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Louis doesn't think about past relationships often, but Harry, just.
Damn. It was so fucking good with him.
He's going through photo albums, old ones, ones that he doesn't even know why he keeps. It's a hot day, summer, and the sun in shining in the room but Louis feels an odd sense of senselessness, like he just doesn't know what to do with himself. He almost feels stuck, and it's weird, because Louis' always got something to do, always got something to keep him busy, but. Not today.
So after his morning mug of tea, a few sugar cookies and flicking through boring headlines on the newspaper, Louis sits awkwardly. He's got nothing to do.
He flicks through his phone, but no one's texted him; he looks through his email, but he'd answered them all last night; he goes through his games but loses all his lives on Farm Heroes and gets bored of Temple Run. He's already beat all his other games. He sighs. He scrolls through Twitter, but there's nothing intriguing. He scrolls through Instagram and it's all the same.
He gets himself a glass of water, a beam of sunlight passing through it. It's when he's watching the dust motes floating in the light that he catches the old worn and torn edges of the photo albums on his shelves. He swallows down the rest of his water and makes his way over to select one, setting himself on the couch. He sits on the remote and pulls it from under his bum with a longing look, and he'd watch some shows but he's already caught up and watched all of his favorites over and again enough times that he knows each line of every episode of every season by heart. It doesn't make them any less funnier, but it'd be nice if he could watch it for the first time again. He pouts.
In a little bit, he thinks, In a little bit you can think up wittier comments than Micheal Scott.
He tosses the remote on the coffee table and props his legs up, cracking the ancient album open and swatting away imaginary dust for theatrics. No one's around, he can quit the crap, but he likes making a big deal of things. The first picture he sees is a picture of him on Stan's back, wide smile on his face, eyes squinted and crossed with Stan's arms crossed awkwardly just to hold him up.
Louis recalls the memory clearly and he's nothing but fond. It was night and Louis and Stan were having a sleepover. They were going to go to a party, that was the plan, but they stayed home just a little longer than needed and never quite made it. Anyway, Stan had pushed him—playfully, of course—because Louis stole the last slice of pizza (that was originally meant for his sisters, anyway). Stan turned his back to walk inside and Louis was not about to let him think that he could get away with such a thing, so in a fit of giggly-rage he raced up, shoved the slice in his mouth, grabbed Stan by his shoulders and hopped up onto his back. He'd stumbled, trying to hold Louis up, and Lottie was right on time with the camera just before the two fell. She'd been in her photography stage, Louis wasn't much bothered.
There were two more pictures after that, Louis, Stan, and the porch light the only things visible in the darkened night as the photos captured their falling in shutters. The last one was with Louis on his ass with his head thrown back and pizza on the ground, laughing hard enough that he remembers tears, and Stan just beside him on wobbly hands and knees laughing too.
Louis' smile is wider than he thinks possible as he looks at the pictures, laughing as his eyes pass over the caption on the side of one of them: 'Wanker' scribbled out in his careless scrawl with an arrow pointing at Stan. Louis' heart feels warm and he continues to flick through the pictures; one of him and Stan in peacoats not at all their fitting or color, one of the two of them at some party, both looking pale and oh, so gay, Louis curled up with a bitten lip and his shiny fringe and a kid holding bunny ears up behind him, Stan in a bright blue button up shirt. Louis watched himself grow, and of course there were photos with himself and his family but looking at it now Louis thinks that this was mostly a friend-photo album of his, him and Stan through the years, playing football and scoring goals, taking photo-booth pictures at uni parties, dressed up as nerds for Halloween. So, so many pictures of Louis being goofy and being himself, being spontaneous.
As the photos go on it becomes less and less of Stan and more and more of new friends, Niall and Zayn, Stan trailing around sometimes. It makes Louis sad, but he loves the friendships he had with them, too. And they all still talk, Louis still talks to them, just. Just not enough or as much to keep him from feeling these empty, 'stuck' days where he sits alone drinking tea and feels like he's got nothing to do.
