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Chapter Text

Harry's more than aware of his shaking hands. And the cold grass beneath him. But he has an hour to himself, just this hour, and he needs to focus. There are too many thoughts in his head and too many faces in his mind. Most of the promos he's been doing the whole day are interviews. Feedback from the countries where his album is already out. But none of this matters.

London matters. His London home and the London sky, which is unnaturally clear, have not a trace of a cloud or a shimmer of any star. Even the moon is shy today for the company. Nothing is new to Harry. He's alone. And there are only a handful of people that he can think of. He knows where they are, so he's not forlorn. He's seen the messages from Liam and Zayn. There is a missed call from Niall. The house phone is ringing, which must be his mother or sister. But, as he said, it does not matter. His phone would start ringing. He sighs before switching it off.

It's nearly midnight. The album will be available here. He plugs in his earphones and blasts them on full. What's the point of it showing up anyway? He's only got an hour to himself before he plunges back to work. There's a smile on his face as the last song ends when it's almost ten minutes to one in Doncaster.

It's a blur from there. Most of the talk is about charts that he tunes out. He's going through one show after another, shooting for his new singles, and planning tour dates and outfits. He hasn't stopped to take a breath in weeks. Christmas is meaningless anyway, so here he is on New Year's Eve.

They end up at someone's house party with an unknown drink in his hand. Niall sits next to him, his hand dangling around Harry's chair. Zayn's searching the room as a whole. Liam is humming to some shitty song that's being played in the background. It feels comforting. He has promised to drink himself into oblivion. He doesn't count the years, months or days and forgets the already-forgotten face.

Only if people would let them be.

"He should have been here with us," someone complains to Niall.

Harry glares at him. Niall shouldn't be talking to this kind of person. He needs a new drink. Something stronger.

"Yeah, it's sad really. He was life of the party." Someone else has joined them.

Harry would like for them to shut up. The table is crowded. And the dishes are empty.

"Don't talk about him! Like he's –" Liam murmurs.

Zayn stands up, gripping Niall's back and making Liam get up. Harry doesn't need to be told. They are out the door in a mere second. The crisp air cuts through their checks. The passing lights are blurred as they shuffle around each other in the backseat of his car. He hopes it's his assistant and one of their bodyguards in the front seats. Not some crazy serial killers. The city is too bright. People should be mourning. He can't find the reason and they honestly should.

Now they are in his garden. He laughs gesturing at the mud. He wants to tell them he listened to his album here and they are running. They are laughing maniacally, so Harry giggles. He tries to run after them. They make it to the roof and start shouting at the sky. It feels good. Liberating. They all are a mess of giggles and fits of laughter. Harry can see a star falling. He tries to catch it between his thumb and forefinger. He can't see it anymore. He pouts. He wants the star back. He wants something else back. He won't remember. He asks Zayn. Zayn only shouts back what, What, WHAT, which has Liam rolling on the ground. He has dragged Niall with him as well. And Harry wishes the world would stop spinning and it doesn't stop.

Not even for the fallen star.

Chapter Text

It's the end of January, and life has slowed down a bit, which is eating away at him. Harry needs more things to add to his list of things to do. Niall is almost finished with his album, and Zayn is back in the studio. Liam wants to be too, but both of them are still doing the interviews.

Harry's team is just throwing one idea after the other at him, which was fun in the beginning, but now it's annoying him, so he and Liam have planned to go away for a weekend somewhere in Japan, but it's been slammed down by their teams. Some virus has emerged in some small towns in China, and they think it's stupid to visit Japan at this point, which is ironic in Harry's opinion as they are the ones who are being idiotic. But he's kept it to himself. So now they are planning to visit some 'island in Ireland'. Harry is hilarious.

Sony also wants to get the band back together in the next few years, so the preparations are set in motion. That's why they are being papped in LA while having lunch together. This is not a lunch; it's just a sandwich for Liam and a smoothie for Harry, but who has time for that?

Harry has bigger plans in place. Like visiting his mother, asking her to visit him, or thinking of how to get out of the studio. And it's stupid that he is spending his time here in a cafe that none of them like. On a patio chair that's been digging in his back since they arrived. And the flashing sounds are annoying him a lot with every passing second. It's as hot and sunny as it can get on a January day. He wants to leave all of this behind and go to a place that doesn't exist anymore.

Liam is getting up after paying for lunch, as is Harry, and he knows they are skirting around it. Liam is going to open his mouth once they are inside the car, and Harry doesn't want to listen to what he has to say. As he said, he has bigger fish to fry. Like going to his mom's or something.

He can ask Niall to join them for golf this evening if the weather still holds up. He does send a text asking him whether he's free, as Liam is already with him, and they will pick Zayn up if Niall's down with it.

As soon as they are in the car, Harry turns up the radio, and Liam shuts it down. Okay, he doesn't want to hear it.

"They can't get the band back without Tommo."

Ha.

There it is.

Harry merely shrugs, reversing the car and bringing it out on the road. He's trying to count the street signs.

It's true, though. They can't. He didn't really leave. Harry doubts that even god knows what he did and what's in his contracts, which makes him an important authority over the band. And nothing drives him insane as this information or no information does.

Liam turns in his seat, facing Harry. He's looking at Harry with concerned eyes. And Harry can only hold back so much as to not punch away that look from his face, which puts strain on Harry's neck.

"He's got the most assets and sayings on the band, and my team's received a response from his team."

That makes him slam his break, and there's an honk from behind them and an aggressive shout, which makes Harry park the car on the side of the road. He's giving Liam his whole attention now. The breath knocked out of his chest.

"His what?" He asks, as if asking will make it more credible.

After all, this is the first time they have heard from his team.

"Yeah." Liam is shaking his head, as if he cannot believe it either. "They said they would arrange a team meeting with important members present, then they would decide on their terms and what to do with our prospectives, basically."

Arrange a meeting. He needs a break. This means he'll be there. He will appear in the blood, flesh, unkempt hair, and piercing blue eyes at the meeting, having vanished in thin air as if he never was before.

Harry grunts. He can no longer remember his own face. And his chuckle is merely a leftover trickle, which sounds more like his own, so he is unsure about it as well.

"Where is he?" Harry is afraid to make a sound in case he misses it, so he holds his breath. If there is a meeting and he is returning, they must know where he is, right?

Liam sighs, "No idea, Harry."

Truly, he had anticipated it, but that doesn't mean it isn't a punch to his gut. It's closer to boiling anger. And Harry takes his car out on the road again, and then the radio volume is at its highest. This time, Liam does not dare to touch the stereo.

They are at the golf club. Liam and Zayn are yelling at each other and talking in circles. Niall is making his own remarks in between his heated pitches, as if they haven't had this exact conversation for the past five years. Harry wants to burn down the golf cart he is sitting in and the other one too, which is running around while he is at it.

"There's no way he's back!" Zayn is flailing.

"At least someone would have spotted him—anyone—a pap, a fan, even a civilian, literally anyone."

"It's not that easy, Zayn, and you know it. We manage to get by without getting seen."

"We are not the ones who have been missing for almost five years." Zayn runs his hand over his face exasperatedly.

"He isn't missing." Liam has said that for the fourth time now since they all turned up here.

"Technicality." Niall misses his shot again, and he throws his club away, picking up another. "He's not missing. The world just doesn't know where he is." And that's a fact.

They have been to the police, but they told them that they have already been contacted. The person in question doesn't want to share their contact information. They have hired private detectives over the years but have had no luck. Niall did suggest that they hire a hitman at one point.

Zayn had gone bonkers at it.

'You can't just have his body, Niall, just to make sure he is alive.'

Well, Niall had a point.

It wasn't like they meant any harm; they just needed hands on his location. Hitman could just locate him and inform them about his whereabouts. Liam said he was not so keen on trusting a hitman. He said Harry was being a bit ridiculous when he was just being supportive of Niall's ideas. At least he had some.

"Where the hell is he then? Go on, tell us if you know everything." Zayn Huffs.

"I don't know." Liam is shaking his head at the ground. "We don't even know if he is–"

"Don't say it." Harry's on his feet and out of the cart at once. They have never said it, but they all have thought about it, and putting that into words would somehow finalise it. Logic. He goes with logic and rationality.

"It would have been on paper. We would have band's all rights in our hands, and his money would have gone to his family, and while we are at it, did Jay answer anyone's call?" He asks around.

They all shake their heads. The memory is vivid in Harry's mind. Lottie had shut the door on his face after begging him to leave them alone for Christmas after he left. So he did. Out of respect. He never went back. But it didn't hurt anyone to check on them once in a while now until Lottie changed numbers and then, after a while, stopped taking their calls. For all he knew, the family was living under a rock.

"How does it matter? We don't even say his name; we don't even talk about him." Niall chimes in.

That's true too. They never do. It just fell into place when interviewers started asking about him. And they all knew who they were talking about, so there was no need for names then. It was Liam who still called him Tommo. They all shake their heads. They didn't dare speak his name out loud in case it broke the thin film they had built around them. Securing each other in their place. And it had changed them. It brought them closer in a sense that was overwhelming at times but necessary. Harry wouldn't have a day to himself without informing anyone about his whereabouts, and when he went away or switched off his phone, he would have to make sure at least one of them knew.

"That's not true." Niall lifts a bottle and drenches his face in it.

Harry has no idea what they are talking about now.

"What did he say to you?" Harry asks Zayn. He has asked this a million times.

And Zayn has answered the same.

"He just said, 'I have to go. Stan is here, so I'm okay; I'm going back to Doncaster for a while.'"

For the millionth time.

At first, Harry could imagine his face, his little shake, and his little nervous tick in his voice, but these words are mulled over in Zayn's voice so much that nothing of his is left here. And that's what Harry hates most about it. He just upped and left one day. He was gone the moment he was gone, but they all tried to trace him to each other, and it was easy at first. Harry had locked himself away for days watching their interviews, videos, and songs, rewinding and replaying again and again till his eyes couldn't see anything beyond him and his ears couldn't hear anything beyond him.

But then reality crashed into him when he couldn't find him in the hotel rooms, in the studios, or on the stage. And he wished he could do something about it. So he did. He deleted everything from his phone—the photos, the videos—and blocked up his searches. He decided to wipe it clean. He thought it would help. And it did for a while. But then there was regret. Everything was lost in the past. Whatever he did, he couldn't bring it back. And he couldn't relive it anymore.

The only thing that remained was a pointless phone number that was etched in his brain. He couldn't forget it, no matter what. It took only two digits, and he would be reciting it in his mind over and over again. Tracing it back and forth.

It was useless. The last call from that number was to Zayn, and then it was shut down forever.

It didn't exist anymore.

Chapter Text

Harry doesn't let himself think of Louis. He will see him in the meeting, and he will figure things out from there. He doesn't want to think about what it truly entails. It's a closed book for him, and this will be a fresh start. It's been five years. It's all swept under the rug, or at least it should be. So he only does things that he can count on. He buries himself in work. He was hoping it would work. That's what he's been doing lately, so it comes easy.

He woke up early today, so he's feeling a bit tired by noon. But he keeps going. He's had two meetings to discuss shows and finalise scripts. He makes his way towards the stage. The cameraman and his crew signal him, 'whenever you are ready.' He's born ready. And when he comes off the stage, there is a rush of people attending him. One takes off his coat, one pushes a sandwich in his hand, and the other a mug of coffee. He smiles, nods, and thanks them as he makes his way to his car. He's all but pushed into it.

He wishes he could roll the window down and feel the wind blowing through his hair. There's no chance it's happening. So he gets out his phone and plugs in his earphones. Today's the day of classics and melodies. He's not paying any attention to the lyrics anyway. When the car stops, he gets out and climbs the stairs of another radio station. And the cycle continues.

He's surely exhausted himself out today, and as the people gather around the table in the conference room back in his office building, he tries to capture the words being tossed around. He can't comprehend any of them. He's just nodding here and there.

And when they finally mention the meeting, he braces himself. His head snaps upwards, and all the eyes are on him, and it's no brainer for anyone. Yes, he will be attending the meeting they are planning. The future is one direction.

They all agree on a date at the end of the month or in the first week of March. When it's over, his heart is beating in his ear. He quickly sends a message to Liam that his team is on board too. Now they are all waiting for Niall's team, as Zayn's has already agreed. All they need to do is set a date.

Harry is ready to throw his schedule away for any given second. He is not going to miss a chance to see Louis. To hear his voice again.

