Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Harry, save me,” Louis groans from where he’s sprawled out on the floor, limbs starfished as he lies in an ocean of text books.

“Stop being so dramatic,” Harry says without averting his look from his own textbook, shutting up Louis’s incoherent whines by grabbing the nearest pillow off the bed and throwing it at him. He keeps his focus on the paragraph he’s reading, circling some words he needs to go back to, but hears the distinctive sound of the pillow landing. It’s followed by a string of muttered curses spilling through the room in Louis’s high voice.

“ Fucking twat ,” Louis hisses at him and flings the pillow in the general direction of where Harry’s perched on the bed to his right. The pillow makes it halfway to its target before it falls onto the floor again. Louis groans and kicks his foot out, hitting  the pillow and watching it bounce closer to the bed before he crawls up on his elbows and leans back on them. “I’m a drama major, what am I supposed to be if not dramatic.”

“Well you sure live up to it,” Harry says, still only paying half a mind to the conversation occurring.

Louis’s reply comes in the form of a deep sigh, his chest deflating as he slumps and throws his head back, pinning his stare on the ceiling.  “Harry,” he says again, his voice just as impatient as a minute ago.

“What is it?” Harry humors him, knowing that when Louis gets like this he’s going to end up giving in sooner or later anyway.

“Write it for me.”

“No.”

“Well, why not ?” Louis cries out, raising his eyebrows in a question. He’s being stubborn as usual and Harry wishes he didn’t find it as endearing as he does.

“Because I still have a year before I have to write my own dissertation and because I don’t study drama, I can’t write about whatever it is you’re writing about.” He waves a dismissive hand in the air as he speaks, running it in circles. Despite only being in his second year, unlike Louis and Zayn who are both third years, he already has a mountain of work to tackle.

“An in-depth analysis of the homoeroticism in Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice , you mean,” Louis replies and Harry can practically hear him rolling his eyes from across the room.

“Yes, that. ” Louis snorts and mutters something under his breath. Probably an insult.

“Honestly, though, why did you pick something you don’t care for? It’s not like this is what you’re gonna be doing for most of your year or anything, Lou.”

“I do care. It’s very interesting, I just-” he cuts off to release the pressure on his elbows, landing on the floor again with a loud groan and a sound thump that echoes through the room. “It’s so much work. So much. ”

“Well, I can’t really help you there, love,” Harry says, finally closing his textbook and placing it on the bed before looking over at Louis. Their eyes lock and Harry gives him a small smile, Louis’s lips twitching into one in reply. He nods his head in invitation, mouthing come here and Harry scrambles off the bed a second later. He walks over to Louis and places himself next to him on the floor. They’re lying close enough that their fingers keep brushing as Harry shuffles around to find a comfortable position. He pretends he doesn’t notice the small contact, as if the warmth spreading through his body and the sparks flickering to life with every touch, with every brush of fingers is a mere coincidence.

“Hi,” he says, turning his head so he’s facing Louis, their faces only inches apart. Lying this close together he can hear Louis’s breathing turn ragged, small puffs of air coming out in tune to his loud heartbeat.

“Hi,” Louis replies, a hint of a smile on his face. The words are quiet, but they flow through Harry and stick to his skin, the shade of Louis’s voice so clear in the echoing silence of the room.

It’s still early in the day, the sun still up in the sky, shining down on them with its flickering light. They’re lying so it casts streaks of brightness over their faces, Louis’s features illuminated. Like this Harry can see how prominent the bags under his eyes are, their blue tint making them stand out against the rest of his skin. They make him look tired, his normally beaming face sinking.

Harry let’s his eyes wander, taking in Louis as a whole - His hair’s a mess, usually sculpted fringe now unruly strands standing up in different directions from how much he’s been running his fingers through them. He’s wearing trackies and a ratty t-shirt, the clothes sagging on his thin frame. He looks as if he’s barely hanging on, his outer layer slowly breaking apart.

Harry brings his hand up to trace over Louis’s forehead, smoothing out the worry lines that have formed there. He runs his thumb over them once, twice, before moving it over the arch of his eyebrows and down the slope of his nose and bopping him on it. Louis laughs at that, visibly relaxing as his cheeks are pushed upwards by the soft smile overtaking his face.

“I’m sorry for being an idiot. You know I’d help you more if I could,” Harry says, his words coming out barely above a whisper. “Maybe we could run some scenes over again? I could be the Bassanio to your Antonio.” He waggles his eyebrows, making Louis’s lips stretch into a smile again.

“It’s okay, babe. I’m sorry for complaining so much, it’s just a lot of work.”

“Well, the offer to run lines still stands, I hope you know that,” Harry replies, bringing a hand down to run through Louis’s fringe. His hair is getting long, the strands erratic and messy. He swipes it to the side, moving it out of Louis’s eyes and brushes his fingers over his forehead before he places his hand on the space on the floor in between their bodies again.

“I’d take you up on it, but I’ve seen you act, y’know.”

“ Hey, don’t be mean,” he says, dragging out the first word and punching Louis lightly on the shoulder. It’s an awkward angle with both of them still lying next to each other on the floor, but Louis rubs his shoulder in mock offence anyway, shooting Harry a disgruntled look. “I’m a great actor.”

“Oh, come off it, your mum’s shown me your kindergarten productions. I particularly fancied the maths play. Must say that you made for a very unconvincing question mark, though.”

“ Unconvincing? ” Harry splutters, his eyes widened in shock. “What would you say makes a question mark convincing?”

Louis laughs and with every noise leaving his mouth he seems to be relaxing further and further, the tension in his body slowly seeping out. “You didn’t look very questioning, y’know, rubbing your chin as you gazed out into the audience with a confused look on your face and all of that.”

“Oh yes, I’m sure that would’ve done it,” Harry says sarcastically, scrunching his eyebrows together and throwing Louis a sceptical look. “I made that kindergarten production, I’m the sole reason it got renewed for another year.”

“Considering the play consisted of three to five year olds in costumes, holding up signs for the parents to show that they knew how to count, I would say it would’ve been renewed with or without your star performance,” Louis replies dryly, but his voice is laced with laughter, the teasing tone picked up on by Harry.

“Just admit that I’m not as bad of an actor as you think I am,” Harry says, rolling his eyes.

“ Anyway ,” Louis says, ignoring Harry’s comment, “Guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree then, love, can’t find me making false claims with a soul as pure as mine.” Louis arches his eyebrows, a playful smirk creeping over his face at the words.

Harry barks a laugh out, feeling it being ripped out of his body with the intensity of it. His cheeks puff up his face and he can feel his dimples emerging in tune to the sounds spilling from his mouth. “I’m glad you’re confident enough to make that kind of a statement.”

“What’s that supposed to mean,” Louis says, his words sharp but he still looks fond with the tightlipped smile tilting the corners of his lips upwards.

“ Nothing ,” Harry singsongs as he shuffles forward, closing the gap between their bodies. He nuzzles into Louis’s side, rubbing his face in the crook where his neck meets his shoulders. His hair tickles Louis who lets out a small giggle, but Harry just moves closer, practically purring at the contact. “Hold me, Lou,” he mumbles into his neck and Louis wraps a hesitant arm around his shoulders, pressing him closer to him.

“That good?” he asks, his voice low.

Harry just hums in reply, blinking his closed eyes open. “You’re the best, thank you,” he murmurs and surges up, giving Louis a wet kiss on the cheek. It shatters the tranquility of the moment, the stillness being stirred. Louis lets out an indignant squeak in reply to the movement, jostling Harry as he pulls away. The smacking sound rings loud in comparison to their hushed whispers from seconds ago and it nestles itself into Harry’s mind, playing on a loop that goes on and on.

“Control yourself, you fucking animal,” Louis hisses as he brings a hand up to wipe at his cheek, a disgusted look on his face. He tries shuffling backwards as Harry closes the distance between their bodies slowly, the two of them remaining intense eye contact the entire time.

“You love it, though,” Harry says and Louis’s protesting is quickly cut short when Harry, in one swift motion, hurls their bodies close so their chests are flush together and digs his fingers into Louis’s side. He screams out as Harry starts tickling him, his fingers running across the expanse of his body.

He bats at Harry’s chest, trying to get him away from him, but Harry has a strong grip on Louis’s smaller frame and he stands no real chance. Louis keeps squirming underneath him, his laughs and shrieks ringing clear in Harry’s ears from how closely they’re pinned together. He pretends it doesn’t make his heart beat twice as fast as he keeps tickling Louis, the two of them rolling around in a pile on the bedroom floor, their voices echoing across the room.

+

Harry met Louis when he was a scrawny eighteen year old just starting off his first year of uni. He’d moved in the week before and the only people he really knew besides his roommate were Niall and Liam, whose room was across the hall from theirs. The three of them had quickly come together, navigating through the question marks that came with new surroundings. They got along well and it was comforting having someone else who was just as confused as he was about being on their own for the first time.

At the end of fresher’s week their hall held a big party, one where everyone got a bit too drunk to remember who they hooked up with and woke up with a pounding headache the next day, already regretting everything from the previous night.

Halfway through he’d found himself talking to Louis - this blue eyed, energetic boy who seemed to be made of lightning and had Harry’s hazy world spin faster. They’d flirted back and forth, the words slipping off their tongues slowly, dripping with an undercurrent of charm as they learned enough about each other for the conversation to flow easily. At one point they’d been plastered close, their lips seconds away from locking in a kiss when Zayn had interrupted and quickly brought them both out of their bubble.

It wasn’t really until a week later that he saw Louis again and had the chance to stutter out an apology (“Sorry about the other night, I didn’t know you had a boyfriend. If I did, I wouldn’t have, y’know. ” “ Boyfriend?” “Um, yeah, that guy that dragged you away. Black hair up in a quiff, brown eyes.” And at that Louis had just laughed, explaining in between laughter that Zayn was most definitely not his boyfriend, that they were just best mates and that he was very much single, which he had tacked on with a wink and smirk).

After their semi-awkward conversation in the coffee shop the two of them had ended up exchanging numbers and quickly became friends. They clicked right away, as if there was this unspoken bond pulling them together, their minds working in synchronization and making them understand each other on a whole new level. Sure, Harry had close friends back home and he fancied himself being fairly close to Niall and Liam as well but with Louis it was just different . He couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was, but they clicked in a way he’d never experienced before.

They seamlessly drifted into each other’s lives, claiming a space that had been left unoccupied until then. It was easy. A lot easier than Harry had thought it to be. Their halls were close and they managed to spend as much time together as they could in between classes and coursework. Harry quickly became friends with Zayn as well and any confusion he might’ve had about Zayn and Louis dating washed away once they met. Zayn just laughed at the story, not the least bit bothered by it.

All in all, it seemed to be working out fine. Their groups of friends quickly molded together and the five of them drifted into a unit. And sure, they were all close, more close than most friends were, but Harry and Louis were always a bit different, even right from the start. It was if there was an invisible barrier separating them from the rest of the group, this thing that stated that what the two of them had wasn’t quite within the borders of the other friendships.

They never really spoke about that night, the one where they met. They’d use it as a the punchline of a joke (“At least your standards aren’t low.") or as the story of how they met, but never as something more than that. There was never a serious discussion about what that had entitled, or what it could’ve entitled and Harry always wondered if he wished there would’ve been one.

Maybe, in the beginning, when their friendship was still new, he’d let himself indulge in the thought of the two of them becoming something more down the line, but as their friendship grew stronger and time progressed he realized it wouldn’t happen. He still found Louis pretty - the way his cheekbones created sharp lines across his face, the dip of his lower back, the way his long eyelashes would fan over his cheeks when he blinked - but it was fine. Maybe he’d let himself believe they could have all of the different things he envisioned in his head - kisses, sex, dates - but he soon realized that while their friendship held a place for cuddles and affection, it didn’t hold a place for any of the rest and it was fine. Really.

+

A couple of days later Harry finds himself walking towards the on-campus dining hall after getting a text in the middle of class from Louis telling him to come meet up with them for a quick bite to eat. He’d lit up as his eyes had skimmed the few words of the text, a smile unconsciously breaking out over his face. Behind him the teacher’s voice was booming across the room, seeping into every corner and bouncing off the walls as he spoke of things far less interesting than the prospect of seeing Louis again.

Harry hitches his bag further up his shoulder as he makes his way out of the building after class, navigating through the herd of students. They’re all rushing with their books clutched tight to their chests, trying to make it in time for their different classes. Their faces are painted with looks of panic and behind their glassy eyes there’s a million thoughts spinning that he can’t make out. He wonders what they think about as they bump shoulders with strangers in the sea of students. He wonders if it’s about school, exams, papers to write or if they, like Harry, have colors of blue flooding their minds as they walk along the cobblestones. Hearing the quick patter of their feet hitting the ground, almost like the beat to an unknown song, onetwothree onetwothree , makes Harry feel oddly calm and relaxed in comparison.

He makes it down the steps of the building and turns to his left, following the path. He fishes his phone out of the pocket of his jacket and plugs his headphones in, scrolling through the songs he has on it. His fingers are already cold from the small amount of time he’s spent outside, his body not used to it after two hours inside in the warmth of the classroom. He presses play on a song and lets the music spill through the headphones and into his ears, the melody spreading through his body as the song goes on. The soft guitar playing relaxes him as he keeps making his way forward and as the drums fade into the background he picks up his pace, matching it to the beat of the song.

Small bits of snow are crunching underneath his boots, the last remains of winter lingering in the cold air. The trees are still bare, a faint reminder of the leaves that once covered them. February is fading out slowly and with it it’s taking the white dust speckled across the benches lining the path. They echo cold without the presence of a body to heat them up, to make them stand out against their muted surroundings. The snow is a grey now, the little white that’s left shining through with the sun making its way over it. It sparkles in the afternoon air, catching Harry’s attention.

