,” Niall mutters and Harry laughs again. He feels a bit lighter like this, when his laughter isn’t forced and it provides a streak of color to his muted days.

“I’m serious about Friday, though. Liam said to be done by nine and then we’re heading out, so if you’re planning on sticking your head out the window and catching a cold or summat - don’t, alright.”

Harry just rolls his eyes but Niall pins him with a stern look so he gives up with an exaggerated sigh and a muttered fine, loud enough to carry to where Niall’s perched on his bed.

He’ll try, he supposes. He could use some alcohol flowing through his system and a shitty hangover the next day, anyway.

+

It’s Friday. They’ve been at the club for fifteen minutes now, the four of them squeezed together in one of the booths lining wall. They’d met up earlier in the night, doing shots in Harry and Niall’s room before they’d headed out to ride the tube to the club. The streets had been packed with people, the late evening crowd rushing to get home while the early night crowd was rushing to get going. It’d been such a contrast, the people in their pressed suits and swinging suitcases mixed with the clattering heels against the pavement and bare legs despite the chilly wind wrapping the cold around them.

After the long tube ride, the four of them standing amidst an ocean of strangers, their bodies pressed close to theirs, they’d arrived at the club. It’s as loud now as when they’d entered, the bass filling up the room with hard thumping bouncing off the walls. There’s a dancefloor in the middle of the room where people are swaying their hips and grinding on strangers. They’re all drunk, drunk on the alcohol and the courage it gives them in return. They’re plastered to each other’s sweaty backs,hands gripping their hips and mouths on their necks. It’s a sea of bodies mixing together, their skin burning with the taste, with the touch of each other.

Niall arrives with four drinks balanced in his hands, his long fingers gripping the glasses tight so they don’t fall. He makes his way through the crowd from where he’d been at the bar and sets them down on the table, shooting them all a wide grin. His eyes are a bit glassy, no doubt from the couple of sips he’s already had of his pint.

“Here you go, lads!” he shouts, his voice coming out thin from the loud music spilling through the room. He gestures to the glasses and takes a seat next to Harry, swinging an arm around his shoulders. He circles his fingers around the glass, bringing it to his lips and taking a big sip from it.

Harry mutters a weak thanks, his mouth moving but the sound of his voice getting drowned out as he mirrors Niall. He grabs his glass, the drink sloshing around inside of it a soft yellow under the flashing neon colors. There’s a pink umbrella stuck in it too, and he picks it up, careful not to stab himself with the pointy end before turning to Niall and sticking it behind his ear, the pink standing out against the strands of blonde.

Niall places his glass on the table and turns to Harry, his grip on him tightening so Harry’s drawn closer to him, slotting into his side. A wide grin spreads across Niall’s face as he thumbs at the umbrella, holding it between two of his fingers and twirling it so the pink gets lost in his hair.

“I’m glad you’re here, mate,” he says, his mouth so close to Harry’s ear that the words nestle themselves under his skin. They hit a bit too close to the core. He knows Niall doesn’t say them to be spiteful, that his words hold no trace of anger, but he still feels guilty. He’s completely disregarded his friends for the past few months and closed in on himself. He’s been so lost in his own thoughts he’s neglected to see how his behavior is affecting those around him.

“I’m glad I’m here too,” he says back, just as big of a smile on his own face. His dimples are pressing craters into his cheeks and there’s crinkles by his eyes and for the first time in a long time, it feels genuine. It feels real and honest.

The knot in his chest eases up a bit as they sit there grinning at each other, only getting interrupted when Liam shouts for them to toast. Harry laughs and Niall’s cackle echoes in his ears as they line their glasses up, clinking them against one another before Liam gives some half assed speech, his words slurring already and they all shout cheers before downing their drinks.

With some more alcohol in his system he feels his limbs loosening up, his body going more slack with each sip he takes, with each ounce of alcohol that makes it into his system. He slowly feels himself growing more and more drunk as the night carries on, with each new drink that’s pressed into his hand.

He isn’t keeping track of the time anymore, his phone long forgotten in the pocket of his jeans. He let’s himself be guided by the heavy music thumping at his ears and the flashing colors that fill his vision. He’s swaying in his seat, his eyes closed blissfully, just letting the music take him under. The bass is vibrating against his chest, so heavy he feels it with every breath of air he inhales. The beat’s fast and dirty, something you only find in clubs, never leaving the four walls its lined with. It’s like the music can only exist within this room, with its sweaty bodies and alcohol induced minds. As if it only makes sense in here.

Zayn and Liam are sat next to him, their murmurs carrying above the music but Harry doesn’t care enough to let himself pay attention to the course of their conversation. Niall wandered off some time ago and he returns now, a big grin plastered to his face. Harry wonders if he ever stops smiling.

“Harry, hey, you alright, mate?” he asks, laughter in his voice as he slides into his former spot, next to Harry in the booth.

“‘M good,” he replies, turning to Niall and flashing him a smile. It comes easy now, as if he’s underwater - the motions slow and languid but something he feels with every cell in his body as he moves.

“Can see that, you look a bit spacey,” Niall says and laughs once again. Harry feels a responding laughter bubbling in his chest, the feeling of floating taking him over as he let’s it spill through his mouth.

“Feels fuzzy,” he says as he shuffles closer to Niall in the booth and nuzzles into his side, resting his head in the crook of his neck.

“‘M sure it does,” he replies and drapes an arm around Harry, cuddling him closer. He brings a hand to pet at his curls, something Harry’s never been shy about loving. It’s even better when he’s like this, the alcohol flooding through his bloodstream. He hums into Niall’s neck in response and gets rewarded with a small pat on the head.

“So, I wanted to talk to you about something, ‘s that alright?” Niall hesitantly asks and Harry’s feeling himself slip further into that warm and hazy headspace of his so he just nods, his skin dragging against Niall’s.

“Yeah? Cause I was thinking about this whole Louis thing-” Harry’s smile washes off his face in the beat of a second and sobers him up, Niall’s word hitting him hard. “Relax,” Niall ushers, placing his hand on Harry’s shoulder. He squeezes, his fingers gripping tightly at the fabric of his shirt. He looks down and pins Harry with a look, his eyebrows raised and his eyes widened. Harry waits for a second to pass, their eyes locked together before he let’s the momentary panic slowly seep out of his body. He tells himself that he wasn’t prepared, that it’ll be okay.

“Alright, so I was thinking- And stay with me here, yeah. It’s been a couple of months and just, you need to get out there. Meet new people, shag some strangers, get it all out of your system. Like, I’m not telling you to move on-”

“Sure sounds like it,” Harry mutters under his breath, his eyes trailing away from Niall’s own and settling on the large crowd of dancing bodies huddled together in the middle of the room. He can feel his skin itching in discomfort but still he stays locked in Niall’s embrace, not shying away.

“Hey, Harry, no, I’m not telling you to move on, because despite my longest relationship being a month, I get that that kind of thing’s hard. You don’t just go out there and move on , it doesn’t work like way. But I am telling you that you can’t keep going like this, you can’t keep sitting in your room like some fucking zombie not doing anything, letting this control your life.”

Niall squeezes his shoulder once more and Harry allows for the words to seep into his mind, for himself to really take them in and understand their meaning. He looks over at Niall who’s eyeing him intently. “You can’t let this control you when he’s out there wandering around Europe fucking strangers left and right. It’s not an even playing field.”

In some fucked up way it makes sense, he thinks. He’s been so intent on being sad about the whole situation he never let himself be mad. Not the morning after, not after not hearing from Louis for months, not when it’s as if their friendship ceased to exist. He wrapped it all up in sadness and stored it inside his heart, choosing for it to be something he burdened himself with instead.

“Alright, what do you have in mind?” he finally says and when Niall’s entire face lights up and he starts babbling in Harry’s ear, he feels a flicker of anger spark in his chest and take root. Maybe it’s time he let himself be angry for once, he thinks as he feels the heat pooling in his body flow into his bloodstream and fill him up. Maybe it’s time he allows himself to let something else but the sadness in.

--

Niall introduces him to a guy at the bar some time later. He’s been chatting up guys for Harry all night but this is the first one that seems remotely interesting. He’s telling them about his job, something in accounting, something boring. His voice is deep, a bit monotone as he goes on and on about numbers and what not. His hands are extended between them, moving as he keeps talking. Niall’s asking him questions and Harry nods along. He’s trying to pay attention but the guy has been talking for ten minutes and the story doesn’t seem to be ending.