As he climbs out of the car in front of his door, he rushes inside. He's been word vomiting all day. With no substantial thoughts behind them. He's kept his thudding heart at bay the whole day. And it's all catching up to him now. And there's no fight remaining in him. He's drained, and he feels it coming. The thoughts are barging in from the mental walls he's put up for today. The ignored pit of the stomach that's been rambling with anxiety since he woke up.

But he has to win this final race before he's defeated and loses the battle. It can't come to an end before he's reached the upper stairs and is out the door onto the terrace. He stumbles on the last step, his eyes stinging as he fights back tears.

The cool air smacks his face, knocking him short of breath. He plops down on the couch he's set against the wall facing the parapet. He lets the tears flood.

And as his breathing returns to normal, he can't help but get lost in the stars. Each one is a ball of flame burning to its last breath. And they are all scattered over his head. They are so far away from him, yet they are the closest thing he can think of. And amidst all the adorning twinkling starlight, there sits the moon. She's been the brightest she's been this week. The light burns Harry's eyes. It shines with such vitality and warmth that Harry wonders if he could ask for everything in the world and if this moon would grant his dream in a blink. And what Harry has to ask for is nothing.

This all feels so poetic, and he knows it's all a simple mirage that he's standing on the edge of because he feels empty. A hollow shell of a man. He's felt like this forever. Everything is meaningless.

He just wants something to feel. There is some emotion he can put a name to, but his hands are not even grasping the air. And it's frustrating. Not to feel anything and craving something to burn within.

He's just sat there, and the moonlight is soaking him in white, and he doesn't move for a long time. He cannot recall a time when he felt complete or even himself. A small smile or show of delight. He stirs his insides, pokes his mind, and scrapes at his soul, but there's nothing. And he screams. Louder and louder, and there are tears falling again. Fat drops of salty, warm water. He doesn't even feel like there's a heart trapped inside the cage of his bones. It's hollow. They don't rattle when he sobs. He isn't even sobbing. He's just crying, and he doesn't even know where it's coming from. He's alone in his house. He's alone under this wide sky. And he prays this world will swallow him someday so he won't have to keep it afloat.

He wakes up with the sun blazing in his eyes, and the first thought is of Louis. He lets himself be carried away this time.

He is angry. And he has reasons to be. But he will forgive anything for Louis to be back, and this is nothing. So he's looking forward to this meeting. They need to have a good, proper family lunch. He has so much to tell him. He wouldn't know where to start, but he wants Louis to know everything. Every single second he's breathed since Louis left. He wants to show him every little thing in every corner of his house. The little lamp he bought from a street seller in Geneva. The little lantern that hangs from his window was found in an antique shop. He's even excited a bit for Louis' sharp and witty remarks.

It's not as if he's never scrutinised every single little move in Louis' eyes. He's redone and refinished his songs so many times only on the whim of what Louis would think of them, and he wants to know if he's on par with Louis' intelligence and humour. Has he truly understood how Louis thinks, or is it only Harry's imagination?

He's a bit nervous too, but mostly excited, and with that thought in mind, he sits up. The sun is overly bright. He often forgets that there's a light beyond the light bulbs, lamps, and candles. He spends his days indoors, in studios or in cars, and his nights wandering down lonely alleys or marveling at the stars.

His back is strained in odd places and his body is heavy from last night's stupid crying, but he's back on his feet before he knows it. Today is going to be a good day, and he knows he's going to waste it daydreaming about Louis and how he would react to what Harry has to tell him.

A week later, he finds himself splayed on his back in his backyard, wandering among the stars again. He's always been the first one to fall asleep and the first to rise up in the group, but that's changed now, as he surely can title the little red star as Mars.

Louis had shown it to him when they were younger. He misses Louis a lot. Misses the warmth and safety he felt in him. Louis was like that. He was there for everyone, wherever and whenever they needed him to be. Always have an ear to listen to your minuscule troubles and a shoulder to bear the weight of the world with you.

He misses the laughs Louis would entice from them. They haven't laughed in as long as that. Their laughter is never loud enough, not to match Louis' anyway. He is missing the spontaneity of it. The way it would claw through every single bone and bring a smile to everyone present. It's been ages since they have had an adventure, little mischiefs, and pranks. Sure, they have grown up, but if Louis were here with them, they would still be crackling like children, running wild through woods and swimming on their backs in frigid lake water at midnight.

He misses Louis more than usual tonight. He was the first Harry needed to tell, from how he missed a step on his way to planning a surprise party, from what happened to his abandoned sandwich to who wronged him at work. And he feels like he is reaching out in the dark, yelling words in his mind, and they have no wall to echo against.

Harry needs Louis back.

It was perfect before he left them. Harry's little world was perfect. He had his little perfect family, a relationship he had forgotten about, the tour staff, the screaming fans, and Louis and his other friends.

And Louis left, and everything came crumbling down. In a matter of seconds, a gust of wind. After that, everything was meaningless.

It's easy to put everything on Louis when he's not here to defend himself. A tiny voice whispers inside Harry's skull. And it might be true, but Harry will not let it go that it's stupid to leave them in the middle of the night over a silly fight. The devil in his head tells him the fight wasn't that silly.

Harry sighs.

He can't do anything other than want and need to go back. Mend it back. Glue all the pieces together as they were in the past. They were all a lot happier and a lot easier. Without a care in the world, Louis was always there to catch them if they fell, but they never did. When Louis was there, they never did.

It can only be the way it was if Louis's there, so he needs Louis to be back.

He wakes up with rumpled marks on his cheek and arms sometime next week. It's a bit sweaty under his blanket, which is twisted weirdly around his feet. And he sighs. Today is the meeting day.

The day they see Louis.

A dread settles in his stomach, and he can't shake it. The shirt he wants to wear is missing a button; the other is too tight, and he eventually settles on the old crumpled one. He misses the final step and nearly twists his ankle before bracing himself, and when he gets into the car, he sits on the chip packet.

He is beyond annoyed when the car stands in front of Niall's house, where he is too preoccupied to give his fiance a goodbye kiss. Niall's loud voice is pounding through his head. And his skin itches weirdly. He wants to do something with his hands. Twist, break, or throw. Anything. He should not have asked to go together.

Zayn and Liam are already standing under the conference building, waiting. As they step inside, Harry realises everything is going to go wrong from here.

Zayn has already frowned at him twice, prompting Harry to shake his head. He knows deep within they are somehow doomed. Most importantly, he doesn't want to bring them down with him.

They are excited. Talking about everything. And about Louis, mostly Louis. They are so hopeful and happy that they are finally going to meet him, and Harry doesn't know how to tell them that he thinks it's not going to happen. He can't even explain it to himself.

And they are all buzzing around him. Laughing and mocking one another. Planning where to go. They want to show Louis this new club that has opened downtown and share a few beers. Liam is certain he would like it. Niall wants him to meet Alex. Zayn also wants to show off his do-it-yourself projects and new poems. And Harry feels as if he's standing under a storm cloud.

Harry is unusually quiet, which he knows everyone notices, but they let him be. And he is bracing himself for something he will not enjoy.

They are all handed out a writing pad and pen and a booklet outlining all the topics they need to discuss, ranging from solo albums and the group album timeline to album and merchandise shares, from announcement dates to tour dates, with five voting marks next to each, as is customary.

This will be a long one.

When they are settled in their chairs around a large oval table, with legal advisers, managers, officials, authoritative people, and creative heads, Harry can't even see who's standing so far back to note everything down. The room is cramped, to say the least, and only a few chairs, one in particular, remain empty.

A few people Harry has never seen enter the room, and he is surprised to see Oli, the last one to enter. He closes the door behind him, and everyone settles down.

The man with the moustache nods, and the man with an identity card hanging around his neck and glasses on his nose moves to speak.

"Where's Louis?" Zayn asks before he has a chance to make a noise.

Harry shuffles the booklet to find the credentials. R. S. Jones is actually a representative from Louis' squad. Harry dislikes him immediately.

"All representatives and officials are present in the room as previously discussed and agreed upon." Jones says.

"Representatives?!" Liam's closing his file.

"We want to talk to Louis," Niall insists.

"Before we proceed," Jones continues before throwing a warning glare at the four of them so as not to interrupt again. He hands out a set of papers to each of them. As the papers pass down the table until they reach Harry, Zayn has a frantic expression of disbelief etched on his face.

"As a member of the band, our client has decided to withdraw from his remaining ownership on paper. He prefers that his shares be distributed equitably among the other members."

Harry is still in his chair. Breath knocked out of him. Whatever he had imagined was not this. He had thought that it might be that Louis wouldn't attend, but he left them for good without even turning up to say so. What a coward.

"And as for the voting system, Mr. Tomlinson has requested it to be continued as ever, and if you ever need a tiebreaker, the deciding vote would go to Mr. Styles."

Harry is dumbfounded. What the fuck? Louis hates him. Why would he do this? Is he dying or something? Is this an apology—his last request for forgiveness? Niall snorts beside him.

"And he has a sidenote on the remark." Jones turns a page and gestures at something nobody can see from the other end of the table: "that Mr. Styles will vote, if necessary, on behalf of Mr. Tomlinson."

"Is this some kind of joke?" Harry stands up and turns to Oli. "Where's Louis?"

Oli looks at the man with the moustache who is typing on his phone.

"We won't sign anything unless we meet with Louis," Liam says, clasping his hands on the table. "Face to face." He adds for good measure.

"It isn't needed, Mr. Payne; Mr. Tomlinson has already signed his shares away to you four." The man doesn't even look up from his phone as he mumbles in his fading voice.

"This is utter rubbish." Niall slides his booklet away.

Jones continues to blather on, but they are no longer paying attention to him. Zayn is flicking page twelve back and forth lightly, his gaze fixed on Harry, as Liam opens his file again.

Harry sits down and turns the pages until he finds it. His eyes search the words until he reaches the clause. Handing over shares. They had been reassigned to their names. Transferred without third-party involvement. Photocopies of documents with Louis' signatures attached in the back. Only Louis'.

Harry smirks back. They have found their loophole. Niall agrees, and he sees Liam nod.

“Mr. Tomlinson has transferred the shares over. Whether you accept it or not is up to you. If you proceed to reject, then the shares will be redistributed to the other party.”

"Well, the other party hasn't been mentioned.” Zayn chimes in. "And how can we know that this is Louis' signature? There are no witnesses."

"Louis signed them in front of me," Oli explains.

"Then your signature should appear here." Harry glares. "Louis has been gone for the past five years, and anyone can sign it in his name."

"We have everything authenticated, Mr. Styles. Be careful as you approach the allegations."

"We don't need to," Liam says, "'but these copies do not have witness or nominee signatures."

"I am reminding you that you, Mr. Payne, Mr. Malik, Mr. Horan, and Mr. Styles are the nominees." He reads the names off a list.

"We accept the shares." Niall stands up. "This meeting will proceed when your client is in the same room as us." Niall announces and goes away towards the door.

They are following him outside, ignoring the protests that are going on in the room, which Harry finds a little ridiculous. And they giggle like teenagers over their minor victory.

"So?" Harry asks.

"At least we know he's alive for sure," Niall says.

"Do you think he will turn up for the negotiations?" Liam's voice is filled with doubt.

Harry shakes his head. He doesn't know.

"Did he think we would accept them?" He sighs.

"I just want to know what compensation he made to get out of band, at least for the part where physical attendance is required." Zayn's brows are creased.

The managers are filing out of the corridor.

"What were you thinking?"

"What have you decided now?"

"It was hard to get the dates in order in the first place."

They're bombarded. Harry doesn't care.

Oli walks up to them.

"Are you still his assistant?" Harry asks without a moment's hesitation.

"You have to accept the shares and rights to decide," is the answer he receives instead.

"Have you seen him then?" Liam asks resentfully.

"Where is he?" Niall has also turned to Oli. Oli looks at them with sadness. Harry believes it is pity and something more he cannot put his finger on.

"Well, tell him we are not accepting the shares unless he signs the papers in front of us or hands them to us personally, in person, as in breathing, walking, and talking."

Harry confirms with Oli and his team, and others signal 'what he said' to their teams, and they are free for the day. Then they invite Oli to join them for lunch, which is brunch because they walked out before it was even half past ten. Oli refuses politely and answers whatever they ask about himself. Louis-related questions are met with silence and uneasy sighs, and he needs to go back.

Harry is looking out of his window, days later; it's pitch black outside, and he is grateful for it. He can't remember when his thoughts saw the light of day. They are treasured in the shadows of night.

A breeze sneaks inside, slipping between his body and the fluttering draperies.

