Chapter Text
The emptiness of their flat makes Harry’s ears ring, the silence is so deafening.
Louis left to spend Christmas with Hannah, his girlfriend, and Harry couldn’t get a flight home to visit his family. The other boys have all gone elsewhere, so Harry is truly alone for the holidays. A whole nine days without Louis sounded almost relaxing, at first. Harry could think about things and have space to do so. Now, on day seven, Harry sits cross-legged against his closet door imagining the empty place is full of Louis’s voice. He wants it to bounce off the empty walls, loud, wants it whispered in his ear, soft. He decides that he hates being alone. For a while, he throws himself a pity party, but his laptop catches his eye. Maybe he doesn’t have to be alone, he thinks, opening his computer and setting up for a twitcam.
Everybody knows Harry and Louis live together, so it isn’t a surprise when not even five minutes into his broadcast, Harry is bombarded with questions about the other boy. He tries to ignore them for a while, but he just feels bad. He doesn’t really want to talk about it, though, because it will just make him sad. He shifts around and digs a box out of the closet instead. “Does anybody want to see Louis’s Christmas present? Well, birthday present.”
He holds it up so the camera can see it. The white and gold wrapping paper stood out to Harry at the store, glinting under the lights. He wanted to impress Louis with the gift. “It even has a little bow on it. Wrapped it myself.” He sets it back down next to him. He wishes Louis were here to open it. A wave of jealousy washes over him as he thinks of Louis, happy and warm and not at all lonely. Harry resolves to phone him and wish him a happy birthday. “I’m going to call Louis Tomlinson.” He holds his phone up to his ear and prays Louis will pick up.
No such luck. “It went to answering machine.” He hates the way his heart feels heavy in his chest. “Gettin’ rejected on Christmas Eve.”
He quickly changes the subject, distracting himself enough to stay on camera for a little while longer. He eventually signs off, telling everyone his computer is going to die. It isn’t, really, he just wants to sleep the rest of the holidays away so he can have Louis back. They’d usually be sitting in their living room having a cup of tea and maybe some sort of pastries—depending on whether Harry felt like baking or not—around this time of night.
Harry doesn’t know when he started liking Louis. All he knows is that he really, really likes Louis. He sighs as he pulls the Santa hat off of his head and tosses it across the room. He strips out of his clothes, down to his boxers. His bed is unmade from the nights before and he’s spent too much time in his own room. He’s starting to feel suffocated. He pads into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face and brush his teeth. He feels slightly better, but he paces around the flat for a while anyway, his toes digging into the fluffy carpet with every step he takes. He tries to watch TV in the living room for a while. He tries to make himself a snack. Nothing makes him feel better, so he sighs and sulks down the hallway toward his room. He passes Louis’s on the way. The door is slightly ajar, and he pokes his head inside. Instantly he’s dizzy with the all-too-familiar smell of Louis. It’s so comforting. Harry finds himself curled up in Louis’s bed before he can even think about whether or not it’s weird to be there. He wraps his arm around one of the cool pillows, pulling it to his chest and cuddling into it. He falls asleep in no time.
He wakes up early in the morning, due to the curtain being open and allowing the sun to peek in through the window. He pulls Louis’s baby blue duvet over his head. He’s about to be happy that it’s Christmas, when he remembers he’s alone, all alone, for the rest of today and tomorrow. He ponders going back to sleep when he hears his phone ring. He slips out of bed and walks to his room, rubbing at his sleepy eyes and stretching out his neck.
“Hello?” he answers groggily, still only half awake.
“Harry! Hazza, boy! Merry Christmas! How are you? You holding down the fort while I‘m gone?” Harry can hear Louis’s smile through the phone, and it’s still contagious from miles away.
“Lou, yeah, it‘s fine here! How’s Hannah’s?”