He misses it in a way - the winter, the holidays, last term. Because before the snow entered he could still put his work off to spend hours playing Fifa with the lads or slack off - spending too many hours doing nothing, the feeling of having options long gone with the changing of the seasons. He’d marvel in the opportunities that came with a new year, still drunk on the sunshine and the summer’s warmth inked onto his skin. They all were, with the way they’d go out drinking and stumble home too late for time to still make sense. They’d grip onto each other tight, their minds swimming from the alcohol running through their veins, trying to keep each other close with fingers around wrists and hands under shirts. It had meant so little then, the days blurring together, but now it means everything, he thinks. It’s a memory fading, but he still remembers it in as bright colors as the day it had occurred.

He rounds the last corner, finding himself in front of the dining hall, a big building towering above him and making him feel small in comparison. He fiddles with his hands in his pockets as he takes the final couple of steps towards it, following a big group of students all talking animatedly in front of him. Their voices come out muffled against the music beating through his ears, but he still hears snippets of conversation that get lost in the words of the song. He usually loves listening in on strangers conversations, loves the way you’re able to catch glimpses of someone’s life through the words they speak and the topics that paint their tongues, but today there’s a tiredness settled into his bones. One he can’t seem to shake enough to find interest in strangers and their lives.

He pauses his music, stuffing his phone back into his pocket and unwinding his scarf as he follows the big group into the building. He unzips his jacket as he walks inside and is hit with the room’s warmth, letting it soak through the thin layers of his clothing and heat him up.

The dining hall is littered with students. They sit at the tables, some of them in groups, while others are by themselves with a book in hand or a computer in front of them, munching on a lone sandwich while they enjoy their solitude. There’s the hustle of cutlery against cheap plates and conversations and voices nestling together and creating loud sounds that spill through the door as Harry walks inside.

His eyes roam the room, jumping from table to table quickly until he spots them. They, Louis and Zayn, are sat by a table in the middle of the room. They’re sitting opposite each other, immersed in conversation while they eat their lunch, paying little attention to the people surrounding them and Harry quickly makes his way over, zigzagging between the tables before he reaches theirs.

“Harry, mate!” Zayn greets him when he spots Harry rounding their table and plopping down in the seat next to Louis.

“How you been? Haven’t seen you in a while,” Zayn continues, a smile on his face as Harry dumps his bag on the empty chair next to him and starts shucking his jacket off, draping it across the back of his chair.

“Could say the same about you,” he replies once he’s finally rid himself off his outerwear and is left only wearing his brown jumper. He pulls the sleeves down so they’re wrapped over his knuckles and hunches his shoulders in hope of savoring some of the warmth trapped inside the room.

“Third year’s hell, can barely remember what it’s like to not study all the time,” Zayn says with an honest shrug. Harry and Louis both laugh but it comes out weak with too much of an undercurrent of a bitter i know what it’s like to it.

“Tell me about it, that dissertation will be the death of me,” Louis groans and Harry turns to him as he speaks, pinning his stare on Louis’s profile. There’s a big window behind him, one of those old ones that takes up an entire wall and looks like it belongs in a church with its shape and the air of antique surrounding it. The sun is shining through it, the last of it before the clock ticks toward evening and the dark takes its place. It shines bright, if a bit weak and paints Louis’s face in shades of yellow. It illuminates the slope of his nose and the stubble that dusts his jaw and makes him look older, more mature, than he is.

“Just don’t go jumping out of any windows, will you,” Harry says and nudges Louis’s shoulder with his own. The small contact jostles Louis who draws back a bit in surprise before turning to Harry. When their eyes meet, Harry gives him a smug smirk to accentuate his words and Louis rolls his eyes and mumbles a fuck off. Harry chuckles, the dimples on his cheeks emerging, his eyes turning soft as he looks at Louis.

They haven’t seen each other in a few days but the circles underneath Louis’s eyes seem more prominent than Harry remembers, the look on his face more exhausted than ever. There’s worry lines brushed across his face, his normally soft features turned sharp. His eyes no longer hold crinkles by them, a dull grey in their place as Louis’s stare seems cold, even distant, despite there being little space between their bodies, the two of them physically as close as can be. It’s like he’s there but his mind is still spinning and he’s got half a presence somewhere else, wherever his thoughts seem to take him.  

Harry scoots his chair closer to Louis’s and slings an arm around his shoulders, squeezing him tight. Louis lets out a surprised noise in the back of his throat at the contact but quickly melts into Harry’s touch. He rests his head on Harry’s shoulder and Harry leans down to plant a kiss on to his forehead. He lingers for a beat, the warmth of Louis’s skin against his lips comforting, a reminder of how the two of them just fit, how it’s always been them and how it still is.

“Missed you,” he mumbles and Louis scrunches his face together and looks up at Harry, his eyes blinking open slowly. His eyelashes flutter, framing his eyes as they connect through the look they share.

“Missed you too, love.”

“You okay?” Harry asks, preparing himself for the lie Louis’s about to tell. They’ve been friends long enough for him to recognize every tense line in Louis’s shoulders, every intake of breath that’s breaching on something else, every sentence that comes out a bit too stifled. So he’s not surprised by the words that end up spilling through Louis’s mouth, not really.

“Yeah, yeah, just busy, you know. Got a lot to do,” he says with a sweeping motion of his hand, brushing off Harry’s words as quickly as they’d been uttered. He isn’t making eye contact any more, his stare having had wandered off somewhere into the distance, fixated on something behind Harry.

“I know, I’ve barely seen you lately, where’ve you been hiding.” Harry tries to make it come off as casual, tries to keep his voice light but it betrays him and it breaks on the last word, ending in a small hiccup. He feels exposed, his words raw, in the way his emotions are painted so clearly across the words he speaks.

Louis smiles up at him, his eyes refocusing on Harry and bringing a hand to poke at Harry’s cheek where his dimple is hiding. “Nowhere, love. Just got a shit load of stuff to do, you’ll see how it is next year.”

“‘S not like I haven’t got any work myself,” he mutters under his breath, but keeps the rest of his thoughts to himself. They seem too private to voice out loud so recklessly. They’re more safe in the compartments of his mind, anyway. I’d still make time for you though.

“Hey, don’t be like that, Harry, we’ll hang out as soon as I get a spare second, alright,” Louis says, stroking his cheek and prodding at it until Harry forces a smile. His dimples appear and Louis’s sticks his thumb in one of them and laughs, the sound light. It floats through the air towards Harry where they’re mere inches apart and it dulls out the rest of the noises in the room, reducing them to background static.

“I promise,” Louis says, his eyes staring intently into Harry’s own, a string of electricity tying them together, invisible to anyone but the two of them.

Harry hums in reply and squeezes Louis’s shoulder again, digging his nails into the fabric of his sweater to make sure he feels the motion. He tries to make it speak of comfort and i’ll always be here for you even though he can see that Louis’s back to talking to Zayn, only using Harry as a prop to lean his weight on. He hopes Louis’s still gets it, gets everything Harry’s too weak to say out loud.

+

Harry doesn’t see anyone around until a few weeks later when they all decide to meet up for a pint at the uni pub down the street from campus, something the five of them haven’t done in ages.

(“C’mon, Harry, you’ve barely been around lately. I bloody live with you, and still I never see you,” Niall whines. He’s got a sincere look on his face, his usually happy glow dimmed out. “ Please ,” he pleads, even adding a ridiculous clasp of his hands as he walks over to Harry, begging him to join them. And who’s Harry to say no to Niall’s widened puppy eyes and honest words.

When he reluctantly agrees Niall tackles him in a big hug, his arms wrapping around Harry’s shoulders and it’s the happiest he’s seen him all week, Harry thinks.)

It’s been a busy week, as all of them seem to be this time of year, with papers to write, classes to attend and facts to memorize. February is slowly seeping into March and it’s the time of year for breakdowns. It’s finally hitting people that it’s the last term and they all deal with it differently. Some drown themselves in work, never quite emerging from the surface until the sun is peeking its head out again while some choose to ignore it and go to too many parties, the alcohol never leaving their systems.

Harry can tell that it’s starting to get to his head a bit in the way he’s more worked up than he usually is, his energy never quite carrying for as long as it did before and there’s the constant loop of everything he needs to do running through his mind. In a way he’s used to it, because he’s never struggled in school, not before and not now. He knows how to keep his thoughts organized, separating them from each other and always keeping track of the to-do list writing itself inside his brain. Everytime he finishes a task, there’s a distinct swooshing sound going through it as yet another thing gets crossed off the list.

All in all, he’s managing. He’s been through it before and knows how his body is going to react. He knows to take a lot of naps whenever he can - during his free periods, in the library when his eyelids are drooping or when Niall asks him to head to the boys’ room but every bone in his body is aching. He ends up getting so immersed in his own routine - the do’s and don'ts of how to make it through the final months - that he sometimes let’s days pass without talking to Louis, the one person that’s always a constant in his day to day life. It’s a first for them, but Harry just writes it off as Louis being as busy as he is.

He isn’t really seeing any of the boys besides Niall, but the few times he manages to catch Zayn on campus they’re both in between classes, their pace a bit too fast to come off as relaxed. They never talk much, it’s mainly small talk in form of you how you beens and short, clipped off answers. Their conversation is rushed, both of them trying to not be late while trying to fill each other in on their respective lives as much as they can. Harry asks about Louis, because of course he does, and Zayn tells him Louis isn’t sleeping well, that he stays up all night downing cup after cup of coffee to keep himself awake, his skin constantly buzzing with the caffeine in his veins. Apparently he’s been skipping meals, always rushing in between activities - trying to make himself do more than he’s capable of. Zayn’s been leaving food out but unless he’s there to force feed him he says that Louis doesn’t touch it. Both of them have seen Louis get like this - too worked up to properly function - and they all know it’s coming, that his skin is shedding layer after layer, until he breaks down and is left in nothing but his hollow bones.

Zayn doesn’t say hes worried for him, but its all there in the way he carries his words and the way his eyes plead for Harry to do something, to get him back somehow. Harry tries not to think about it too much and instead he adds talk to louis to the growing list in his head, telling himself he’ll get around to it soon.

So it takes them them a while to get together, all five of them with their schedules and routines that don’t match up.

It’s still in the middle of the week when they do manage to meet, but despite that the place is fairly packed for the weekly pub quiz. People are sat by almost every table to the point that it’d been a struggle to find a table large enough for all five of them when they’d arrived, their usual one already taken.

They’re a good hour in now, all of them already having had downed a round of pints and are packed together in a booth in the back, near the small stage where the questions are being announced from. There’s a guy in his mid 20s standing by the microphone, reading from a list of questions. His voice is monotone, the words being pushed out of his body as it seems to take all of his willpower to not roll his eyes every five seconds. Harry’s guessing this isn’t his normal gig, considering the enthusiasm and all.

Despite that, the atmosphere is buzzing with the vibrations of people’s voices carrying through the small place, raising up up up until they’re plastered to the ceiling, never escaping until someone opens the door of the pub and they soar out into the chilly night, creating echos on the quiet street outside.

“ How many seasons does the E! hit ‘Keeping up with the Kardashians’ currently have?”

The sound coming from the microphone is accompanied by a string of static that pierces through their ears, a collective groan being uttered by the room. The guy rushes out an apology as fast as he can in his slow drawl and everyone returns to their tables, the teams huddling together as arms are extended in big gestures during the debate of the right answer.

“Oh, I know that one, ‘s ten,” Niall says offhandedly over the rim of his beer before he tips his head back and takes a long gulp, downing half of it in one go.

“ What ,” he says once he puts his glass down and is met with four curious stares. “It’s a good show.” He shrugs and everyone bursts out laughing at the same time, the different sounds mixing together from around the small table they’re sat at.

“Of course you watch the Kardashians , mate,” Louis says, the rest of his laughter coming out in small bursts as he tries to settle down.  He brings a hand to cover his mouth, his fingers resting against his skin, but the noises still slip through them.

“Oi, don’t shame me for enjoying quality television,” Niall snaps and points a finger to Louis, one of his eyebrows arched. “I know you love reality tv, don’t tell me you don’t watch Masterche f religiously.”

“Of course I do, Niall, doesn’t everyone watch Masterchef ?”

“‘S a bit weird, mate, I mean you can’t cook for shit,” Zayn interferes, his comment thrown out offhandedly into their space. His eyes are still trained on his phone where he’s typing out a message to someone, not bothering to look up from the screen.

“I’m sorry, are you actually disagreeing with me about national treasure that is Gordon Ramsey,” Louis stutters, his hands flying out as they do when he’s being overly dramatic, his voice rising and his gestures increasing.

“I quite fancy Jamie Oliver myself. More fit, you know,” Niall says with a shrug, his beer still intact in his hand. He’s on his second one while the rest of them are still making their way through their first ones. He always ends up drinking twice as much, yet he never goes home the most drunk. It’s amazing really, his Irish genes something for the scientist to study, Harry thinks.

“Niall, you’re straight,” Louis deadpans, his eyebrows arched and his look aimed straight at Niall.

“Not blind though, am I.”

He manages to look serious for a total of two seconds before they’re all laughing again, Niall slumping forward and giving Louis a light tap on the shoulder which Louis returns with a punch straight in the stomach and soon the two of them have broken into a small wrestling fight. They aren’t doing anything, their hands mainly being used to tweak the other one’s nipples and to slap the other one with words of wanker and fucker being thrown around, but despite that Harry and Zayn swoop in, dragging away the two of them from each other.

“Can you behave, ” Harry says, his tone mock stern as he manhandles Louis back into the seat next to him in the booth.

“But, Harry , Niall started it,” Louis whines, jutting his bottom lip out into a pout and batting his eyelashes at Harry. He shakes his head in response and goes to wrap an arm tight around Louis’s waist, sneaking a pinch to his hip that makes Louis jump and knock his forehead against Harry’s temple.

“You’re fucking impossible.”

“I know,” Louis retorts, a wide grin on his face as he turns around and faces Harry.

They’re close, Louis’s breathing fanning across Harry’s cheeks as he inhales and exhales, the puffs of air hitting Harry’s skin from the small distance between their faces. Like this Harry can pick apart every shade of the circles underneath Louis’s eyes, the colors otherwise drowned out by the muted lightning of the pub. Now they’re close enough for the blues and purples to stand out, the depth of them surprising him. Louis looks as if he hasn’t slept in days. And Harry knew this, Zayn’s words echoing somewhere in the back of his mind, but it doesn’t really hit him until he sees it for himself, until he can pick up the small thread of skin Louis’s been shredding for the past months and get a good look at it.