He can feels Zayn’s stare burning holes in his skin from where he’s still sat in the booth, talking to Liam. He doesn’t let himself look over but it’s as if the intensity of the Zayn’s glowing eyes carries across the room, leaving scars all over his body. He doesn’t acknowledge him, just keeps on nodding as if he isn’t aware of Zayn following his every movement.

Niall leaves some time later and Harry’s brought back to the current by the guy, name still unknown, placing his hand on his shoulder. His touch is gentle, a bit questioning, and Harry ignores the instinct screaming for him to pull back. He tries to ease into the touch but his mind is running comparisons between the length of their fingers, the softness of their skin, the warmth of their touch and he ignores his aching heart throwing these thoughts around, these thoughts of Louis. He shifts his body so he’s got his weight leaning on his right foot and pops his hip out and angles his upper body so it’s facing the guy.

He plasters on his widest grin, the one that makes his dimples pop and flashes his teeth. There’s a voice in the back of his head reminding him about how Louis used to call it smug with a laugh in his voice, but he pushes it away as he drags out every charming bone he’s got in his body. He’s laying it on thick, being obvious in every sense of the word with his echoing laughter and soft eyes aimed at the guy. He’s eating it up, flirting back at Harry with just as much force.

Harry loses himself in it. This is something he’s good at. He knows how to charm people, how to make them like him and open up to him. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t really care for the guy in front of him, how achingly aware he is of how he’s just a replacement, a mere shadow of who he wishes it was. It isn’t so much about pulling as it is about proving to himself that he still can, that the sea of blues etched onto his eyelids and the fluttering memories of the past two years flowing through his mind don’t mean anything. He can do this, he can be his own person. Niall’s word of how he needs to move on, how he can’t let this thing control his life echo in the back of his mind as he let’s out another laughter, pushing the sound out of his body and gives another fake smile.

So it’s with Zayn’s burning stare on his back that he pins the guy against the wall and crowds into his space and presses his lips against his. Their chests are pushed together and Harry’s got his hands placed on the wall as he let’s their lips slot together again and again, capturing them in a series of kisses. He’s drunk, his vision foggy, the guy’s features already a dissolving memory in his mind. He lets his eyes droop shut as he presses closer closer closer until their bodies are aligned. The guy’s got his hands placed on Harry’s hips, clutching onto the belt loops of his jeans and his fingers trailing the skin from where his shirt is riding up.

Harry knows this touch, this stolen moment of intimacy in the dark corner of a club full of strangers should make him feel something, but his mind is spinning on a loop of the way Louis’s lips had tasted against his. How they’d molded into one and fit together in sync to their own heartbeats, chasing that high they got from being around each other. This guy tastes of beer, his breath stale and his lips too sharp against Harry’s soft ones. They don’t fit, they’re two unmatched puzzle pieces trying to push themselves together and with every kiss, every touch it’s as if the blue just becomes more , his foggy vision drowning with every press of lips against his.

--

Later in the night he’s had another couple of drinks and his world is going under, his mind getting lost in the surface. His legs are moving on their own accord, his fingers gliding over the walls as he stumbles forward along the corridor. There’s bright fluorescent lights filling it up, sharp against his clouded vision from the dark of the club. The light is white and it washes over him, makes him blink his glossy eyes a couple of times to take in the narrow path ahead of him. He walks ahead on wobbly legs, plastering himself close to the wall as people pass him, until he reaches the door to the back alley of the club and pushes outside into the chilly night.

There’s a couple of people stood huddled together, their bodies close to shield away from the cold. They all share cigarettes over shaky fingers, their voices low as the music is subdued to a distant throbbing once the door closes. His eardrums aren’t exploding here and he finds himself savouring the sounds of cars passing on the empty street next to them, closing his eyes and letting it wash over him.

He walks over to one of the benches and sits down next to Zayn who’s got a cigarette in between his fingers, taking long drags from it every few seconds. He inhales and exhales, the smoke flying out of his mouth disappearing into the dark of the night. He doesn’t say anything for a long while, the two of them sat in a painted silence, their ears flooded by the voices of the people around them. They sit close enough for Harry to feel the warmth from Zayn’s body seeping into his skin, warming him up from where the bare skin of his arms is perking up into goosebumps. He can smell the smoke, can see it flow through the air in his peripheral and being outside sobers him up from the heavy thumping and the flashing lights.

“Who was that guy?” Zayn finally says. He doesn’t look over at Harry, just stares blankly ahead as he takes another drag from his cigarette, another intake of smoke flowing through his lungs.

“Don’t know. Doesn’t really matter,” Harry replies slowly, giving a small shrug as he speaks. And it doesn’t. He doesn’t care for the guy, never did, never even bothered to find out his name. He was always just a distraction, something to occupy his senses with as he pushed their bodies closer and allowed himself to walk further into the fog, the alcohol taking him under and breaking him down with every passing minute.

“Then why were you kissing him?”

Harry sighs, his thoughts spinning in fast circles as he tries to find an answer to Zayn’s question. “You heard Niall, I have to move on, be my own person and all of that.”

It’s a weak answer, one he doesn’t buy himself, but he doesn’t know how utter the thoughts floating through his mind. How to make them sound the way that they feel, how to put words to the beating inside his chest, how to convey the spectrum of feelings he feels when someone mentions Louis’s name. How to explain it all.

“Do you want that, though?” Zayn asks and he makes it sound so simple with the way the words slip off his tongue with the smoke spilling through his mouth.

Harry wishes he knew. He thinks that all of this, this entire mess he’s living in, would be easier if he did.

“I don’t know what I want.” He pauses and let’s his eyes trail along the brick wall across from him. He traces the cracks and where the different blocks meet, lets the patterns paint his vision. He counts the beats that pass inside his mind in tune to his eyes following the maze created on the wall. One, two, three, four. He takes a deep breath, the air landing in his chest and pressing down hard for a second before he exhales, his entire body sagging as the air is released and he says,  “I’m tired, tired of all of this, these feelings and this situation. Just… tired.”

Zayn hums, taking one last drag before he flicks his cigarette butt to the ground and crushes it underneath the sole of his shoes. He stands up and wipes his hands on the front of his jeans before he looks over at Harry, their eyes meeting for the first time since he stepped outside. It’s a charged stare, one the sends flickers of electricity between their bodies. He can trace the flashes of pity, of sadness in his eyes, the emotions mixing with the golden hazel already there.

Another beat passes, another car passing on the street outside, the loud sound of its engine carrying through the walls of the buildings surrounding them. Another laugh echoes across the small space, another cigarette is lit and it’s like it’s all suspended in the air for a fleeting moment when Zayn finally breaks their stare and turns around to walk inside again.

“You know, you told me to wait for him,” Harry says, the words spilling out of his mouth before he’s registering them himself. He pauses, let’s the words hang in the air, the weight of them not going unnoticed by either of them.

Zayn slowly turns around, the upper half of his body once again being angled towards Harry as he gives him his full attention. “The day you left. Told me I should give him some time, to figure it out, as you said,” he continues, his eyes taking in the sharp cuts of Zayn’s face. He’s got his eyebrows furrowed but his eyes are soft, the warmth in them shining through despite the dim lighting of the night. “Do you remember?”

Zayn nods, a barely there movement of his head that would go unnoticed if Harry wasn’t so fully focused on him. “I do.”

They both stay still for another moment, another minute ticking by with neither of them speaking, the tension suspended in the air as they both give in to the thoughts spinning inside their minds.

“I think it’s time I stop,” Harry finally says. Speaking the words feels like the weight off his chest is crumbling down, the ashes spreading through his body, making it easier for him to take a full breath. The one he needs to finally push the words out, the ones that’ve been brewing inside his heart.

“I’ve been waiting for him since that first night we met, you know. I was stupid, kept thinking he’d bring it up, that something would happen, just anything, but it never did.” He flickers his eyes to the hands resting in his lap, letting a beat pass before he collects himself again and says, “I think it’s time I let myself stop waiting.”

“Do you think that’ll make you happier?” Zayn asks slowly, his voice wary, carefully wrapped around the words he’s speaking.