And then comes Harry. Louis' heart stutters. After Harry, gradually, all of Louis' pictures with Liam and his girlfriends, all of that begins to fade and soon the pictures become only Harry, only him and Harry, at least. Or, most of them. Some of them are taken on their own, some taken by other people, and some taken by each other.
One of Harry asleep with a yarn blanket held up to his nose, one of Louis laying half naked on the bed with the sheets tangled up on his legs just covering him up to make the photo decent rather than erotic. He remembers that, he remembers when Harry said that it was still hot as fuck, something he'd hold onto and look at forever, remembers when he'd kissed him on his nose, grabbed his bum and said "Let's go," pulling him from the computer where they looked at all their photos and up to their room to get tangled up in sheets some more. "It'll make for great art."
Louis remembers that.
There are pictures of him and Louis drunk, dancing at parties, dancing at him, trying their hardest to keep their lips off each other. There are pictures of Louis playing games, making goals, and Harry running out onto the field to congratulate him, hugging him so tight, so big, so warm. Louis' heart flutters with the memory and tears brim his eyes, softly, reminiscently, and he brushes a thumb over Harry's all too ecstatic face in the picture, so happy, so fulfilled.
Because what they had, it was good.
And Louis' smiling now, he's not crying because he's sad, he's crying because those were the good times, and they were fucking awesome.
He flips through the candid pictures, that's all it ever was with Harry, candid. But it was so great and you could see the love in their eyes, they were so smitten. Nothing Louis could ever act out, nothing Louis could ever fake, drama major as he had been. It was real, with Harry. It was amazing.
He remembers their friends gagging, he remembers being full-fledged heart and starry-eyed in love with Harry and he remembers their friends telling them to get a room, just for being so in love. They weren't always on each other's dicks, they weren't always sexual, because sometimes, most of the time, just being with each other, just holding each other, just seeing each other in a room full of people that no longer mattered was enough. It was enough with Harry, and it was everything.
It was spontaneous.
He remembers when he first met Harry, when he was just a measly freshman with curly hair and Louis was an all too confident junior with a perfect fringe and a dazzling smile that matched Harry's, remembers showing him around the university campus in New York, remembers what it was like his first year.
He remembers the first time he laid eyes on Harry, looking at him just an inch taller, eyes wide and wild, ready to explore, so trusting. He remembers when his heart fluttered and his cheeks blushed embarrassingly as Harry showed him his campus map, not even looking at it just staring right on back at Louis and Louis remembers thinking, "Yeah, this is it."
His fingers brush over the black marked captions on the side, the "You're my everything," in Harry's careful looping beside a picture of Louis spinning around at the park during fall, the red leaves canting up with Louis' whirlwind, arms stretched out and head thrown back with a smile, and the "never look down, never give up," in Louis' messy scratch under a photo of them kissing under the New Year's ball.
The hushed I need you 's in public places and in cramped up bunks, cheeks red or eyes watery, wanting more and just wanting warmth. And it was the first time Louis thinks he's ever cared how the relationship was going to end, because, fuck, he thought he was going to marry him.
He bites his lip and his cheeks hurt, eyes still welled up, heart still warmed. It was good, he thinks, What we had was good.
And then he remembers the break up. It wasn't anything dramatic, nothing to ruin Louis for all relationships after, they just. It just ended, it just happened, just like they did. Because Harry never asked him out, nor Louis to Harry, because they just knew, and why waste words on something so far behind them, then? So far behind the love they held for each other already? So they didn't.
But they were together. And then they weren't.
He rubs the dust off the page, the last caption on the last picture of the two, snuggled up together in bed, Harry's arm stretched out and a grin on his face as Louis looked up at him with smitten eyes and a soft smile, so in love, and how do you even describe that much love? He hadn't even noticed the camera, didn't even know Harry had taken the picture until he'd printed it out in black and white and slipped it in the last slot of their polarized time together, printing in big, black, careful letters; HOLY GROUND.
