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Harry’s not sure what to blame for his actions that night. Post show adrenaline would be an easy out, if his show hadn’t been over for 4 hours. Several years ago he would have leaned on the crutch of intoxication to explain himself. But, this time when he picks up the phone to make another bad decision, he’s tucked in the hotel room blankets, sober from everything but the inescapable weight of his choices.
He’s been staring, unblinking at the name on his phone screen for far longer than his eyes should let him. The small “call” button taunts him, mocking his inability to choose how he wants to ruin his night. Another sleepless one filled with anxiety and wonder; or a conversation with someone who’s told him not to call.
In the end, he’s not sure if he pressed the button, or his hand slipped; it doesn’t matter because the phone is ringing and Harry doesn’t have it in his heart to hang up.
There’s a click, and then silence.
“Harry?” The voice on the other side sings into his ear, as crisp and crystalline as always. Past the ringing of Louis' voice, he can hear the sounds of shuffling, possibly even muffled shushes. Then there’s quiet on the other end, there’s quiet on his end too, a brief and monumental silence stretches.
Louis coughs and tries again. “Harry, are you okay?”
“Sorry, I thought you’d be sleeping and I’d just get your voicemail,” Harry lies.
“I’m in America, so no, not sleeping.”
“Oh, okay, yeah I didn't realize. I’ll let you go, sorry for calling,” Harry mumbles. Of course he knew Louis was in America, it’s impossible to lose track of him. It’s quick, the way any semblance of confidence drains from him the second he hears Louis’ voice. He wants to hang up the phone and forget he ever even tried, and maybe if he can forget his attempt he won’t feel so nervous the next time he tries.
“Don’t,” Louis demands. Voice as forceful as it was when it told him not to call.
“Don’t what?” Harry demands in return. Voice as shaky as it was when he told him he wouldn't.
“Just, don’t go.”
There’s something so inexplicably intimate about the sounds of breath floating back and forth through the phone lines. If Harry were to close his eyes, he would feel that breath whispering along his neck, biting at something it can’t actually touch.
“Why did you call me, Harry?” Louis asks.
“You’re sampling Baba O'riley,” Harry says. As though that's reason enough to break the agreed-upon time apart.
“I am,” Louis sighs. Harry is sure he knows just as well as himself that Harry is not calling to discuss the recent developments of their setlists.
“I’m teasing Best Song Ever,” Harry continues anyway.
“I know.”
“I just wanted to make sure you aren’t planning on singing Best Song Ever, and if you are I just want to make sure we don’t do it on the same day. I don’t want to cause chaos for no reason.” He knows his attempts are feeble, that he’s playing a game no one believes.
“You love causing chaos for no reason,” Louis laughs.
“Yeah, well, you’re one to talk,” Harry huffs. It’s a far cry from the laughs they used to share, but there’s a shadow that pulls back its curtain for a moment. A lightness that breezes over them, if just for a second.
“I’m not planning on singing Best Song Ever, it’s all yours,” Louis concedes.
“Oh, okay, good,” Harry says. As though it means anything to him. He kind of wishes he hadn’t asked, if only for the hope that they would be tied together again. No matter the truth behind that tie.
Another silence stretches.
“Harry, that’s not the real reason you called, is it?” Louis pokes again. It feels like he’s digging under Harry’s skin.
“You wore a tank top,” Harry tries for another distraction. He knows he’s the one who has invited the digging, but that doesn't make it comfortable.
“I did.” Louis gives it to him.
“A tanktop you told me you didn’t feel confident enough to wear on stage,” Harry murmurs. He’s happy to see that Louis found that confidence, but there's a selfish part of him that feels hurt to not be a part of that.
“Well, things change.”
Harry chuckles. “It’s funny, I thought you wore it for me, or at least a little bit.”
“Well, I didn't not want you to see it,” Louis laughs.