“I don’t know,” Harry says, giving a small laugh, but the sound breaks in half, his voice trembling. “I just know that I’m tired and that it hurts too much and that I want for it to stop.” He looks up, locking his stare on Zayn’s once again, his hands still fiddling in his lap. “I think I owe it to myself to at least try.”

“Okay,” Zayn says and gives him a small smile, one of the corners of his mouth twitching up and Harry pushes his lips into a thin line, his nose scrunching up and he attempts one of his own. It comes out weak, but he thinks that, in time, it might begin to feel strong again.

+

Harry feels as if declaring that he’ll try, that he’s going to do better, should be some eye opening moment. In movies it’s always followed by a series of shots where the main character is seen getting their life in order to an upbeat pop song playing in the background. It’s not reality, though. There’s no magic streak of colors to brighten his days, to remove the dull shades that have overtaken it. There’s no catchy song playing and there’s no skip in his step as he walks to class. But he does feel his heart lighten up. He feels the tight knot of anxiety that’s been living in his chest ease up. It’s not gone and he doesn’t think it will be for a while, but his breaths come out easier, nothing getting stuck in between anymore. He tries to smile more, even though he sometimes has to push the corners of his lips up, but every attempt, every time he finds himself barking out a laugh is a win in his book.

So he’s not fine, but he’s better. He’ll get there eventually, he figures, the voice in his head optimistic as it repeats the words over and over again.

He thinks getting better isn’t always the big steps, sometimes it’s telling a stupid pun and hearing Niall laugh at it, a glint to his eyes that reminds Harry of how it used to be - the five of them sat around in a circle on the floor after a long week, sharing stories about their days with each other. Sometimes it’s treating himself to that shirt he’s been secretly wanting for weeks and sometimes it’s deciding to meet up with Zayn at the coffeeshop from around the corner from campus.

That’s also when he finds out, when Zayn opens his mouth and speaks the words that’ll break out the hurricane that’s caught in his chest once again, the one that he’s been slowly fading away.

They’ve been sat making small talk for about twenty minutes, their conversation holding nothing of substance. They haven’t seen each other since the night at the club, the air between them a bit stifled ever since. It’s as if something shifted and Harry doesn’t know how to react, how to behave according to it, so he hasn’t. He indulges himself in his work and is stitching his life back together piece by piece instead, slowly creating the whole he once managed.

Zayn’s sitting in front of him now, playing with the spoon in his tea, just running it in circles. His tea’s cooled off but he’s got his stare pinned on it, ignoring Harry’s questioning eyes. There’s a lull in the conversation and neither of them has spoken for a few minutes when he says it.

“Louis’s back.”

Oh .

With the words spoken he feels a breath being pushed out of his chest, making his shoulders sag and his mouth fall open in an unspoken reply. He takes a moment, playing the words on a loop in his mind before he flickers his eyes across Zayn’s face. He searchs for his stare, but Zayn keeps looking down on his tea. The circling motion is soothing, a bit hypnotizing as Harry keeps his eyes locked on it too for a passing beat while he tries to calm his breathing and sort his thoughts out.

“I didn’t know if you wanted me to tell you,” Zayn says and looks up. His brown eyes are open wide as they meet Harry’s. The corners of his lips are quirked downwards and the lines of his face soft but with something else attached to them, sadness perhaps.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me?” Harry asks, coughing to cover the hitch in his voice. It makes him seem vulnerable and he stiffens his posture and keeps his head held up high, his stare unfaltering.

“Because I didn’t know how’d you react.” Zayn pushes his lips into a thin line and shrugs his shoulders. His eye’s are warm, the brown turning golden in the flickering sunlight making its way through the big windows of the coffee shop. It washes over his face and smoothes his features out with the brightness of it.

“You’re trying and I didn’t want to ruin that with this, I guess,” he continues, his voice wary as he speaks. It’s as if he’s balancing on a tightrope, as if he’s speaking to a small child, one wrong step and it’ll all come shattering down.

“It wouldn’t be your fault if it did, Zayn.”

“I know.” He gives another shrug and Harry aims a small smile his way, his eyes going soft when he sees Zayn visibly relax at his gesture.

“So, why’s he back?” He finally pushes the words out, the one’s that have been creeping around the corners of his mind for the past few minutes, hiding in the shadows as he focused on other aspects of it all. As he’s been trying his best to ignore them.

“He says he’s done, that he’s grown tired of it all.” Harry nods understandingly and Zayn gives a small smirk before he tacks on, “Also, I’m pretty sure he’s out of cash.”

Harry laughs at that, his chest vibrating and his dimples creating craters on his cheeks as he does so. It feels light and he stores the feeling in his heart, wrapping around it and letting it fill his bloodstream. Zayn gives him a knowing look, one that seems to approve of the momentary flash of brightness across Harry’s face and Harry flickers his eyes to the table for a fleeting second, aiming a small smile at it before he looks up once again.

“He’s at his mum’s back in Doncaster, right now,” Zayn continues and Harry hums in reply, taking the words in and twisting them around in his mind, searching them for everything they’re worth.

“When’d he get back then?”

“Just a couple of days ago, said he didn’t want me to tell you right away,” Zayn replies sheepishly, ducking away once Harry’s head snaps up at his words. He pins his stare back on his tea, picking up the spoon once again and continues to stir it.

“Why? ” His eyebrows furrow and hisä voice comes out sharp, the tone laced with feelings of betrayal and confusion all wrapped up in one.

“Didn’t really give me an answer when I asked, just kept telling me to promise not to tell you.”

“Oh,” Harry says and brings a hand to scratch at his neck, his nails dragging across his skin, making him feel the faint red marks being created in the process. He doesn’t really know what to make of this newfound information, what to make of every turn that keeps popping up. It’s as if with every step forward he’s knocked down and forced to reevaluate the situation all over again, Louis’s behavior too inconsistent and confusing for him to wrap his mind around it.

“Well, I’m glad you did,” he settles on.

“Thought you should know.”

“Thanks.” Their eyes meet and they both smile. Despite Louis’s behavior and the question marks that seem to follow him, they still have this. Harry still has his friends and he’s grateful that he didn’t manage to lose them in the midst of the mess he and Louis have become. He’s thankful for their hugs, for their soft words, for their warm stares even when he feels like closing in on himself. When the walls become too comforting for him to let down, they still stick around. They’re still there with their hands around shoulders and movie marathons and jokes that make him smile when he feels himself going under. He still has them, even though he doesn’t have Louis anymore.

+

Knowing that Louis is back leaves Harry with a weird feeling in his chest. He can’t seem to shake it no matter how hard he tries and it’s as if with every passing moment, every passing day it just stretches itself wider, taking more of him away with it. The words louis’s back are constantly playing on a loop inside his head, Zayn’s voice never leaving him alone. It flows through his mind in tune with his spinning thoughts, nestling itself in between them to push to the front of Harry’s mind. Always there, always reminding him of how Louis’s only a train ride away from him and that soon he’ll be back. He’ll be back in Harry’s space, the one he’s managed to reclaim for himself in the passing months and it’ll be as much Louis’s again as it is his own.

The realization that he’s going to have to spend time with Louis, be around him, the two of them breathing the same air, is unsettling and worrisome. He’s barely managed to string himself back together just to have Louis rip him apart again with all of his being, his shining enigma and star littered skin. Harry doesn’t know how he’s supposed to act around him, how to breach on the something they once shared and pretend it never existed. He doesn’t know how to feign casualty and as if his heart isn’t beating rapidly in his ribcage at merely the thought of being in Louis’s presence again. He doesn’t know how to act as if Louis’s isn’t everything he’s been trying his hardest to get away from. How to see him, how to meet his stare and give him a smile. How to pretend it isn’t breaking him down inside with every taken breath, his organs collapsing and his mind becoming a tornado with its whirlwind of emotions.

He’s hearing Zayn’s voice again, repeating the words over and over again, when Niall startles him out of his thoughts by throwing a pillow at Harry. Luckily he manages to snap out of it quick enough to duck his head and watch the pillow to bounce off the wall, landing further down on his bed.

“What the hell, Niall, ” he hisses, furrowing his eyebrows and shooting Niall an annoyed stare.

“You did the thing again, had to bring you back.” Niall just shrugs, his expression bashful as if he hadn’t nearly blind-sided Harry two seconds ago with his flying object.

