Work Text:
I’m a little dazed and confused
Life’s a bitch and so are you
All my days have turned into nights
‘Cause living without, without, without you in my life
And you wrote the book on how to be a liar
And lose all your friends
Did I mean nothing at all?
Was I just another ghost that’s been in your bed?
February 14th 2016,
The weather forecast on Harry’s phone says that it’s going to be miserable and drizzly today and somehow that feels more appropriate than it probably should. It’s early in the morning and he’s sat up in bed, propped against the pillows, watching the sky turn golden as the sun rises steadily. Every so often Louis snuffles softly beside him, rearranging his limbs and turning his body before dozing off again. There’s a good foot of space between them, just like there has been every night for the past few months, Louis curled up around himself rather than Harry.
Harry lies there for a few more minutes until the sky is glowing pale pink and orange, golden strips of light filling the room, slicing blindingly up the side of his face and across his torso.
It’s barely 7am but with a groan, he pushes himself to his feet, grabbing a pair of boxers from the floor and sliding them up his legs before he pads over to the other side of the room to rifle through the chest of drawers.
He doesn’t have much left to pack up, most of his stuff is already stored away in the boxes stacked in the corner, clothes and toiletries and non-essentials. He’s moving out for good on Wednesday and he’s struggling not to see it as a definitive end rather than just a break, like Louis had said.
It’d started in November, the fighting, right after the last tour had finished. They’d been pulled into one of those meetings a few days after getting back to London, one of those mandatory Management ones that they all dread more than the plague.
Overall the meeting had been good, really good. They’d been told that as long as they lay low they could do pretty much what they wanted together, going out, Tweeting, anything that wasn’t too full on and they’d be fine.
Harry’d been thrilled, on the phone to his mum as soon as they were out of the office block, giddy as he told her that he and Louis would finally be able to leave the house together again and do things as harryandlouis rather than Harry without Louis, about how excited he was for them just to go grocery shopping with each other without having to pretend they’d never met.
Louis’ hadn’t been so excited.
He’d been quiet and dismissive, just shrugging and keeping his eyes focused on the outside world speeding past them when Harry had suggested going out for a celebratory lunch. It’s been four months now and Harry still doesn’t know what’s wrong, can’t even mention it without Louis closing up even more and shutting him out completely for days on end until he’s sure the topic has passed.
This isn’t a break for them, Harry knows that. He knows, beyond anything else, that once he’s out the front door in three days he won’t be coming back. His new apartment is on the other side of town and he’s been methodical, careful not to forget anything when he’s been packing so that he won’t have to make any awkward trips back here to collect forgotten belongings.
He doesn’t know how he’s managed to mess this up so bad, how everything has gone so horribly incredibly wrong that the end result is him not only losing his best friend but his soulmate, his husband, the one person he can’t imagine life without. Sure, he loves his family to death but he doesn’t see them enough these days for it to impact him, he could never see them again and it wouldn’t change his life that much. If he had to, he could even live without ever seeing the boys again. But Louis, Louis is different.
Louis is the first thing he sees when he wakes up, the last thing he sees when he closes his eyes at night. Louis is his light and his moon and his stars and his sun, hell, Louis is his entire universe and Harry can feel him slipping further and further through his fingers with every breath that doesn’t pass over his skin, every brush of his lips that doesn’t touch Harry’s, every time they pass and Harry sees him jerk his hand back instead of letting it linger on Harry’s like it used to.
He’s quiet getting dressed, careful not to disturb Louis any more than he so obviously has these past few months, and makes his side of the bed around him, well aware that it’s a futile effort with the amount that Louis moves around.
He doesn’t wait for Louis before he heads downstairs to make breakfast, sparing him only a fleeting glance, and he pretends he doesn’t see him pressing his face into Harry’s pillow as he lets the door snick shut behind him.
-x-
April 5th 2016,
The divorce papers come by special delivery on a Tuesday. Harry’s playing Fifa with Liam in the tiny living room of his new apartment when he hears the letter box rattle. He already knows, even before he’s opened up the big manila envelope the postman gives him, what it is.
He doesn’t make it back to the sofa before his legs give out and he collapses, fingers shaking around the paper, wracking sobs spilling from his lips. Liam’s there, bundling him up into his arms right away, prising the forms from his fingers and holding his hands, clasping them between one of his own as he cradles Harry into his chest, lets him cry until Liam’s shirt is more water than fabric and the sky outside has gone dark, the only light in the tiny room coming from the standby screen on the TV.
Eventually Harry stops crying, eyes slipping shut as he falls asleep instead, still slumped like a dead weight against Liam’s chest and only then does Liam let a few tears of his own fall, head tight, throat seized up, and all he wants to do is scream. Scream at Harry telling him it’s not his fault, that he couldn’t have loved Louis any harder if he tried, scream at Louis for being such an insensitive prick, for ruining them all the way he has, scream at nothing and everything, just scream and scream until his lungs collapse and body doesn’t work anymore.