He sniffs and that's when Louis realizes what he's to do today; he's going to find Harry.
He shoves the album off his legs and onto the coffee table, going to the kitchen and finding his keys, just by the fridge. His eyes flick to the fruit bowl only inches away and a small smile quirks on his lips, one that belongs only to Harry. He goes through his drawers for a sticky note, grabbing a marker, biting the cap off, and scribbling quickly over the yellow pad. He takes it off form the rest and folds it carefully into his pocket before bolting out the door and to his cab.
He still remembers where Harry lives, how to get there, and he only hopes that he still lives there, that he's alone. All of his windows are down and it's cold as Louis races down the streets but it feels so good, makes him feel so alive, and his hair is blown back and his heart is beating faster than time and he thinks he might burst, he might burst when Harry answers the door, he might burst if he doesn't, he might burst if someone's there with him.
He pulls up and takes a deep breath, combing a hand through his hair quickly, hand shoved in his pocket and feeling over the note nervously. And, fuck, he hadn't meant to wear the jean jacket they'd shared for all of those years, but it's too late now. He rings the bell.
When the door opens, Louis' heart stops. His head tilts up and his mouth falls open, because he'd forgotten how tall he was, how vibrant his eyes were, how beautiful his features, how pink his lips, how thick his hair. His heart stops, it's not beating, and then it hurts, just for a second as Harry's gaze locks onto Louis', giving a short, disbelieving once over, licking his lips, pupils blowing, features softening. He's the first one to speak.
"Louis," is hushed out, and it doesn't sound like a question, just sounds soft. Louis' eyes well up and a smile breaks through, but he bites his lip and swallows the lump in his throat thickly.
"Harry," is all he manages to squeak back, laughing airily with squinting eyes and a hard beating heart. Harry smiles back down at him and if nothing else, forevermore, that's what Louis wants to remember, that smile. Louis bites his lip and clears his throat. "There's, um, I have something for you."
Harry looks immediately surprised, eyes widening in slight. He nods softly and Louis thinks he might try to invite him in, so he speaks quickly, yanking the crumpled note from his pocket it and shoving it forward. Harry's eyes land on it weirdly, flicking from it to Louis to the jacket he's wearing and back, but Louis only bites his lip anxiously. Harry takes it, smoothing it out careful and slow, just like Louis remembers, so careful and meticulous, so determined. When he's finally got it smoothed out to his liking, his eyes flick back to Louis. "Would you—"
"Just read it," Louis rushes out, blushing. If he went in Harry's apartment, Louis doesn't think he'd be able to breathe, let alone leave. He bites his lip, but Harry complies, brows scrunching as he reads over it and then again. He look up at Louis. "It's, um, that joke you told me—"
"—when I told you to eat your vegetables." Harry always cooked for him, Louis remembers that clearly, but Louis never thought that Harry would remember something so small, so unimportant. He nods, grinning.
"I'd asked, 'how d'you know carrots are good for your eyes anyhow,' and you said—"
"'You never see a bunny wearing glasses,' that's right. I remember that, you'd stabbed your fork into them and gave the cutest little, um," Harry clears his throat, eyes worried on Louis' as he thought up how to save himself, "You gave me a glare and shoved them in your mouth. Almost choked, had to, uh," Harry laughs a little, smiling awkwardly and with a shrug. "Well, had to kiss you 'til you forgave me." Harry bites his lip. "Yeah, I remember that."
Louis thinks he might melt because his eyes and ears and body have gone all in on Harry and he just, he can't believe Harry remembers, can't fathom it. It's the best feeling, Louis thinks, being remembered so fondly, so in love. He tries not to cry as Harry shakes out his hair and clears his throat. "So is that, um, 's that all, then? You sure you didn't wanna come inside?"
Louis shakes out of it quickly, eyes widening. "Oh, oh no." He says quickly, "I, um, actually, there's, uh. There's a party tonight, at Niall's. Sort of a get together thing with all the pals. Stan and Liam are gonna be there, Zayn if he ever gets around showing up, but, um, well I was wondering,"
Harry bites his lip, nodding. "Yeah, okay." He says, "So, uh, what time?"