“The thing? Please be more vague, will you,” Harry scoffs.

“Y’know, when you zone out and stare dramatically at the wall and shit,” he replies. He goes to illustrate exactly what he’s referring to by clutching a hand over his heart as he gazes at the wall, his face gone slack and his eyes widened. He brings his other hand to his forehead and dramatically falls back on his bed in a faint, sighing the word louis in a high pitched voice as his head lands on the comforter.

“I don’t do that! ” Harry says as soon as Niall sits back up again and cackles in response to the scandalized look painted on Harry’s face. “Niall! Stop!”

“You do, mate. ‘S okay, though, it’s cute.” He gives another loud laugh and Harry just rolls his eyes as he crosses his arms over his chest and mumbles piss off, loud enough for the word to carry to Niall across the room. Niall just laughs more and his eyes seem to sparkle in the light coming from the sun shining outside. His skin is mapped out in constellations and he just looks so happy, is the thing. He always does. So when their eyes lock and Harry’s flooded by the sheer joy radiating off Niall he ends up giving in and grins wide enough for the dimples to pop on his cheeks and for his eyes to crinkle.

They carry on a bit of conversation after that, a few minutes passed in light words thrown back and forth before Niall brings it up again. The conversation has reached a natural end and Harry has just whipped out his phone and is scrolling through his twitter feed when Niall coughs awkwardly, grabbing Harry’s attention. He sets his phone down on his leg and looks over at Niall. He cocks his eyebrow as he asks, “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, ‘s fine.” Harry nods once before his eyes flicker down to his phone again, going back to reading a tweet, but he can still feel Niall’s stare boring holes through his skin from the other side of the room.

“Um, can I ask you something, though?” Niall says a few seconds later. His voice is laced with hesitation and he speaks slowly, a stark contrast to the light tone it usually carries.

“Yeah, sure, what’s up?”

“Liam told me about Louis, y’know, being back.” Harry averts his look as soon as Niall utters the words, the implication of his gaze becoming too clear all of a sudden. He fidgets with the phone in his hand, running his fingers along the back of the case in rhythmic patterns, tapping out the fast banging of his heartbeat.

They lapse into a few seconds of silence after that, the air having had grown heavy with the words spoken and the meaning attached to them. Niall finally breaks it again by saying, “Have you talked to him?”

Harry almost wants to laugh at his question because of course he hasn’t. Why would he. What would he even say if he did, 'hey louis we haven’t spoken since you kissed me that one time and i don’t really know what we are anymore but how’s life’. Yeah, he’s sure that would go well.

“No,” he replies instead. He says it slowly, the word followed by a silence stretching itself wide across the expanse of the room, creating an ocean of distance between them.

“Well, why not?” Niall prods and he’s up on his feet now, walking over to Harry’s bed in one, two, three big strides before he plops down opposite Harry. He crosses his legs and leans forward on his elbows, eying Harry intently.

“Because… It’s just weird between us.” He shrugs and doesn’t bother explaining further instead opting to pin his stare back down on his hands, Niall’s eyes a bit too demanding, too intrusive.

“Harry, mate, I love you and I know I told you to get over him, but don’t you think you need some kind of closure, that you need to talk to him and figure this shit out together?”

“I don’t know how to talk to him,” he confesses, his voice coming out barely above a whisper in the quiet of the room.

“What makes you think he does?” Harry looks up and Niall purses his lips into a thin line and gives a half hearted shrug. “Maybe you’re both as afraid.”

He leaves it then, just gives Harry a slap on the shoulder before he changes the topic quickly, asking Harry about what take out he’d like to get. Niall’s rattling off places from the list on his phone but it’s as if the words float right through Harry, never taking root. He zones out, thinking about what Niall had told him and for the first time in a long time, he let’s himself think about Louis’s side of things. How he saw it all, what thoughts rushed through his head, what he’s doing right now, how he’s coping. If he’s sat in his childhood bedroom, thinking about Harry as much as Harry is thinking about him. If he misses him just as much Harry misses him, the feeling ever present, as if it nestled itself into his bloodstream and has become part of him now, unable to shake from his system.

+

A couple of days pass and Niall doesn’t bring it up again, pretending as if the conversation never happened. He changes the subject every two seconds, always rattling off new information, new stories he’s managed to pick up, sharing them with Harry. He goes about his days easily, never prodding at the big lump wrapped around Harry’s heart. And Harry’s thankful for it, wishes that he could forget all about it but Liam sends him knowing looks whenever they meet and Zayn opts for casual, but Harry sees the way he’s so careful about everything, about the words he speaks to him, how he behaves in his presence and he can’t stand it. It’s all suffocating, making him feel like a prisoner trying his hardest to get out.

When day five of their pleading looks and words that lie on the tip of their tongues comes, Harry gives in.

He decides that he’s done, he can’t it anymore.

So when they’re standing in line at the movie theater and Liam casually mentions Louis, he speaks up. Liam thinks he’s being so subtle about it, not even meeting Harry’s sharp stare, just looking straight ahead as they take another step forward in the line.

“Did you hear about the new Marvel movie that’s coming out? I bet Lou would love it, wouldn’t he, Zayn?”

Zayn just hums in reply, obviously not paying attention to whatever it is Liam’s talking about, but still indulging him. But Liam, it seems, isn’t done. “So, how’s Louis then? Haven’t spoken to him in a while, huh.” Harry just suppresses an eye roll at his words, scoffing quietly at how transparent he’s being.

“You can drop it, y’know,” he says out loud, pinning his stare on Liam as he does so. The words come out sharp, no teasing tone behind them.

Liam looks over, feigning casualty with his eyebrows raised in question as he meets Harry’s eyes. “What?”

“You’re not exactly subtle, Li.”

Liam gives a small laugh at that, a cut off sounds that come out a bit too stiff to pass for relief. He brings a hand to scratch at his neck and avoids Harry’s stare sheepishly. “Guess I’m not.”

“I’m still not going to talk to him, though, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”

They take another step forward, the two of them falling behind as Zayn goes to join Niall in the front, sensing that they need some privacy. He snags some of Niall’s popcorn which earns him a light slap on the shoulder and indignant squeak from Niall, the sound carrying to where they’re now stood a few feet behind them.

“Why not?” Liam asks, his features once again scolded into the serious tone the conversation carries. His eyes don’t hold their knowing look but it’s more of a soft, curious one that’s taken its place. The conversation seems to have shifted into him asking Harry rather than demanding his reply.

Harry just shrugs, still, after months and months, trying to figure out the answers to their questions. He wishes there was some tell-all manual helping out, ‘how to make your friends happy’ or something equally as cheesy.

“It’s not that easy, Li. I can’t just call him up out of nowhere, it doesn’t work like that.”

Liam abruptly stops and Harry looks over, confused as Liam just stands there staring at him, the queue around them coming to a halt.

“Doesn’t it, though? I mean, you always speak about how confusing it all is and I get that. But why is it so confusing, Harry?” He pauses, his tongue darting out to lick his lips before continuing. “You’re both so bloody stubborn and I don’t get it. It’s obvious you like him and that he has some pretty messed up feelings for you too, but why aren’t you willing to give this a shot?”

He leaves it open but Harry doesn’t know what he wants him to say, so he stays quiet and Liam picks up the thread of the conversation again. It seems as if he isn’t done, as if he has more to say on the subject.

“Is it so bad, that maybe, just maybe it’ll all work out and all of this,” he makes a vague gesture with his hand, his voice having had lowered significantly so it just barely reaches Harry, “could end. Is it really worth giving that up?”

Harry never replies, their conversation coming to an end when it’s their turn at the register, but Liam’s words nestle themselves into his system, weighing him down with every breath he takes. He carries them around all day, flitting in and out of conversation, his eyes never staying focused for too long. Everything keeps moving around him, but he can’t seem to shake them off. The words rattle his bones and send electric shocks through his entire body, making him stay awake and ponder their meaning. He sits in the movie theater, the action unfolding on the screen but he spends two hours with the blurry colors flickering across his eyelids, never settling down.

All he seems to be able to think is: is liam right? Is he majorly fucking up because he’s afraid, because he’s too scared about what might happen if he does talk to Louis that he instead chooses the safe road, chooses to stay within his own comfort zone? And above all, is it worth living the way he is now - miserable, trying his hardest to get away from it all and revert back to the light he once lived under - just because of that? Is it really worth not taking that blind leap and hold himself back because of how things might unfold if he does, even if those things might make him come out a happier person?