Instead he manoeuvres Harry into some semblance of a bridal position and carries him through to the bedroom, lays him down on the bed before he peels his jeans down his legs and tucks him under the duvet. He finds a washcloth in the bathroom and wets it before carrying it into the bedroom to wipe down Harry’s face, cleaning up his blotchy cheeks as best he can and he tries to ignore the way his heart aches when Harry tries to curl up around him where he’s knelt on the bed beside him.
He finds the papers still lying on the floor in the living room, picks them up as he passes on his way to boil the kettle. Only seven or eight pages, that’s all it takes. All it takes to destroy something that it’s taken so long to achieve, seven or eight pages to cause so much destruction and devastation and misery.
I, Louis Tomlinson, apply for a divorce in respect of my marriage and give the following details in support of my application.
Liam doesn’t make it past the second page, not properly. He skims it, can see Louis’ scribble but he isn’t reading it. None of the big boxes are filled in anyway, just his basic details, the stuff that any of them could recite off the top of their heads; full name, address, date of birth.
There are a few pencilled crosses dotted about, bits for Harry to fill in and sign and if Liam was stronger maybe he would rip it up, take it home and shred it, set it on fire, anything to stop Harry having to go through this, to stop him from losing the one thing he needs the most in his life. But he isn’t, he isn’t and he never will be so he just slips them back inside the envelope and pours his tea, strong and black, bitter because he doesn’t feel like he deserves to enjoy it.
He texts Sophia to let her know he isn’t coming home and grabs a couple of blankets from the airing cupboard in the hall way before settling down on the sofa for the night. He makes it through half an apple before he’s rushing into the kitchen and heaving into the sink, doesn’t stop until it feels like his insides are burning and he’s going to die. He kind of hopes Louis feels the same way, wherever he is.
He doesn’t know what time it is when he wakes up to the sound of Harry crying in the next room and he doesn’t know what to do for the best. He lies there, torn between helping Harry and pretending to be asleep for what feels like hours before he finally grabs his phone from the coffee table.
I hope you’re fucking happy is all he sends to Louis but he doesn’t wait for a response before he’s climbing into bed beside Harry.
-x-
August 24th 2016,
All the websites say that the date for the court hearing should arrive a couple of months after the forms are submitted. Zayn said that sometimes it takes longer if you have kids, like Rebecca did, which makes sense Harry thinks, except they don’t have any children and it’s been almost five months since Harry signed the papers for Louis to submit.
“Think divorce courts are always busy,” Liam tells him, peering into the fridge.
“That’s sad,” Harry pouts, pulling his hands up inside the sleeves of his jumpers as he shuffles across the tiles to press himself against Liam, wrapping his arms around his middle and tucking his face into his neck as he sorts through the sparse contents of Harry’s fridge.
“You need to go shopping,” He says, prising Harry off of him as he grabs the last few eggs from the basket. “Omelette okay?”
Harry hums, pulling out one of the dining room chairs and sitting on it. “Guess so, if you make me a cuppa too.” And then, “Please,” When Liam raises an eyebrow at him.
“Look, Haz, you need to stop worrying.” Liam says, flicking the kettle on as he grabs Harry’s big giraffe mug from the cupboard and throws a tea bag into the bottom. “I know it’s hard and weird and obviously not what you want but the papers are signed and it’s under way, nothing much else you can do about it now I’m afraid, love.”
Harry sighs, resting his cheek against his fist as he scrapes at the table top with his nail. “I know, I’m sorry.”
“Shut up,” Liam laughs, putting Harry’s mug in front of him and dropping a kiss to the top of his head. “There aren’t many twenty two year olds that have to go what you’re going through and, if it makes any difference, I think you’re handling it all quite marvellously.”
Harry snorts, swirling a finger around in his tea, wincing when it burns him but not stopping. “You have to say that, you’re my best mate.”
“No I don’t,” Liam says, cracking a couple of eggs into a frying pan. “If it wasn’t true, I wouldn’t say it. No point pussy footing around, is there? When Zayn broke up with that girl he was dating a few years ago and didn’t get out of bed for a month I broke into his house and gave him an hour long lecture on the merits of showers and clean bedding.” Harry snorts at that and some tea comes out of his nose and Liam can’t help but smile before he continues. “Look, all I’m saying is that not a lot of people deal this well with these situations and I’m proud of you for it, we all are; me, Ni, Zayn, the rest of the crew, your parents. God, Harry none of us saw this coming, never mind you and we all just love you a whole lot, okay.”