He decides that this isn’t the time though, not here, in this dingy pub packed with strangers whose voices bounce off his back and with the lads sitting close enough to pick up on the tension that would follow. Later , he tells himself. He’ll do it later, in private, when they’re completely sober and can process the information properly.

Instead he leans up to Louis and whispers, “Let’s see if we can get Liam proper pissed, shall we,” and immediately the slow ticking of time speeds up, returning to normal. He feels Louis exhale from where they’re pressed together and hears him let out a small laugh that sounds the slightest bit shaky.

He quickly covers it up by clearing his throat and Harry can practically see the facade going back up, the shield Louis sometimes puts up when he gets like this - distant and cold - as he turns to Harry and knocks their foreheads together and whispers a quiet, “ Let’s do it. ”

+

The weeks that follow carry on the same way - Louis studies, he doesn’t sleep, drinks endless amount of coffee and Harry barely sees him. He immerses himself in his own work, tries not to let the distance get to him, tries not to be affected by the way he only sees Louis in passing, their conversations never crossing the five minute mark. How they went from speaking every day for hours, from being so codependent they had to endure jokes about molding into one, to how there’s a void in Harry’s life with Louis’s name written on it.

He misses him. He misses how’d they spend all of their time together. Misses the way Louis would call him every day and speak to him about his day. Misses the way both of them would share mundane details and the way they’d sometimes fall asleep together, their bodies curled around each other. He misses Louis with his big presence, the energy that would bounce off the walls and swoop over Harry, making him grin just as wide and talk just as big as Louis did. He misses his sharp jokes and sharp tone, but how he’d still contrast it with the soft side he held reserved for Harry. How he’d always support him, always encourage him in every decision he took. He misses the way Louis was always just there , how there was an unspoken agreement of them and how it seems to have been broken in the past few months.

He just really misses his best friend.

+

They’re having one of their impromptu movie nights a few weeks later when Harry finds out.

It’s not the news that hit him the hardest - it’s that he didn’t know and that everyone else seems to. He knows they didn’t not tell him on purpose. He knows they probably meant to, but that he wasn’t there the first or second time it got mentioned and therefore missed out. He knows they aren’t bringing it up for him to feel a breath being trapped inside his chest. He knows it isn’t intended to be a jab at him for not being around. He knows all of this but it doesn’t mean that his mind slows down or his breathing comes out any easier.

“What are you talking about?” he asks as slowly as time seems to be moving. The fast paced conversation, the quick banter thrown back and forth, has come to a stop and they’re all staring at him. He tries to make out the emotions hidden behind their eyes. It’s not pity, it’s something else, but their eyes are glossy with the same set of emotions swimming through them and he’s too tired to look for answers to questions he didn’t ask.

“Me and Lou, we’re going away, Harry.” Oh . “It’s just for the summer, really. Got that internship lined up for autumn, but yeah, we’ll go for as long as we can, we figured,” Zayn says, but the end of his sentence comes out as a question, as if this plan to go away, to leave so abruptly after graduation, is something they thought of on a whim. Something one of them threw into the air one night when they were sat in their room and as if it doesn’t turn Harry’s entire world around, as it doesn’t make it spin to a different beat.

“Where to?” he asks, trying to keep his voice calm and collected. He hopes it doesn’t sound as shaky to their ears as it does to his own, hopes he isn’t showing how much this is affecting him.

“Everywhere, really. Gonna backpack through Europe and see all of it.” Zayn gives a small laugh, the tension in the air slowly diffusing, the others visibly relaxing as he starts talking about the places they want to visit, the things they want to see. He’s rattling off places  Harry’s never even heard of, Liam and Niall jumping in to ask questions that only spur Zayn on further. There’s this glow to him like this - when he’s talking about something he genuinely cares for. It’s the same one he gets when he’s asked about a book or an art project of his - he just lights up, his eyes brightening and his face breaking into an unknown smile as he speaks.

“There’s this amazing museum in- Ah, fuck, I can’t remember the city. Hold on,” he says, jumping up from the floor and going over to his desk, where he starts rummaging through the various books and papers he’s got littered on top.

“Lou, do you know where we left the travel book, you know the one my mum got us?” Zayn asks, still navigating through the mess without turning around to face them.

Harry looks over to Louis who’s sat on the floor, his back against Zayn’s bed. He’s curled in on himself, hugging his knees tightly to his chest with his arms wrapped securely around them, his eyes locked on the floor in front of him. He seems to be lost in thought, Zayn’s words not breaking through the walls of his mind.

“Never mind, I got it,” Zayn says a few seconds later and returns to his former spot with a book in his hand. Niall and Liam lean in as he opens it to a bookmarked page and starts showing them something, his fingers traveling across the page as he reads out loud.

The others are still immersed in the conversation, not picking up on Harry’s absence from it. He briefly wonders if he could excuse himself, if he could come up with a lie about how he forgot he had a study group to attend or if it would be too obvious. Maybe he could just walk away - get up and leave through the door - without any of them picking up on. Maybe he could. But he still decides not to - he doesn’t want to have to go through the follow up questions that it would surely ensue.

Louis’s being quiet as well, still sitting by himself, with his eyes locked in front of him. Harry doesn’t know for how long he’s been sat like that, didn’t really notice when the switch came - when he went from loud and the center of the conversation to quiet and drawn back. He remembers earlier in the night, when they were bickering about which movie to watch and Louis’s voice had carried high above the other’s, his words coming out the most clear and his sharp tone breaking through the other four.

Him being so drawn back, they way he is now, is a stark contrast to how he usually is and Harry wonders what changed. He wonders when they changed - when he went from feeling as if he could wrap his arms around Louis and whisper what’s wrong into his ear and feel the other boy relax in his grip and tell him, to being sat on different ends of the room, their minds spinning at different paces, different questions being asked.

+

That night there’s a sharp knock on his door. The motion is repeated once, twice in quick succession. Niall’s at work and a brief glance at his phone tells Harry he isn’t supposed to be back for hours. He let’s out a deep sigh as he closes his laptop and goes to drag himself across the room, his curiosity getting the best of him.

The knocking starts back up again and he groans an i’m coming as he walks up to the door and opens it, not bothering to check who it is.

“Hi,” Louis squeaks once Harry opens up and their eyes meet. He sounds hesitant, a bit shy, as he gives Harry a small wave before quickly dropping his hand and stuffing it back into the pocket of his hoodie.

“Hey,” Harry replies slowly. He’s a bit surprised to see Louis standing there. He looks so unguarded like this - in his trackies and hoodie, his entire presence speaking of soft. His hair is unstyled, his fringe lying flat against his forehead and his eyes are the color of water on a warm summer’s day, unlike the icy cold they’ve been painted lately.

“Can I come in?” he asks, peeking his hand out again to vaguely gesture behind Harry at the room.

“Yeah, of course,” Harry mumbles as he stands up straight and opens the door wide for Louis to walk through. He gives Harry a small smile and a nod in gratitude as he passes him.

Harry tries not to think about when they started having to ask each other to enter the room, when they started knocking instead of just walking inside. When they stopped spending so much time in each other’s rooms they stopped being their second homes. When the distance between them stretched itself so wide.

“So, what’s up?” Harry asks after closing the door behind him. After a beat he crosses his arms across his chest, not knowing what to do with them. With every passing second the awkward tension in the air seems to grow thicker. With every spoken word, with every hesitant action, it just takes up more of the space between them, separating them further.

“Oh, I just wanted to hang out, you know,” Louis says, shifting his stare from where it’d been looking out through to the window over to Harry. Their eyes lock for a brief moment before he averts his gaze and starts walking through the room until he settles on the bed. He picks his feet up off the ground and crosses them. “S’ been a while, hasn’t it? Just thought we could hang out,” he repeats himself, the words still coming out as thin as seconds ago.

Harry knows that Louis isn’t here to hang out as he puts it, knows they haven’t casually spent time together in over a month and that he’s acting far too weird for that to be the reason for his visit. But he also knows Louis and he isn’t going to talk if you push him, you have to let him tell you himself. So instead of pressing for a real explanation, Harry gives a shrug and says, “Well, I was just about to watch something if you’re up for that?”

“Yeah, sure,” Louis replies and gives Harry a quick smile as he goes to join him.

They scoot together on the small bed, making sure to not touch each other as the arrange themselves to fit in the frame, the small space between their bodies stretching itself like an ocean of distance. Harry bends forward to retrieve his laptop and opens it, the page still open to Netflix from earlier and he starts clicking around for something to watch. They don’t speak much while he does so, their conversation extending to Harry asking what Louis wants to watch and getting a non-committed reply in return. In the end he decides on Shameless and asks Louis if he’s all caught up, who just nods in reply while his eyes scan the bright colors on the screen.

They settle in and halfway through the second episode Louis’s stomach starts growling, startling both of them, and with muffled laughter Harry picks his phone up and calls for pizza, not bothering to ask Louis what he wants on his. Years of friendship and countless pizzas shared has him rattling off the order without a second thought running through his mind. He doesn’t think anything of it until he ends the call and turns back to Louis who’s eying him curiously.

“What?” he asks, scrunching his eyebrows together in confusion. “Did you want something else?”

“No, it’s just, I thought you- Never mind.” Louis shakes his head, scolding himself quietly, but the smile on his lips tells Harry he isn’t mad.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t important.” He ends their conversation, turning back and pressing play. Harry lingers for a second and watches Louis where he’s leaning back against the pillows lined on the bed, his hands resting casually on his stomach as he zeroes in on the action unfolding on the screen. The light radiating from the computer washes his face in a soft glow, his skin smoothening out with the shades of yellow that color it.

He settles back in next to Louis, their arms brushing in the tight space. Neither of them makes to move away this time, keeping them pressed to each other until the pizza arrives half an hour later.

--

“I’m Mickey, surely,” Louis says some time later. He’s got a piece of pizza in his hand, taking small bites from it as he speaks and gestures to the screen where Ian and Mickey are talking.

“Why aren’t I Mickey, I’m tough ,” Harry replies in mock offense, his face scrunching together. An old memory of Louis from years ago flashes through his mind at lightning speed ( “ You look like an disgruntled kitten when you do that.” “Do what? ” “ That scrunchy thing, y’know.” ) before he blinks and it’s gone again.

“Harry, you made us help the cleaning lady tidy up after Liam dropped his ice cream inside last spring,” Louis counters, a smug smirk on his lips.

“It was our fault, why wouldn’t we help her,” Harry exclaims, baffled by Louis’s response. “It’s called being a nice human being , Louis.”

Louis laughs in reply and reaches out to pet Harry’s curls, his fingers twining in his hair as Harry nuzzles into his hand with a content look on his face. He’s just happy the tension between them has relaxed enough for Louis to feel comfortable enough to touch him again. He’s missed the way Louis’s skin feels against his, how his touches always seem to linger for a beat too long and leave Harry feeling warm.

“I know, love, I’m just saying I don’t think you’re quite cut out for the hard hitting life of being a criminal, s’all.”

Harry gives a deep sigh and Louis retrieves his hand to munch on his forgotten piece of pizza. “I guess you’re right. I don’t think think I could handle it.”

“Nah, you’re too nice for your own good, you’d probably just return whatever you stole,” Louis says, smiling as he takes another bite, finishing off his piece quickly.

“That was once and I was, like, ten. You can’t still be holding that against me,” Harry says, his eyebrows shooting up as Louis starts laughing at his words, his face breaking in half from how wide his smile stretches.

“Oh, as if I could forget such a great story. I’ll probably re-tell it at your wedding,” Lous says, still laughing. And he probably doesn’t mean anything by it, the sentence spoken so casually, but the words still nestle themselves into Harry’s chest and press down hard, a lump forming in the back of his throat for reasons he’s too scared to face.

“Can’t wait,” he says dryly, hoping Louis doesn’t pick up on the change to his voice.

“Besides, you’re too pretty for jail,” Louis replies and shoots Harry a wink before he throws his crust into the empty pizza box and wipes his hands clean. Harry ducks his head to hide the blush spreading across his cheeks and the smile taking over his face, hoping he can get away with it.

--

Three episodes later and a text from Niall saying he’s gonna crash at Liam’s, they finally decide to head to bed. It’s well past midnight and both of them have got classes in the morning they need to attend.

Harry’s just turned off his computer and is putting it on his desk when he hears Louis cough awkwardly behind him and he turns around. “Everything alright?” Harry asks as he takes in Louis sitting on the bed. He’s scratching his neck and biting on his bottom lip, obviously uncomfortable with what he’s about to say.

“Yeah, yeah,” he dismisses with a flutter of his hand and a small shake of his head, “S’just getting a bit late, is all.” He purses his lips into a thin line and meets Harry stare, his eyes cautious.

“Oh, I figured you’d be staying over?” Like you always do.

“Is that okay?” Louis asks hesitantly, his stare searching Harry’s face, taking it all in slowly. His eyes blink as they stayed locked on Harry’s, his eyelashes fanning up, creating patterns against his skin in the muted lightning of the room.

“Of course, why wouldn’t it be.” Harry throws his hands in the air and gives him a small shrug. Louis still looks hesitant, a bit shy, but he gives in with a nod, mouthing the word thanks around a small smile.

“Great,” Harry says a bit too enthusiastically, the smile plastered on his face coming out too big, too bright, as if he’s trying to make everything seem normal between the two and there hasn’t been a distance between them the entire night, even when they were bickering back and forth.

“ Great, ” Louis mimics, his face contorting into a funny look, one that speaks of how obvious Harry’s actions are, but he doesn’t call him out on it. Instead he changes the subject, which Harry’s grateful for. “Zayn had a paper to finish, so it’s better not to disturb him, anyway.”

“It’s all working out then,” Harry says, flashing him his teeth through a smile and Louis gives a light laugh, one the seems to spill through his mouth before he’s registering it.

They quickly settle into bed after their brief, and mostly uncomfortable, conversation. Harry lends Louis one of his old shirts that still comes out too big, reaching mid-thigh, on Louis and they both get changed. For a second he wonders if sleeping in just his briefs and a shirt will be weird, if it’ll cause more tension but a glance behind him finds Louis folding up his jeans and placing them on Harry’s desk chair and he opts for doing the same.