And the pages on the side table rustle. He wants to shred them to pieces. It is a list of things they should not do, ask, or say if and when they meet Louis. His signature is at the bottom of the last page, with a smudge of ink on the last arc of his name where the nip broke, and there's a pen lying on the floor where it fell.

They can't ask him about a night that was nearly five years ago. They can't ask about the places he's been to or if he's reading, writing, or singing. Not even minimal questions like, What's his muse these days? They can't ask him about his family or friends; they can't ask–

Harry's lost count of things they can't ask. It feels like there's nothing left to talk to him about if they are abiding by the papers they all have to sign to meet him. And Harry is astonished at how quickly he signed it. He is desperate and eager to do everything within his ability. So he does. He signs it. And now he has to prepare himself so he doesn't expect, doesn't ask, doesn't demand, and doesn't beg.

He is agitated, and he feels it rise in his chest. He wants to clamp his toes and clench his hands in a fist to smother the boil. But his body is as serene as still water. He can't recall when he learned to control himself and stop acting on instinct. He is in a cage, physically. There's a volcano breathing and cursing through his veins. And he is trying to think of something like that tree on the opposite fence that is swaying, like he is compelled to sway but is refraining himself from it. And the tears burn, and he wants to claw his eyes out so they won't have a medium to make their way out. He is searching for a voice that scolded him once, but he can't hear what it is saying.

He isn't trying to listen to it, though. He wants to burn the whole place down. He would if he could. He would burn the whole world down, breathe in the remnants of flames, and drown himself in the ashes too. That would make him feel something, wouldn't it? He snorts. He is overwhelmed by this burn, but he can't feel its weight. Is it even possible to feel everything and nothing, to understand and not comprehend, to breathe and suffocate, to float and drown, and to fall and fly in the same moment?

He has to do something. He needs to feel something, or he will die alive.

So he walks out, in the middle of the night, with no phone on him. He drives mindlessly into the town. The street lights are bright, standing stoically with each other. The trees rustle once in a while, and a passerby puts their gloved hands into their pocket hoods and ducks down their head against a gust of the wind. Harry stops in front of the tattoo shop. 'Albert and Ross'. There's an itch beneath his skin that he wants to put to rest. What's better than some scratching?

He gets out of the car and strides inside. The tattoo artist looks up at him from his swivel chair with a smile and recognition in his eyes.

"A new theme caught your eye, Styles?"

He doesn't like to be called Styles, and he has made that known in the past, but the familiarity of the voice wraps him in some warmth against the icy old city.

Harry shakes his head. He is so lost. Ronnie nods and hums as he pulls some books and folders out of the drawers underneath and puts them on the table in front of Harry.

"Umm." Harry searches for something that he wants. "Something warm, that reminds me of a sunny day or something," he says, in hopes that Ronnie will deduce exactly what he needs from this vague information. Ronnie nods and pulls out a binder full of sunsets, palm trees, waves, and sunflowers. Harry wants something more like something that's coming out of shadows into the warmth and where it isn't summer yet. And he tells Ronnie that much. The next binder that Ronnie hands him is full of birds, flying across the sun, standing on a compass, holding a rose in their beaks. There are seashells, crabs, turtles, starfish, and octopuses enveloping helms, anchors, masts, and the entirety of ships. And yes, he feels like a shipwreck, folded in half, bent onto itself, floating doors on waves; he is engulfed by those octopuses.

When he returns home, he will have a small squid wrapped around his left thumb. Harry hopes some bird will come and consume it before it engulfs him.

Chapter Text

Harry isn't impatient; he is simply bouncing his leg while he waits to hear from his team. He sent the papers two days ago, and he has checked with other boys as well. They are still arguing over what is going on with Louis and what to do, throwing arguments over each other on what they should and shouldn't do. It's all heated remarks from Niall and Liam. Zayn only sends fire emojis or swords as to whether he wants the opinion to be set on fire or combat it in the battle. Harry has no idea, and Harry is increasingly agitated with each ding of his phone, notifying him that one of them has opened their mouth to spout nonsense again.

He sees no point in discussing this. What other options do they have? It is a no-brainer, and he's not sure why they're taking so long to sign the bloody papers. They are copies of any general NDAs with added clauses and conditions. Harry has signed the papers in seconds. He mutes the conversation and ignores all of their messages, as he's been doing since he signed up for the paper in seconds. So whatever, at least they will get to see him in the flesh.

His phone vibrates on the table, and he picks it up without wasting a breath. "Hello!" His fingers are gripping tight.

"Hello, Harry? It's Jane." Says his other manager.

"Yeah?" He checks the time. It's two in the afternoon. This isn't the call he was expecting.

"Are you proceeding with the One Direction meeting?" Asks Jane.

"Of course, has anyone backed out?" His heart plummets to his stomach. He might punch one of them these days.

"No, no. That's not the case," Jane assures him. "I called you because you have a second week booked in LA, and you are leaving on Sunday."

He hears some papers rustle in the background and a murmur. Yes. He has a week booked in LA for TV shows and some interviews. "Yeah, that's about right." He confirms.

"Well, it seems like we have to cancel." It's a question.

"Cancel?" He questions back. As far as he knows, the meeting can be adjusted in between, or the La might be pushed back by a day or two here and there. A whole week?

"The meeting is in New Zealand?" Jane says, and it doesn't make any sense.

"You are talking about One Direction, right?" He checks with her again, just to be sure.

"Yes, that's why we have to cancel LA." Jane continues to talk as he hears the keyboard noise.

"So it will take one day to go, one day for the meeting, and we have kept a day open if it exceeds, and one day to come back, or would you like to directly fly to LA from there?"

"New Zealand?!" He repeats. Why hasn't anyone informed him of this? And why did Harry expect it would be in London? Do other boys know about this? Does his team know this? Have they informed Harry? Did he miss something?

"Harry?" Jane asks cautiously.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm here." Harry mutters right away, "Um, I'll call you back in five minutes." He ends the call, opens the group chat, still going off, and smashes down: Why did no one tell me the meeting was in New Zealand? His phone is ringing again; it's Liam this time.

"Did you even read the papers?" Liam breaths.

"I did." Harry grits out. He didn't; he just let his eyes wander all over it. Skimmed after the conditions and clauses most likely.

"He isn't coming back, Harry." Liam's voice is soft.

"He isn't coming back to London." Harry protests. He knows Louis, and he knows he will come back. He will always come back. He can't say this to Liam.

"We just sent our papers to his team." Liam sighs.

Harry digs at his new tattoo with his forefinger.

"Hey!" Liam's voice is too loud. "Let's go to Akaroa! We were planning to go somewhere anyway. Why don't we all go there? Maybe we can record something or just wander around and go cycling or something. It will do good for all of us. Niall might find his lucky guitar pick."

Harry hums in agreement.

He likes Akaroa. And its weekly markets. And how the sun creeps over the mountains and the water shimmers underneath. And at night, it's so freezing that sleep comes naturally under the cocoon of duvets. And to see the seabirds flying in the distance as you stand over the cliffs in the grass. He wants that. He wants to feel that again.

"I'll talk to the boys, H. Let's do this." Says Liam and cuts the call.

Harry calls Jane to inform her that he will be staying in New Zealand for a week.

It's cold at night when they arrive at the airport. Everyone is worn out after the day. The fight is overnight. Instead of going first class, they are going by private plane.

Like old times.

Someone mutters, and Harry cannot fathom how it is like old times if Louis isn't here. He guesses it is kind of old-time in retrospect. This is what it used to feel like after Louis left. He wasn't even there. Well, Harry made sure he wasn't there in his mind, at least. It was easier to ignore him when he was actually there. His absence is the one that Harry is unable to grasp.

He makes the beeline for their plane. Plans to close his eyes and forget that this is happening. This feels way too surreal for him to comprehend. There is the familiar itch under his skin again. He quickly finds his seat, puts the bags around, and settles down. He has tuned out the bickering of the others. As the plane takes off, his mind dwindles back to Louis.

He misses the sharp creases around his eyes. His crinkly smile. Tomorrow, he has a chance to see Louis for the first time in years. How is Harry even supposed to behave? Behave like normal. The devil inside his ears speaks again.

Normal entails talking to Louis. Telling him he missed him like others would. Normal means not showing that he is hurt. Normal means acting chirpy and happier than he feels. Normal means not being affected by his presence. Harry doesn't fucking know what normal is at this point. He wants to search for his heart, carve out his soul, present it to Louis, and let Louis decide what to do with it. As if Louis hasn't already walked all over it.

Harry is confused. It's a comfort these days. But it also makes him feel helpless and lost. He is jumping off the cliff with no bottom in sight. He is not sure how deep the plunge is. He doesn't know if his skin will meet the rocks or the water. He is tired. He should sleep this off, but sleep doesn't come to him.

Outside, the sky is pitch dark. He can see the moon glinting off the clouds beneath them. He can see the clustered city lights once in a while beneath them. The flights remind him of Louis. He needs a plan as to how he is going to act with Louis. He doesn't remember how their dynamic was. He feels thrown off his guard. What is he supposed to do? What he isn't supposed to say. Are they friends, or are they strangers? Are they enemies? Harry bristles at the thought.

Will Louis talk to him? If he doesn't, then what? Normal.

Normal.

The way he acts with his other bandmates. What if it was Niall instead of Louis? How would he act with Niall?

If he was meeting Niall after years, he would show him around Akaroa. He has new tunes recorded on his phone, and he is dying to see what he has to say about them. He thinks of places that he would like. The cliffs and shores, for sure. But there's a cafe right around the corner, on the way to his home. Harry is sure Louis would enjoy the little cheesecakes they have.

The churning of the thoughts and exhausted with hopelessness of it all Harry falls asleep somewhere in between thinking about Louis' laugh and sarcastic cruelty that once hurt his heart.

He dreams about the books that are lining the shelves.

Louis loves the new psychological thriller drama he has added to his collection. And Harry has learned so many new recipes from places all over the world that he's cooking them for Louis in their new kitchen. Harry has also packed all the little things that he bought in the hope that he will get them to gift him. They range from little letterheads to comically shaped paperweights. He also tells him about the TV shows he's been binge-watching. There's so much to do, and he has so little time. If he gets his way, he will very much reside in Louis' pocket. He hugs and squishes him and never lets him go. He tries new jokes he comes up with on his own, using his wit. He also has these cute little white vans with yellow and pink circles at the ankles that remind him of the sprinkles he got for Louis. And he proudly shows them off. Louis takes them up and runs about, his laughter echoing off the walls. His list never ends. In the bottom of his backpack, he has a notepad in which he writes notes to Louis. He is going to hand it over to him. And a little, not so little scrapbook he made with every single available picture of Louis out there. He shows all the letters that he wrote for Louis, and Louis reads them one by one. He gets closed off. As he reads them, he starts yelling at Harry. He starts accusing Harry of ruining things. He starts tearing them up into pieces. And the sharp blues look at him accusingly. They have pools of oceans in them. And Harry stumbles into it, and the waves come crashing around. He has nothing to hold on to. He gets hurled from one wave to the next. And Louis’ tears are raining down on him. The thunder is Louis’ voice screaming his name in pain. His hands have given up on keeping him afloat, and he is being swept to the depths of despair.

He wakes up with a start, the water slipping away through his mind as the sunrays fall on his own.

It's a day lost on their way here in Christchurch. He is quiet as they step out of the airport on their way to the hotels. Thankfully, the city is asleep, and soon they will be too. He puts down his luggage on the side of the cupboard. The room is big enough. He takes a shower and changes quickly.

He takes a nap, trying to stick the pieces of his dream together. It never makes any sense.

Why was Louis angry? What did he write in those letters? Why were they cooking in the same house? It just doesn't make any sense to Harry. What does it mean? What does Harry want to say to him? 

*

Harry settles his leg that's been bobbing along with every breath he takes. This is another replica of the meeting they had in London, but this time with fewer people. Only those required to hand over Louis' shares to them. And those who would make this process smooth and those who would hinder it. Like Harry and Harry's lawyer, he gives a curt nod as Jeff settles beside him, a coffee in his hand and a yawn on his face.

"Morning." Harry greets him back.

His whole attention is directed towards the door, which keeps opening and closing as more people move in and out. And for once, none of them are fazed. Niall, on his left, is listening to whatever Zayn and Liam are discussing, the files splayed open in front of them. This time, they had gone through it thoroughly. If Louis wants to give away the rights, he can easily do so. He seems to be the boss. And the only way to keep something from Louis is either to get hold of it while he's offering it or to hope it goes to charity. But the hawks in dull suits that just entered the room won't let it happen. They are waiting for this very moment—one mistake or a charitable action on the boys' part—and they are stacked down their throats. Louis won't let this happen. And that's why he is here.