+

It’s 10:15 when Harry finally decides to do it.

He’s been staring at his phone for the past two hours, turning it in his hand, his fingers floating above the screen, never touching down. He’s had Louis’s contact open so many times he’s lost count, just to give up every single time and lock his phone. He’s tossed it on his bed, been a beat away from clicking the call button, watched the numbers on the screen tick away into the night, always being too afraid to go through with it.

Niall’s out again, probably at work. He didn’t tell Harry when he left, just gave him a wink as he slung his backpack over his shoulder and slammed the door shut behind him. It’s been a few hours now and Harry’s all by himself, but it’s nice, he thinks. It’s oddly calming in the way that there’s no knowing eyes keeping him trapped when he’s doing this. He doesn’t know how to lay himself so bare in front of other people, how to open himself up and show them everything he’s tried his hardest to keep locked up.

He watches the big numbers on his screen turn once, twice before he finally unlocks his phone and it’s with a hammering heart beating inside his ribcage that he opens Louis’s contact and clicks on the call button before he can change his mind.

Slowly, he lifts the phone to his ear and listens to the signal ring out. The blood rushing through his ears is drowning everything out, the sound coming out muted. Everything feels suspended in air as he listens intently. The phone rings exactly four times before there’s a beat where Harry contemplates hanging up, doing it quickly, just like when you rip a bandage off - fast and painful, before Louis picks up.

He sounds out of breath, the sharp sound of him exhaling quickly a few times against the static of the phone before he says, “Harry?”

His voice comes out a bit muffled, but Harry can’t tell if it’s just him or not, because he picked up. Louis didn’t ignore his call, he chose to hear him out, to give whatever this is a try and the beating of his heart significantly picks up as soon as that thought crosses his mind. It’s beating hard, the ta-thump-ta-thump shaking his entire body.

“Harry, are you there?” Louis repeats and that snaps him out of it. Louis’s voice sounds so small, so insecure as he utters the words and Harry takes a deep breath, settling himself down before he goes to answer.

“Ye-Yeah, I’m here,” he replies. “Sorry,” he tacks on as an afterthought, not really sure what he’s apologizing for.

“Oh, yeah, ‘s alright,” Louis says back, his voice sounding a bit relieved as he speaks, as if just hearing Harry’s voice has managed to ease him up.

It feels awkward, stifled and Harry doesn’t really know what to say. They’re still stuck in the beginning stages, trying to rebuild what they once had and he doesn’t know where to start, where to grab footing and push off from.

“So, how are you?” he finally settles on, deciding that that’s a good place. That’s a standard question, isn’t it? You ask people how they are all the time, right? You meet someone at the grocery store and ask them, you meet someone at a family reunion, you even ask the janitor as you pass him in the lobby. It’s casual, it’s fine.

“I’m, uhm- I’m alright,” Louis replies, but it comes out entirely too shaky and it brings back memories of the phone call from Porto when they’d all been sat around Zayn’s newly assembled kitchen table and heard his voice for the first time in months. It’d struck Harry then how it was as if he was putting up the facade of being fine, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as everyone else. It’s like that now - his voice coming out too insecure for it to pass as plausible, the question marks behind the word invisible, but still as much there.

“And, you? How are you?” Louis continues.

“Oh, I’m go-” Harry starts to say but is cut off by a loud banging coming from Louis’s end of the phone. It’s background noise but it’s still clear enough for Harry to pick up on and stop speaking. Louis sighs and mutters a weak one sec before he moves the phone away and Harry hears the thumping of him descending the stairs. It stops after a few seconds and Louis seems to put his phone down because all Harry can pick up on are thrown away words as he yells at someone. The tone of his voice isn’t angry though, it sounds fond, as if he’s trying his best to hold the upper hand, but is failing miserably.

Another few seconds pass, the shuffling of Louis’s feet against the carpet heard and then sound of a door clicking into place before Louis exhales, the sound vibrating against the static.

“I’m sorry about that. ‘S just the girls, you know how they can be.”

Harry feels the corners of his lips quirk into a smile involuntarily as he hears Louis speak about them. He always sounds so light when he does, as if they fill him up with a love so strong he can’t keep it out of his voice. Harry’s seen him interact with them countless times and it’s always accompanied with gentle touches and soft words, his eyes holding crinkles around the corners as he keeps his stare pinned on them. He loves them so and Harry feels a small pang of jealousy tug at his chest when a flash of memories passes through his mind, memories of how Louis once used to talk and look at him like that.

“How are they?” he asks, genuinely wondering.

“They’re good, yeah. Lottie and Fizzy are growing up, pretending they’re too old to care that I’m home, but mum told me they missed me,” he pauses to give a small laugh at that and Harry can practically see the way his lips stretch wide and how his cheeks push up. “The twins are good too, that was them just now. ‘S past their bedtime and the little monkeys won’t get in bed. Thought they were being all sneaky too, waiting until I was gone to turn the movie back on, as if I wouldn’t be able to hear the tv.”

Louis laughs and Harry goes to join him, the sound spilling through his mouth before he’s registering it. It’s as if a big weight is lifted off his chest, making it a bit easier for him to breathe. He can feel his shoulders dropping, his stiff posture loosening up with every second he spends talking to Louis, every passing minute easing the tension that’s been stuck between them.

“I’m glad to hear that. I know you probably missed them,” he replies, the ghost of a smile still stuck on his face as he does so.

“Yeah, yeah. Being away…. It was just hard, I guess,” Louis trails off, the end of his sentence left wide open, waiting to be filled with all the words sitting on the tip of his tongue, left unspoken.

Louis’s words hit him like a bullet in the chest, throwing him off. The smile slips off his face, his eyebrows furrowing and he feels his heart tense up, his mood doing a 180 in the blink of a second.

He finds himself nearly spluttering at his words because hard? It was hard?

Louis wasn’t the one sitting at home, waiting for so much as a fucking post card that never came and here he is saying that exploring new cities under flickering lights and a silver moon casting shadows across the street, meeting new people, letting them explore him in return, was hard.

Harry wants to scoff at how ridiculous it makes him feel but the lump in his chest is growing again, tugging him down with it so he keeps his mouth shut, letting a second pass between them in silence, neither of them speaking.

“So, how was it then, Europe and all of that?” he finally asks, but his voice sounds bitter as he speaks, as if he’s barely pushing the words out. He knows Louis can pick up on it because another beat passes before he gives a small cough.

“It was alright, nice to see some new places,” he replies sheepishly, his voice careful, as if he doesn’t want to overstep.

“Good.” It’s sharp, it cuts through the line, the word heightened by the static surrounding it.

“Har- Harry, are you oka-” Louis goes to say but stops abruptly, as if he caught himself in the act, managing to suppress what he was about to do. As if he regrets it and Harry feels it pushing at his chest, the way Louis seems to be squirming away from it all, the way he always does. He runs and runs, never looking back, just leaves them all to the aftermath of his tornado, leaves them to a city of ruins.

“Fuck, I’m not okay, Louis.” He spits the words out quickly, throwing them out before he can think them over and choose to be afraid. “Don’t you get that, don’t you get that I’m not okay?”

He takes a deep breath - inhaling exhaling - his chest rising and falling quickly, just fueling him on further. “You just left. You fucked off and you didn’t even care and I don’t know how you expect me to be fine with that, how to pretend as if that wasn’t a thing that happened.

“You can’t just sit here and talk to me about your sisters and laugh and try for it to be okay between us when you threw all of that away when you left for Europe and didn’t look back.”

Harry finally stops speaking, feeling all of the air that’s been trapped in his lungs for the passing moments being released all at once, his entire body going lax. His hands are still shaking where they’re gripping the phone tight. He can feel his knuckles whitening and he goes to wrap his other hand around his thigh, pressing his fingers into the fabric of his jeans. He’s got such a strong grip he can feel half moons being pressed into his skin, despite the layers of clothing.

“I do… I do care,” Louis finally says, his voice coming out no louder than an exhaled breath.

Harry tilts his head back, feeling it hit the wall and the small thump that goes with it. He closes his eyes, focusing on the steady beating of his heart to anchor him down and clear his mind from the fast spinning of his thoughts.