Harry goes to turn off the lights and lock the door as Louis slides into bed, taking the spot nearest to the wall, leaving the other half bare for Harry to take. He shuffles around, his movements causing the sheets to rustle as he tries to make himself comfortable. He’s always been a fidgety sleeper, someone who tosses and turns until there’s the calming presence of another body pressed close to his to make him settle down. They’ve been sharing a bed for two years, but it still feels different, a bit stifled as Harry goes to lie down next to Louis in bed, pulling the sheets up to cover their bodies.

It’s like muscle memory - the way he fits his back to Louis’s chest and feels Louis’s arms wrap around his waist. Their legs tangle together, slotting themselves into place as their curves and crooks fit into each other.

It still doesn’t feel quite right - the wall that’s been building between them still intact, but it’s a start, he figures. They’re working on their relationship, taking creeping steps forward. Their bodies aren’t entirely relaxed, Harry aware of the way his shoulders tense up and the way his throat swallows audibly in the silence of the room. Louis’s the same way - his fingers curling inwards where they rest on Harry’s hip and his breathing controlled, the inhales and exhales too slow to come off as natural.

“I’m sorry, ” comes suddenly in a hushed whisper from behind Harry. Louis’s barely speaking the words. They sound so quiet, so easily lost in the silence, Harry wonders if he intended to say them out loud at all.

“What for,” he replies, keeping his voice just as quiet, just as much in the cocoon of warmth they’ve created where their bodies are pressed together.

“For not-” Louis breaks off, taking one, two breaths before he continues, “being around, I guess. I’ve been busy, and I know that’s a shit excuse but it’s just been weird, hasn’t it.” He’s not really asking, they both know the answer.

“I’m sorry too. Should’ve tried harder to meet, to stay in touch,” Harry mumbles. He feels bad that Louis’s been carrying around feelings of this being his fault when they’re both to blame. They’ve both been busy, both been dodging the other and using visible excuses to cover up their cowardly actions, telling themselves lies to ease up their guilty conscious.

“I guess we both fucked up, huh,” he tacks on with a chuckle. It comes out a bit dry but his heart is beating hard in his chest and all he can focus on is his quickening breathing.

“You could say that,” Louis mumbles and Harry feels him lean forward and press his face into the crook of Harry’s neck, his lips hovering above his bare skin, leaving ghost touches from where his puffs of air hit Harry.

“Yeah,” Harry breathes out on soft exhale, a bit of the tension leaving his body as his shoulders sag and he relaxes further into Louis’s embrace.

“Been proper idiots, haven’t we.”

“The worst ,” Harry laughs, the sounds leaving his body easier with every ticking second.

“Just awful ,” Louis continues, an amused tint to his voice that Harry picks up on. It makes him smile into the pillow he’s got his face pressed into, makes him feel like they’re making some kind of process in this mess they’ve managed to create between muffled words and avoided stares, their thoughts too locked up for the other one to hear.

“Horrible .”

They both laugh quietly, their bodies vibrating with the sound, pressing them closer to each other, before they lapse into a content silence, the only sound in the room the one of their breathing and the clock on Harry’s nightstand.

After a couple of minutes Harry touches Louis’s arm on his waist, a faint brush of fingers to the crook of his elbow, pushing at it slightly so he can move. Louis hums and retrieves his hand, dragging it across the expanse of skin where Harry’s shirt has ridden up, his skin warm against Harry’s cold, their body heat syncing together. Once Harry’s free of his grip, he turns around so he’s facing Louis instead of being pressed back against him.

It’s dark in the room but the curtains are drawn back and the moon’s shining in through the window, providing a bit of light to contrast the blackness of the night. He can’t make out Louis’s face properly, most of his features hidden in the shadows, but a streak of lightning illuminates the long sweep of his eyelashes and the curve of his mouth. He sees Louis’s tongue dart out to wet his lips, sees the way he’s blinking rapidly, the way his eyes have gone from their usual blue to flashes of silver.

Harry reaches a hand out to touch Louis’s face. It’s a soft sweep of his fingertips against Louis’s cheek, tracing his prominent cheekbone up, up until he reaches Louis’s temple where he presses two of his fingers down and starts gently massaging the skin there, pressing hard enough for it to have a calming effect. Louis flutters his eyes shut, the sharp lines of his face visibly smoothing out as he relaxes into the touch. His lips part, but no sound is made.

He eases up on his touch and drags his fingers into Louis’s hair, the strands brushing through his fingers like the sand on a beach being swept up by a tidal wave - softly, with each grain being dissolved into the ocean that takes it under. He runs them down the slope of Louis’s neck, his fingernails scraping against skin, leaving marks as he brushes them over his strong shoulders and down his back, tracing Louis’s spine with the tips of his fingers before settling a hand on his lower back, right above where the shirt has bunched up. He can practically feel the warmth of Louis’s naked skin from how close his hand is resting, knows that if he wanted to he could just swoop his hand down a bit further and hide it under the fabric, but he doesn’t.

Harry uses their tangled feet to pull Louis’s closer to him, closing the small gap that’d been created when he’d turned around, and pulls Louis into a hug.

They haven’t hugged like this in months, but it feels like years - tight and secure, their bodies becoming one, touching from shoulders to toes, engulfing each other in the warmth radiating off their skin.

Harry’s pressing his arms around Louis’s smaller frame, leaving finger prints on his back from the intensity of the hug. He’s trying to wrap him up in his arms, cover all of him so that there’s just one of them, instead of two separate bodies with two separate minds and heartbeats. It’s easier when it’s them, always has been.

Some time later when they’re both on the brink of sleep, their eyelids drooping and their breathing evening out, having had become a thin line instead of static jumps, Louis nuzzles further into Harry’s neck, his lips moving across Harry’s skin as he asks, “Are we okay?”

Harry opens his previously closed eyes and fixes them on the wall, his entire world hazy with sleep as he mumbles back, “Of course we are.”

Louis sniffles and gives a small nod, his chin dragging across Harry’s neck once, twice before it stills and he can feel the press of Louis’s lips against his skin. It’s a brief kiss, barely lasts a moment before he’s retrieving his mouth. His body sags seconds later and Harry knows he’s fallen asleep in his arms.

He thinks about how he can still feel Louis’s lips on his skin, the warmth that brief moment had omitted, how he’ll carry it around with him now, store it in the part of his brain where he locks up the things he’s too afraid to linger on. He thinks about how they should be okay now. The air’s been cleared, their apologizes have been made and the seasons are moving along, dragging summer closer with every day. But even as he thinks the words, he knows they aren’t okay. Knows that he’ll still feel the heavy tug at his heart when he sees Louis, when they speak, and when they breathe the same air. He knows they can’t return to the before they once shared and that night their heartbeats never sync together, no matter how close their bodies are pressed.

+

“Lads!” Louis shouts as he flings the door open and strides into the room where Liam, Zayn and Harry are currently sitting. The door bounces off the wall with a startling sound as Louis enters, Niall following close behind, greeting them with a, “Hiya lads,” accompanied with a smile and wave.  

They all echo their greetings as Niall goes to sit down on Zayn’s bed. It’s a tight fit with Liam and Zayn already squeezed onto it, but he brushes some books to the side and splays out, his limbs hitting Liam in the stomach.

“Ow- what the fuck , Niall, get off,” he mumbles, pushing at Niall’s shoulder. In return, he just waves a hand in Liam’s face and shuffles around on the bed, making himself comfortable.

“Lads,” Louis exclaims, begging for them to pay attention to him again. He uncrosses his arms and throws them in the air, dramatic as ever. “Anyone?"

“What’s up?” Liam asks casually, none of them still too sure if Louis comes bearing good or bad news. He’s like a volcano waiting to explode, Harry thinks. A tip in the wrong direction is enough to set him off, making them all drown in the lava erupting.

“I’ll tell you what fucking happened - I finished my bloody dissertation!” Louis says in a tone that echoes off the walls and throws his arms in the air as a smile splits his face in half. Now that he’s dropped the act, he’s bouncing on the heels of his feet, excited energy spreading across the room and wrapping around all of them.

“That’s great, Lou. I know how hard you worked on it, I’m proud of you,” Liam says as he turns to Louis and shoots him a genuine smile, his eyes warm. Louis returns the smile and the two of them have a wordless conversation for a second before they’re startled by Niall and Zayn congratulating Louis as well.

“Happy for you, mate. Guess I’m finally gonna be able to see you around again, then,” Zayn tacks on with a smirk and Louis rolls his eyes, faking a dry laugh. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, wanker. Still stuck with me all summer, don’t forget that.”

“How could I, not like you’re gonna talk about anything else now, are you,” Zayn replies with an arch of his eyebrows. Louis just sticks his tongue out at him and Zayn returns to the sketchbook placed in his lap with a chuckle.

“Hey, Lou,” Harry pipes up, making his presence in the room clear now that Louis’s attention is undivided again.

Louis turns around from where he’s still stood in between the two beds and shifts his eyes to where Harry’s sitting on the far right, his feet propped up on the comforter and open textbooks with papers scattered around him.

“I’m proud of you,” he tacks on once Louis looks over at him. He watches him smile, his eyes crinkling around the corners, a glow spreading across his face as he takes the words in.

Louis eyes have shifted from the stormy grey with which he’d entered the room to a calmer, more soothing blue. His entire face is giving off a more relaxed appearance now, a more content one as he keeps his eyes locked with Harry’s. He blinks, a few seconds passing until he finally cracks and mouths a small thank you at Harry before shuffling his way over to him.

“Move,” he mumbles to Harry when he reaches the bed, pushing at his shoulder. Harry hurries to close his books and stuff his papers back into his notebooks before he throws them on the floor, scooting over to make room for Louis. The space is small, but Harry’s got one of his sides plastered to the wall and the other one to Louis’s body, making them fit into it. They’re touching from shoulder to knee, their bodies feeding off each other and their respective energies. They mold into one as they make all of their crooks and curves fit together, the pieces slotting into place.

Harry his arm from in between their bodies and drapes it over Louis’s shoulders to drag him close. Louis slumps forward with a deep sigh, his head coming to rest on Harry’s shoulder, pressed against the fabric of Harry’s shirt.

“How are you doing, love,” Harry whispers into his hair, his voice soft and quiet, for Louis’s ears only. The other three have carried on with their own conversation on the other side of the room, ignoring the two of them.

Louis sighs again and this time Harry feels it vibrate between their bodies, the feeling spreading shivers down his spine. “I’m happy it’s over, y’know, fucking worked like hell on this. I’m never reading another page of bloody Shakespeare again-” he breaks off, giving a small laugh that Harry mirrors. “But in a way it’s, like, what now - I’ve spent so long on this project. It’s such a big relief to be finished, but it makes me realize how close the end of the year is as well, y’know. We’ve only got exams left and then what ,” he finishes, the thoughts continuing to swim in his head in silence. Harry just cards his fingers through Louis’s hair, urging him to go on at his own pace. He knows by now that the more you push Louis, the less likely you are to get anything out of him. He runs and he runs until there’s nothing left to run from, so sometimes all you can do is wait for him to catch up to his own reality.

“It’s just a bit scary,” he finally says, pushing the last thought out of his head.

“You’re about to graduate, go see all these amazing places and finally get out of here. So maybe it’s scary, but aren’t all good things a bit scary in a sense? Wouldn’t it be less exciting if you knew exactly what to expect, already had it all planned and figured out, already knew it all,” Harry whispers into his hair, the words nestling themselves between the strands and seeping into Louis’s skin.

“I suppose you’re right,” Louis says, tilting his head up to meet Harry’s stare and giving him a small smile, the corners of his mouth perking up. “Guess there’s a first for everything,” he adds a second later.

Harry scoffs and shoves him, eliciting a laugh out of Louis who clutches at his chest, shielding himself from Harry.

“Fuck off,” Harry mumbles in between laughter as he shakes his head. Louis’s got crinkles that brighten his eyes and there’s sharp noises spilling from his mouth as he continues laughing. “You shit.”

+

Suddenly it’s spring, the snow lacing the streets and dusted across rooftops merely a fading memory. The leaves are greener, the sun is out and everyone’s carrying themselves a bit taller, a faster beat echoing against the pavement as they walk, the layers of clothing fewer with the sun shining down on them and warming their skin.

Exams are coming up and more and more time is spent in the library, sat together in groups with their books open in front of them, all of them trying to cram as much information into their tired brains as possible. They make flashcards in shiny colors in hope of remembering it all, of the reds and greens and yellows being the code that helps them crack all the neatly arranged sentences on the pages they read. They spend all their money on coffee and tea they’re too busy to drink anyway and it seems to be the topic of every conversation they have.

Twelve hours awake spin into twentyfour that nestle themselves together to thirtysix, their minds spinning with information even as their eyelids are drooping and they’re on the brink on sleep. It’s creases from the books surrounding them on their cheeks, the shake to their fingers from their lack of sleep, the downturn of their lips as they force their eyes to stay open, just one more sentence becoming their mantra as the hours tick by.

They all like to pretend that they’re surviving it, but seven am breakfasts after a night full of studying and study playlists that could play for two days do nothing to convince them about how all that they need is to nap for a month or two and finally remember what it feels like to be alive again.

Harry’s dragging on and doing his best. At least he’d like to think that he is. He spins his routine on a loop until it’s worked itself into his system, the actions carrying themselves out on instinct, his mind always rattling off information as he goes about his day, trying to sort it all out.

He’s fine though. Or at least he’ll be fine soon, he tells himself. He doesn’t know when soon is but his mind tells him it’s after exams are done and the school year trickles out. He really wants to believe it.

+

With the entering of spring Zayn and Louis’s trip is inching closer as well, each day one less spent in their presence. Harry doesn’t really know when he first picks up on it but suddenly there’s sparks of excitement flittering through their usual complaints about school. The year is winding down and all of them are sick of school and all it entails, they just want summer and warmth and summer . The air’s warm but it’s not enough. Exams are still awaiting and until then none of them can take a fully relaxed breath.