Harry straightens himself as the clock on the wall ticks and a curtain flutters, letting in the morning wind. Louis is going to get cold and grumpy. He gets up and closes the window, sinking back into his chair, hoping for the best. His ears are pricked for a high-pitched chuckle. A telltale sign of Louis. However, the building is not cackling. Louis wasn't here. Harry had felt this as he made his way to his room. The hallways were too cold and too subdued to have been graced by Louis' presence.

Niall and Zayn burst into a laugh, and Harry smiled along. His coffee is finished, and he is in dire need of another. Someone from the front demands everyone's attention. Harry feels sleepy as all their shoulders straighten up and their eyes focus on the front.

"Ah, just in time," the door opens and enters a person in a colossal black suit with a nicely placed tie. He looks like he is made of cardboard. Stiff. Looking all over the room. He greets everyone present in a commanding tone. Real leader. Harry snorts.

The person holds the door open for Louis' manager, and in between him and Oli, Louis walks in.

Harry's breath catches as he takes Louis in. His hair is shorter and softer. Head ducked under, eyes to the floor, the hood of a moss jacket bundled up cosily around the neck, sleeves pushed back around the dainty elbows, and hands burrowed deep in the pockets, zip closed to the neck from under which a blue tee peeks out a bit. The trainer's still in the same place, moving along with short and leisurely steps.

Louis' eyes snap to the empty chair between the first person who walked in and Oli, and he sits down quickly, hands clenched on the table on his pile of files and papers, leaning towards the person speaking in the front. Harry isn't listening to a word being said. At this point, he simply hears a murmur.

This is Louis.

Louis.

Three chairs away from him. And he hasn't looked Harry's way. Not even once. And Harry is counting. They will talk after the meeting, and the atmosphere is sincere in the room. But Louis didn't greet the room; that's all Harry can think of now, nor did he measure it with his stance. His lips are resting together, his jaw is set, and his eyes are staring into the air, like he is somewhere else. He hasn't spoken a word, smiled, remarked, laughed, or moved. He might as well be a dummy in his chair. But it isn't. It's Louis.

And even in his disregard for every person, his presence looms on the table. Every person's attention is on him. And Harry wants to call his name out. Make Louis look at him. He wants to see if it's the same blue or if it's just a dream. But now he is afraid. There will be a distant familiarity in those eyes instead of the closeness he has cherished with himself. Minutes pass, and people take their turns speaking and joking along, and Harry doesn't care. There were at least five instances for Louis to jump in and make a humorous comment or crack a penis joke. Louis never lets go of a chance to make a penis joke. But he does. Why hasn't anyone bothered, even in the slightest? That's Louis. Louis Tomlinson. For the first time in five years, anyone has seen him. In flesh, blood, and bones. But Louis' eyes, when they waver, look under the table, at the file, or spare a glance at the clock or on the wall. In boredom. Boredom.

"What do you say, Harry?" Jeff asks him.

And Louis hasn't budged. He is circling random shapes with the pen in his fingers. Louis has scribbled numbers down on a page to make a list of ten things, which flutters blankly now and then.

"Harry" Niall nudges him.

"Yeah?" He asks for the room. Jeff fills him in quickly about the number of cities on each tour and dates, and Harry turns to look at Zayn and asks why he is being asked this. They all have their own tours this year, ending in the next. They are planning for 2022 now. Why have they even agreed to this meeting? It's all a basic, boring thing that they have already done so many times. How is his opinion on the matter going to change? Just tell him where to be and when.

Zayn shrugs. "March suits us," he points towards all of them. This isn't why they are here. What the hell is going on? No wonder Louis is bored.

"So tour planning has been in your hands since this August." The lady in the black suit says, "So do the set lists and cover artists and opening acts."

"We have a choice." Niall snickers. Knowing very well, they will be handed a short list of names to choose from.

"Yes. As a reuniting band, you do. While your solo acts will continue exclusively," Louis' lawyer nods. "We wanted to make sure to broaden as many calls as possible to land in your hands while transferring."

"Any artist as the opening act?" Liam asks.

Harry looks at Louis, then straightens up. He might as well have looked at the wall. Louis slumps a little in his chair.

"So if we refuse to accept," Niall suggests, "this all—" He gestures at the contracts. Oh yes, they are discussing the benefits. More like Louis' side is trying to convince them to take the offer.

"Will land in the label's hand, yes." The lawyer interrupts. Harry should have asked for his name before. He knows what he is doing. Harry goes back to observing Louis. Tuning it all out. If Louis doesn't want to stay in the accounts, they have no choice but to fold. They are already signing three hours in and a bit of back and forth, where their lawyers tried to invade and make Louis stay. It was always a lost cause. Not a single word has entered Harry’s mind. He had been too occupied for that. The meeting is dismissed, and there is scrapping of chairs as people go into the outdoor setting for lunch. Louis turns to Oli and says something. Oli nods. And they get up.

"Louis !" Niall passes Harry and tackles Louis in a bone-crushing hug. "I missed you," he breathes in his hair. This is how normal people react. Harry thinks. This is how he should act. He is failing miserably. All his inner workings are shut down. Louis gathers himself from the shock and brings his arms up to hug Niall. Harry narrows his eyes. Louis isn't hugging Niall back; he's just holding him there, and that pisses Harry off. The egoistic punk.

Before Harry can do anything, Niall has moved back to let Zayn have his go.

Zayn jumps into Louis, dragging Liam along, and flashes their rings up in Louis' face. How they have forgiven him so easily. He left them. He made them sign contracts. He made them sign fucking NDAs. How are they acting so chill with this guy? Harry is offended on behalf of them. Who even are these people?

"We are married!" Zayn informs.

"I proposed!" Liam provides.

Louis' face breaks into a grin as he congratulates them and asks follow-up questions.

"Louis," Oli interrupts at the first window he sees in the excitedly catching-up sentences, "Lunch."

"Yeah, of course," Louis nods. "You lads want to join us; we were just going to our rooms.?" He asks.

"Yeah, yeah, let me just." Niall agrees quickly and goes to his assistant.

"It's been so long since I had a proper lunch," Liam says.

"It hasn't been that long," Zayn reminds him.

"Come on then," Oli leads them out and onto the next floor. Harry follows the ordeal mechanically. Is he allowed to be here? Is that okay with Louis? Does Louis want him here? He can just leave. It would seem rude. He just can't leave. He is not Louis to leave. With that, he keeps his chin up. There is a line in his shoulder that holds him too well.

The inside of Louis' room is untouched. There's a suitcase and a duffle bag resting against the wall. Oli brings out the menu of the restaurant and passes it along. Zayn and Liam decide on which curry they want to order, and Niall wants to eat some fish and chips. Harry settles on a salad, as he has lost his appetite. Louis hands over the menu card without opening it back to Oli and says he wants a cheeseburger. Well, that hasn't changed since then. Oli dials the room service and places their order. Meanwhile, Louis is bombarded with all the life updates from Zayn and Liam as much as they can squish in the little time. And Harry doesn't know what to say, so he lingers. Louis slides back as Zayn and Liam start to claim who is the better cook between them, and Niall chimes in with the kitchen disasters that took place over the years. And Louis eggs them on. Asking and encouraging at the right moments. They all have piles of laughter and giggles when their food arrives.

Like old times.

Harry once again feels out of his own skin. He doesn't belong in this room. He doesn't belong anywhere Louis is. This was a mistake. Harry feels the bile rise up. He had forgotten about this part. How cold it was to be around Louis! The literal sun for the rest of the world. They munch in silence, focusing on their food for a while, all of them hungry and tired from the meeting, and by the time their stomachs are filled, they have all gone lumpy to move. Except for Harry. Who hasn't touched his food much.

Oli taps his watch and says, "I better leave now if I want to catch my flight." He gets up.

And Niall is surprised. "You are leaving?"

"Yeah, my work is done here." Oli bows to the room.

Zayn frowns. Louis stands up as he watches Oli collect the suitcase from the wall; a carry-on makes its appearance from behind it.

Oli grabs Louis in a tight hug and says, "Please call me at least once a week or whenever you need it."

Louis's hands are coming to rest lightly on his back.

Louis nods. "I'll give you a call in like three or four months," Louis says lightly and adds with laughter as he steps back. "If I get spotted," he continues when he looks at Oli's exasperated expression.

"You can always call me whenever; I always pick up." Oli hums, "When am I going to see you again?" He asks.

Louis sighs sweetly, "Maybe in two or three years." He tops it off with a laugh again.

"Any chance to know where you are going?" Louis doesn't move.

This whole ordeal is weird. Why is Louis here? Why did he ask them to lunch? Why does Oli feel the need to make sure that he will meet Louis? And why do Louis’ answers only raise more questions for Harry? What is his motive? What the fuck does he want?

"You can come with us." Niall chimes in, and all heads turn towards him.

"We are going to Akaroa anyway; we are there for only one week; it would be fun." Niall explains. Harry wants to knock some sense into him. What if Louis doesn't want to come? Louis doesn't know they are going to Harry’s house. He should know. Someone should tell him.

And Liam nods his head in agreement, "Yeah, it's just one week, and we are seeing you after so long. It would be fun."

Louis looks back and forth between them and turns to Oli, urging him to step in.

Oli shrugs.

"What else do you have to do? It would be a nice short vacation."

Louis' eyes narrow a little, but he doesn't say anything.

"We are mostly going to laze around; we are all taking a much-needed break from work," says Zayn, "or any talk of it." He adds sternly to Niall.

"We should leave too, if we are going now, in two hours, and we will be there before dusk." Niall gets up from the bed.

"Come on then," Zayn scans the room. "Is that the whole thing you brought?" He asks Louis, pointing towards the carry-on and duffle bag.

Louis' head snaps up undecided. He looks torn just for a second, and then he smiles, shoulders square. "Alright then," he clams his hands together, letting light bounce in the steps. "I'm taking the window seat."

Harry checks on his belongings and hands them over to his assistant, files to send back, and such. He bids goodbye to people, and they make their way towards the cars waiting for them.

"We are going to take that one." Zayn jogs towards the first car in the parking lot, Liam behind him.

"Niall," Zayn calls out. "We are going to leave you behind." And flips them off.

"Not a fucking chance," Niall says, grabs Louis' hand, and stuffs him in the passenger seat of the car standing next to them. He tosses all of their suitcases in the trunk.

"Careful," Harry warns him, but he's done by the time it's out.

"Hope you remember the road," he says, pushing Harry towards the driving seat.

"All right, slow down," Harry scoffs, trying to walk at his own pace. Of course, he remembers the way to his own house. "Worry about Zayn and Liam agreeing on the turns." He turns to check if Niall has the seat belt on where he has adjusted himself in the middle of the backseat.

"Hurry up," Niall bellows in Harry's ear.

Okay then.

Harry pulls out of the parking lot. And Niall talks. He tells Louis about Alex. It's nice to hear Niall talk about himself and his love. Niall doesn't get to do that often, and Harry smiles at it. It's his favourite. The bar story. And the one-night stand and running into each other like it's fate. And Niall is actively seeking out. Beside him Louis has shifted a bit, one leg on the seat as he listens. Smiles and encourages Niall. Tells him it's good for him. And he wishes them a good marriage. Louis also indulges Niall a bit, leaning towards him and throwing lame jokes here and there and laughing at them. He listens, enraptured.

The other car passes them, and Zayn teases his tongue out. Harry accepts the challenge, increasing the speed so that they are tailing them. Harry really shouldn't let Liam drive them around. He's getting better at this. He tells Niall as much.

"Don't ever let Liam drive us next time, Niall." He yells.

"Tell that to your drunken ass." Niall retorts. And okay, Harry drives them to bars, and Liam drives them back.

"Remind me to drink less then," says Harry.

Niall hums and pats Harry's head. Harry's phone starts ringing in his pocket.

"Who's that?" Niall asks.

Harry's hands are on the wheel, so he can't see. He shrugs. It stops ringing, and then Niall pulls his phone out.

"It's Zayn?" Niall says, picking it up, "Hello."

"Why are you asking me if it's Zayn?" Harry sighs.

Niall shushes him, "Come again." He speaks on the phone and then smacks Harry's head when Harry snickers, "Come again."

"Harry, Liam's asking if we have food."

Harry has asked for his house to be cleaned and kept ready for their stay. So he thinks the pantry will be full.

"We can stop at Jones. See what we can find?" Harry asks, looking at Niall in the rearview mirror.