He nods, bringing his tea up to his mouth and blowing on it, ripples spreading slowly across the surface of it like a pond on a windy day.
Love is a lot like ripples, Liam thinks. Starts off strong and tight and unbreakable and beautiful but then it spreads, and you have to start loving other things instead of just your one thing. It gets diluted and weaker and messy, fading out into eventual nothingness and just like when you drop a pebble into a lake, the harder you fall the bigger the ripples, the sharper the pain.
Harry is still rippling, still bobbing alone in the water, being dragged along by the current, watching as Louis floats away peacefully.
-x-
September 9th 2016,
The first day of tour rehearsals is the first time Harry gets to see everyone together again since the incident and he relishes in it; relishes in their company, in the four of them being able to sit together and just talk again like best friends.
He’d stopped off at Tesco on his way in to buy them some sandwiches and when they sit on the floor, knees pressed together as he starts to hand out the food, it kind of feels a bit like the old days. Back when they were all joined at the hip, too scared to do anything without everyone else there to do it too, back when everything was easy.
“So, um,” Zayn starts with a cough, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth before he continues. “Do you even know where Louis is?” He asks.
Harry shakes his head and Liam says no just as Niall chips in with “Fiji,” and three pairs of eyes turn to look at him.
“What?” He asks around a mouthful of bread.
“How do you even know that?” Harry asks, only slightly aware of the way Zayn’s gaze shifts to rest on his face instead of Niall’s.
Niall just shrugs, taking another bite before he sputters “’e texted me last week.”
Zayn rolls his eyes, brushing some crumbs off his thigh before pulling open a bag of crisps. “Texted me and Li’ too but he didn’t mention shit about fucking Fiji.”
“Language,” Harry mumbles.
“Probably because he knew you’d worry, like y’are now.” Niall points out and, if Zayn disagrees, he doesn’t mention it.
Liam just nods and Harry says “Probably for the best,” just as the door bangs open and a couple of backstage crew members are carrying some boxes into the rehearsal space.
Without Louis it’s weirdly quiet; no one running around causing a ruckus, switching around important pieces of equipment and knocking over clothing racks and just generally trying to fuck everything up. It’s kind of nice but not really in a good way.
In the months Harry has been without Louis he’s more or less managed to adjust to his new way of life but it’s still weird coming home to an empty house and going to bed alone, it’s still weird going all day without funny little texts or loving phone calls, it’s even weirder that they manage to get through a whole day of rehearsals without having to stop because Louis is pissing about and interrupting people by throwing empty water bottles at them or trying to pull Liam’s trousers down in the middle of a song. Harry doesn’t think it will ever stop being weird in some way or another.
It’s late when they finally get finished, about 10:30, so almost all the fans that were waiting outside earlier in the day have dispersed, only the usual few waiting outside in the pitch black darkness. The four of them stop and pose for a few photos, strategically dodging any and all questions about Louis in a way they hope isn’t too suspicious.
Kevin, their new driver, has been waiting in the minivan for a while now so it’s warm and toasty when they all pile in through the door; the four of them squishing up onto the three seats in the back, well wedged enough to avoid having to fumble around with seatbelts.
“Where to tonight, lads?” Kevin asks softly.
Harry is always surprised when he hears him speak; no matter how many times he does he never expects a man of such size to be so quietly spoken but it’s nice, kind of homely. He’s from up north, Harry had found out the day after he started driving for them, Barnsley to be specific, so he sounds a bit like Louis.
He tries not to think too much about that and instead, lets his eyes flutter shut and mumbles “Niall’s house,” into Zayn’s neck.
They hadn’t talked about it but it’s been their tradition ever since they had their first run through of The X Factor tour all those years back, to go back to Niall’s house and pig out on as much junk food as they can get their hands on before falling asleep mostly comatose and worn out, and just because they’re missing a member right now doesn’t mean everything has to go to shit.
Liam had said a while ago that keeping as much of his routine as possible the same would probably help him. Harry thinks he was right.
-x-
October 6th 2016,
It’s been six months and Harry still doesn’t have a court date.
-x-
November 21st 2016,
Louis doesn’t start coming to rehearsals until a month before tour is due to start. Harry see’s him for the first time on the coldest Monday they’ve had all year and he can’t breathe.
His cheeks are flushed pink from the icy wind outside and there’s a pale green scarf bundled up around his neck. Harry’s old brown coat is stretched across his back, the sleeves still slipping just past his fingertips, and Harry can’t decide if he’s wearing it on purpose or if it’s one of those items of clothing that they put into the mutually agreed sharing pile along with his second favourite Rolling Stones shirt and his grey hoodie with the tiny cat embroidered into the bottom corner.
Harry watches as he pulls the coat tightly around his body before ducking inside, offering a small wave to the little gathering of fans first but not looking around.