Harry notices it one day when they’re in the library studying. It’s just the three of them - him, Niall and Liam and their books sat by one of the big, wooden tables in the far back. They’ve been here for a few hours, the number unknown. He stopped checking his phone after hour four passed, all of it becoming a bit too depressing for his liking.

The room’s been quiet for a while now, the only sound the one of fingers against keyboards and the rustle of pages being turned, but suddenly there’s the patter of feet stirring the silence and Louis is rounding the corner, a big grin intact on his face as he plops down in the chair opposite Harry and leans forward on his elbows.

The other two ignore his presence to continue reading while Harry looks up and meets Louis’s stare. He arches an eyebrow as to say humor me and Louis bites down on his bottom lip, his lips twitching together as he releases it and opens his mouth to speak.

“We’re going to Paris ,” he whispers, his voice still loud enough to carry through the quiet of library and hit Harry.

He furrows his brow in confusion. “I thought it was too expensive, out of your budget or whatever it was Zayn said?”

“It was! I mean, it is,“ Louis clarifies, his face glowing with excitement as he speaks. “But Zayn has a cousin who just moved there last year as part of his gap year and he completely forgot about it. Didn’t remember until his mum mentioned it to him.”

“So, you’re going then?” Harry asks, pictures of Paris flashing by his eyes as they speak. He’s only ever been that one time as part of a class trip in 5th grade, but his still remembers the cut of the old buildings, the narrow back alleys and the cobblestone paths leading them further into the city as they all walked on a long line, holding hands with a classmate as to not get lost in this big, unfamiliar place they’d entered. The city was loud, louder than the quiet of Holmes Chapel and it swept over all of them like an unruly hurricane. Maybe that’s why it’s so easy to picture Louis there, he thinks, they’re both hurricanes in the way they take you over so fully, mesmerize you and leave an impact on you.

“Yeah, Zayn called him this morning and he’s all for it, says it’s no worries. He’s got some shitty apartment a bit outside of the city and said that as long as we don’t mind sleeping on the floor he’ll take us in.”

“That’s great, Lou.” Harry smiles and Louis mirrors it quickly, his thin lips spread wide and his teeth showing.

“Innit. We’re proper excited, thought we’d have to cut it and, I dunno, go somewhere boring or summat.” He laughs and flicks his fringe out of his face with his fingers grazing over his forehead as he does so. He watches Louis lower them from his face and prop them under his chin, resting his head in his hand.

Harry just tightens his lips, the smile weakening as he tries to keep it genuine. His mind is flooded with images of Louis strolling down the streets of Paris, wearing those braces and striped shirts he always wore when Harry met him that made him look French. He’s chatting up a boy in a dingy club, the bass vibrating loud and their bodies stood close as Louis mumbles in broken French. Harry blinks and suddenly it’s images of Louis and the faceless boy kissing, their mouths pressed together as their bodies move in tune to the music. They’re kissing with intent, both of them aware it’s the prelude to something else. A pang of jealousy hits him at the images, these merely made up thoughts of his and it beats at his chest, aching to be heard. But Harry just tucks them away and shuts them out. They’re nothingness, he tells himself as he blinks once again and ignores the stream of images continuing to fill his vision, tuning them out in favor of looking at Louis in front of him. He’s oblivious, still grinning with excitement at Harry.

+

Suddenly it becomes more evident than ever that they’re leaving - there’s stacks of travel books on Louis’s desks, there’s notebooks with the names of cities and places Harry’s only dreamt of visiting and the topic seems to always be on the tip of their tongues, waiting for someone to bring it up so they can update them on the latest place they’ve discovered. They spend all of their free time in between studying planning and the two of them are busier than ever. If they’re not cramming for their impending exams they’re googling cheap hostels and makingbudgets to stick to.

It all feels so official all of a sudden, as if the the loose thought has been transformed into a full fledged plan, something they’ve pinned to their calendars and are looking forward to. And Harry’s not jealous, not really, he’s seen bits and pieces of the world and there’s a voice in the back of his mind telling him he’s still young, sounding suspiciously like his mum, but every time the topic’s brought up anxiety stirs in his chest. He can’t help but feel as if maybe Louis doesn’t have room for him anymore, as if he’s just something taking up his time, something he can shed easily and dispose of as soon as he finishes uni and boards the train to Paris.

Louis swings his arm around his shoulder and tugs him close and whispers about how happy he is to see him whenever they meet but it doesn’t feel right for Harry. It feels as if Louis is feeding him excuses for his behavior and telling him what he wants to hear. His words are sharp, they cut against his pale skin and leave invisible scars, ones that bleed on the inside. The red blood seeps through his body and spreads to wrap around his heart, clinging to it with every beat it takes.

Harry tacks on a smile in response, but it feels weak around the edges and he wonders if they’re okay. If their situation is permanent. If Louis’s words and Harry’s empty responses are permanent. If they’ll move on from this once Louis graduates. He knows the answer to that question, but pretends he doesn’t. Maybe it’ll hurt less that way, he lies to himself.

+

“Here’s to finally finishing those fucking exams, here’s to freedom!” Louis raises his beer in the air as he slurs the words out. He’s stood on the table in the kitchen in a small apartment where they’re currently at. The rest of the party is huddled around him, all of their eyes locked on Louis as he strings a half-assed speech together.

Harry tunes it all out as he watches Louis, sipping on his own drink. He’s not quite sure what it is, Niall’s words of trust me as he had handed Harry him the glassechoing in the back of his mind as he downs another gulp. The alcohol tastes bitter coming down, scratching at the walls of his throat as he does his best to swallow. It’s like a fire is lit inside him when he feels it settle into the pit of his stomach.

He fixes his stare on Louis, who’s placed in the middle of the room. Harry thinks it’s fitting, how his position mirrors the way he’s always the center of attention, the one whose presence everyone is always aware of. He’s an enigma, a fresh gust of wind that rattles your bones and keeps you awake. He shines so bright in contrast to his darkened surroundings, his words and presence an everlasting glow in the midst of the crowd. He just stands out, every part of his being capturing your attention, drawing you in until he has you wrapped around his finger and you’re unable to let go. Hook, line and sinker.  

“Cheers! ” Louis finishes his speech a few minutes later and they all raise their drinks, mirroring his position as they echo their sentiments and down their drinks in one go, their arms swinging in synchronization. Harry does the same, his stare never faltering from Louis as he swallows the strong liquid, feeling it seep through his veins and spread through his body, warming him up.

Seconds later the stereo is being cranked up again, the loud vibrations of the bass filling the room, punching at their chests. The crowd quickly separates, people huddling together in smaller groups as some of them take to staying in the kitchen while others move into the living room where the couch has been pushed to the side to make room for a dance floor. There’s already a good few dozen people pressed together in the small space, their arms wrapped around each other, the dim lightning doing little to hide the way they’re grinding against one another to the hard beat spilling through the room.

Harry can spot Niall on the dance floor with Liam, the two of them jumping with big smiles on their faces. They’re nodding their heads to the music, their bodies awkwardly moving along. Harry laughs as he watches them and he makes a blurry mental note to join them later. He figures he needs to let loose some of the tension still trapped in his shoulders, needs to release it into the space and watch it dissolve into the crowd.

Zayn’s sat a few steps away on the beat up couch with four other people, all of them plastered together. They’re making friendly conversation, Zayn facing the girl on his right and his arms outstretched as he talks animatedly. He seems to be enjoying himself with the way the corners of his lips are tilted upwards as his mouth moves to let words out. The girl’s got a warm smile on her face as well, her body shifted toward Zayn and their knees touching.

Harry pushes away from the door frame where he’d been previously leaning and takes a second to assemble his balance. He’s a few drinks in already and the room’s spinning, making it hard for him to take straight steps. He’s not drunk yet but the alcohol is still weighing him down, breaking him apart with every sip he takes. It’s nice, he thinks, the way it makes his thoughts separate, makes them less of a jumbled mess. This way they’re flowing freely, each word for itself, looking for others to be paired together with as it swims through the ocean of his mind.

He takes a few staggering steps into the kitchen and pushes through the thick crowd that’s formed. He grips onto people’s bodies - their shoulders, backs, elbows - as he makes his way ahead, the people blurring together, their faces getting lost as he moves forward, forward, forward, always moving somewhere, to someplace he isn’t yet aware of.

This inbetween state leaves him floating, as if his feet aren’t quite hitting the ground, the hard thumps of his shoes touching down never fully registering in his mind. He feels a bit weightless, like he could fly out the open window if he wanted to, out into the chilly night and roam the streets painted in a yellow glow from the towering streetlights. In the streets he’d be free of responsibility, of the hard weight sitting on his chest, of unresolved feelings and words that go unspoken. He’d be free of all the things that spin in his mind and make his judgement go grey and cloudy.

He finds Louis in the crowd after a couple of minutes. He’s leaning against the counter, one of his hands gripping onto the edge to steady him, his small fingers curled around its metallic exterior and the other one circled around a beer in his hand. He’s by himself for once, something that doesn’t happen often. People, like Harry, tend to gravitate toward Louis, as if there’s a magnetic field surrounding him that draws people in. It’s something in the way his voice sounds, tall and important and the way his figure carries itself with confidence. The air surrounding him always seems a bit foggy whenever Harry’s with him, as if he can’t see or think straight, Louis’s presence making the words change order and his heartbeat increase.

“Hey,” he says once he reaches Louis. The music is loud, it’s a rhythmic beat, that hits their bodies from every side, making their voices rise upwards to be heard above it.

Louis looks over from where his eyes had been trained somewhere in the far distance. It’s like he’s awaken from a trance from the way his head perks up and his eyelids flutter a bit more open. He takes in Harry standing in front of him and slowly a smile breaks out across his face.

“Hey, love,” he replies, a soft edge surrounding the words as he speaks. He’s slurring a bit, his words coming out slower than they usually do and his eyes are glossy, shining bright despite the dampened lightning of the room.

“You alright,” Harry asks as he steps forward and leans back against the counter next to Louis. Like this their shoulders are brushing, a small contact of fabric on fabric, their burning skin covered up.  

“I’m a bit drunk, I reckon,” Louis says with a dry laugh, the words getting stuck in his throat as he speaks. It doesn’t get lost on Harry but the rest of the room is so overpowering with its loud thumping and sweaty bodies plastered close to theirs, extracting any intimacy that the moment might’ve required.

“I reckon you’re a lot drunk with the way you’re going at those drinks, mate.” He clinks his own cup with Louis’s beer, the sound getting drowned out. He looks up and aims a smile at Louis who returns it, but the edges of his lips don’t carry all the way up and it just looks weak and tired, like it’s taking every muscle in his body to attempt it.

“This is just my second beer, though. Had to slow down, god know’s what Niall puts in those drinks of his,” he scoffs and takes a long swig of his beer. He tilts his head back, his neck on display, making the bobbing of his Adam’s apple visible as he swallows. Harry quickly redirects his gaze, Louis’s golden skin haunting him as he let’s his eyes travel across the crowd around them. He places it instead on large group lingering by the table Louis had been stood on mere minutes ago and tries not to think about Louis’s body standing on top of it, the soft dip of his waist that leads to the curves of his hips and down the length of his legs. It’s flashes of memory, sparks that flicker awake. With every blink of his eyes, he pushes away at each individual body part, hoping that if he does it hard enough he can lose in the fuzzy confinements of his mind.

“He made me this one, claims it hold his secret ingredient,” Harry says as he looks down on the drink in his hand and circles his wrist, making the content slosh around. It’s a soothing motion, the one of round and round, and he watches the alcohol melt together and splash up around the walls of the cup.

“I bet it’s straight vodka, but ask him and he’ll say it’s love or some other sappy bullshit like that,” Louis snorts and arches his eyebrows, a smirk tugging on his lips as he speaks. This one feels more genuine though, less weak and plastered on.

“Love‘s nice though. I’d rather it be love than straight vodka,” Harry counters, leaning into Louis so their shoulders nudge and he can prop his body weight on him. There’s still a visible line of space between their bodies but they’re taking creeping steps forward, the barriers getting torn down and rebuilt with every ticking moment, every second, every hour, every day.

“Can’t get drunk on love though, can you,” Louis spits out, his voice having had gone the smallest bit bitter again. It wouldn’t be visible to anyone else, but Harry knows Louis. He knows every bit of him, every tone to his voice, every movement he makes, every word he speaks. He might not know algebra or biology but he thinks that he doesn’t have to, knowing another person inside and out, every bit of them except the taste of their skin, is enough. It’s satisfying in a way a math equation could never be.

“Have you never been drunk in love,” Harry says, leaning forward and waggling his eyebrows at Louis who finally cracks and gives out an honest laugh, his eyes crinkling and the corners of his mouth pushing his cheeks up as the sound escapes his mouth.

“Walked right into that one, didn’t I,” Louis says, shaking his head and pushing at Harry’s shoulder who just keeps laughing, the different shades of their voices mixing together.

Harry thinks that for tonight, when their minds aren’t drunk on courage, that might be enough. There’s still words that breeze past them, that don’t get caught and spoken, actions that get left behind for the fear of the what ifs that haunt them, but there’s a golden boy whose shoulder he’s pressed against laughing beside him and everything else, every want, every need just fades out as Louis keeps on laughing, his voice ringing out clear like a melody to Harry’s ears.

+

The day finally arrives a few days later. The day - the one he’s been almost dreading a bit, because it’s too close to the leaving, to Louis leaving Harry. Graduation is like the chapter before the final one, the one where threads get tied together and the air fills with closure. It’s all coming together now with their pressed suits, the fancy ones, the ones they only wear on special occasions. They’ve been worn to all big life events, they’ve seen all the weddings and funerals and graduations that have passed through their lives and as he smoothes out the black fabric and runs his hands down his olive tie, he thinks that it’ll see this one too. Soon the day will have passed and it’ll be saved as a memory in his head. They’ll be bits and pieces of it, things that for some reason stick around. Some of them make sense, like his mum’s face when she’d said i do at her second wedding, while others seem to linger for subconscious reasons he hasn’t worked out yet, like the exact shade of purple of the flowers they’d had at his great grandma’s funeral. They all pool in his memory, get collected in boxes, only to be brought out on days like these when he’s replaying them all in his head on a loop.