"Race you to Jones." Niall says this and puts his phone back.

"There's no such thing as too much food," Harry snickers.

Niall grimaces, remembering the time they all four had ordered for everyone, not knowing others had done the same, and ended up handing out the excess food in the middle of the night.

"I am not walking at two AM in some random street tonight," Niall huffs, folding his arms. "Now hurry up."

They argue a bit as to where that turn around the corner with a single palm tree on the street in front of Jones is, and Harry is getting a bit shifty.

"There was a shed beside it, Niall."

"No, it was at Spencer's, not at Jones. Listen to me," Niall pulls at Harry's arm.

"I am driving," Harry screeches.

"We are not going to end up in a hospital," Niall says, rolling his eyes.

"There!" Niall smacks Harry and yells in his ear. "There!" he points out loudly this time.

And Harry takes a left turn, seeing Zayn and Liam get out of the car. The street is empty. Jones is a small shop with a roof protruding out a dusty 'Jon_s' tucked in the corner, unreadable to the new eyes. It's perfect for them. Harry parks beside Liam. Niall gets out.

"You coming?" Harry asks to now quiet Louis.

He is very aware of the fact that this is the first time he has spoken to Louis in five years. Crash that. In more than seven or close to eight years. This is familiar, the courtesy. He is shocked that he talked to Louis outside. In a car. When there is no one around.

Louis has opened his phone and is typing something out, staring resolutely at it. He shakes his head. As usual. Not acknowledging Harry at all. Not giving him a single glance.

"Okay," Harry says. Suit yourself.

What else can he say? He is getting angsty, and he doesn't even know why. This is all he has ever wanted. Louis is back. And Louis is back. Except he is not. Harry can't ask him anything. He doesn't want to ask him anything anymore, nor does he have to tell him everything, and just in the morning, he wanted to tell Louis how he lost his favourite pen the other day. And except for that, he is. Louis is back. This is the reality of how the two members of the famous band interacted before one of them left in the middle of the night. He has no right. He gets out, closes the door behind him, and flinches at the sound. He didn't mean to close it so harshly.

Harry stretches around and takes a deep breath. The fresh, crisp, cool, dry air of Akaroa fills his lungs. They are only half an hour away and will be home soon. His bed is waiting for him. And his tired back relaxes at the thought of it.

He walks inside to find Niall in the bread section. Liam and Zayn have wandered off to the corner of packaged rubbish. He picks up a basket to put his items in and walks towards the fresh greens. He dumps tomatoes, onions, and potatoes in the basket in handfuls. He needs sauces and ketchup. Maybe some mayo and cheese too. There are a lot of gateway homes in this area, which is three kilometres away from the city. So the store is always filled with new stalks and a variety of things. This also comes up with the given privacy. People here leave them on their own.

"What does Louis want?" Zayn creeps on him. Harry looks around for Liam.

"Where's–" Harry starts but stops himself at Zayn's raised eyebrow.

"I have no idea," he shrugs.

"You didn't ask?" Zayn is mildly accusing him.

"You didn't either." Harry points this out. "He is here with us; isn't that enough? We also begged him to come, so it's very unlikely that he has ulterior motives." Harry finishes with tight lips.

Zayn hits him on the arm.

"Stop hitting me!" Harry yelps.

"I meant, what does he want?" Zayn gestures at the store and says, "From here." He explains in the tone he uses for children.

Harry furrows his brow. "I don't know." and moves towards the next island of ready-to-cook noodles and pasta.

He hears Zayn sigh behind him: "You are useless."

Yes. Harry grits his teeth. He is very much aware of that. When they are done and have gathered everything they want, they round up at the counter. Liam goes back to bring popcorn, and Niall and Zayn banter as to who's turn to pay. And Harry has started to get a headache. He pushes his card onto the table, which has them looking at him curiously.

"I'll be at the car," Harry says, turning around.

The store's door shuts behind him sharply, and he sighs. He just wants to sit down and cry. Even the tears start to poke at him. He doesn't know what would make them stop. He needs to breathe as well. Just a tad bit. If only everyone would leave him alone. He rests against the wall. It's cold beneath his back. He looks at the sky. The clouds have started to align. It runs a shiver down Harry's spine. Did he forget that Akaroa is cold and his summer getaway?

Niall chooses to come out exactly at that moment. He narrows his eyes at Harry playfully. Okay, fine then, they all have started to get a bit edgy with each other finally after a long day. Harry runs his hand through his hair to shake the feeling off. Once, they were long. They aren't anymore. He just wants to go back in time, or maybe even further. He doesn't know. He watches as Liam and Zayn put their stuff in the car and climb in. The competitive spirit from before leaves with them. Harry's shoulder sags a little, and he doesn't know where it's coming from. Niall starts walking towards their car, and Harry follows with a feeling of them being in a mafia film or something. This is just ridiculous. All of it. Some of it.

He climbs in his driver's seat, and they ride away in the sunset. As poetic as Harry wants it to be, it's ironic. And it falls flat on the road in front of him, and the familiarity of it is under the tyres of his car. Isn't he happy? Isn't this what he wanted? For Louis to be back.

Louis hasn't said a word to him, nor has he looked Harry's way. And Harry doesn't know what is better. Him being here or him being gone. And the thoughts lead him to his driveway. Zayn and Liam are already climbing out. Niall doesn't even wait for Harry to turn the ignition off, and he's out of the car too. Great. Harry's tired, too. He looks at Louis, and Louis looks small. So small. And his large persona curled up under it somewhere away from Harry's sight. This is how it's going to be, then.

"Let's go in." Harry's voice comes out in a whisper, stumbling on the palette of his throat.

He climbs out, and Louis does too. And Harry sighs as to the opened door and the voices that echo around from the hallway inside.

"You didn't change the light," Liam's screeching.

Harry doesn't care. It was Zayn's fault. He knocked on the lightbulb the last time they were here.

"Let's go. I'll show you to the room." Harry nods in Louis' general direction.

"Um." Louis' stammer stops Harry and makes him turn towards him.

Harry looks at him. Really looks at him. And Harry isn't strong enough to do this. He wants to bolt all the way back to London and let his cold sheets swallow him up. But here Louis is standing so close, and it's not his Louis. Or is he? Harry doesn't remember anymore. What he thought of Louis—his shadows, ghosts, memories, or anything else—doesn't matter in this moment. Not when Louis is still looking at the floor by his feet and there's a slight tremor to his persona.

"I-" Louis' eyes flick everywhere but at him. And he nudges in the direction of the car. "I left my, umm, I—my bags are still in the car?" Louis scratches at the back of his neck and tucks his shirt back in place when he is finished with his question. And hands again rest inside the pocket. Eyes darting to the door.

And Harry is as scared as he is angry. Who is this person standing in front of him? Harry lets out a sigh. When they say, 'Be mindful of what you wish for,' maybe they were talking about whatever this is.

He leaves Louis there, standing on the step of his door, and walks towards the car to retrieve Louis' bags. He reckons he might as well take his own while he's at it. He decides to leave whatever he packed for Louis, whatever he wanted to give Louis, the whole bag, should just be left in the car and be taken with him when he goes back to London. What the hell was he thinking? He lifts Louis' two bags—a duffle and a carry-on—they are pretty light than Harry expected. He contemplates if he should take his one too, but reckons he will think about it in the morning.

He walks back to the door where Louis is still standing, his eyes still to the side. When he sees Harry approach, he lifts his hands to take the bags from him.

"No, it's alright, c'mon," Harry leaves no room for argument, walking past Louis into the entrance.

He thinks of dumping Louis' bags amidst the others’ but thinks better of it and walks past the sectionals in the hall. Beside the staircase that leads to the upper floor is a huge bookcase resting against a glass wall. One side of which opens under the staircase and leads into the courtyard. It's Harry's favourite thing in the whole house—the ivy's, the small canopy they have formed, and the staircase that weaves around the glass walls encompassing the garden in the middle. Harry thinks about which room he should show Louis. He had kept two aside for him, and judging by the silence glooming in the house, others had made their way to their own rooms.

So Harry walks Louis through the corridor beside the glass wall towards the indoor studio; the room beside it has a door that opens into the back garden. This room is smaller than the rooms upstairs, but it's cosy and not as airy as his, the sky room, or the other room that he actually kept for Louis.

He opens the door wide to the room on the ground floor and gestures behind his back, "That one is Niall's; it's the same as this one but a little bit bigger, and that one," he points further ahead into the corridor, “is the studio, and this," he enters the room, beckoning Louis in. "You can stay here if you like it." He finishes.

Louis can sort his on-shit for once. Louis stands by the door, nodding, not even looking at the room, its walls or windows, the bookcase, or the paintings.

"Thank you," he says.

And Harry dumps the bags on the cocktail table beside the chair. "Okay then." He nods back and leaves Louis to figure everything out by himself.

What the fuck is he doing? Harry doesn't know. He really needs to change the way he talks to himself. Maybe. Maybe not.

Niall's door is wide open across the stairs, so Harry pokes his head in. "Hey," he says, standing at the door, leaning against the door frame.

"Come on in, mate." Niall says, shuffling aside in the bed, making room for Harry, still scrolling on his phone.

Harry walks over and lies down, burying himself by Niall's side. "I'm so tired." Harry's voice is muffled by Niall's jumper. It's soft and smells like fresh laundry.

"Did Louis like his room?"

"I don't know. I showed him the one opposite you."

"Harry" Niall's tone is exhausted, and he shuffles up on the headboard, arranging his pillows so he's sitting better, and Harry slides away.

"I was going to show him upstairs, you know." Harry explains, "He didn't say anything, and we are all tired; maybe next time." There won't be a next time.

Niall sighs. "Alright."

Chapter Text

Niall wakes everyone up on the first morning in Akaroa. Harry is still dazed by the dream that he had last night. Reiteration of the dream he had on the plane. He is pissed off. Niall woke him up just about when Louis was going to talk to him.

He doesn't have to go back to sleep, though, because the dream is unfolding right now as they are walking through the grass. The trees are lined up, and the sun falls through them gently. They have packed the breakfast, and it's a picnic. They make their way to the top of the hill and settle down. Liam and Zayn have packed them a feast. Wine, beer, cheese, wafers, sandwiches, chips, and boiled eggs. 

It's warm. Familiar. Only five of them are cocooned away from the world. This feels sheltered. They talk about everything and nothing. Louis’ laugh is like a noisy spring making its way through the forest. Free spirited. Harry basks in it.

Niall has planned to make their way down to the beach and have lunch there. When their stomachs are filled with breakfast and everyone has soaked up the sun, they make their way down. Careful. Not to stumble into each other. Zayn leads the way. Liam is following him. Niall is having a conversation with him. Harry follows them fondly. He is aware that Louis is behind him.

Louis despises the treks. Not because he doesn't enjoy them, but because the weird forest shrubs make him itchy. He dehydrates easily. And it leaves him irritated, which doesn't allow him to fully immerse himself in nature. He likes the comfort better. He likes the jungle or grass walks—the ones they did to climb up there. But the way down is a proper trek. And Louis would have complained and snarled at Niall for his piss poor planning and not taking the same way they took here. They're not even sure if this path leads to the shore. All they know is that it is making its way down, and the beaches are always down. The road is rocky. 

The soil comes loose under their sneakers. The grains make them slide easily. Their elbows get scraped. They have to be careful not to twist their ankles. The sun is climbing up on them. They are out of water. So yes. There are plenty of things to complain about, but Louis is quiet. Which unsettles Harry deeply.

There is something varyingly wrong with Louis, but no one has batted an eye. And Harry wants to yell at them. He wants to turn them all around. Zayn and Liam pass around the turn, and he can't even see their heads, never following them. Louis is making his way down gently, leaving Harry dangling. He waits for him. He sees the struggle when he can't decide which rock to put his foot on. The soil has become loose, and the nook is slippery.

Harry waits for Louis to ask for help. Which never comes. Louis is still frozen. It's not that low of a rock either, so Harry doesn't understand. He makes his way swiftly, but Louis doesn't move. His legs have a slight tremble that doesn't escape Harry’s notice. He looks at where the other boys have disappeared. They are nowhere to be found. Louis is still hesitant as to how to make his way around, particularly in this spot. 

“Louis.” The name escapes Harry's lips.

Its unexpectedness makes Louis look at him abruptly. Harry has shot his hand out to Louis as support, unbeknownst to even himself. And if he doesn't take it, Harry is going to fling himself off this cliff. This is so embarrassing.