He manages to make it over to his usual parking spot in the back corner, the one mostly enclosed by bushes, before starting to cry; angry tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, head falling against the steering wheel of his Range Rover.
It’s over quick and Harry’s grateful that it’s still early enough that it’s fairly dark outside. He quickly scrubs the back of his hand over his cheeks and braces the cold outside, the thin material of his t-shirt not doing much to keep the chill out, but he offers the girls a cheery wave nonetheless before shouldering his way through the double doors of their rehearsal space.
Louis is sat on the front of the stage when Harry gets inside, legs swinging back and forth as he stares at his hands, resolutely not looking at anything else so Harry ignores the way Liam’s shoulders are shaking and pretends he can’t hear what he’s hissing at Louis.
They both turn to look at him when the door bangs shut behind him and he offers them both a smile as he rubs at his arms, trying to warm himself up a little. “Morning,” He says, wincing at the volume of his own voice in the hollow room.
“Heaters on if you wanna warm up.” Liam tells him, gesturing to somewhere in the far corner of the room before turning back to Louis, quieter than before in the way he scolds him but still loud enough to hear.
Louis looks tiny and timid cowering below Liam and Harry’s only ever seen him like that once before in all the years he’s known him. It’d been Liam yelling at him then, too. Back when they were still in the X Factor house and him and Zayn had replaced someone’s shampoo with hair removal cream, Harry can’t even remember who the victim was anymore, but Liam had been so mad with him, screamed at the two of them until his voice gave out and he started crying himself before bundling the two of them into a hug, mumbling his apology into Zayn’s shoulder as the three of them had cried.
Louis isn’t crying this time but it still doesn’t look like Liam wants to apologise.
It’s another twenty minutes before Niall arrives, closely followed by Zayn, so Harry’s managed to get through another four and a half chapters of his book. It’s a marriage counselling one that he found lingering on a dusty shelf at the back of a bookshop in Germany a few years ago, back when everything was okay and he wanted it to stay that way. He still likes to read it now and then, just to prove to himself that he couldn’t have done any more if he’d tried.
Rehearsals go unnervingly smoothly and, if it wasn’t for his wavy vocals periodically cutting through the speakers, Harry might have forgotten that Louis had come back. There’s no shrieking and yelling, no half empty water bottle flying through the air, no one palming Harry through his jeans half way through a song just to try and put him off, no reason to make a double lunch or bring an extra water bottle.
Harry could probably get used to it but he’s not sure he wants to.
-x-
November 23rd 2016,
There’s barely an inch of space between them and all Harry can feel is Louis Louis Louis. Louis’ skin pressed up against his, sweat slick and shiny, hot all over wherever they’re touching, even hotter where they’re not, Louis hands touching him all over, Louis loving him. He’s looking down at him with these hungry eyes and Harry thinks that he’d probably give Louis anything he wanted right now, anything at all.
His chest is flush, spreading up his neck and into his cheeks, pink and rosy as his breath falls out in rough pants, hands skirting up the side of Harry’s ribs, dangerously close to tickling. “Want you,” He whispers as he leans close to Harry’s face, whispers it like a secret just for the two of them. “Never ever stopped wanting you.”
Harry groans, threading his fingers through the short hairs at the back of Louis’ neck, tugging until his eyes flit up to meet Harry’s. “Me neither,” He says out loud, words slicing through ragged breaths and the swipe of slick skin, says it out loud because he isn’t afraid, he’s lost Louis once and he won’t let it happen again.
He grins as Louis pushes forward, pressing their lips together to kiss him roughly, kiss him like Harry is his life blood and he’s dying, kiss him like he’s never been kissed before and Harry thinks he might be in heaven. They kiss until they aren’t any more and Harry frowns, watches as Louis sits back and wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, brushing away all traces of Harry from his lips, and climbs off him. He watches, brows furrowed as Louis gets dressed in clothes Harry’s never seen before and walks to the door, pulling it open as he turns to Harry and says “I never loved you,” before leaving.
Harry wakes up screaming.
-x-
December 13th 2016,
Anne comes to visit Harry a week before he leaves for Australia. He’s in the middle of sorting through every t-shirt he owns when the bell goes and he doesn’t bother putting down the one fisted in his hand before he heads to the door.
“Hey, baby,” Anne coos, bundling Harry up in her arms as soon as she catches sight of him, holding onto him tightly like she’s worried he isn’t real. Sometimes he doesn’t feel it.
“Hi mum,” He says, voice muffled into her shoulder. “How are you?”
She pulls back, smiling sadly at him as she swipes the pad of her thumb under his eye. “I’m fine, love. What about you? How are you holding up? Shall I make tea?”
Harry nods, dropping his arms from where they’re wrapped around her body, before heading back towards his bedroom, shouting back to Anne to tell her he’s just going to finish packing, that he’ll only be five minutes.