That morning they get their tickets from a stressed Zayn who stops by their room, thrusting them into Harry’s hand before he’s off again, rushing out a hasty goodbye over his shoulder and waving as he walks down the corridor, feet moving faster than Harry’s ever seen them do.

The first ceremony isn’t until a few hours later but Harry knows they’ve got a busy schedule ahead of them, a billion things to do and to keep track of. He texts Louis a quick good luck today .x before pocketing his phone and spending the remaining hours messing around on his computer. He doesn’t get a reply, but he doesn’t know if he really expected one to begin with.

Zayn’s ceremony is first and the three of them, Harry, Niall and Liam, meet up with the Maliks and Tomlinsons outside of the building where it’s being held. There’s so many of them, all of Louis’s and Zayn’s siblings mixing together, a dozen little heads moving around quickly. There’s the patter of feet hitting the concrete underneath them as they all stand in smaller groups, talking to each other. As they approach the big huddle of people Harry’s able to pick up bits and pieces of their conversations, big hand gestures and overpowering voices as they all battle to be heard above the loud chatter.

They all greet them once they’ve been spotted and the next half hour is spent in polite small talk with how you beens and it’s been so longs with the occasionally look at you, you’ve gotten so big, as if they’re still growing and getting taller at their age. But Harry just plasters on his widest smile and chatters away to Jay. He nods along to her stories while she’s trying to balance one of the babies on her hip, the other one peacefully asleep in its stroller. He greets all of the sisters and they all give him big hugs in return, asking him to tell them all about Uni since Louis never tells us anything, he’s so boring, just tells us we have to be proper smart to get in which apparently is a lie since he got in, didn’t he. Harry chuckles and it’s almost like Louis is there, rolling his eyes and ruffling his sisters hair as he tells them to shut it, will you.

Suddenly they’re being ushered into the big hall where the ceremony is being held and they all take their seats, Harry ending up wedged between the two older twins. He doesn’t mind it, he loves kids and in their wait they talk about how excited they are for summer and show him the latest game they’ve got on their phones, getting him to download it to his own as well. They play until Phoebe ends up beating both of their high scores and they’re told the ceremony is about to start.

The ceremony itself isn’t long but it drags on, Harry never being one to find these things too exciting. He doesn’t really have any other friends, besides Zayn, amongst the rest of the English majors and quickly gets bored listening to names he’s never heard being rattled off at a slow pace. It’s like with every name the clock on the wall slows down further, making the ceremony take even longer before they reach the M’s and Zayn’s being called.

Tick tock-tick tock. Name. Clapping. Tick tock-tick tock. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

While he waits, he braids the twins hair who’ve grown just as restless as he has. They’re practically bouncing in their seats, their short legs kicking back and forth. As he gives both of them two pigtails he has to put a hand on their legs to get them to still several times. They always give him sheepish smiles and whisper i’m sorrys while blinking up at him, making him give them a lopsided smile in return and whisper it’s alright . When he’s done they both give him identical grins that have flashes of Louis in them. He tries not to linger for too long on their features and how there’s sparks of Louis shining through in the color of their eyes, their hair and the crinkles by their eyes as they smile. He doesn’t want to be haunted by memories before Louis has even left, just wants for the day to go on at its own place, without him getting stuck on the bits that punch at his chest. He’ll have time for that later, he thinks bitterly as he claps when yet another unknown name is called.

--

After Louis’s ceremony is done they all gather on the big lawn outside of the building. There’s other groups just like theirs, surrounding them. It’s an ocean of black - suits and gowns mixed together with the light colors that come with the summer. There’s big hugs and claps on backs, people congratulating one another and relatives exchanging sentiments through kisses on cheeks. The light breeze brushing past them carries with it the love and pride that’s soaring in the air, all words of i’m proud of you and you did so well floating through them, spreading themselves along the sharp cuts of the green lawn they’re stood on. They’re restricted to their bubble, bouncing off the corners and slipping in through the crowd again, repeating the words again and again until they’re etched onto their skin.

They all line up for the photographs, despite Louis’s complaints about how they’ve already gotten the professional ones done so why is there more. Jay just shushes him and bops him on the nose as she tells him that it’s tradition, louis, I don’t care what you think, now go stand in between lottie and fizzy. She arranges them all into neat lines, making sure everyone’s ready as she hands over the camera to Harry and goes to join them. She props Doris further up on her hip and wraps the other one around Dan’s shoulders, slotting him into her side. Harry slowly focuses the camera, the small cross being centered right across Louis’s beaming face and begins the countdown. As he counts down from five he studies all of their faces individually, the resemblance of all of them, how despite their different genes they all have some things in common. Sharp cuts and lines that hold the trademark of a Tomlinson, as Louis had told him once when he’d shown him the photos of the newborn twins. Harry had just laughed then, saying he there was no way he could tell a two day baby was a Tomlinson but Louis had disagreed. He’d pointed to their eyes, their noses, their lips and said see right there.  

As he says a loud cheese, getting one in return, Harry thinks Louis’s might’ve been right after all.

--

It’s shaky fingers circled around the cold metal railings, hearts beating loud in their chests as the tube rattles around them. It’s a thumping, resembling the tha-thump-ta-thump that sounds rhymticially inside of them. It’s their swaying bodies, the ones filled with the champagne they’d had earlier in the night, their swimming minds and glassy eyes.

It’s courage found in the alcohol, courage to speak words that stand clear in their minds but that come out hazy, come out muffled as they lose themselves to the shaking. It’s back and forth back and forth, their bodies pliant underneath their poisoned veins and the soft edges that surround their vision.

I’ll miss you, Lou.

I’ll miss you too, Harry.

It’s small touches, ones that ghost across their skins, leaving invisible imprints. Scars that stick to their hearts, to their closed throats and to every place Louis’s ever touched him. His body is filled with scars, scars he can’t see, scars he can only feel. He brushes his fingers along the inside of Harry’s wrist, his fingernails scratching against the pale skin, against the blue veins threaded underneath and Harry feels it, feels how there’s a mark being formed already. It’s a second of warmth and a lifetime of memories etched into the faint brush of Louis’s fingers.

(Don’t leave.)

It’s hands slung around shoulders as they stumble down the streets, the cobblestones uneven underneath their dress shoes. The shoes that’d been polished this morning now hold smudges of grey and brown. Their suit jackets have the sleeves rolled up and their shirts are untucked and their ties loose. It’s hands around waists, holding onto each other as they focus on the one, two, three of their walking, the one of not falling over as their worlds keep on spinning. Fingers gripping tight, so tight the skin of his knuckles brushes through the fabric, pressing onto Harry’s ribs.

It’s the others walking ahead, the steps between their separate bodies too hard to count through the haze of their minds, the two of them falling behind. It’s Zayn swinging his head back, taking a sip of the bottle he’d hidden underneath his jacket and snuck out. It’s Harry nuzzling into the dip of where Louis’s neck meets his shoulders, breathing him in and hearing Louis’s laughter above him. It’s light, light and clear as it rushes through his body. Harry feels it hit him where he’s pressed against Louis’s skin and he giggles into his neck. They’re soaring, high above the ground, just the two of them and the sun setting in the horizon, painting them shades of pink.

(I love you. I love you. I love you.)

--

They’re lying with their backs pressed against the cold concrete of the building. The five of them lie in a line, their legs outstretched and hands pressed to their sides. Around them the dark of the night stretches on, the blackness never ending, only breaking through the headlights of the cars passing underneath them. They can’t see them, can only hear them as they fade into the background and become nothingness, the stillness taking over instead. It’s quiet, their breathing sounding harsh in comparison. They don’t speak, just lie there, with the black and their glowing skin, breathing it all in.

Above them the night sky stretches out. There’s no stars, the city lights too overpowering, too overwhelming for the stars to show themselves with the hustle and flashing colors that come from a city that never sleeps. London’s always awake, there’s always staggering souls wandering the streets at night, the streetlights never turning off and the passing cars never stopping. It has a heartbeat of its own, one that never dies as the city keeps on taking breaths with every flash of light that passes before their eyes.

Harry’s from the country, a small village where the stars shine every night, so many of them he would lose himself in the counting on the summer nights he couldn’t sleep. He would open his window and gaze up at the sky, the dots of silver looking back at him.

But as he lies here with his four favorite people close to him, he’s alright, he thinks. He misses home, but he blinks all of it away as he’s passed the bottle of champagne and he props himself up on his elbows and takes a swig. He feels it slosh down his throat and through his body before it settles in the pit of his stomach where it warms him up from within.

He turns to his left and nudges Louis with his free hand. He pushes it into his side, his fingers dancing across his ribs as Louis let’s out a staggered breath, trying his hardest not to laugh. He’s still facing up, not looking at Harry, so all he can see is his profile. There’s a soft blue lightning him up from behind, creating a halo that sharpens his features. It illuminates the bits of hair he still has left from shaving his stubble, makes them silver and bright against the shadow that falls over his face. His eyelashes are light, his eyebrows are light, the dip above his bottom lip is light, it’s silver shining through where his lips are slightly parted. Harry blinks his world into focus and presses into Louis’s ribs again at which he gives in and a small laugh escapes his mouth.

Satisfied, Harry leans forward, smirking once Louis turns his head to him and holds out the bottle. Louis goes to mirror his position, propping himself up on his elbows as he circles his fingers around the bottle. Their fingers brush, a beat of a second where they overlap, skin on skin, electricity flitting through their bodies before he blinks and Louis shifts his fingers so the connection is broken. Harry quickly retreats his hand and let’s his arms fall to the hard ground as he leans back down. He can see Louis taking a swing of the bottle in his peripheral vision, how he moves his head back, exposing his throat and chugs down sip after sip.

Harry just closes his eyes and lets the dark engulf him wholly, lets it seep into his skin and put out the flaming light the alcohol creates around his beating heart. Just lets it wash over him as he ignores Louis’s burning stare pressed into the side of his face.

+

The next morning they have breakfast with Zayn and Louis’s  families before they get packed into their cars, suitcases in the trunks and kids lined up in the backseats, to leave for their respective cities. They’d stayed at a hotel the previous night while the five boys had roamed the streets, drunk on the feeling of flying and the alcohol they drank. Today, it seems like a less than a good idea, as every hangover ever does. Harry’s head is pounding as if his heartbeat has been transferred from his chest into the walls of his mind, making it beat too fast, too loud for his squinting eyes and the dim sunlight shining through his blinds.

He spends an hour in bed that morning, staring up at the white of the ceiling, trying to process the previous night. It’s flashes of memories, blackness in between, the dark a bridge between each separate memory. He remembers the warmth the most though, the warmth seeping further through his body as the night had carried on. Louis’s fingers on his skin as the rode the shaky tube, Louis’s body pressed to his as they stumbled down the street and Louis’s smile as he finally let his guard down and laughed, the sound still ringing fresh in Harry’s ears.

Eventually Niall returns from his early shift at the pub and pounces on Harry, throwing his body across Harry’s. He wraps his arms around Harry’s shoulders, attempting to cling to him like a koala and the realization spreads a smile across Harry’s face. He really loves Niall, he thinks. He can always tell when Harry gets in one of his moods, as he calls them. When the thoughts in his head spin too fast for his liking, confusing him as he tries to untangle them and make sense out of the mess they form. Niall always knows how to coax out the happiness in him, knows just how to make Harry give a genuine laugh, one that isn’t forced out of his body like the others are. He takes him out for ice cream in November, their teeth shattering the entire time, makes a song up for him on the spot, crooning about Harry’s curls and dimples and gives him hugs, hugs so long Harry relaxes in his arms and returns them.

Niall smacks a wet kiss to his forehead and pinches his cheek before climbing off with a get up, gotta start getting ready if we don’t wanna be late and a wink thrown over his shoulder before going over to the dresser and blindly picks out a pair of jeans and a shirt. With one last get up, you lazy tosser he grabs a towel and his shower kit before shutting the door and heading off to the bathroom.

Harry stays in bed for exactly another twelve minutes, watching the numbers on the bright screen of his phone switch as the minutes tick by, until he drags himself up and starts getting ready.

--

Breakfast is a loud affair with all of them squeezed around several tables that’ve been pushed together. They make a lot noise in the otherwise quiet restaurant, their voices mixing together to create mismatched harmonies with words fading in and out as conversations carry on. There’s a slow song playing in the background, the sound soft, drowned out by their echoing voices.

Harry’s sat next to Louis by one of the far ends of the table. Their knees are pressed together under the table and he wonders if Louis’s as achingly aware of it as he is. If Louis can trace every bit of them that’s connected, if he can feel the warmth carrying through their layers of clothing and hear the loud beating of Harry’s heart.

He shifts, suddenly feeling self conscious yet making sure not to jostle Louis who’s talking to Lottie across the table. He carefully moves his leg, tucking it next to his other one. The warmth is still there, a ghost touch that lingers against his skin. He pretends he doesn’t feel it, that it’ll go away as he’s roped into another conversation. He laughs and talks but his attention is stuck on Louis to his left throughout breakfast, always following his movements in his peripheral vision, always checking up on him.

The hour ticks by quickly and before he knows it they’ve all finished their food, drank their glasses of juice and the mums are fighting over the check. It’s almost standard protocol by now, the way one of them will try to sneakily grab the check while the other one loudly protests and suddenly they’ve been bickering about it for ten minutes and everyone is rolling their eyes, knowing they’ll end up splitting it anyway. It’s like a ritual that comes with big family dinners, Harry thinks. It’s always the same, the predictability comforting in an odd way. The knowledge of how it’s going to pan out settling his bones.

They say their goodbyes on the curb outside of the restaurant, their cars parked on the street and ready for them to head off. Niall, Harry and Liam say theirs first, going in a row and giving everyone heartfelt hugs with see you soons thrown out as they wrap their arms around yet another person. When they’re done they stand to the side, letting Louis and Zayn have their moments with the families. They’re leaving in a few days, just the goodbye party and the packing up of their rooms left before they’re off on their big adventure as Louis has gotten into the habit of calling it. They won’t have time to see their families for another few months so the hugs seem to linger for a beat longer than they normally do and their voices seem to go quieter too.