They haven't talked. Not at the dinner last night. Not today. It's easier to escape in a group. It doesn't stand out. Harry can follow up on someone’s comment on what Louis said. He can laugh along with everyone else. Join in on the same conversations. But this. Just the two of them. They never do. They never did, as far as Harry remembers. He was always a fly on Louis’ walls. Orbiting in and out of the ebbs and flows.

Louis takes his hand and carefully steps on a loose rock. It cannot bear his weight. He slips a little, leaning onto Harry's arm. And Harry stands still. Rooted in the space. There is a shake in Louis’ hand even as he holds onto Harry’s. Louis' hand shakes even as he holds Harry's. His hands have become a touch sweaty. Louis is nervous. Harry observes. Louis' perfume wafts through them as he steps into Harry's space. Once they are surefooted, Harry lets him go. Turning around and making a way forward. They don't catch up with the lads for the rest of the way, instead finding them on a small end of a pier down the beach that has somehow found its path beneath the highlands adorned with cliffs.

The view from here is spectacular. The sea screams in the background. The green mountains take a bath in the distance. They surround them. Small little figures in the vastness of the rocks. Their worries turn smaller. The silence lingers.

When they are filled to the brim with calmness enough to turn it into boredom, Niall turns on the GPS, and they walk for another two kilometres to find a restaurant.

When they come home, they are utterly exhausted from today's adventure, and mattresses call their names.

The week seems to fly by. They all sit around playing board games, conspiring, and teaming up. They go out on walks in the morning and evening. One day, they take their cycles around the outskirts of the town. Another day, they cook in the backyard. The next day, they watch all the movies in the world. The home lives in its chaos. And when they are not home and are exploring the woods, their bikes ring with the same laughter. The sunsets and sunrises have their names written on them. Zayn and Liam come up with obscure games. Harry is sure they make the rules as they go, just to piss Naill off.

The best part of it is the dinner. Sometimes they are too weary to even make a nice sandwich. They keep coming up with absurd fillings like tuna and ice cream, which taste horrendous. Sometimes they cook an extravaganza, with chopped vegetables flying everywhere.

Harry feels exactly the same as he did in London. It is very familiar with the Saturday nights they spend together when they can, or any weekdays when they can't do weekends. It's all rubbish talk: what colour should be painted on the walls, what food should they try next, and what series are there left to watch? They go back and forth on this and settle on friends again, with familiar groans and laughter. It serves as background noise when their chatter dominates the room.

Liam asks him about the book that he has been reading; Harry talks at length about the characters and message; Zayn suggests that would be a cool concept for a song; and Niall advises him what instruments will make the room sound larger.

Nothing has changed.

Yet there is one thing that has.

Louis.

Still very much in the background and at the centre at the same time. He hasn't contributed much and is staying loyal to the contract. The lads haven't asked him anything. And still, he is part of every conversation. It's so easy to forget that Louis wasn't there for the last five years. And boys seem to have done so. They have pulled him back in without any reservations, and Harry is baffled. Harry thinks they would have been just as fine without Louis. It is frustrating for Harry to watch Louis like this. No one asks him anything, and it isn't like they can, but the contracts are quickly forgotten, and yet there is nothing Harry can think of to ask him.

And yet, Harry has questions. A long list of them. He still eats the same pizza and hamburgers. When Harry makes tacos on the second night, he sees Louis helping himself to more than one serving, relishing in the taste. Harry notes his content sigh, and yet the compliment does not come. When Niall asks him about a lyric, Louis just nods and says that is a good way to put it and offers no changes. Louis is just there. And the lads don't bat an eye.

On Friday evening, Harry has enough. When Louis returns to his room, stating he is tired, Harry makes others stay with him. They go upstairs. Into Harry’s room. And Harry realises. Louis has never seen this part of the house. He never made his way to the upper floor. Harry did not offer to show him around having lads here a hundred times over.

They always hang out in the kitchen or laze around the sofas, and they are always outdoors, so Harry can't blame himself. The excuses just fit right in.

“I need to talk to all of you, actually,” Harry says as he lies down on the bed.

"Of course," answers Liam, settling into one corner of the bed. Zayn takes the armchair and swirls it around. Niall takes the love seat, with everyone facing Harry.

“So,” Harry begins. The drapes flutter as the fan whirls above them. The clock on the wall ticks away. Harry hears his own breath.

“So,” Zayn parrots back.

It irks something in Harry. Why are they making it out as if they know what he is going to talk to them about? It is annoying. They don't know him. Perhaps they do. And they might have some answers that Harry doesn't, which is the entire point of the talk they are about to have.

He gets right to the point. “Why are you letting him walk all over you again?”

“Who, Louis?” Liam is confused.

“Who else?” Niall looks up to the ceiling.

What does that even mean? Who else? Harry has a lot of people that he talks about. He certainly doesn't whine about Louis all the time, not to them at least.

“So you know what I am talking about, then?” Harry asks.

“Of course not; we are not mind readers.“ Zayn clarifies.

And maybe he was wrong; they aren't his friends like he made them out to be. Maybe Louis coming back has them shift their bias. And maybe that's why they are favouring Louis over him. Taking his side. This already feels like an interrogation.

Harry confronts. “Why are you letting him back into our lives so easily, without any consequences? He left us; have you forgotten?”

“You were always the reminder of that,” Zayn adds softly, like he is giving him the truth of life.

Harry clenches his fists.

Liam sighs. They are all quietly staring at him with expectation.

Niall breaks the silence. "He left. Now he is back. That's all that matters, right?”

He feels like he has been punched and doused in cold water at the same time. Leaving him drowning in the pool of uncertainty that outrages him. The itch in Harry's skin breaks all over him. Harry's skin is itchy all over. His hands are looking for something to do with. His chest tightens. Something clutches at Harry's throat.

"We were upset, too, Haz, but we missed him, and he's here now; there's no point in nursing a grudge against him. He must have had his own reasons, and he has a right not to justify himself.” Liam says it so flippantly, shifting slightly. Making himself comfortable in Harry's comforters.

Harry is gnawing his lips. His throat clenches. He tries again. “But he abandoned us in the middle of the fucking tour. And all he told Zayn was that he was going home. He didn't fucking tell us he was leaving the band.”

"It's been five years," Niall adds, staring at him gently. He understands it has been five years. He has recited it daily. This does not mean that everything has changed. Harry feels like no time has passed. His heart throws daggers, and his friends do not understand the ache inside of it. He doesn't understand how they are so cool with it.

“We have had this conversation,” Zayn explains. “Since the day we knew his team contacted us, we have had this exact conversation a billion times. And we are all over it. We have made peace with it.”

“And where was I?" Harry can't recall burying this particular hatchet.

“Lost in thoughts.” Niall says, “If you’d open the group chat at least once, you would see the progression of it all.”

And guilt surmounts Harry. He hasn't been as talkative on this particular subject as the others. He never opened up about his true feelings on the matter to any of them. And the kind faces that stare back at him are sincere and understanding.

He feels besieged. It's too much to hold in. His conviction runs dry. He amends one last time, in the smallest voice, “I know it's been five years. That's the whole point he should tell us. He should explain to us why he flung it out there for us. We were there to clean up after his mess. And he gets away with it so easily. How can you forgive him so easily?” He stares down at his lap. He can't face them. He says too much. Admits too much too soon.

“You're taking it too personally.” Niall's voice pierces the emotional wall he has built around himself. Niall continues, “You are acting like he broke up with you and not with the band. He was going to propose to you and instead left for someone else.” 

Every word is like a fresh wound to his pride. His naivety. All the low blows punch him in the face. The world tilts on its axis. And that annoys Harry more. How did he come to those assumptions? How did he get so emotionally tangled in this mess that he forgot to look at it objectively? The thought takes the heat off the surface, at least. Yes, he is. He is taking it personally. Louis owed it all to Harry. Like Louis had some agenda to hurt Harry with his decision five years ago. He must have very excellent reasons; Harry understands this, but it does not make it any easier to accept.

“And you are not?” He throws at Zayn. ”He was your fucking best friend, and he told you nothing.” At the very least, Zayn should understand.

“Have you tried to understand why this affects you more than us?”

“Zayn.” Liam warns.

“What? Are you saying it's my fault that he left?” Harry has to defend his guilt. Why would it affect him more than anyone? He can deny it with all his might.

“I never said that; we never said that. But we have let it go. You haven't. And you know what? I am so tired of being on the receiving end of this backlash. You should ask him instead of us.” Zayn gives up the ruse of protecting the peace.

"So what are you telling me? You don't have any questions? Why did he leave? Where was he? Why has he shown up now? You don't feel compelled to know the answers.?” Harry fights back.

“We do, Harry. Believe me, we do, but I also recognise he owes us nothing.” Zayn says it exasperatedly.

'Hell, he doesn't! Isn't it true that he left us in the first place?"

“What do you want us to do then?”

“Ask him!”

“Why?” Zayn says it as gently as ever, like he isn’t trying to provoke Harry. Stirred something deep inside of him that he had put to rest. Harry can't believe him. He is Louis’ best friend. Or was.

“Aren’t you a slightest bit concerned?” Harry is astounded at the lack of curiosity his friends are exhibiting.

“He can ask for help himself. And he will if he needs it.”

“He isn't himself.” Harry brings out his own observations.

“Isnt he?” niall retorts.

“Why did he make us sign NDAs then?” Harry makes his point.

"Have you considered the possibility that it is his team, and they are simply taking precautions? Isn't it better to separate business from friendship?"

“Is he, though? Is he your friend?”

“He is and always will be. Have a little bit of faith in him.“ Niall states, then asks, “What is it that's bothering you, Harry? We have been there for you as well as for him throughout. We saw how his leaving affected you. It's reasonable that you might have trouble adjusting to the fact that he's back. But it won't resolve anything unless you figure out what is bothering you.”

His concern washes over Harry. He should be honest with himself. And he knows what worries him. He knows why he wants to talk to Louis. He knows why he wants Louis back. Everything reminds him of his darkest days and how the thought of meeting Louis and telling him everything gave him a purpose. He needs to be strong for himself. Capable of understanding and feeling the intricacies he has denied for so long.

“He doesn't know,” Harry whispers in the night.

They wait for him to elaborate.

“Louis doesn't know about Robin passing away.” Harry clears his throat. The tangled mess in his throat is too heavy to swallow. His fingers play with the corner of the pillow that rests on his lap.

“I am sure he has read the news somewhere, Harry,” Niall assures him, which does not help.

“He needs to know from us, from me at least.” Harry looks at Zayn.

“Of course.” Zayn agrees: “You can tell him now.” He is also looking quizzedly at Harry, and Harry lacks the strength to promise him, to say he will do it soon, or whatever it is expected of him to say. And Harry has nothing in his repertoire. There must be a reason why they are so quick to defend Louis and so quick to confront Harry. They must know something. “What are you not telling me?” he asks.

They look at each other hesitatingly. At least Liam and Niall do. Zayn is looking right through Harry.

“Very well, then, I am sick of you bastards pretending nothing is going on between you.” Zayn sounds both stern and weary.

“Shut up, Zee!" Niall scolds

“It's not our place,” Liam interjects.

“Can one of you tell me what the fuck is going on?” Harry meddles.

“Yes. gladly”  Zayn sits right up, shoulders squared.

"No! You will make this worse. I'm kicking you out if you continue.” Liam warns, and Harry is lost.

“What the fuck are you even talking about?”

“You and Louis are having a cold war and don't want to admit it,” Niall says.

There is a ringing in Harry's ears. He thought he had done his best to pretend. He thought it worked. Do they all know Louis doesn't talk to him? How long they had known. Now? Before? He was cautious. He is sure Louis was careful, too. How did they screw it up so badly to have them notice it?

“What the fuck, Niall?” Liam protests. Harry is relieved that Liam is on his side.

“I am tired, okay,” Zayn admits. “You and Louis need to sort your shit out; you wanna know why Louis left? He left because you refused to give him any time of your day. He left because he had no single reason to stay. You screwed it all up.”

The world freezes for Harry. There is water rushing through his brain. It runs hot and cold. Harry had thought about every single reason why Louis left. Not even one makes a bit of sense. He can't be the reason Louis left. He simply cannot.

"Harry, look at me,” Liam says. “Zayn doesn't mean it. He had other reasons, too.”

"No, he didn't,” Zayn argues. "Look, this is not our place, and we haven't said anything for years, but let me lay it down for you, yes, Niall, as gently as possible,” Zayn promises Niall, who shakes his head frantically.