“Great, great, lad! Her family really welcomed me here. Thought it would be weird. First Christmas with a girl, y’know, but it turned out fantastic! Having me a great time here. Sure helps that Hannah is such a doll. You know what she got me? She got me this super nice jumper and some cool shoes and made me breakfast in bed for my birthday! Speaking of birthdays, mate, great friend you are! You didn’t even wish me a happy one!” Louis sounds ecstatic, but it makes Harry’s chest tighten.
“I called you last night. You didn’t answer.”
“Ahh, did you? Shit, my bad, sorry.”
“Yeah,” Harry replies, because he really doesn’t know what else to say.
“Your Christmas good so far?”
“Not really. It’s very lonely here, and I don’t have any presents or have anybody to give presents to.” Harry knows he should just pretend to be having the time of his life, but he can’t force himself to.
“I’m sorry, yeah? When I get back I’ll make it up to you. Promise.” Harry scoffs at this, because Louis never keeps his promises. He never remembers them, really. Harry thinks Louis’s brain is only capable of holding two thoughts—Girls and Other Moderately Important Things, Like Singing. Everything else goes in one ear and out the other with Louis Tomlinson. “What, you doubt me?”
“No, not that. Had something in my throat.”
“Hannah, shut up for a second, what was that Harry?” Harry swallows and squeezes his eyes shut.
“Nothing. I’ll see you when you get home, Lou,” he mumbles before pressing the end button. He doesn’t let Louis answer. He even turns off his phone, just in case Louis decides to call him back, which he knows won’t happen. It makes him feel better, though. Powerful even. He sits on the edge of his bed and plays with a loose string on his boxers as he loses himself in his own thoughts.
His stomach growls, so he heads to the kitchen to make himself eggs and toast. He doesn’t feel like doing the dishes, because it’s Christmas and he’ll be damned if he does dishes today. He leaves them in the sink and eats at the counter. The only noise in the entire flat is his fork scraping the plate and Harry really can’t wait for Louis to come home. He’s never been more thankful that they moved in with each other than he is right now. Living alone would be unbearable, but he could never go back home after this, after he’s had a taste of what it’s like to be independent.
Harry doesn’t really know what to do with himself, so he spends the rest of the day drifting in and out of sleep on the couch in the living room, waking up during random parts of different Christmas movies. He likes catching up on all of this sleep. He hasn’t really had a chance to do so lately.
He spends the next day doing pretty much the same, save for showering and picking up the flat a little so it isn’t a mess when Louis gets home. Harry doesn’t know how else to occupy himself. He feels lost without Louis, without the other boys. He can’t wait to see them all on New Year’s Eve for the big party they’re having at his and Louis’s flat. Harry gets excited just thinking about it and he spends a bit of time making a list of what they need before falling asleep again.
*
He wakes up to the sound of boots thudding against the entryway floor. He’s tripping over his own feet on the way to the door in only a pair of sweatpants and fuzzy socks.
“Louis!”
“Harry!” Harry is on Louis’s back in an instant, arms wrapped around the older boy’s neck, legs around his waist. Louis grabs Harry’s wrists with his own hands, squeezing them and giggling as Harry nuzzles his face into Louis’s neck.
“Missed you. It’s so lonely here without you. So empty. Way too quiet.”
“Missed you too. Now why on earth haven’t you been answering your phone, lad? Had me worried sick on my flight back. Was scared I’d walk in and you’d be dead or something.” Harry laughs against Louis’s skin.
“I’m fine, aren’t I?”
“Clearly. Off, please.” Harry slides off of Louis, the balls of his feet hitting the tile floor with a smack. Louis finishes taking off his boots and tosses them into the closet. “Will you make me some hot chocolate, love? I really need a shower.” He rubs at his temples and closes his eyes.
“Course. Do you need anything? You look like you have a headache. You sick?” Harry presses a hand to Louis’s forehead and frowns.
“No, I’m fine, just need a nap. Traveling is exhausting,” he answers, smiling weakly at Harry and ruffling his curls a bit before pushing past him toward the bathroom. Harry giggles and pulls two mugs out of the cupboard. He makes the two cups and plops a few marshmallows into Louis’s. He holds them carefully by the handles, walking them into the living room and setting them on the coffee table.