“I didn’t mean that, I know you do,” he replies as he runs a hand through his hair, pushing the curls back to help him find some kind of semblance of stability.

“I didn’t ‘fuck off’ Harry, we- We had a plan to leave, you know that.”

“Then why didn’t you come back with Zayn, why did you stay another two months without so much as a word to us about it?”

He just feels tired now, the anger seeping through his body and being replaced with a heaviness in his bones that tugs him down and makes it hard for his eyes to stay focused. He’s just so confused, doesn’t know how to make sense of it all. He thought that talking to Louis, hearing his side of things would help, but it’s just left him even more scattered than before.

“I was going to, but… Just seeing you again- I didn’t know how to deal with that, I guess.” Louis says slowly, as if he’s trying his hardest to convey what he’s feeling into the words he speaks, as if by choosing the right set of letters to pin together he’ll be able to voice it properly and make it easier, somehow.

“And you thought that what, you’d just be able to postpone it forever?” Harry doesn’t mean for it to come out so cruel, so sharp, but the words are out before he can run them through his brain-to-mouth-filter.

“I mean, kind of? I wasn’t really thinking, to be honest, just wanted to ignore it for a while longer, I suppose.” Louis sounds sad, his voice laced with a strange heaviness to it, one that makes Harry push his lips downwards and give a small sigh, hating himself for doing that to him.

“So what made you come back, then?” he asks, hoping Louis can hear it in his voice how sorry he is, how much he wants for things to be okay between them again. He wishes he could diffuse the tension, erase the wall that’s been towering between them and turn back time to when they were lying on his bedroom floor, laughter bubbling up in their chests at something so mundane it’s gotten lost inside the walls of his mind.

“I, uhm, guess I just got tired of running.” Harry hums, not offering an answer at that, sensing Louis isn’t quite finished yet.

“I think I just realized that sometimes, no matter how far away you choose to run from your problems, that it doesn’t mean they cease to exist. They’re still back where you started, waiting for you.”

“That’s a good point,” Harry agrees, nodding his head. “Did Zayn have to lend you some of his fancy books for you to figure that out.”

Louis immediately laughs and Harry follows suit, the sounds of their laughter mixing together to create mismatched symphonies. They come together so seamlessly, as they always have. Two pieces of an unfinished puzzle waiting to be paired together and slotting into place once they are. The faint sound of a click can be heard in the back of his mind and he can practically feel the tension that’s been trapped in the air being diffused at the sounds spilling from their mouths.

“I really missed you, y’know,” Louis quietly confesses. His voice comes out barely above a whisper, travelling through the line, for Harry’s ears only.

“I really missed you too,” he replies.

They stay on the line for another few minutes, neither of them speaking, just the sound of their breathing filling out the space between them. But unlike earlier it’s calming now, a faint shadow of how it once was, when breathing the same air was the easiest thing in the world, never a hint of awkward sneaking its way in between them. They’re not there yet, they’ve just taken the first staggering steps towards figuring all of this out. They’ve picked up a piece of the string and started untangling it from the mess it’s been living in. There’s still questions to be answered, questions to be asked. But knowing that they’re not stuck in the place they once were, that they’re creeping forward, feels good. It’s a comfort he hasn’t felt in a long time and he thinks that it’s a start.

+

After the phone call he feels light. The sadness that’s been dragging him down for the past months has started to diffuse and he feels it easier to take full breaths again, the hard weight that’s pressing down on his chest easing up. He doesn’t feel tied down anymore, a sinking anchor in the sea of feelings he’s been slowly drowning in. He feels as if he’s floating higher and higher up, his head getting lost in the blurriness of the clouds surrounding him.

They start talking again.

It’s as if the phone call has served to get some things out in the open, neither of them holding back as much anymore and it’s easy. Easier. They talk every day now, just like they once did. Harry’s almost constantly glued to his phone, typing out messages to Louis about his day and every little thing that fills it. Louis’s just as eager, always replying quickly, neither of them letting the other one hang on for too long.

It feels as if they’ve reverted back to the early stages of their friendship, before it all got confusing and feelings got in the way, back when it’d just been the two of them ready to take on the world. They’d been attached at the hip, the two of them drifted into a unit of harryandlouis. It’d been so simple then, just echoing laughter and big grins plastered across their faces. They’d filled with the naivety that comes with the beginning of a friendship, where you let yourself get wrapped up in the other person, everything new and exciting. Everything about them equal parts amazing and interesting, something you long to hold on to.

It’s like that now, he thinks, with their giddy texts and the smile that never leaves Harry’s face as he goes about his days. It’s earned him a few curious looks from the other lads but when they ask him about it he just shakes his head, ignoring their questions. He figures that they’re probably on to him by now with the way they’ve stopped begging him to talk to Louis and their offhand comments about how glad they are to see him look so happy again. He just smiles then, a warmth spreading through his body at their words and grips his phone tighter in his hand, counting down the days in his head until Louis returns.

He’s been staying with his mum and siblings in Doncaster for the past few weeks but claims he’s ready to come back to London and his shared flat with Zayn now. He’d told Harry through a text sent at four in the morning, Harry on the brink of sleep and his eyes drifting shut, only shooting up when the phone in his hand had vibrated. He’d quickly skimmed over Louis’s text, a smile spreading across his face at the words. He’d read it twice for good measure, just to store it in his heart. Louis was coming home and a small voice at the back of his head told him that maybe, just maybe Louis was coming back to him too.

--

I’ll be there in ten minutes xx.

It’s been exactly thirteen minutes since Louis’s text and Harry’s freaking out.

He’s perched on the edge of his bed, his knees drawn up, flush against his chest and his head resting atop them. He’s holding his phone in front of his face, staring at it intently, waiting for another text to come through.

He tries to keep his breathing even but he can hear how hard his heart is thumping and the small puffs of air that keep spilling from his mouth. They seem loud in the quiet room. It’s just him in here, Niall out again. He’d left about an hour ago, when Louis’s first text had arrived, a simple almost there xx that had left Harry gaping at his phone, his skin prickling in anticipation for what was about to come. He’d just stared at it, reading it over a couple of times before Niall had come over, his head peering over Harry’s shoulder to read the text. He’d given him a tight hug, whispering a go get him in Harry’s ear before he was clearing out of the room, leaving Harry alone with the anxiety pooling in his chest and his staggering breaths.

The thing is that, they haven’t really discussed what's about to happen, what’s going to play out once they finally meet. Their feelings are still floating in the open space between them, but he knows on some level that Louis likes him, that he’s as invested in the whatever they could be as Harry is. He knows this isn’t one sided pining anymore, that they’re finally both on the same page. He knows that there’s potentially a relationship in this, a something they’re open to explore. He’s so utterly sure about it, feels it in every cell of his body.

He’s reeled back into reality when there’s a loud knock on the door and Harry shoots up instantly. It’s as if his body is reacting before his mind does because he finds himself on his feet, walking towards the door while a second knock comes through. It’s rapid, a fast beating of knuckles against the door. It’s Louis.

He takes one, two, three steps towards the door before he comes to a halt, just taking a moment to breathe - inhale, exhale - as he stares at the door.

He’s kind of terrified, because it’s been months and a part of him is screaming about how different everything is, screaming as if it’s a bad different, one that’s going to tear them even further apart and ruin the remaining bits that they have. But the more rational part of him, the one that isn’t filled with insecurities and isn’t the darkness flooding through his veins, tells him that this is what he’s wanted for so long. Louis’s standing on the other side of the door, just a piece of wood separating them and suddenly it feels so stupid to be stood here pondering about what might happen when it’s really inevitable now, isn’t it. The story has finally caught up to him and he’s here, in the present with Louis just a few of steps away.

So it’s with his pulse hammering in his ears and shaky fingers that he finally opens the door and is met with a grinning Louis on the other side of it.

He’s got his lips pushed into a thin line, stretching itself across his face, just like he does when he’s trying to supress how big of a smile he’s got on. His eyes are electric blue under the fluorescent lights of the hallway, standing out against the tan he’s acquired while away. He’s got some light stubble as well, letting himself get lazy with it and not shaving. It’s secretly Harry’s favorite look on him, the slight burn of it whenever they touch something he uses to anchor himself down when his head starts spinning too fast around Louis. He looks good. Really good. And Harry realizes all of a sudden just how much he’s missed him. It’s one thing to miss the version of Louis he’s got in his mind, the one with memories attached to them and another one to have him right in front of him, flooding his senses.

