Work Text:
I’m there, still, waiting, still.
Harry unlocked the door to the flat and walked inside. Everything was dark, the air quiet and stale. He softly blew out the air that, for some reason even after all this time, he holds within every time he comes home.
Home.
Once it had meant a one bedroom flat filled with laughter and noise and life. Once it had meant birthday dinners shared together before joining family celebrations and anniversaries and falling asleep during Netflix binges on the couch.
Once it had meant Louis. In a way it still did, Harry supposed.
He flipped on the lights and searched for something, anything, to be a sign that maybe he had returned, but just as he had been for the previous 5 months, 4 days, and 13 hours Harry found everything exactly as it had been since Louis left.
There beneath the water’s surface,
There above the mountain’s peak.
Harry dropped the keys on the kitchen table along with the mail, most of it still in Louis’ name because he couldn’t bring himself to change the utilities to his own. Niall had been begging him to do it for months now, give himself some closure.
How was Harry expected to find closure when Louis had entirely disappeared one day with nothing but a note saying, “Always in my heart, yours sincerely, Louis”?
It meant that every single thing he saw, every purchase they had made together, every recipe Louis had marked as one of his favorites in the binder Harry had collected through the years, every ratty boot Louis had insisted they hold on to had a piece of him. And if Harry was always going to be in his heart, Harry couldn’t imagine ridding their flat of Louis either.
I’m there, still, hoping, still.
As was Harry’s tradition, he saved the bedroom for last. Finally switching on the lights he brought himself to recognize the fact that this room was as empty as the last. He loosened his tie and dropped it on the bed, ready to be hung up once he had changed.
Louis used to just drop his clothes wherever he liked, knowing Harry would tidy up behind him. That was one of his habits that had grown to be fond in Harry’s memory through the months apart instead of frustratingly annoying, just as had the half drunk cold cups of tea he used to leave everywhere, or the disorganized DVDs that were never in the right cases, or the fact that even after having lived together for 4 years he could never remember the flavor of toothpaste Harry preferred.
Harry sighed before pulling up his joggers and heading towards the kitchen.
You’d think cooking for one would have gotten easier, but every night Harry still found himself with more than enough food for two and every night Harry found himself unable to regret that hopeful habit of his.
There in the colors that bleed through the leaves,
there in the blue that comes before black does.
When Louis left it had been finally turning warm in London, teasing the inhabitants to wander out of doors. Harry realized with a jolt how cold it was starting to turn already as he returned to the chilly kitchen where they never had gotten the window fixed. It had gotten jammed not quite completely closed, and while the summer and early fall were easy to pretend it hadn’t happened, Harry could feel the cold seeping through him now.
He walked over to the window to see if anything had changed only to find the trees had. How had he missed the reds and yellows that littered the street? Was he so far removed from reality, constantly thinking about and hoping for Louis’ return that he hadn’t even noticed the seasons changing? Had his waiting caused him to think of the dark hues that now bled across the inky sky as just another sleep to dream of Louis rather than the close of another day?
I’m there, still…
Harry sat himself down at the table and stared at the paper Louis had scribbled his last words on. Zayn particularly had said that was not healthy and he should burn it or toss it or...anything really. Just get it out of his face.
But Harry knew, deep down, he would never be able to do that.
Louis had changed him, and with his entire being, Harry sent out what he could only pray would work as a homing signal, the words
come back to me.