Louis visibly brightens up, smile widening as he beams at Harry. "Oh, really? It's um, it's at seven. I can—I can text you? The address? Niall's just moved again, so it's kind of a house warming party too, I guess." Louis' heart stops in the moments of silence that follow as Harry pulls his phone out, checking the time, he thinks.
Harry looks back at him, tucking it in his pocket. "Yeah, sounds great." Louis bites his lip on a smile and nods.
"Great," he says, "Great, great." And, God, he's so happy it's like he can't even say anything else. He tries to take a step back, foot scuffing the edge of the step and slipping back. He was going to fall, hit his head on the concrete and die, probably, but Harry reached out just in time and caught him, and Louis was absolutely taken away.
His eyes widened, flicking back up at him, Harry's eyes so protective and careful over him. Louis clears his throat, hoping Harry didn't hear his gasp when he pulled him back up and steadied him with hands on his elbows. Louis laughs. "Thanks, sorry 'bout that," He says, brows furrowing, "But I'm, uh. I'm gonna go now, I'll see you tonight. Text you the address and, um. Yeah." Harry lets him go softly and Louis turns to actually look at the stairs getting to his car and waving. "Bye." It's awkward, but. Fuck.
Louis hadn't known what he was going to say when he showed up on Harry's doorstep, but he's so glad that Niall actually does have a party planned for tonight. He texts Harry the address with shaky thumbs and receives a Thanks in reply. He calls Niall.
"Hey Niall." He greets.
He hears Niall hum on the other line before speaking, "Hey mate."
Louis chews his lip. "Hey, um, I changed my mind. 'm coming tonight."
He can hear Niall cheering on the other end, probably throwing his fist up. "Yeah! Alright, kid! I'll see you there, then, or here actually."
Louis stays silent for a moment. "Harry is too." And then Niall's silent.
"Oh?"
"No, nothing. Just. Make sure there's a beer for me, yeah?"
He hears Niall laugh. "Yeah, alright."
When Louis goes to the market for chips, he swears he sees Harry everywhere. When he gets a text from Niall, he has to look twice before he mistakes it for one from Harry, and then he has to coax his heart to beat again. As Louis drives home, picks out something nice to wear, something close to what Harry used to like to see on him, he thinks of all the goals he dedicated to Harry, all the poems Harry claimed he'd written for Louis. He thinks about when they used to roam the streets of New York hand in hand, arms swinging back and forth. He remembers feeling like he owned the world in Harry's arms, remembers feeling the big city around them and thinking it's all ours.
Harry comes, and it shouldn't be surprising. It's not awkward, but. It feels like old times. Pals joking around, drinking beer, laughing beyond their wits. And Harry's there. It's late and the laughter's still going, but there's something so obviously strung between Louis and Harry, so thick and heavy, so tiring. It's tiring not kissing Harry.
"'m gonna go outside." Harry says, leaned over with a hand on Niall's shoulder and words hushed so as not to disturb the rather animate discussion that was taking place. Niall nods and Louis watches as Harry exits through the glass doors, sliding them shut carefully, turning his back and leaning over on the balcony railing. Louis excuses himself too and quickly, before Niall can make a comment, sliding out the back door and taking a deep breath. It's freezing, absolutely death-chilling, but Harry's here.
"I thought about you a lot," Harry says abruptly, thoughtfully. Louis takes a deep breath, shoving his hands in his pockets and stepping up next to Harry, leaning on the railing beside him. Louis shivers. "After we broke up. I thought I'd forgotten you until you showed up today."
Louis doesn't look at him, he can feel the cold as it nips at his nose and ears. "Aren't you cold?" Is all he offers.
Harry turns to him and Louis mirrors, just a turn of his head. Harry cocks his brow. "You're wearing my jacket." Louis blushes, looking back out over the city, the lights, the bustling of cars and people even so late into the night. He lets out a shaky, cold breath, veiling out like frost.