“The cocoa is done, Lou!” he hollers, cupping his hands around his mouth to make his voice louder. He hears the water turn off almost immediately. He flips through the channels on the TV for a while, passing time as he waits for Louis. He really can’t escape these cliché Christmas movies. He settles into the couch, waiting for his hot chocolate to stop being so hot. He hears the bathroom door click. Louis pads back into the living room in a t-shirt and sweatpants and plops down next to Harry on the couch, scooping up his mug and kicking his feet up to rest on the coffee table. Harry copies him and nudges his foot against Louis’s.
“It was so quiet here without you.” Louis nudges Harry’s foot.
“Sorry, lad,” he mutters against the rim of his mug. Harry takes a sip of his own drink, humming as it warms his throat. “You make the best hot chocolate.” Louis smiles as he speaks, a layer of chocolate coating his upper lip. Harry giggles and he wants to kiss it off, more than anything, but his stomach twists and he feels guilty for even thinking about it. He takes another drink and swallows the lump in his throat along with the creamy liquid.
“So, how was Christmas for you?” Harry watches Louis as he exhales, cradling his mug in his lap so it won’t spill.
“Fine.” Louis fiddles with the handle and Harry gives him a minute to continue, but he doesn’t.
“That’s all?”
“Well, I know you didn’t have a good time here, so I don’t feel like making you listen to me talk about my Christmas.” Harry sets his drink back on the coffee table and carefully pulls Louis’s feet onto his lap. He smooths his thumbs gently over the skin on Louis’s ankles.
“You can talk about it, Louis. It‘s alright.” Louis sighs and wiggles around a bit. His heels are digging into Harry’s thighs, but Harry doesn’t say anything, and he thinks that’s what love is. It’s not saying anything, even when he’s losing feeling in one of his legs, because Louis looks so damn pretty with his fringe falling right above his eyes and his soft hands clutching his hot chocolate and it would be a crime to say anything. It’s Harry being lost without Louis, then finding himself in the places their skin touches. No matter how Harry tries to personify love, it keeps coming back to Louis, Louis Louis Louis, and Harry wonders if, maybe, it’s that simple.
He decides it is. It’s Louis. It’s the way Louis looks right now, with wet hair and flushed skin. It’s the way Louis speaks. It’s the way Louis is, and it’s simple. It’s Louis, and Harry thinks he has found the meaning of life itself in the way Louis smiles at him.
“Hello? Earth to Harry?” Harry blushes, can feel his cheeks go pink, and ducks his head. “As I was saying—wait, you’re listening this time, right lad?” Harry nods, squeezing Louis’s ankle. “So, Hannah and I pretty much just relaxed the first day. The second, we went to town, shopped, went out for dinner, all the good stuff.”
And suddenly, Harry knows how to define jealousy. It’s the rabbiting of his heart and the pressure in his chest. His thigh still hurts, and Louis is still talking, and Harry doesn’t say a thing, because he loves him.
Harry loves Louis.
And it’s that simple. Except, it’s not. Harry thought that, sure, maybe he’d love Louis someday, after a kiss against a bedroom door. Louis would whisper love into Harry’s mouth and Harry would breathe it into Louis’s neck and he’d know he loved Louis. Maybe there would be a feeling that went with it, too, a tugging at his heart or a shiver up his spine. Except, he loves Louis now, while he talks about his girlfriend. He loves Louis now, with his lips pressed to the rim of a mug full of hot chocolate, not pressed to Harry’s own. He loves Louis now, and there isn’t a tug at his heart or a shiver up his spine. There’s only water filling the room, filling Harry’s lungs, and every time Louis says Hannah’s name, the water rises.
But, Harry loves Louis.
So he pretends he’s listening.
He pretends that he isn’t drowning, he pretends he can breathe, while smiling and nodding and squeezing Louis’s ankles so hard because that’s all he can do not to slip away.