“Do you remember the months before Louis left?” Zayn asks shell-shocked Harry. He cannot wrap his mind around anyone saying anything at this point. What would Harry have done if he had only told him this? The months Zayn speaks of are blurred by parties, clubs, booze, and Louis’ face, always deeply concerned. And Harry was so sick of it. When he rubbed his body against strangers, the search for ecstasy faltered behind all the traces of Louis in his mind, and he was able to forget about everything. Some shady places. He had kept it all from Louis, though, and from the boys too.

The eternal turmoil. How fake it would feel at times and how surreal. Louis’ blinding smile. The laughter rings through his head. Hollow. And Louis, who is sleeping down the stairs, doesn't blind Harry as he once used to. It all stopped after Louis left. He took all the bad things with him. All the wonderful things too. He hasn't done this in years.

“You would get drunk, vomit, and lose your consciousness, and Louis would put you to bed, like clockwork.” Zayn’s voice resonates through.

“He didn't. I would never do that to Louis.” Harry’s voice sounds strange to his ears. Comes from afar. Harry's eyes hurt from holding back the tears. He will not cry. He cannot be the reason Louis left. He struggles with the weight of it. There are millions of people in the world, and Harry cannot be the one who made Louis feel tortured and caged to the point he left. It's cruel. Harry would never put that burden on anyone, let alone Louis. 

“You did,” Liam says in a softer voice than Zayn's accusing one. 

“You were out of it, Harry,” Niall agrees, “and the next day you will act like Louis didn't exist.”

“People always surrounded you—sometimes Xander, Jeffrey, you name them.”

“But I liked hanging around people; you know that.” Harry is still protecting and defending a small part of himself that is increasingly becoming apparent.

"Yes, we know that. We always saw you chatting with security, the crew, and other people. You are made for people. It wasn't bothersome until you started avoiding Louis so blatantly.” Zayn adds.

“I don't remember,” Harry protests. “I—” He's speechless.

“You liked to greet people and mingle with them; we knew so did Louis. Louis was just like you, Harry; don't forget that. That didn't mean he stopped caring about you.”

“I didn–”

“But you did. You stopped talking to Louis and would only interact with him on stage. You made it all possible to convey that Louis didn't exist for you. You would leave him as soon as it wasn't mandatory to talk to him. You would go out and get drunk, and then someone would bring you back to the hotel for Louis to take care of you. And before he woke up, you were gone again.” Liam sighs.

“I sound like an asshole,” Harry says wryly. 

"Look, we are not blaming anyone here,” Zayn challenges.

“Or accusing," he butts in, “but you have a lot to talk about.”

“You all keep saying that, and I am really tired, okay, and I am trying. I don't understand or agree with anything you are saying.” Harry raises his hand to stop them when he senses they are about to cut in again. “Let me speak because I am trying to understand here. As I remember, we were all going to meetings, and yes, I was with Nick and Xander spending my time out, but I don't think I ever left Louis alone. He had you. He had me if he wanted to talk to me. It has been a lot of years, I agree, but I never left Louis, as you are saying. I never abandoned him. I started avoiding him when he wouldn't even stay in the same room with me. I even tried to talk to him years ago. And multiple times. I asked him if I had done something wrong or if I genuinely didn't know. He stopped staying home. He always went to Doncaster, and I really couldn't say that he couldn't see his family. I simply don't get it. I started avoiding him—I am not denying that—but only after I made attempts to salvage our friendship. He certainly didn't want it. I wasn't going to string him along. And as everyone was going to leave, I thought we were all going to leave amicably, so I just started investing my time in it.”

They all stay silent for a while. Zayn looks utterly frustrated. Liam is confused. Niall looks surprised. 

He has told them this. At least he thinks so. The years are so muddled together. All he remembers is the exact moment when Zayn told him Louis left. He doesn't remember the years that followed after it with their successes. It was always tainted with the painstakingly obvious elephant in the room. And he tried. Again and again for Louis to open up to him about it. He asked again and again. He called. He invited. He crashed some parties to which he wasn't invited. He barged into Louis’ family home in Doncaster. And yet Louis left him. He begrudgingly admits that Louis left after six months of Harry giving up on him. Harry gave up on him when one day Jay asked him how he was doing, and Harry couldn't come up with anything that didn't accuse Louis. At least at the house. Jay kept calling him for at least a week, which turned into at least a month, and then a few other months, and after that, the contact died down. It's been three years since he talked to Jay. He never could muster the courage to do so after Louis left; he tried, though. But he didn't ask for Louis or his whereabouts. He was angry back then. Now he regrets it. He needs to call Jay. Soon. 

“I know it must be annoying,“ Zayn says, and Harry huffs. It's not only annoying; it's far more frustrating to be helpless.

“I know,” Zayn continues, “but you need to tell him about Robin." There are some things that Louis needs to tell you. It's better that way than it coming from any of us.”

Harry nods.

They all hug him and leave after that, with the conversation coming to a conclusion.

Harry couldn't get a blink of an eye of sleep that night. He keeps turning in his sleep. At one point, he gives up on finding a comfortable position and just stares at his ceiling.

On Saturday, when the lads start packing and the news comes that there will be no flights out of New Zealand after Sunday, the lads decide on taking the morning one out. Harry decides to stay behind.

"Scotland, I would understand. Why here?” Zayn asks, entering the kitchen. Harry’s at the table where he has the whole view of the sectionals where others are lounging. Tired from the packing.

Harry had been waiting for this one. He knows even the cliffs are nice; everything fails in front of northern landscapes and European towns, and yet Akaroa beckons to him. The cliffs here are barren; there is nothing much growing on, no skin-cutting winds, no scraping sands—all is as it is in his life. Static. It is grounding for him at this moment. And he has some unfinished business to do.

He looks at Zayn, gauging how much Zayn will understand if he lays it out there. And he wishes Louis had asked him this question, for he would go to the lengths of paragraphs. He glances at Louis, who is curled next to Niall on the couch, having moved on to the office reruns. 

And he sees it for what it is; Louis wouldn't ask him this question, not this Louis, now that he thinks of it. Louis hasn't uttered a word to him—nothing more than their first conversation in the hallway. He didn't ask when the light was or what they were having, or if he wanted to watch something, read something, or do mundane things like, Where is the remote? Where is that? Where is this? Can I do this? Can I do that? Now that Harry thinks of it, Louis hasn't seen the house beyond the living hall, the kitchen, and his room. Harry doesn't know if Louis even stepped out of the garden. Lost cause.

He turns back to Zayn and says, "There’s nothing to feel here, only to resonate, I guess.”

Zayn nods, sitting beside him. "Well, I am going to miss you back there. I wish you would come soon.”

“I will, of course, just stay here till the world returns to normal; it would be just two weeks anyway,” Harry sighs, running his hand through his hair.

“Is Louis staying?” Zayn asks, and they both turn to look at the boys sprawled on the couch, eyes glued to the TV.

“I didn't ask,” Harry admits honestly. “Why didn't you tell me Louis left because of me?” Harry asks, pushing through his fear. Holding onto a thin string of hope more than courage.

Zayn looks over Louis before turning his whole attention towards Harry. “When he left, it shocked you through the core. You didn't speak to us for a week. We decided it was too painful for you to talk about it. Whenever we broached the subject, you would shut down. I think deep down, you knew there was some part of you that blamed yourself for it. You never asked us.”

Harry doesn't know what to say. Louis is in his house, and he doesn't know what to say to him either.

“I don't know how to talk to him,” he whispers to Zayn.

“You know, when we were young, he wouldn't stop talking about you so much, and it got to the point where it was the only thing that he would talk about. I got sick of it and challenged him not to mention your name. You know how he is. Once you challenge him to something, and if you think he can't do it, he goes to absolute lengths to make it happen.’

Harry nods.

Zayn smiles at him. “He lasted only ten minutes.”

That brings a genuine smile to Harry’s face.

Zayn ruffles his hair. "He was as obsessed with you as you are with him.”

“Hey, don't mess up my hair.” Harry pushes him away.

“Do you remember how we used to tease you about each other?” Zayn asks, and his eyes are keen as always.

Harry nods again.

Zayn continues, "You would shut down any idea of you two being together. I think you didn't give it much thought. Then, after a year or two, it was like Louis had no space in your life. I don't believe you did it deliberately. Your world was so big, and Louis got pushed into the corner. He would kill me if he knew that I told you this,” Zayn warns Harry. “I have kept it away from you all these years. There were so many times, at your place back in London, when you would have your—I lost all the hope in the world. The world is a vicious, cutthroat bitch, and I don't know how to endure it—phases. I almost broke my loyalty to him.”

Harry hangs on to every word from Zayn, who lowers his voice. "He was used to being the centre of your world, and then he didn't even have permission to step into it.”

Harry starts to object, but Zayn cuts in. ”I know. As I said, you didn't do it deliberately. It just happened. I don't think you realised back then and don't even realise now what he means to you, Harry.” Zayn looks at him in the eyes. There is a challenge there. And it's an important and loaded gaze. Harry wants to discern it.

“I tried,” Harry says instead.

“It was too late then; he had made up his mind. You know how stubborn he is.”

“Well, I was too,” Harry reminisces. “I didn't give up that easily.”

“Maybe he wanted more than you were willing to give.” Zayn points this out.

“I was willing to give him the whole world; what more did he want?” Harry goes to the table.

“You.” Zayn says it quietly.

Blood rushes through Harry’s ears. He looks up at Zayn. He must be pulling his legs. Harry wants to dissect it. In what sense? He was already his friend. What does it mean that he wanted Harry? He already had Harry. This is quite cruel. Why can't they simply tell him what they mean? They can spell it out if they need to. But they never do.

“He already had me.” Harry says.

Zayn shakes his head.

Niall yells, "Is dinner ready?" and the oven beeps in response.

The conversation is over.

Harry never gets the opportunity to go over it all with Zayn again. There is always Liam or Niall, or if not, Louis, hanging around. And it took him so much of his will to broach the subject with Zayn that he couldn't do it one more time.

That brings them to the airport the next day, early in the morning. All the luggage was packed in the trunks. Zayn Liam and Louis are in one car, and Niall and Harry are in the other.

Harry’s radio stays on the whole ride, and Niall makes no conversation.

And he sees it for what it is; Louis wouldn't ask him this question, not this Louis, now that he thinks of it. Louis hasn't uttered a word to him—nothing more than their first conversation in the hallway. He didn't ask when the light was or what they were having, or if he wanted to watch something, read something, or do mundane things like, Where is the remote? Where is that? Where is this? Can I do this? Can I do that? Now that Harry thinks of it, Louis hasn't seen the house beyond the living hall, the kitchen, and his room. Harry doesn't know if Louis even stepped out of the garden. Lost cause.

He turns back to Zayn and says, "There’s nothing to feel here, only to resonate, I guess.”

Zayn nods, sitting beside him. "Well, I am going to miss you back there. I wish you would come soon.”

*

Once they bid goodbye to the boys outside the airport on Sunday morning, Louis turns to Harry and says, “My flight is in the evening; I couldn't find one in the morning.” 

He says it as a formality. Strictly on a need-to-know basis. He clutches his luggage tightly. The wind blows between them.

Harry nods.

He has to talk to Louis, but Louis is a million miles away. He needs to work things out with Louis. The past five years have been the hell of his life. He cannot allow that fire to burn him to ashes. Once is enough. He at least needs to try.

He doesn't know how to ask Louis. He could simply say, ‘Please stay with me.’ That won’t be enough for him, though, especially if Harry was an asshole to Louis, as Zayn claimed. But Zayn also said Louis wanted him. To be in his life. To be his friend.

“You can leave. You don't have to stay. I will manage.” Louis says when Harry doesn't move. The dismissal in his voice pricks at Harry's heart. Harry knows Louis doesn't need him, but he wants to. Wants to be the one that Louis desperately needs. He will be the most useless thing if Louis wants him to be. He has to break this cycle.

He doesn't want to leave Louis yet. Determination takes over.

Harry shakes his head. He has to do it. He has to. This cannot be the last time he sees Louis. He can't leave the pages unturned. He needs to apologise, and he needs to do it right now.

“I want you to stay.” Harry blurts it out.

Louis looks like he is being slapped in the face. And Harry realises how it came out. Entitled. Like Louis owed him anything. Louis should care for Harry's wants, or he should do what Harry wants. He backtracks.

“You don't have to if you don't want to, of course. But it's just that we are meeting after so long, and there are just things that I want to tell you, and this isn't exactly the place for it,” he trips over his words.

Louis’s jaw is set. Eyebrows are furrowed. There is a kick to his eyes. He looks insulted. Harry is making it worse. 