When he gets back out into the living room Anne is perched on the edge of the sofa, fingering through a pile of photos that’s spread out atop the coffee table. Harry’s breath catches in his throat when he realises what they are and he stumbles a little, hip banging into the hallway wall. “What’re,” He coughs. “What’re you doing?” He asks, smiling weakly as Anne holds out his tea to him and pats the space beside her on the sofa.
“When me and your dad split up,” She starts, gesturing for Harry to shuffle closer and then putting her arm around his shoulders when he does. “When we broke up, a friend of mine told me to go through every photo I had of him; of us. She said that I should sort them into two piles, good memories and bad memories. So I did. There were hundreds of good memory ones, all the ones that I still have, in that box in the living room behind the TV. But there were only two bad memory ones – one taken a few hours before I found out he was leaving and another right before he had his motorbike accident.”
“How is this meant to help me?” Harry asks, taking a sip of his hot tea.
“Because that’s what we’re going to do now. We’re going to go through every photo you have of Louis and were going to talk about them and by the end of the day you’re going to have a pile of amazing memories that you can remember your time with Louis by.”
“And the rest?”
Anne shrugs, a small smile on her lips. “Well, that’s up to you. We can either get rid of them – bin them, burn them, whatever. Or you can keep them. Put them somewhere else for the days you want to remember what a little shit he was to you.”
Harry nods blankly, staring at the photos for a moment before saying, “Can I get the vodka before we start?”
-x-
December 14th 2016,
They finally finish sorting through the photos at 10pm. There was probably about 2000, Harry reckons, because both him and Louis have always been the kind of massive saps who liked to get photos printed out properly just in case anything happened to their phones, so that they’d still have them around to show the grandkids. He smiles sadly at the thought.
Everything is sorted into three piles, the biggest one; good memories. There’s all sorts in there really, photos of them at the beginning of X Factor; in their room sprawled out in their bunk, up on the stage, with the other boys, feeling like they owned the world. There’s ones in there from every single tour they’ve been on; ones of them cuddling back stage after the last show of their Up All Night tour and ones of them pulling faces in a photo booth somewhere in America on one of their days off during Take Me Home. Even some one of them in bed when they were doing the Where We Are tour, the first hotel they’d stayed in for months after being cooped up on the bus, when they hadn’t gotten out of bed for three days straight.
There’s some of them on the beach with Louis’ family and some of them at Anne and Robin’s wedding. Photos of them on the carousel at a carnival in Paris, where Louis had taken him for their two year anniversary, and photos of them at the top of some mountain in Italy where Harry’d dragged them both on a hike.
The second pile is smaller, his all-time favourites. There’s only a handful in there and most of them are from their own wedding, photos taken by the boys throughout the day – of them cutting the cake and of them slow dancing, of them saying their vows and chatting over dinner. All of them special in their own way.
There’s only one photo in the last pile, the bad memories pile, and Harry doesn’t even think it counts as a bad memory. The ones his mum had described had all been directly linked to the bad event, had been taken right before but this one, this one happened years before. It’s the first ever picture of them together, taken the day of their auditions, the two of them in a carpark somewhere, arms around each other’s shoulders as they’d grinned into the lens, eyes sparkling with happiness and hope. It’s probably one of Harry’s all-time favourite photos ever, makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside whenever he even thinks about it.
It makes him think of how much he loves Louis, how he’s loved him fiercely since the first time he met him, he’s certain of it now even if he wasn’t then.
He doesn’t rip it up or burn it or any of the things his mum suggested. Instead he props it up in the centre of the mantel piece and walks slowly to the bathroom before retching into the bowl until he can’t feel his lungs.
-x-
December 19th 2016,
They’re set to play three days in Australia before they fly home again for Christmas; Sydney, Melbourne, Perth. It’s hot when Harry steps off the plane, heat enveloping his entire body as he walks to the van, carry bag slung over his shoulder, shirt already starting to stick to his sweaty back.
It’s not a long drive to the hotel, only a good ten or fifteen minutes but the back of the van is hot, air con doing nothing to cool his skin, and he’s uncomfortable for the whole drive, pressed up between Zayn and Liam as he listens to Niall chatting animatedly to Louis behind them. They’re talking about last time they were here, the stuff they’d done together, and Harry only chips in to correct them on a fact about Sydney Opera House.
The hotel is nice but the bed is far too big, cold and spacious without Louis but Harry tries not to think about it. He’d turned down the offer to bunk with Liam, shaking his head when he’d asked. He doesn’t want pity anymore and he’s slept alone enough to be used to it now.