“I’m really tired, so I’m just going to go take a quick nap, alright?” He lifts his feet off of Harry’s lap, swings his legs around and stands up. “It’s good to be back.” He ruffles Harry’s curls with a soft brush of fingertips to scalp. He stretches and Harry can see a bit of his soft tummy and he loves Louis. He does. The water drains from the room as Louis walks to his own, and Harry can breathe again.
*
Harry hears Louis before he sees him, can hear him grumbling about how it’s so bright in their flat that he’s amazed they even need lights at all. He stumbles into the kitchen, pawing at sleepy eyes. “Hi,” he says.
“Sleep well?”
“Yeah.” Harry nods from his place on top of the counter, kicking his feet absentmindedly, letting them thump against the cabinets. “Oi, did you go in my bedroom at all?” Louis scratches at his neck, looking up at Harry, blissfully unaware. “I thought I made my bed before I left, but it was all mussed up.” Harry’s hands go cold and his mind races.
“Uh, yeah, sorry, I had some people over and someone fell asleep in my bed and someone was on the couch so I slept in your room.” He’s lying through his teeth, but Louis doesn’t see it. He just nods at Harry. He smirks, too. “What’s that look for?”
“I would’ve hoped you’d at least wash my sheets, Harry.”
“What—wait, what? No.” He pushes himself off the counter and crosses the floor to Louis. He stands so close that his socked toes touch Louis’s bare ones. He has to look up, just a little, because Louis is a little bit taller than him. It really isn’t helping Harry look intimidating like he wants. “Are you saying you think I did stuff with someone in your room or something?” Louis laughs, and Harry feels smaller.
“It was just a joke,” he soothes, bringing a soft hand up to card through Harry’s soft curls. Harry leans into the touch. “I sure hope you wouldn’t do that. Least not in my bed, without washing my sheets.” Louis laughs at himself but Harry sighs and walks to the living room.
Maybe Harry would’ve laughed if that one touch from Louis didn’t send his heart into overdrive.
Maybe he’ll spontaneously combust, burst into flames and turn to ashes every time Louis touches him.
And hopefully, that won’t hurt as much as drowning.
*
Harry puts the last finishing touches on the flat, sprinkling some confetti across the counters and making sure there’s enough alcohol in the fridge. The New Year’s party is tonight. Harry sees Liam and Zayn and Niall tonight. Harry is going to get drunk off of his ass tonight. He’s excited. Louis is flitting around, bouncing from room to room and making sure everything is tidy and ready. Harry chuckles at him, shaking his head as the boy darts around.
“What are you looking at me like that for, Styles? Don’t act like you aren’t nervous! It’s our first party at our flat and it needs to be good, or else people will never come to a party here again. And you know we are capable of throwing a damn good party,” Louis rambles, moving around the kitchen and straightening out trays of food. Harry smiles fondly. Always fondly, because he loves Louis. He loves Louis and Louis doesn’t even know, and this feeling is so weird to Harry. So new. He likes it. He loathes it. He doesn’t really know what to do about it, so he cleans and he bakes and he pretends he can’t feel his heart in his throat every time Louis says his name.
He can, though.
*
Music. Loud, loud music. Harry’s head throbs in time with the beat of the song. He’s had a lot to drink. Maybe too much, by some standards. He feels wobbly. The room looks funny. It looks like it’s spinning, spinning around Harry. His head feels light, airy, maybe it’s floating away, but then he feels it throb again. At least he isn’t drowning.
He weaves through the crowd, seeing familiar faces, not so familiar ones. He feels like he’s on the outside looking in at the party, high up in the air but tied to his own body like a balloon on a string. He likes it. He loathes it. He doesn’t really know what to do. Dance? Sing? Drink some more? He could be doing lots of things, but he sits instead. He sits on the couch and he thinks about how much he loves Louis. LouisLouisLouis. This boy that he met by fate. He loves Louis. He’s never loved anyone before. Except for his mom, but that’s, like, completely different. Louis. Louis is so pretty, so wonderful, so happy, so golden, so bright and so warm that he could be the sun if he wanted to. He could take its place. He would just need to find a way to get there.