“I’ve really missed you,” he voices out loud and watches the smile break out over Louis’s face, his lips finally relaxing and showing his teeth.

“I’ve really missed you too,” Louis replies, an echo of the parting words from their phone call.

They stand there for a few more moments, just staring at each other, time slowing down around them as their eyes stay locked for a couple of loud beats. They both seem to move on their own accord when they come crashing together, finally meeting in the middle, something they’ve been trying to do for so long.

Harry’s arms come to wrap around Louis’s smaller frame, winding them around his waist and clutching hard to the fabric of his shirt. He leans down and nuzzles his head into the juncture of Louis’s neck, resting it there as he let’s himself give in. His shoulders drop and he feels the tension he’s been keeping trapped inside his body slowly seeping out. It flows out of his veins, no longer part of his bloodstream. Louis puts his arms around Harry’s shoulder, nudging their bodies close together until they’re pressed chest to chest, their hearts beating in sync as they stand their with their bodies molded together.

It’s a flicker of a memory of how it used to be, months ago, but Harry thinks that maybe he doesn’t need those memories anymore, not when Louis’s here in his arms again.

“I’m so sorry,” Louis whispers into Harry’s skin, his face pressed into his shoulder. His words are so quiet and intimate, just for Harry.

“I’m sorry too,” he replies, tracing the words onto Louis’s back with the tips of his fingers. He writes them over and over again, hoping that with every curve, with every twist, they’ll sink into his skin and make Louis understand. Understand that he means it with every cell in his body. He fucked up and maybe they both did, but he just hopes that they’ll come out of this with healed battle wounds, instead of the open scars littering their bodies.

When they finally let go, when the suspended moment shatters they stay close, their faces just inches apart. They ease up their grip on the other one, their arms going pliant and loose after the tight hold they’d been in, but their chests stay pressed together, the two of them still in their bubble, still harryandlouis. Louis leans forward and presses his forehead to Harry’s so that they’re still connected from head to toe. They stay like that for another lost minute, just breathing the same air, inhaling and exhaling in the same breath.

“I think we should talk,” Harry murmurs, his voice coming out low, so quiet it’d get lost in any other moment, but Louis’s eyes flutter a bit more awake, signalling he picked up on them and he nods.

“I think we should too.”

So they retract their arms, letting go of the other one as Harry closes the door, giving them the  privacy the moment deserves and they go to to sit down on his bed. They stay close, as if their bodies are magnets, coming together with the force of electricity tying them together. Their knees are pressed against one another and Harry can feel the warmth spilling through Louis’s skin like this. He can pick up on every nervous shake, every twitch of his leg and goes to place his hand on Louis’s thigh, just a light touch to ground him. Louis looks over at the movement and Harry gives him a bright smile in return, watching Louis’s eyes flicker a bit more securely at the gesture, giving him a small smile back.

“So, talk,” Harry says, his face scolded into a serious look and he nods, his eyes locked intently on Louis’s.

Louis laughs in reply, his eyes crinkling together and the sound hitting Harry from how close they’re sitting, washing over him and making him float a bit higher, the effect Louis has on him still there after months and months of being apart. “Talk,” Louis echoes, his mouth twitching into a smile as he speaks.

“I just- I’m sorry,” Harry says and instantly the smile washes of Louis’s face, his features stiffening and the fire in his eyes burning down, sensing that this is serious.

“I know we already said that, but I guess I owe you an apology,” Harry continues, the words coming out slow. He tastes them on the tip of his tongue before he speaks them, tries them out first.

“Harry, no, you don’t owe me anything,” Louis rushes out, shaking his head as he the words spill from his mouth.

“I know, but I feel as if-”

“Honestly. Harry, love,” Louis pauses, making sure Harry’s got his attention pinned on him, their eyes locked together. He looks down quickly, reaches out for Harry’s hand where it’d been lying on his thigh and twines their fingers together. It feels warm, their palms pressed together, tangled into one. Louis gives it a small squeeze and Harry hums in satisfaction. “I’m sorry too and if anything I owe you an apology. What… What you said on the phone, I get it now.”

Harry bumps their shoulders together and Louis looks up at him, a question lingering in his stare. There’s stormy grey nestled into the electric blue of his eyes, calming it somehow and Harry just smiles in return, hoping to settle him. He mouths a small go on and Louis visibly relaxes, his shoulders sagging before he takes a deep breath and continues talking.

“I was scared, terrified and so I just... ran. Because I’m good at that, y’know. I’m good at ignoring my problems and not facing them by running away, so that’s what I did.” Harry nods, urging him to keep going.

“It felt good at first, just seeing all these new places, meeting all these new people, but I guess I kind of figured it out after a while.”

“What’d you figure out?” Harry asks, his voice gentle as he speaks as to not scare Louis away, and it earns him a smile and a squeeze to their clasped hands in return.

“That all of the partying and getting wasted and all of that didn’t really matter because the more I did it, the more superficial it started feeling. Like, I wasn’t getting drunk because I wanted to, I was doing it to dull the pain, I guess.

“Do you remember what I said about running away but your problems still staying behind and waiting for you?” He asks, but it’s not really a question. “I guess that’s what I finally got, like I realized how shitty my actions were, how I kept hurting people, kept hurting you.” He looks away at his last words, as if laying himself so raw, exposing so much of his bones washes over him fully, as if it becomes a bit too much.

“S’okay,” Harry mumbles, leaning down and dropping a small peck to Louis’s shoulder. It lasts a second but he feels the taste of Louis’s skin lingering on his lips afterwards, a faint reminder of how he’s here, how Louis’s here and how they’re finally doing this, finally talking about it and maybe turning themselves into the them they once belonged to.

“Yeah?” Louis asks, looking up at Harry, blinking his eyes a couple of times. He looks small, a bit hopeful as a spark flickers to life in his stare when he pins it on Harry. The corners of his lips twitch into a smile and his face relaxes, a content look painted across it.

“Of course. You know I really do want to apologize, though.”

“Harry, you honestly don’t have to do that,” Louis insists but Harry just shakes his head, nudging their shoulders together once again, shutting him up.

“I just… I just feel as if it’s something I have to do for, y’know, this to work out.” He doesn’t specify but Louis nods as if he understands it, as if the words aren’t as cryptic as Harry’s trying to make them seem.

“Okay,” he mumbles, finally giving in.

Harry gives him a reassuring smile and nods his head, letting a beat pass in silence before he starts. “I was hurt when you left, really hurt. But… I think I was so blinded by that, just feeling sad all the time that I kind of didn’t let myself see things your way. I was so focused on my side of it all that I didn’t think about why you did it, just that you did.” He breaks off and releases the breath that’s been sitting in his chest, closes his eyes and feels the beating of his heart, the warmth trapped between their hands, Louis’s stare still pinned on him and he’s running his thumb soothingly over the knuckles of their clasped hands. Harry looks down on the small gesture and aims a smile at it before he continues.

“I suppose that it’s never fair to pin the blame on just one person and that’s why I won’t just accept your apology without letting you hear mine in return. It’s not a onesided fight, or whatever this was. I didn’t contact you either, Louis, I didn’t reach out either. It wasn’t just you and it wasn’t just me, it was both of us and I think that’s important to acknowledge, for us to realize.” He breaks off and leaves the words hanging in the air, waiting for them to fully sink in before they pick up the thread again and continue their conversation.

A few beats pass, Louis seemingly pondering the words, twisting them around in his mind, searching for a way to utter his thoughts, before he says,“I do… I do get that and I’m so sorry, Harry, I really am, I- I mean we, we fucked up so bad, didn’t we.”

He’s rambling, stumbling over his words in his eagerness to get it all out, his face contorted into a sadness and Harry sees how badly he wants to make him understand, to let him know how much he means it. He nods his head, Louis still spitting out words too fast. To make him stop, Harry shushes him with a tug of his hand, leaning into Louis until their faces are inches apart, so close he can hear Louis’s ragged breathing coming through, feel the flutter of his eyelashes against his cheeks and see when Louis let’s his lips fall open on an exhaled breath.