Niall texts Harry to say that he needs to be on the bus by 4:00 so that they can get to the stadium and get everything checked over before the show starts so he doesn’t bother having a bath like he’d planned. Instead he stands under the shower spray for a good half hour having a long wank and then tries to convince himself he isn’t thinking about the way Louis looked all sweaty and tousled in the back of the van when he cums.
-x-
December 21st 2016,
Harry is always sad to leave Australia. The fans are always lovely and the weather even better but this year he’s looking forward to going home. The last two shows have been good but everything has been stilted. He’s still been interacting with Louis a little, has to so that the fans don’t suspect anything, but it’s weird and uncomfortable and he can tell Louis wants it even less than he does.
It’s less than an hour till show time, the support act having just taken to the stage, when Louis confronts him. Harry’s half way through his mango when a shoe smacks him in the thigh.
“Ouch,” He whines, dropping his mango onto the table to rub at his leg. “What was that for?”
“I’ve had enough of this.” Louis yells.
Harry’s brows furrow. “Enough of what?”
Louis groans, shrieking at him before flinging the other shoe at his head and storming out of the room.
Picking up his last bit of mango Harry glances around the room, watching as everyone else shakes their heads in the same mild confusion as Harry.
“Not a clue mate, sorry.” Zayn says without looking up from his book. “He’ll be in the break room though if you wanna ask him.”
Harry nods, mainly to himself, and picks up the shoe Louis threw at him, putting it on the table before heading next door.
Louis is sat at the table in the middle of the room, writing something in Harry’s journal. “How did you get that?” He asks.
“Why did you write this?” Louis demands, dropping the pencil onto the table and ignoring the way it clatters to the floor in lieu of thrusting the journal across the table towards Harry.
Harry squeezes his eyes shut before he has time to read the words scrawled across the paper. He already knows what it is.
“Dear Louis, I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you wanted,” He reads. “I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough for you and I’m sorry I didn’t love you the way you needed me to. I’m sorry I couldn’t fix it. I’m sorry-”
“STOP,” Harry yells. “Stop it, stop that, stop.” He yells, sobs spilling from his lips as he snatches the book from Louis’ limp grasp. “That wasn’t meant for you. Well, I mean. It was but you were never supposed to read it. This book is private, Louis. You know that.” He hisses, frowning at the taste of salty tears on his lips when he licks them. “You know that this book is the only secret I’ve ever kept from you in my entire life and you know you weren’t allowed to look in here. What the fuck, Louis. I trusted you.”
Louis nods, his expression blank and steely. “Alright, I won’t touch it again then. See you on stage.”
Harry waits until he’s closed the door behind him to start screaming, tipping over the chairs and cursing Louis through the door, yelling profanities and insults until his throat is raw and he can’ t breath through his tears.
He doesn’t touch his journal where it’s left open on the table, instead lying down on the leather sofa on the corner and curling up as tightly as he can.
They do the final Australian show without him telling the fans that he’s too unwell to get out of bed but they don’t expect him to have left the country when they come off stage.
-x-
December 22nd 2016,
He buys Zayn some fancy cigars when his flight stops off in Dubai and picks up some weird Duty Free aftershave he’s never heard of for Liam. He gets Niall some chocolate but he doesn’t answer any of their texts.
-x-
December 23 rd 2016,
Harry finds the journal later that evening while he's unpacking, hidden between two t-shirts and he almost just tosses it onto the bed until he remembers. He scrabbles to grab a hold of it, flicking through the pages as quickly as he can until he finds the one Louis had been writing on, sinking down against the wall as his eyes skim over the messy words, all his breath leaving his lungs as he reads it over and over again before he screams, loud and high in his throat before flinging the book as far as he can, letting out a dry sob when it collides with the wall.
You'll always be what I want.
-x-
December 26th 2016,
Christmas is miserable and lonely and Harry doesn’t ever want to do it without Louis again.
-x-
December 28th 2016,
Harry flies straight to LA after Christmas and doesn’t come home to see Louis kiss someone else at Niall’s New Year party.
-x-
January 7th 2017,
The European leg of the tour starts in Brussels and Harry is struggling not to associate every single thing they do with Louis. Zayn suggests they spend their day off at the Comic Strip Centre instead of going shopping like Niall had offered so the five of them bundle up in their winter jumpers and catch the train early in the morning. They stop off at a little café around the corner for breakfast and Harry tries his best not to stare at the way Louis eats his toast.
The day goes quickly and, by the time they’ve gotten the whole way round everything everyone wants to look at, its nearing 5:00 and the sky outside is dark. Harry doesn’t know who it is, but someone suggests getting some food, making the most of their anonymity while they can so they find a quaint pizza place a few streets away from the hotel they’re booked into for the night.
It’s warm inside, almost every table full, but the staff manage to squeeze the five of them onto a table in the back corner. Harry doesn’t expect Louis to shove Zayn out of the way and sit next to him, but he does, and he definitely doesn’t expect it when Louis shuffles his chair closer and offers Harry his menu to share.