"Yeah, was an accident, honestly." Harry turns back onto the railing.
"Keep it, looks good on you." Louis mumbles a hushed thanks and shrinks further into it, ducking his head and trying to gather all the warmth that he can. He takes a deep breath. "I think that, we should keep what we had, in the past." Louis' eyes flick over to him and Harry's eyes stare back honestly. "I don't think I could handle another breakup with you." He admits.
Louis' heart clenches and he looks away. "Yeah, me neither."
"So why'd you come today, then?"
"I wanted, um. Wanted one last picture with you." He turns to him, "For my album, I mean. Also kinda wanted to dance, but there's not enough people here for that not to be awkward, but um. Yeah. Just wanted one last good memory."
Harry looks at him. "What kind of picture?"
Louis turns away, shrugging. "Just a picture with you. Just something to have for memory."
Harry licks his lips and turns from him, walking back into the house and leaving Louis there. His heart almost breaks, he wasn't, he wasn't expecting that. He takes a deep breath, he wasn't expecting the best, either. Harry comes back out, though, toting a peacoat and his phone, holding it out as he scrolls around. He locks it and a song comes on, one Louis' rather very familiar with, lips parting as he looks up at Harry in disbelief.
"Our song?"
Harry nods. "Our song. One last dance, Lou. One last memory." There's a smile on Harry's face that's both sad and hopeful and Louis can't help but indulge, stepping over into Harry's outstretched arms and into the warmth of his peacoat.
The night ends for Louis then, wrapped up in Harry's arms one last time as they dance to their song, the bustle of cars barely audible, their heartbeats loud. Louis nuzzles against Harry's chest and Harry nuzzles against the top of his head, and it's good, everything's always so good with Harry. Louis' going to miss it again, just like he did when they broke up, but it's worth it, just to be in Harry's arms again. Just to feel the beat of his heart. Just when the song was ending, just at the part as he always did before, Harry had nudged his head against Louis, encouraging him to look up, and his eyes were a bright green and Louis could look into them forever.
Harry took a deep breath and it fanned over Louis' cold skin beautifully and he hummed, eyes fluttering shut.
"Can I kiss you?" Is what pulled him out of it, and Louis' eyes widened.
"Y-yeah." Harry licked his lips, eyes on Louis' and then flicking down to his lips and back up, and as Harry leaned in, lips just centimeters above, Louis gasped and Harry swallowed it with warm lips and shut eyes. Louis' heart stopped and after that he didn't think it'd ever beat the same again, and he could feel the blood coursing through his veins, Harry's hands warm on his lower back, pulling him in close, his heart beat so heavy, so hard, so loud, the bustle and life of the city out below them, and then, again, for the first time in a long time, Louis felt it all come back to him;
The morning teas shared with Harry, not alone, waking up to his face every morning, kissing the ball and promising every goal to him, going through photo-albums together and giggling, taking pictures just to do it some more, dancing together and everywhere, holding hands and kissing on New Year's, opening presents together, being together, the ground soft solid and holy just beneath their feet.
Louis remembered it, felt it all come back to him, and it was good. It would never stop being good.
Harry pulled away and they were both smiling, both happy, both warm despite the cold. They walked back in together, hand in hand just for the night, and Harry kissed his forehead goodbye and goodnight as he walked Louis to his car, and Louis went home with red cheeks and a fluttered heart and fulfillment everywhere. And when he checked his phone as he got home, noticed the picture sent from Niall, laughing and tearing up because Niall was the best God damn person of course he'd have snapped a picture of the two out back, he connected his phone to his computer, printed out the picture in vivids and let it dry for a moment.
He got another text, one from Harry, one that said, it was good, we were good, and he bit his lip as he slid the picture into its pocket carefully, grabbing a marker and meticulously curving out the caption just beside it, just before tucking himself into bed with a full heart:
for all that we've been through