“I knew it,” Harry huffs. There’s too much weight behind it. This should just be gentle banter, but of course, it couldn't be just anything, not between them. There comes a point with certain people where the weight of every past word said, is present in every syllable spoken.
Louis clears his throat, and if he was here, Harry knows he would see him scratching the back of his neck. Some nervous tics will never be buried.
“Why’d you really call?” Louis breathes out, digging deeper.
“Remember when you said my love was unknowable like the blackened night sky?” Harry whispers.
“Harry, don’t,” Louis breathes. He dug too deep.
“Remember when you said I made you too sad to stay, but I was too beautiful to leave?” Harry says. His voice wobbles, but he hopes Louis does not take this as weakness. He holds those jabs so close to his heart, they eat away at his ability to love himself.
“Please, Harry, you know–”
“I wear all those things you ever said to me like they're true.” And they burn him alive.
“You know they’re not.” Louis tries to explain. Maybe he’s telling the truth, in fact, a deep part of Harry’s soul knows he didn’t mean any of those awful things, but that doesn’t stop them from becoming suffocating.
“Yeah, well what was I supposed to do, call you a liar?” Harry questions.
“Maybe.”
“You hate being called that.”
“That’s because it’s true,” Louis huffs.
“You didn’t lie about us not being good together though.” There are many things in their lives together that were lies, many things Louis has made a point to lie about. But that devastating day just a short four months ago when Louis sat down with him and said those dreaded words. He knew that he wasn't lying, despite how much he wished he was.
“We were at one point,” Louis offers softly.
“We were… Do you think we ever could be again?” Harry eats from Louis' offered palm like he always will. The moisture in his eyes threatens to spill.
“Harry–”
“I know, I know, I shouldn't be asking… I just… So often I don’t know who I am without you.” It’s an impossible request to ask someone to separate from you when all Harry has ever known is Louis. Sure, this isn’t the first time they’ve separated, but this time feels the most beyond repair.
“You’ve known who you are without me before, and you’ll find yourself again.” Harry can hear the desperation that begins floating on top of Louis’ voice. One that tries to force Harry to be okay.
“I don't think I ever did. Did you?” Harry answers honestly.
“Yes,” Louis whispers.
“ Liar ,” Harry chuckles.
Louis snorts, his laughter broken and pained. Harry can’t help but wonder if he will ever cause Louis to laugh in the way where his eyes twinkle and his head gets thrown back. The kind of laughter that overtakes his whole body and is beyond restraints.
Unlikely.
He’d settle for just an uninhibited smile these days.
There’s silence now, another suffocating space filled with unstable breaths and the sounds of Louis’ nervous foot tapping. The intimacy of breath is long forgotten now that reality has settled back in.
“I just want to know why we can’t try again?” Harry murmurs. It’s a barely audible question, his timidness one of protection. It’s another question he’s not sure he wants an answer to.
“Because, every time we try, we walk away with deeper wounds. And I’m starting to believe I’ll never heal from you.” Louis sobs.
“I don’t think I will either.” Harry knows it’s true. A tear slips from his watery eyes.
“But, we have to learn how because I can’t try again until I’ve healed from you,” Louis states.
Harry picks at the threads of his knit jumper, tugging the one by his thumb that keeps pulling out. It’s a jumper Louis found for him over a decade ago. One that he wears whenever he’s missing the comfort of the days when circumstances were harder but they were solid. He wears it too often.
“I should go, I’m sorry I called… I just… I don’t know what I needed actually,” Harry mutters.
“It’s okay… I’m glad you did… call,” Louis sighs.
“Goodbye Lou, good luck with the rest of tour.”
“Harry, for whatever it’s worth… I’m sorry, and you deserve all the love in the world.” Harry wishes it meant less hearing that from Louis. Almost as much as he wishes Louis was the one offering to love him, but that’s not their reality now.
A sob finally makes its way through Harry, building from his stomach and nearly getting lodged in his throat. He hangs up the phone before he could possibly find a new way to beg Louis to come back to him.