They get a half and half pepperoni and Hawaiian and Harry can’t remember the last time he had so much fun.
-x-
January 10th 2017,
Louis starts speaking to him like he’s a normal human being when they leave Austria, sitting himself next to Harry when they travel and making small talk with him about the new songs he put on his iPod when they were at the hotel last night, even going as far as to ask if he can have a headphone to listen with him.
It’s not much but it’s a start.
-x-
February 6th 2017,
It’s been ten months and Harry still doesn’t have a court date.
-x-
February 8th 2017,
They cover Austria, Belgium, Denmark and Norway in the first month of the tour and it’s wonderful. Louis surprises him by swapping rooms with Liam for the night when they arrive in Finland and the two of them spend the whole day watching movies in bed.
They manage to get through all three of the Godfather films and half way through the newest Harry Potter before Harry starts to yawn, rubbing at his eyes before he slips under the covers, pulling them up to his chin as he settles against the pillows.
“Do you wanna sleep?” Louis asks. “Should I turn it off?”
Harry doesn’t answer, instead, lets his head drop to the side so he can look at Louis as he says “Why did you swap rooms with Liam?”
Louis doesn’t answer straight away but he doesn’t look away either.
“Missed you,” He finally says a few minutes later, quiet and fragile.
Harry hums pensively, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling as his eyes slip shut. He lies there, listening as Louis slips out of bed and gets undressed, jumping a little as the orange glow behind his eyes lids turns black when he switches the light off.
He waits until he hears Louis get back under the covers to get up and undressed himself, folding his clothes back into his suitcase and brushing his teeth in the little bathroom they have to share.
It’s pitch black when he turns off the bathroom light and he has to feel his way back over to the bed, only tripping over one pair of Louis’ shoes on the way.
They’re silent for a long while and Harry is certain Louis’ already asleep until he says “Night, Haz.” sounding nervous and fragile and eighteen again.
Harry smiles to himself as he says “G’night, Louis.” and glances over at him through the dark.
They may fall asleep in separate beds that night but there isn’t a wall between them so Harry counts it as a success.
-x-
February 11th 2017,
They leave Sweden late on a Friday night and arrive in Paris when it’s barely turned Saturday.
Harry doesn’t say anything this time when Louis slips into his hotel room behind him.
-x-
February 12th 2017,
Louis shows up while Harry is having his hair French braided by Lux. He asks Harry if he wants to go to dinner with him on Tuesday and Lux says yes for him before Harry can even open his mouth, giggling as she slaps her little hand against his cheek. Harry smiles at him and nods and then Louis says great and walks away.
They don’t have a show that night.
-x-
February 13th 2017,
“Why aren’t I divorced yet?” Is the first thing Harry says when he gets to his bedroom.
“Good evening to you too,” Liam says, watching as Harry plants himself onto the mattress beside his own. “Good day?”
“I’m serious, Liam,” He huffs, voice muffled by the quilt. “Louis tells you things like that, did he say anything?” He flops over onto his back and starfishes across the bed, wriggling his feet until he manages to shake his boots off, wincing when they hit the floor with a thud.
Liam doesn’t reply for a few minutes and Harry watches as his eyes skim over the bottom of the page he’s on and then he turns it, dog-earing the corner before setting it down on the little shelf next to his bed. “If I tell you then you and Louis will both want to kill me so I’m staying quiet this time.”
“What the fuck, Liam, you have to tell me!”
“I don’t and I won’t,” He says, pushing himself off the bed and heading over to the wardrobe to grab a towel before he goes into the bathroom. “I promised Louis I wouldn’t; this is between you and him – why don’t you ask him when you go out for dinner tomorrow?” Liam shouts through the bathroom door and then Harry hears him mutter oh shit before the door opens again. “Harry-”
“Did you tell him to ask me out to dinner?” Harry spits, narrowing his eyes at Liam from where he’s still perched on the bed. “Did you? Is this what this whole thing is about? You playing agony aunt so that you can fix me and Louis and protect your precious band? Huh? Do you not care about me at all?”
“Harry, listen-”
He shakes his head. “No, Liam. You listen – I’m not some play thing for you to control, this isn’t a game. You can’t try and make me do whatever you want just so that your life works out the way you want. That’s not how it works. I thought I could trust you.”
“Haz, Harry, please. It wasn’t me,” Liam begs, dropping to his knees at the edge of Harry’s bed, taking hold of his hands in his own. “I swear Harry; it was all Louis’ idea. He asked me if he could, Haz, he asked me for permission like I was your fucking dad and he was asking for your hand in marriage. Jesus, Harry he was terrified, he was convinced you’d say no, please believe me.” He takes a deep breath, scrubbing a hand over his face before saying, “Please go to dinner with Louis.”