Afterwards the five of them wrap their arms around each other, bodies pressed close as they watch the two cars drive down the street. Louis leans his head on Harry’s shoulder and Harry grips tighter around his waist, inching closer into his side to let him know that he’s here. Louis might be gone soon - in just a number of hours he’ll be off - but Harry will still be here. He’ll still be in England, with a heart that beats hopelessly for a boy who’s got his face pressed into his neck and whose heart doesn’t beat back at him.

+

Harry feels like he’s on fire. There’s flames burning underneath his skin, and each sip of his drink, each bit of alcohol that he consumes, seeps into his system and makes them burn bigger, brighter, taller.

He doesn’t know for how long he’s been drinking, just that it feels good. The alcohol makes him feel good. He doesn’t know how he would’ve been able to handle the night without it, without a flaming skin and hazy world, doesn’t know how he’d handle it with just his aching heart and Louis across the room. He’s stood in the middle of a small group of people, all eyes plastered on him as he talks with his big gestures and a drink in his hand. He’s got all of them under his spell as much as he’s got Harry. They’re on opposites sides of the room but still he can feel every one of his senses focused on Louis as he laughs and tips his head back. The sound of his laughter doesn’t travel across the room, the thumping of the music too loud for that, but it rings clear in Harry’s ears as if Louis’s stood next to him. His vocal chords play a soft melody, one written to break through the dim haze of Sunday mornings and capture Harry’s attention. It reels him in again and again until he gives himself over fully, thrusts his heart in Louis’s hands with a here, take it, it’s yours.

Louis is leaving. In 48 hours he’ll be in Paris in some guy’s apartment, just him and Zayn, the rest of them left behind. Harry will be in his childhood bedroom where he’s got a collection of memories plastered to every surface. There’s his first kiss in the sheets of his bed, his first tears splattered across his desk, his first real fight, the first one that mattered, across his walls. It’s all there, sitting and waiting for Harry to return back home, open the door and be wrapped up in the bits and pieces that colored his childhood and teenage years. But he’s got memories of his own here in London now as well. There’s his first one night stand, the first time he met the lads, the first time he fell so hard he forgot how to breathe as he stared into an ocean of blue. They’re all dusted across classrooms and streets, getting swept up in the wind and flying out across the city, taking the bits Harry let himself leave behind with it.

He blinks his world back to focus, the colors plastered to the back of his eyelids growing into shapes. The people surrounding him at the party, the furniture scattered around the apartment, it all fills his vision as he’s brought back to the present. He realizes he’s zeroed in on Louis and now he’s staring back at Harry, a confused glint in his eyes and one corner of his mouth raised up into a small smirk.

Harry awkwardly reaches his free hand up and gives an unsure wave. He tries to arrange his face into something natural and attempts a smile, wincing at how uncomfortable it makes him feel and how stiff it must come off. Louis let’s his lips tug into a full blown smirk in reply, oblivious to the thoughts running through Harry’s mind. He beckons him over with a tip of his head and a mouthed come on, but Harry just shakes his head and motions toward the kitchen, raising his cup as if he’s going to get a drink. He thinks he sees Louis’s face drop before he’s turning around and walking away, but doesn’t let himself linger on it.

The crowd’s thick with bodies, the party filled with people here to say goodbye to Louis and Zayn. They push at him from every side as he does his best to navigate through the crowd, looking for familiar faces in the sea of strangers. People he’s never met surround him and their skin plastered against his own makes him itch, makes his chest stir with anxiety as he speeds up his walking, his feet moving faster, faster, faster as to find a quiet space.

Some time later he stumbles upon the balcony and figures why not as he pushes the door open and steps out onto the small bit of concrete. It’s significantly quieter out here with only one other pair of people. They’re stood on the far left of the balcony, sharing a cigarette between them and carrying on a conversation too quiet for Harry to hear.

He goes over to the railing and leans his elbows against it, taking in the night. Everything’s a shade of dark blue, every building surrounding them, every tree, every person walking on the sidewalk underneath him. They’re all hidden in the darkness, becoming anonymous, the identity that their colors bring to them wiped clean by the setting of the sun. He let’s his eyes roam along the sharp cuts of the buildings and tries to peer into the glowing windows, but he’s too far away, only seeing black blobs move around.

Harry’s startled out of his thoughts when the door rattles behind him. It opens up and for a second the previously dull throbbing of the party heightens again, but then the door closes and it fades out, the stillness of the night taking over.

The person goes to stand next to him by the railing and in his peripheral, he can tell it’s Liam. He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and takes one out, lighting up quickly. He offers one to Harry, but he shakes his head without turning to face Liam. He puts the pack away before taking a long drag of his cigarette and exhaling, the smoke dissolving and becoming dark blue.

“It’s weird that they’re leaving, isn’t it,” Liam says after a couple of seconds of silence. His shoulders are slumped, his body leaning forwards and his fingers gripped tight around the cigarette even though the words come out soft, a bit gentle.

“It hasn’t really sunk in that they’ve graduated yet, let alone are going away,” he continues, not waiting for Harry to reply. “I keep thinking I’m going to see them around.”

He gives out a small laugh before he takes a drag, holding it in for a beat before exhaling, the smoke spilling out of his mouth. “I’ll read something and think of how I’m going to mention it to Zayn or see something funny and say to myself ‘Louis will love this’ before it hits me that they won’t be around every day anymore.”

“It’s just a few months,” Harry pipes up, the words scratching against his throat like sand paper as he speaks. His voice comes out too weak, wavers too much as he tries to feign casualty.

“You know it isn’t, Harry,” Liam says, finally turning to face him. Harry looks back at him, their eyes meeting. There’s a sadness written across Liam’s face, this unspoken pity he feels for Harry. It’s as if he can read every thought running through his head, as if he knows everything Harry’s been too afraid to voice out loud.

“They’ll be here next year, but it won’t be the same, both you and I know that.”

Harry hums, not sure what to reply because he does know, is the thing. He’s known it ever since New Years, since he returned to school after the holidays. It was as if something had shifted, things never fully returning to the way they were before. He’s known it through the months passing, the thought always plastered to the back of his mind, flashing in neon colors. It’s haunted him to the point it’s all he can think about, about how the before is in the past, how there’s no more them anymore, not like there once was.

“I’ll miss them,” Liam sighs and Harry shifts his gaze back to the concrete building that towers above them, Liam’s honest eyes growing too invasive.

The silence stretches on between them, the minutes ticking by before Liam puts his cigarette out on the railing and heads back into the party with a pat to Harry’s shoulder and words that get left hanging in the air.

Harry stays out on the balcony for a while more by himself. The cold is punching at his cheeks, tinting them a light pink as he drags his arms closer around himself, trying to savor some of the warmth still gripping onto his skin while he thinks i’ll miss them too, i’ll miss them too, i’ll miss them too until the words are scattered across the expanse of his skin, filling his vision, making him drown in them.

--

When he re-enters the party it’s like his body is going under again, his vision foggy as the corners turn more blurry with every step that takes him further into the crowd. He let’s himself get swept up in it all, let’s the warmth engulf him and flood his senses as he loses himself in the sea of people.

He downs drink after drink, his world spinning faster and faster as he tilts his head back, feeling the alcohol rush and spread through his body. It’s warming him up, making it easier to inhale and exhale without his bones weighing him down. Instead he feels as if he’s flying, as if his feet aren’t touching the ground. He picks up another shot glass, clinking it with the others and counting to three before raising their drinks up and then pouring them down their throats.

He flits from group to group, letting strangers become friends whose names he won’t remember in the morning. They’re so shiny, so new. They’re sparkling in colors of pink, green, purple underneath the lights, making them stand out against the crowd. He takes them in, let’s their faces flood his mind as he follows lines across their faces, follows them over the slopes of their noses, the arch of their eyebrows and over the dip of their lips. His eyes jump from place to place, constantly memorizing it all, taking it all and storing it in boxes inside his mind.

He dances, his body pressed close to others. He’s feeding off of them, taking their energy and letting it rattles his bones and swarm his mind. Their movements become his, their bodies molding into one as the music seems to grow louder with every passing beat. It nestles itself into his ears, spreading through his body as he becomes one with it. His heart matches the beat of the song, the ta-thump-ta-thump loud and overpowering.

With every passing hour he feels the thoughts of leaving and Louis fading more and more. He takes another drink, makes a new friend, pushes against another body and floats higher and higher, repeating the actions until he’s carrying them out on instinct, the alcohol making every dark thought become less and less until he’s made himself believe they were never there to begin with.

--

The night seems to pass in a flash of lightning - touching down and only leaving the aftermath. He feels it all so intensely as it’s happening, feels it etch itself onto his memory, but with a blink it’s all gone and he’s emerging from the darkness.

There’s a hand running down his cheek, a motion of back and forth, every stroke gentle and soft. The fingers cool down his hot skin, they’re cold like the chilly night, as if the person’s been outside and just came back in again.

Most of the alcohol’s fizzled down to a low buzz collecting underneath Harry’s skin by now, just sitting there, creating a vibrating echo instead of running through his veins and spreading through his body. His head still feels like it’s floating, but the intense spinning he’d felt before passing out seems to have disappeared. He’s thankful for it, the feeling of being dragged in every direction unsettling and something he won’t miss.

The hand’s suddenly retracted, a beat and it’s gone, the quiet of the room replaced by a low whisper of, “Harry, love. ”

Harry opens his eyes at that, squinting as he tries to get used to the orange glow cast over the room by the lamp sitting on the nightstand. Louis’s in front of him, his eyes pinned on Harry as he slowly flutters his eyelids more open. He’s lying down, Louis right next to him on the bed. He must’ve been carried here because last he remembers he was in the living room, surrounded by bodies.

In the bedroom it’s just the two of them. It’s quiet, the only sounds coming from the open window and the passing cars outside. The party must’ve died down because the dull throbbing carrying through the walls is gone and so is the loud chatter of people.

He prefers it like this, anyway. It’s always been easier when it’s just the two of them. In a way it’s terrifying, as if he’s standing in his naked bones. Louis’s the only person to see through him and who can read every expression cast over his face, no one able to quite get him like this. But in another way it’s more natural this way. He’s always fallen into an easy rhythm with Louis, the two of them feeding off each other.

Neither has spoken since Louis’s soft words, their eyes still pinned on one another. The quiet of the room is echoing across its walls, spreading and running through them.

Harry brings his hand up from where it’d been resting on his stomach and brushes his fingers across Louis’s forehead, running them through his fringe. It’s soft now, the product he’d had in it earlier in the night gone. Harry’s always liked it this way. It’s easier to run his fingers through, less of a resistance as he does so.

He tucks one strand behind Louis’s ear and let’s his fingers run up the shell of it, barely touching down. He traces its form, the half moon of it, before he runs his fingers down Louis’s neck. He keeps his touch soft, a faint whisper of how it’d be if he let himself give in to every feeling tugging at his heart. It’s like scattered memories, every touch, every brush of fingers, a rewind of the past two years. Every platonic touch they’ve shared, everything that he once used to take for granted, now resurfacing and washing over him, drowning him in the intensity of it’s presence.

Louis’s been still this entire time but when Harry’s hand settles on the curve between his neck and shoulders, he visibly relaxes. It’s as if he’d been holding in a breath and finally, finally, let himself give in and exhale. His entire body shivers, his skin turning prickled underneath Harry’s touch, small goosebumps created.

His lips quirk into a small smile, a barely there upturn of his lips. Harry gives him one in return, just as small, just as gentle as the one Louis’s aiming at him.

They keep quiet. Their eyes locked, their skin touching, the stillness of the room wrapped around them, holding them close, pressed together as they become one.

“I’ve missed you,” Louis finally whispers. It’s like the words have been sitting on his tongue this entire time, waiting for the right moment, the right second to be spoken.

“I’ve missed you too,” Harry replies. Neither of them mention how it’s past tense.

They lapse into a content silence again, still close, but not close enough . Now that the words have been spoken into the space between them, it feels easier in a sense. They both know where this is heading, the charged air of electricity connecting their bodies finally surfacing, making itself shine bright and clear.

So when Louis tangles their feet together and they both scoot closer on the bed, as if by an unspoken agreement, it’s no surprise to Harry. His hand is still resting on Louis’s neck and Louis brings his up to Harry’s hip, toying with the hem of his shirt. He bunches it up so he can press his fingers against Harry’s skin. His fingers are still cold, but Harry’s skin feels like it’s on fire.

When their lips finally meet it starts out slow, as if they’re getting to know each other. It’s a soft brush of lips on lips, skin on skin, before Louis grabs his hips, gripping tight.He closes the last bit of distance between them and they’re pressed chest to chest now, so close Harry can feel the rapid beating of Louis’s heart against his.

Their mouths mold together like waves crashing against the shore, going back again and again. They slot together, fitting perfectly with Louis’s thin lips pressed against Harry’s full ones. Neither of them take charge, instead keeping it simple, just the brushing of lips.

Louis presses his tongue in at the same time as he locks his ankles around Harry’s feet,  tugging him forward, and it’s like a release of electricity. The flickers are buzzing inside their mouths, exploding and creating stars. It’s as if he’s trying to map out every bit of Harry, tracing patterns with his tongue. His lips press down harder and Harry wonders if he’s trying to savor this as much Harry is. If he’s wondering how much of this is gonna reduce itself to a faint memory in a couple of hours, and he’s desperate to remember it, to lock up as much of it as he can.

Harry wraps his hands around Louis’s lower back and it’s as if they can’t stay apart longer than the beat of a second they need to exhale. They keep going back, and back, and back. The air from their lungs is punched out in small puffs as they pant into each others mouths, letting their breathing mix together.

They kiss until their eyelids feel heavy and their thoughts are scattering, running off in different directions, hard to keep track off. They fall asleep with their bodies wrapped around each other, Harry’s head on Louis’s chest, his beating heart underneath and Louis’s arms around him, holding him in place.