“I’m sorry too, ” Harry whispers before he finally leans in the last bit and captures Louis’s lips in between his own.

It’s nothing like their first kiss, the one shared in the aftermath of a party, the night fizzling out and just the two of them in the quiet of a lone bedroom. It’d been so gentle them, just the faint brush of lips against lips, a barely there kiss, one that felt like a memory as it was happening. It’s still gentle, still a bit questioning but this feels more final, in a sense. It feels like months and months of wondering and hoping and never letting himself linger on the thought for too long. It feels like it’s all coming full circle, as if they’ve finally reached the part where they belong, where they should be.

Their lips slot together time after time, their bodies moving quickly, wrapping around each other, hands roaming and tracing patterns against their skin. It’s new, it’s exciting and Harry’s never felt like this about kissing anyone before. It’s as if their bodies are so in sync, as if they know just how to move in tune to the other one. Harry places his hand so he can tug at the hairs at the nape of Louis’s neck and then rests it there for a passing beat before he moves it down, his fingers slotting into place between Louis’s shoulder blades. It’s a light touch, but Louis just melts into it, his entire body going pliant as Harry pushes further, their lips coming together in another kiss.

Harry always thought about how they fit, how their bodies were two pieces of the same puzzle, but this is so different. He feels it in his entire body when Louis kisses him, his heartbeat picking up, his fingers urging to touch, to touch more and his lips giving in and giving himself over to Louis. Their mouths slot together so easily, as if they’ve been doing this their entire lives and a spark flickers to life inside him when he realizes that this is the first kiss of many to come, that this isn’t a kiss to drop and let be forgotten like the last one.

After a couple of moments they finally draw back, their lips easing up as they let go. They pant for air, their breathing coming out in quick beats as they try and compose themselves. During the entire time their hands have stayed clasped together and Harry gives them a small squeeze now, a comforting gesture that makes a smile tug at Louis’s lips.

“Hi,” he mumbles, leaning forward and kissing Louis’s nose.

Louis giggles in return, a small sound that makes his chest vibrate, Harry feeling it from how closely they’re pressed together. “Hi,” he replies, a laugh in his voice even after the giggles stop.

“I’m so glad you’re back,” Harry whispers, keeping them locked inside their bubble for another passing moment.

“Me too,” Louis replies, a hint of sadness lingering in his voice but it’s gone when Harry pecks him lightly on the lips. It’s a brief kiss, just a momentary touch, but it seems to ease Louis up nonetheless.

“Can you just… Stay,” Harry finally says, the words exhaled on a breath. They come out as small as he feels speaking them but Louis seems to get it, the two of them on the same wavelength.

“I’ll always stay,” he replies, the words coming out muffled as he leans in again and captures their lips in another kiss, the two of them coming together and Harry feels himself going under, his senses washed over by the storm that is Louis. The words we’re okay go unspoken but he feels them fill him up, heightened every time their bodies touch and with every feeling of skin on skin.

+

“Harry, c’mon just another one!”

“Lou, stop it, you’ve already taken like eight photos in a row, is this really necessary?” His bottom lip juts out into a pout and he raises his eyebrows. He crosses his arms over his chest as he gives Louis a pointed look where he’s stood in front of him, snapping picture after picture with his phone.

“Yes. It’s your bloody graduation, I’m very well going to remember the only one my boyfriend will ever have, so suck it up and smile,” he replies, dismissing Harry with a wave of his hand. He raises his phone again, hissing another smile as Harry drops his arms to his sides and plasters on a big grin, a faint clicking noise heard above the laughter and voices stirring together from the families surrounding them.

The ceremony has just finished and they’re stood outside on the big lawn, Louis playing photographer, capturing Harry and the tree he’s stood in front of from every angle possible. He’s probably got about thirty photos of Harry with the same expression stored in his phone by now, the use for them still unknown.

Louis keeps clicking away, getting in another good five photos before Harry finally gives in and walks over, easily wrestling the phone out of Louis’s small hands.

“Oi, watch it,” Louis shouts, his hands wrapped into fists as he reaches out and starts punching Harry lightly in the stomach.

“Give it up,” Harry says, his tone annoyed but his face fond as he watches Louis huff and push at his shoulders, walking so they’re stood pressed chest to chest. He probably thinks he looks intimidating like this, his face scolded into something tough with his eyebrows furrowed and his lips turned downwards, but he mostly looks like a fluffy kitten. Harry brings his hand up to his hair, running his fingers in between the strands.

“Are you petting me?” Louis asks, stopping his punches and raising an eyebrow at Harry, an amused look on his face.

“Sure, your hair is very fluffy,” he replies, patting Louis lightly on the head once, twice before he lets his hand fall and rest on his lower back.

“I’m not some pet you can adopt, y’know,” Louis mutters back, but it’s muffled by Harry pushing them closer together and nuzzling his face into Louis’s cheek, rubbing it in with his eyes closed. He breathes him in and hums contently.

“Did you just purr?” Louis splutters, the sharp edge of his voice coming out loud from how close they’re pressed together. Harry just gives him another incoherent noise in reply, pressing kisses along Louis’s cheekbones, making his way down to his neck. Above him he can hear Louis start to say something but promptly give in with a small gasp when Harry latches onto the skin behind his ear and sucks. He works it over, his tongue pressing firmly against Louis’s skin, creating a bruise from how hard of a grip he’s got on him.

“Oi, quit the PDA, you’re at a family event!” comes a voice behind then suddenly, shattering their bubble. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Niall,”  shouts Louis. He sounds annoyed, his shoulders tensing up again and Harry laughs as he let’s go and straightens his back. He eases up his grip on Louis, one of his arms sliding down to wrap around his waist and rest on his hip. He gives a small pinch and Louis jumps, obviously startled.

“You’re so disgusting, can’t even keep your hands off each other for two bloody minutes.” Niall shakes his head disapprovingly as he walks over with Zayn and Liam in tow.

Harry just waggles his eyebrows exaggeratedly in response, earning him an eye roll followed by a deep chuckle from Niall. “Fucking ridiculous,” he mutters as they finally make it to where Harry and Louis are stood. He swings an arm around Harry’s shoulders, making him let go of his grip on Louis as he wraps him up in a big hug. Besides him he can hear Louis make a disgruntled noise at the loss of contact but Harry just gives a light laugh, pushing his face into Niall’s neck as he returns the hug by placing his hands on his back.

They hug for a few minutes, Niall mumbling a quiet, “So proud of you, Harry. We did it, didn’t we, we fucking graduated,” into his skin and Harry humming in reply, returning the sentiment just as lowly.

After a while the rest come to join them, Liam plastering himself to Niall’s back at which he squeaks, pushing an elbow into Liam’s ribs, the two of them already bickering. Zayn goes to stand in front of them, placing his arms around their shoulders and Louis walks up behind Harry, his hands coming to rest around his waist.

“Hi,” he mumbles right into Harry’s ear, a smile in his voice as he speaks.

“Love you,” Harry replies, a big grin plastered across his face, dimples pressing craters into his cheeks and his lips stretched wide.

“Love you too,” Louis replies and places a brief kiss to the back of Harry’s neck and rests his head there. He pushes his forehead into Harry’s skin and the strands of his fringe tickle Harry, making him giggle.

He thinks back to how it was a year ago, when it’d been Louis and Zayn graduating instead. He thinks about listening to the names being rattled off the list, playing with the twins, riding the shaky tube with Louis next to him. Thinks about the roof, lying next to Louis, their bodies pressed so close he could feel the burn from wanting to reach out and touch, from wanting to feel the sparks flicker against his skin, but not doing it. He’d loved Louis then, a sharp, cutting kind of love that he never felt would be returned and thinks about how he loves him now, a soft, mellow kind of love, one that’s like the sun setting at the end of the day, painting their spinning worlds shades of pink, shades of orange and how they both flicker and ignite with every touch.

He doesn’t have scars littering his body anymore, invisible cuts that had him bleeding on the inside. He’s got the whole universe with all of it’s burning holes and stars and constellations inside him now, every shade of every color and every storm, every tornado, everything Louis gives him, makes him feel and it’s so much more. The sinking feeling is gone now and replaced with the one of floating, high up above in the sky and maybe that’s enough, he thinks. Maybe that’s all he’ll ever need.