He sits there for what feels like a life time, staring at the wall behind Liam’s head, counting the ridges in the crows foot on the wall before giving Liam a small nod, giggling when he surges forward to wrap him in a hug, knocking him back onto the bed.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” He mumbles into Harry’s ear and Harry prays Liam can’t feel the way his heart is jack rabbiting in his chest.
-x-
February 14th 2017,
Harry agrees to meet Louis at La Tour d’Argent at 7:30. They’d driven past it on the way here and it looks like the kind of place Harry has come to expect from Louis these days; expensive enough to be reasonably posh but not too much that it’s intimidating and suffocating.
Louis is already at their table when he arrives, a quaint little one in the back corner, surrounded by windows so that wherever he looks there’s breath taking views right out over Paris, the Eiffel Tower where Louis had proposed right on the horizon.
As the waiter leads him over, Louis stands, hands clasped in front of him as he sways a little on his heels and Harry is glad that he seems to be just as nervous as Harry is.
“Hi,” Louis whispers, wrapping his arms hesitantly around Harry shoulders before pulling back and gesturing for him to sit down.
“This place is amazing,” Harry breathes out, glancing around. The ceilings are high and white wash, intricate renaissance detailing lacing the walls, plush carpets under their feet. There’s a string quartet in the corner playing something soft and there are waiters floating around in tuxes and dress shirts. “How did you even find this place?” He asks, sipping at the flute of champagne he was handed as he entered.
Louis shrugs, shy smile on his lips as he fiddles with the edge of the table cloth. “Had the boys help me a few days ago, thought I should do this somewhere nice.”
Harry frowns, eyebrows furrowing as he says, “Do what?”
Smiling, Louis picks up his napkin and spreads it across his thighs, smoothing it out with his palms before he finally meets Harry’s eye for the first time since he arrived. “I owe you an explanation.”
He watches as Louis swallows around empty air, clenching and unclenching his fists before setting his hands face down on the table. “First of all, I’m sorry,” He says, eyes not wavering from Harry’s face. “I know it’s late and it’s dumb and I don’t expect you to take it seriously never mind accept it but, before I tell you all of-” He gestures his hands. “This, you need to know how genuinely sorry I am. I never meant for any of this to go so far and for that I really am truly sorry.”
Harry nods, gulping down some more champagne.
“So, remember when we had that meeting, last year after tour?” He asks, waiting for Harry to agree before he continues. “Well, when we were in the car on the way there I, god this sounds so dumb, but there was this family. I saw them, you probably didn’t but, these two guys and they had all these children with them and god, they looked so happy, so, so happy and I just. I couldn’t imagine us ever being like that, yano. I know, I know I always said I wanted kids and a family, the whole hog, but right then, in that moment I just couldn’t see that ever being us. I couldn’t see us being that happy.”
Harry doesn’t say anything, just lets out a shaky breath and tries not to cry when he sees Louis open his mouth to say more.
“And then after we got out of there, and you were so excited just to be able to be out together in public I just didn’t get it. How you could be so happy with such a shitty compromise like, Harry we’ve been together for what, six years now and we’re still no closer to being able to live like we want but yano what? I don’t care.”
Harry sputters, cheeks flushing as a few people turn to look at him but all he can concentrate on is Louis. “What?”
Grinning, Louis says “I don’t care. Harry, I love you. I’ve always loved you and I never plan on not loving you. This last year has been hands down the shittiest of my life, and I know it was my fault but I realised something that first day I saw you at rehearsals again. When we were together I was so scared of disappointing you, Harry. I was so terrified that in a few years you would realise what a shitty person I am and leave, that you would realise I wasn’t what you wanted, but now I know. As conceited as it sounds, I realised then that I make you happy. I could see how sad you were, all the boys said it too and it took me a long time, I’m still not 100% with it now, but I realised that you could have left a long time ago. That if you didn’t want to be here you wouldn’t and that has to mean something, right?”
Chuckling, Harry reaches out to take Louis’ hands in his own. “Love, that means everything. You mean everything, this, us. We mean everything, Lou. The dream team, right?”
Louis laughs wetly, pulling one of his hands free to wipe at his eyes as he nods.
This past year has been torture for Harry, and for Louis too he’s sure, but one thing he knows is that they’ll be okay. It means something to him that Louis has apologised and it means something to him that he never took his wedding ring off. It means something to him when he stands up and pulls Harry into a bone crushing hug and it means something when he kisses him properly for the first time in almost a year.
But the thing that means most to him is that he’s here and so is Louis and he knows that’s the way it will always be.
-x-
April 6th 2017,
It’s been a year and Harry doesn’t need a court date anymore.