--

Harry wakes up to sunshine through the open window. The blinds are up, allowing for light to stream through the room. It washes it in soft shades of pink and orange that drift into each other, creating new colors. He blinks his eyes open slowly, allowing himself to get adjusted to the harsh contrast of the back of his eyelids. It takes him a second to figure out where he is, the pounding of his head doing nothing to help. As he opens his eyes further, allowing the light to hit him, the night comes back in flashes. Most of it’s a blur, but he remembers bits and pieces, streaks of silver against their muted backgrounds - watching Louis across the room, talking to Liam on the balcony, dancing, drinking and spinning, spinning, spinning.

There’s a pair of strong arms wrapped around him, holding his waist and oh , suddenly there’s a new stream of memories flooding his mind. He remembers Louis in the dark room, bathed in the soft orange glow, their legs slotting together and kissing. He remembers the way their lips had felt pressed together, the taste of Louis’s tongue against his own, tracing patterns inside Harry’s mouth. The memories drift into one another but they all stand in flashing colors, already tattooed onto the walls of his mind.

Harry’s brought out of his thoughts when he feels Louis waking up underneath him. He wakes up in stages, each body part being brought back slowly. His legs start fidgeting, his stomach shifting and Harry can feel his heartbeat increasing, being awoken. Louis starts making these smacking noises and when Harry shifts his head so he’s able to look up at Louis, he’s met with him scrunching his face together and his mouth gaping open and shut.

Harry moves up so that he’s no longer lying on top of Louis, allowing him some breathing space and instead going to lie down on the pillow next to him. Louis brings a hand to rub at his eyes, blinking the sleep away. He mumbles a few incoherent words, mainly making disgruntled noises as he opens his eyes properly. Harry’s right in front of him, their faces inches apart. When Louis sees him, he seems taken aback for a second before his features visibly relax, smoothing out into something soft and content.

“Morning,” he mumbles, his voice quiet and a bit husky from sleep. The corners of his lips tilt into a small smile and his eyes crinkle.

Harry can’t help but smile back at the blissful look on Louis’s face, so endeared by the boy in front of him. Louis’s eyes are a soft blue in the mornings, specks of silver in them. They’re like galaxies, he thinks, with small constellations being created inside them, every spot connecting to another dust of silver, tying them together to an entire universe.

“Morning,” he replies, reaching out to run a hand gently across Louis’s cheek, mirroring Louis’s movement from the night before. He doesn’t let his hand linger, just brushes it across briefly before he runs it down Louis’s side, placing it on his back.

He’s about to push forward, press their bodies together and brush a kiss against Louis’s lips when he sees something shift in Louis’s eyes. With the touch of his hand it’s as if something lights up inside him, setting fire to the soft look from seconds ago. Something washes over his face and his features turn sharp again. He chews on his bottom lip, the previous smile fading away.

Harry stills. Suddenly his hand feels heavy lying against Louis’s back, as if it’s sinking into the fabric of his shirt and through his hollow bones onto the sheets of the bed. His shoulders have gone tense and there’s a lump growing in his throat, making it hard to breathe.

He’s about to retract his hand, maybe move away, say something to get away from this. The content air turned stiff, hard and heavy all at once. It’s wrapping around them, wrapping around his heart, anxiety nestling itself into his veins and spreading through his body. He’s about to try to turn the situation around when Louis surges forward, pecking him casually on the cheek before he’s scrambling off the bed, ripping Harry’s hand away in the process and stumbling out of the room.

It happens so quickly Harry’s not sure how to process it, process whatever just happened. It all changed so fast, everything from the previous night getting caught in the passing wind and soaring out through the window, getting scattered across the streets of London. Floating through the people moving around early in the morning, passing through their bodies and slowly dissolving until there’s nothing left but the rapid beating of Harry’s heart against his ribcage.

He sits across from Louis during breakfast, waiting for something, anything to flash across his face and show the he still remembers, that the previous night wasn’t a figment of Harry’s imagination. But Louis spends the entire breakfast chatting to Liam, his face turned away from Harry, their eyes never meeting despite the intensity of the stare Harry’s aiming his way and it leaves him with a hole in his chest, one that he’s not sure what to fill with anymore.

+

“Niall, remind me again why we have this-” Harry brings up the plush object, turning it around in his hands to figure out what it is. “Stuffed octopus in the color of the Irish flag that sings Dancing Queen by Abba?” He turns to Niall who’s stood on the other side of the room, packing and talking to Liam. At the sound of Harry’s voice he looks up, freezing with a stack of shirts in his hands and glances to the object in Harry’s hands.

“Oh, that’s Milo. My mum got him for me on my third birthday.” Niall beams at the sight of Milo, apparently, and walks across the room, navigating through the labyrinth of moving boxes scattered across it. He tugs the toy out of Harry’s hands and squishes it before shoving it in Harry’s face with a, “Cute, isn’t he?”

“Um, sure,” Harry replies, hesitantly, “why does it sing Dancing Queen though. It’s not very Irish, is it?”

“‘S the greatest song of all time, that’s why,” Niall replies with a shrug before he stashes the octopus under his arm and walks over to his side of the room again, humming about being young and sweet, only seventeen under his breath. He gives no further explanation as to his weird choice in childhood toys, but Harry’s been friends with him for far too long for this to seem like something out of the ordinary, anyway.

With a raise of his eyebrows, Harry returns back to the box he’s currently packing. They’re set to leave in a few hours, Niall catching a plane back home to Ireland and Harry getting a ride with Gemma to Holmes Chapel, and of course, they’d both put off packing until the very last day. Harry had tried to get them to start early, like any reasonable person would’ve, but there were other things occupying his mind, making his attempts half hearted at best. He pushes any thoughts that might resurface back into the dark part of his brain and picks up a couple of books, placing them into a neat line in the box.

The other boys are there as well, all of them already done. Louis and Zayn are sprawled out on the window sill with the window propped open. They’re sharing a cigarette and talking mindlessly, their voices getting drowned out by the rustle of cardboard and the soft music spilling from Harry’s iPod dock. Liam’s there too, done days ago already and he’s helping Niall out, the two of them bickering about proper folding techniques and what not. He tosses Milo on the bed and Niall lets out an audible gasp as he scrambles to retrieve it, clutching him to his chest as he furrows his eyebrows and starts scolding Liam.

They’ve all been at it for a few hours and are almost done by the looks of it. Harry and Niall have only got about one box left each before they’ve covered most of the big things. They’re set to head out to lunch afterwards, as an official goodbye of sorts as they’re all parting ways today. Liam’s heading back home to Wolverhampton and Zayn and Louis are boarding their train to Paris in a couple of hours. They’d said goodbye to everyone else at the party except for the three of them. Liam had asked if it wouldn’t just be easier to do it then, while they did everyone else, but Louis had just caught him in a headlock with a hissed won’t get rid of us that easily and they’d all laughed.

Harry lets himself be brought back to the present. Their voices flood his senses again, all of it turning sharp and the static fading out. The others have gathered in the middle of the room, Louis and Zayn leaving their spots by the window with only an ashtray and smell of smoke sticking to the room to speak for them.

“Harry, come here!” Niall shouts at him, beckoning him over with a wave of his hand. Harry mumbles a yeah, i’m coming and drags himself across the room, his anxiety getting stronger with every step he takes in Louis’s direction. It’s spreading from his chest to the tip of his fingers and down through his legs, taking his body over completely.

Niall swings an arm around his shoulders, tugging him into his side when he arrives. Beside him, Liam and Louis are fighting playfully, the two of them going at each other with harmless punches and slaps. Zayn’s just standing around, watching the rest of them, zoning out like he does sometimes. He looks as if he’s trying to memorize it all, as if he’s painting a picture in his mind. Picking out the right shades of red and yellow to make the moment freeze just as it is right now. Harry’s seen him do it before, his face overtaken by an intense look. His eyes squinting, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips slightly pouting, as if he isn’t aware he’s doing it.

Harry’s thankful for the distractions in a way, as it allows him to take Louis in. It’s been two days since they kissed and Louis’s leaving in a few hours. They haven’t spoken since, all of them nursing their hangovers the day before. Harry’s barely left bed, Niall doing the same, the two of them cuddling and watching old Disney movies together. He hadn’t heard from Louis and based on his behavior the next morning, Harry wasn’t expecting to. He still checked his phone every few minutes, Niall’s worrying looks not going unnoticed, but when he asked Harry about it, he just fed him a lie about waiting for Gemma to text and Niall shrugged it off, going back to Mulan.

Louis’s standing in front of the window, sunlight hitting him straight in the face. It bathes him in a light glow, washing over his features so they’re illuminated. He’s got his arms crossed over his chest, a stiffness to his posture that Harry’s never noticed before. He still manages to look relaxed though, the soft and sharp a striking contrast. His face’s laughing and his cheeks are puffed up as he bats at Liam’s shoulder, the sound of his laughter coming out clear.

As he observes Louis, he thinks about it’s so rarely you notice when something shifts, purely based on another person’s appearance. To a stranger they must look fine, normal, but inside their mind there’d be tornadoes and volcanoes erupting. All of it concealed under this carefully constructed mask we all put up. You let your eyes go unfocused, your mouth fall slack, your shoulders slumped back, the beat of your steps never faltering. You fade into the background, keep up your old behavior as to not let anyone know, to not have anyone ask intrusive questions you don’t know how to answer. Harry wonders if that’s what he’s been doing this entire year. If he’s been hiding in plain sight.

“Alright, settle down,” Niall says, releasing his grip on Harry to grab Louis’s shirt, tugging him backwards into a hug. Louis goes to protest, the words on the tip of his tongue, but Niall wraps his arms around his shoulders and nuzzles into his neck and Louis stills. For a second his eyes meet Harry’s, a beat of the last 48 hours playing out between them. A sadness pools in his stare, but as soon as it’s happened it’s gone. Louis turns around to face Niall, mumbling something that makes Niall laugh, a big grin plastered to his face.

Harry averts his gaze, feeling uncomfortable. He brings a hand to rub at the back of his neck, shuffling his feet, unsure of what to do with himself. The room’s still filled with the sounds of their voices. They’re loud, vibrating against the walls and spinning in circles around Harry, nestling themselves into his system.

“Hey, can we talk for a sec?” Zayn suddenly asks, startling Harry out of his thoughts. Zayn brings a comforting hand to place on Harry’s shoulder, the movement gentle and soft, just like the sound of his voice.

“Um, yeah, sure,” Harry replies sheepishly and Zayn shoots him a small smile. He nods toward the door and starts walking out of the room, Harry following behind.

Once they’re outside in the hall, Zayn makes sure to close the door behind them and leans against it. He’s got his body slumped, his hands crossed over his chest and his fingers are fidgeting, as if there’s the itch of nicotine lingering against his skin.

“So, what’s up?” Harry asks. He’s a bit confused as to what he’s doing here, why Zayn wants to speak to him. Zayn’s looking at him curiously, with a glint in his eyes, but Harry can’t make out what it means. A beat passes. Zayn doesn’t speaking, his eyes searching Harry’s face as if he’s looking for something before he blinks and is brought out of it. He pushes his hands into his pockets before his posture straightens and he goes to speak.

“Look, Harry, I know something happened between you and Lou.” He breaks off, allowing for the words to sink in and Harry can feel them seeping into him, taking root and swimming inside his mind.

“He won’t tell me what it is, hasn’t even brought it up himself,” Zayn continues, “but I know him. We both do. He’s a bloody bastard most of the time, but when he’s upset there’s just something that changes about him, yeah. It’s like there’s this switch that goes on and there’s just something different about him, no matter how hard he tries to conceal it.” He stops, staring intently at Harry, who nods, not sure what else to do. He’s flooded by memories of Louis lying in the sheets the morning after, the soft look on his face when he’d first woken up, the sleepy smile he’d aimed Harry’s way and the way, with the feeling of skin on skin, he’d stiffened, his entire demeanor changing.

“He fucked up somehow and for whatever he did, I’m so sorry, Harry,” Zayn says, his words stabbing at Harry’s chest, making it hurt with every indication of he fucked up being repeated in his mind. “I’ll talk to him as soon as I can, but you know-”

“We kis- We kissed,” Harry interrupts, his voice breaking though he tries to cover it up with a dry cough. Zayn’s face stills, his lips turning into a sharp line before he opens them slightly, but doesn’t speak, his jaw going slack. He quickly composes himself again and clears his throat.

“Wasn’t really expecting that,” he says, giving a small laugh, “but I’m not really surprised, if I’m being honest. Think we’ve all been waiting for you two to get your shit together for ages now.”

“Well, it’s not. We’re not- Together, you know,” Harry says, his voice wavering as he moves his gaze to the end of the hallway. He can feel Zayn’s eyes on him, but he can’t meet his burning stare, his look filled with thoughts and words he doesn’t want to face.

“Oh, fuck. Shit." Zayn brings a hand to run through his hair, his fingers brushing through the black strands. He keeps it there for a beat and just stares at Harry, the thoughts running through his head as they stand in silence. The conversation feels as if it’s still open, a wound that hasn’t healed yet, but give it time, Harry thinks bitterly. Maybe if he allows for the leaves to turn brown and fall to the ground and for the snow to cover them up, the throbbing in his chest will fade out, sync into the rhythm of his heartbeat and make it less noticeable.

He feels awkward still standing there so he goes to return to the room, taking a couple of staggering steps forward when Zayn grabs his elbow, circling his fingers in the crook of it and bringing Harry to a stop. Harry turns to look at him with a raise of his eyebrows and Zayn stares back, one of those that bores through his eyes, etching itself onto the back of his eyelids.

“He really misses you, Harry, you know. He pretends like he doesn’t, but he does. Don’t let him make you believe you aren’t as important to him as you were before all of this,” Zayn pauses and gives a small nod. Harry just blinks back at him, unsure of how to respond.

“He’s just a bit lost right now, thinks he has to prove something to himself. I don’t know, that he’s independent and doesn’t need anyone or summat. Don’t give up on him. He’s stupid and god knows he needs to figure his shit out, but he will, in time. Just give him time, Harry.”

With that he releases his grip on Harry and steps away from the door, allowing for Harry to walk back inside. He does so, Zayn’s words still playing on a loop in his mind. Don’t give up on him.