Harry has never loved anybody before, and now he’s living in London with the first person that he’s ever loved and it’s a boy and they’re in a band together and it has got to be fate. Maybe Harry and Louis are composed of particles from the same star that existed way before The X Factor was even a thing, and somehow, they’re here together again and it feels so right, it feels natural, and they aren’t soulmates, they’re starmates, and Harry laughs out loud at how stupid it sounds in his head but really, it’s comforting. He hopes with a very large part of himself that it’s true. At least in some way, because he loves Louis, and maybe if they’re made up of the same stuff, they have to end up together, somehow.
Why couldn’t Harry have simply fallen in love with someone from his old school? Someone plain, someone boring, who at the time looked like the only person on earth, but now, would be a blurred face among the rest. Why couldn’t he get the first one out of the way and toughened up a bit? He would’ve at least tried to go after someone else if he knew this hardball with soft everything would be thrown his way. Harry has never loved anyone, but he loves Louis. He loves the most soft-spoken, loud-mouthed boy on the planet. He loves the single most unforgettable face in all of the universe. Harry has always had shitty luck.
He feels the water at his feet and quickly pulls them off the floor and tucks his knees into his chest. He hugs them tighter, but the water rises. It’s at his ankles, at his shins, at his knees, at his chin, then…
Then there’s a pressure on his shoulder. He looks up, before the water reaches his mouth, and it’s Louis, surely burning a hole through Harry’s shirt with the heat of his hand, and the water is gone, and Harry can breathe. He puts his feet down and Louis says something that he can’t hear.
“I said, will you come to my room for a minute? Need you quick.”
Harry’s head spins as he gets up on his feet. He giggles and lets Louis lead him to his room. He feels fuzzy around the edges as the door clicks shut behind them.
“Whassit, Lou?” he slurs, leaning back against the door and folding his arms across his chest.
“Fuck, you are plastered.”
“Mhmm,” Harry hums, nodding and smiling. “I feel great, Louis.” After a beat of silence, Harry can hear shouting through the door. It takes him a second to register that the shouts are numbers, and their guests are counting down. It is almost midnight on New Year’s Eve, Harry realizes, sliding his phone out of his pocket and blinking at the brightness. “Louis, we’re going to miss it!” He waves his phone in front of Louis’s face.
“No, we aren’t.”
“Well, yes. We most definitely are. I want to go join them,” Harry whines, pouting and tilting his head. Louis just huffs and shushes Harry with a finger to his lips. They listen, and Harry starts counting along with them quietly. “9, 8, Louis is mean 7, so mean 6, what’s he even want 5, he’s cruel 4,” and he just smirks when Louis glares at him. “What are we doing in here Louis?’
Harry doesn’t get an answer. Or, maybe he does. He isn’t sure if Louis pressing him into the door and searing their lips together counts as an answer. He doesn’t think about it too much. All he can think about is that this is exactly how he pictured it for so long. He wanted it, like this, and now it’s happening. So he kisses Louis back, sliding a tentative hand up his arm and gripping his bicep. Pulling him closer. Harry is desperate for this, and he definitely loves Louis. As if it was even debatable. His skin is prickling, itching with want. He kisses Louis harder.
When Louis pulls back, Harry chases his lips, eyes shut tight. Louis presses a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. For a minute, it’s just quiet, and Harry doesn’t dare to move. He gets curious, though, and opens his eyes. He’s met with blue ones that quickly flit to the side. “Happy New Year, Haz.” It’s a whisper, fanning over Harry’s lips and fogging his mind even further. Louis reaches behind Harry, twisting the door knob and letting himself out, then shutting it again behind himself. And Harry is alone. In Louis’s room. He slumps against the door for a while, gently touching his fingertips to his lips. The only thing he can think to do is to curl up in Louis’s soft, warm duvet, and sink into the feeling of weightlessness. He can’t go back out into the party. Not when that just happened, and he feels the effects of the alcohol even more.
So, he kicks off his suffocating jeans and crawls into Louis’s bed.