“We can talk here if you want to until your flight comes. It's alright with me.” Harry tacks on desperately. Again, inconsiderate. It is not about what Harry is comfortable with. Harry kicks himself. He should give Louis a chance to speak for himself.

That doesn't make Louis budge. His stance only hardens. 

Harry cannot face a wrath of his own. 

“I have to make an apology to you,” Hary pleads.

Louis’ shoulders hunch a little, and he nods. 

“We can talk in the car,” Harry says. He is the one doing all the talking. Because Louis wouldn’t. All the hope vanishes in thin air as Louis moves to the passenger seat. Harry takes the drivers'.

They sit in Harry’s car.

The silence lingers between them. And Harry is thinking of a million ways to say it. How to start it. Louis starts tapping on the dashboard. He is getting restless by the second. Harry has to say something before he decides this is a waste of time. Where should he even begin? Whatever he is thinking of is blaming.

Why did you leave me? He wants to ask.

Why didn't you tell me you wanted to leave? 

No, he needs to apologise first. For what?

I am sorry that I made you leave and that I made you feel unwanted.

Did he, though? He tried everything to make him stay.

Why did you abandon me?

“If you aren't going to say anything, then I'll just head into there,” Louis says briskly.

Harry scraps for anything and everything. “Please stay with me,” he begs. “Don't go. Please, or I can come with you. I will leave the band. I will go into hiding with you. We can stay here. Or we can go anywhere you want. I can't see you leaving again. Please I’ll–” He is running out of things he can say to make him stay. And Harry’s heart picks up. Tears well in his eyes. He can't do this. His breath hitches in the throat. His ribcage shoots needles into him. His heart is pounding. The car spins around him. He is trapped inside. and the roof comes closer and closer; the windows do not break. The doors do not budge. The day Louis left him, he lost him completely. It's out of his control. Nothing he can do will make him stay. He lost his chance. He can buy anything in the world; he can make thousands dance to his tunes; and he can't even keep the most important person in his life. He is so useless. He isn't worthy of anything. He should —

“Harry, Harry, hey, breathe with me.” His eyes find Louis.

Louis’ hands circle him. His lips are moving, but Harry can't hear a single word. The ringing in his ears intesifies.

There is a cool air that hits his face. He rises to the surface of the water. 

Louis takes a deep breath, and Harry follows. Louis exhales, and Harry does that too. Pins are stabbing all over his lungs. And Louis says it will be okay, and Harry repeats it like a mantra. And he is crying and sobbing, and he is a wreck. 

Louis doesn't let go of his hands, even as Harry gathers himself. He is cursing, and he hears Zayn's name and the murder spill.

“I am sorry,” Harry says, and Louis stops.

“I am sorry. I know that you don’t want me. I am so sorry,” Harry babbles on going through the dashboard looking for napkins. He needs to apologise to Louis.

"Hey, none of it,” Louis says. “Get down with me, yeah." He throws open Harry's side door and climbs out. He pulls Harry out of the car and makes him sit in the passenger seat. He closes the door behind him and leaves the window open.

Louis climbs into the driving seat and says, "We will talk later. Let’s go home first.”

Chapter Text

Harry cries all the way home. The tears do not stop flooding. He is gripped by fear of losing Louis once again. His chest aches all over again. He is coming face-to-face with the reality of it all. Louis is next to him, driving and glancing once in a while over Harry. Harry avoids him as best as he can, with the whole world crashing to its core. Harry‘s head is tilted away from Louis. He makes sure there is no way Louis can see his tears. Harry cannot let Louis know that he is crying. He tries not to sniffle. He doesn't wipe away his tears. He resolutely looks out the window at the clouds. 

His jaw is set. He doesn't trust himself to move. 

Is Louis planning to stay? Is Louis going to drop Harry off at home and then call a cab for himself to go back to the airport? Louis hasn't said a word to him. He is focused on driving.

Harry watches as the trees pass by. The wind blows in his face. Calming him down enough. His breath is back to normal. The rush to his head has gone away.

The anguish is swallowing him in its place. He doesn't have anyone to share with. He hopes Louis understands because the weight he bears every day never ends.

It was about that one night. One cold night in December. When snow was falling. The street lamps were lit. London was fast asleep. And Harry was screaming, yelling, and squirming in pain on the floor with no one to hear. His throat had strained from weeping. He felt hollow, and he had no one to hold him. He needed to be the one to comfort others.
He still needs to be the one to hold himself together. He doesn't want Louis to see him fall apart.
A sob escapes him. His lips quiver. Fresh tears well up in his eyes. He presses his lips together. He should get used to being alone. He should.
He ignores Louis, who calls his name. He pretends he doesn't hear it. He cannot face Louis while he is a sobbing mess.
Louis parks in front of the house. The same place Harry had stopped the car that day.
The silence ripples through Harry’s ears.
Louis gets down.
Harry does, too. He takes the opportunity and wipes his face as discreetly as possible.
They wait while Harry fumbles for the door key.

Once inside, Louis asks Harry to sit on the sofa. And Harry does so while Louis moves through the kitchen. But he can't wait any longer. Away from Louis. This might be the last time he sees Louis.
The thought is enough to pull him into the kitchen, where he stands near the door.
Seeing Louis go around his kitchen, grabbing plates and juice cartons from his fridge, tugs at Harry's heart.
He wants it. As long as he can get it.
When he sees Harry, he pushes plates and glasses into his hands.
Harry walks to the living room wordlessly. The air is filled with anticipation of anything.

Louis follows him, arms full of food.
They sit on the ground around the coffee table.
Harry nibbles at the pizza that Louis puts on the plate before him. He takes sips of pineapple juice from his glass.
He is under Louis’ gaze all the time. It's filled with concern, a bit nervous, and cautious. Louis looks at him for the very first time. Observing. Looking below the surface.
It disarms Harry. Unsettles him. There is a storm that builds within him as time passes.
Once they finish, Harry starts fidgeting in the silence, looking for words.
Louis cuts through him and asks, "What’s your comfort place?”
“Here?” Harry asks back.
Louis nods.
Harry can’t give him the places. The sky room. The room he made for Louis. The swing in the backyard. They are too close to home. The gesture is more than he can afford to give Louis right now without admitting more than he is allowing himself to.

Harry licks his lips. They are dry. What would be Louis’ comfort place?
Louis sighs.
“Com'on,” he says, grabbing Harry's arm and gesturing to follow him.
They walk into Louis’ room adjoining the indoor studio.
“Where do you want to sit?”
And it dawns on him. Louis ensures that they are at ease during this talk. Somewhere familiar. Somewhere safe, yet not where there are connotations linked. Somewhere fresh. They're going to talk. Harry is overwhelmed with relief. He needs to get it done.
Louis is unnerved too. He needs as much confidence as he can muster. So, they are here, in Louis’ room.

Harry settles on the floor, his back against the wall. Louis settles into the bed. Legs crossed. Covers pooling in his lap. He rests against the pillows. He offers one to Harry, who accepts it without hesitation. He puts it behind his back for comfort.

“I wanted to tell you something.” Harry starts.

Louis nods and sits upright. His shoulders are square. He seems to be ready for the worst. His face is sincere, and Harry shatters a little. 

It had been hard after Robin passed away. He had thought of Louis and how to tell him. He had thought of calling him, but he didn't have a number. He wished he could write a letter. He hoped he could call Tomlinson’s. He couldn't.

He had written a song or two to ease the pain, but now he isn't even sure what was left, so it comes flooding back.

He missed Robin. He missed Louis. He didn't know how much Robin was supportive of him until he was in the hospital. He knew. He was always grateful. But he didn't know the vastness of it until Robin passed, leaving a hole in Harry’s life.

Then he was stranded again. 

He clears his throat. He rubs his hands over his arms. He has to do this. He has to rip off the bandage. Yet he feels frozen on the spot. Heavy weight on his chest. The noise doesn't escape his throat. He leans slightly towards Louis. He has to do this.

“Gemma is in London.” 

He didn't mean to say that. He continues. ”She is doing a master's. Mom and she both throw house parties. They miss you.” I miss you.

Louis nods, as if he knows.

Harry shakes his head.

“I just want to tell you what's happened since you left." Harry shudders and takes a breath.

He looks around the room. There is an empty chair across the room. There is space on the bed. There is a loveseat by the window, and yet he feels more settled on the floor.
“Robin was in New York." Louis looks at him hesitantly. There's recognition in his eyes. He is more aware and paying attention to Harry. “I was in New York. I spent six months there. The cold ones." Harry chuckles, "But the beer kept me warm." He stares out the window. There is sun out there. The breeze is warm. The room is lit up by natural light. He continues.

“We ate. We talked. He asked about you. He told me to straighten up. To have hope. To let you go, “ He is blabbering now. Half the time, he doesn't even understand what he says. He has never said this before, not to even himself. But in this room, there is determination. There's no stopping now. He needs it.

“It was a daily conversation. Your whereabouts. We didn't know. He wanted to see you one last time. He wanted to tell you. He encouraged me to keep going and figure it out on my own. He said everything would be alright. It would be all better soon." Harry chuckles drily, "It never did. Then one day he told me he had rearranged his will. And he took care of you too. He made me promise to look after you. To look after myself.” Harry shudders.

“I always disappointed him on that front.” Harry’s smile is dry. “And when we were in the hospital, I couldn't stand the stench. The bare walls. Narrow hallways. Always a stretcher. Ambulance. The coughing. The illness.” Harry recoils. “I drank a lot. I wish I hadn't. I don't remember much of what he said. I don't remember much of what I said. He cursed me out once, and you did too. He was frail. He lost all the weight. His skin shrunk. He could not pull out the words at the end. I didn't know. You weren't there. I used to go to the river. Wait it out. I was alone, Lou. You weren't there. You weren't.” His words come out in chokes. He knows he has to keep going, so he does. "On my own. Mom wouldn't stop crying; I didn't know what to say. I did, though. I don't remember. But I tried anyway. I was useless. No help at all. I wasn't sure what to do. Mom would stare at the walls. Gemma would talk. And I couldn't do anything. He wanted to talk to you before he died. He had wanted to talk to us; you, me, and we weren't friends.

I didn't know where you were, and he kept asking for you, and I couldn't. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I wish I could rake it all back. Whatever I did to push you away, I wish I could." He is engulfed by arms. Louis' arms. His head is on Louis’ chest. He can feel Louis’ heart thumping. And he cannot hold it in anymore. He is bawling. He doesn't know what he is crying for. The tears just keep coming. He doesn't know if Louis understood what he tried to say. “Robin passed away,” he says.

“I know love,” Louis muffles in Harry's hair, holding him closer. And Harry has nothing to hold back now. He holds onto Louis as he weeps and weeps.

The afternoon turns into an early evening. Harry feels tired from the crying. The exhaustion takes over. He has nothing to give. He has nothing to hear. And Louis holds him through it. When he is sure that Harry has left nothing within him, he guides Harry to the bed. Covers him with a blanket. Closes the curtains. Turns out the lights. He brings a glass full of water. Harry empties it all. His eyes started to feel heavier. He no longer has the strength to sit up. He closes his eyes and hugs the pillows closer. He feels Louis’ hand in his hair. The soft caress. He craved this. Louis whispers something, and Harry grumbles, not sure if he heard anything. Louis shakes him a little and coaxes him to sit up a bit. There's a tray loaded with food. A sandwich, a glass of juice, and a carton of microwaveable instant noodles. Louis makes sure Harry eats it all, sits by him through it, and accompanies him, even taking small bites of his own. They don't utter a single word. Harry doesn't feel the need to. 

Louis takes away both of their dishes. Harry closes his eyes. Slumps into the comforter. This bed is cosier than his own. Perhaps because Louis slept in and made it his home was his last thought before falling asleep.

Harry wakes up with his head throbbing. His back hurts. His muscles are stiff. His heart is less heavy than before. Unsurity grabs him as he looks around for Louis. The room is undisturbed by anyone other than him. He uses the washroom and brushes his teeth. He isn't ready to face Louis yet after yesterday.

An enormous amount of guilt takes over. It makes him anxious. What did he do? Why did he do it? He can't come up with a single reason to explain his actions in the past. He looks at the boy in front of him in the mirror. 

And how? How did he let this happen? How did he let the distance between them grow? He needs to talk to Louis. He knows that. But all the words fail him. Is Louis even willing to listen to him? And what exactly would he say to Louis?

Thankfully, he doesn't have to.

Louis is leaning at the counter; the oven is buzzing. Harry stands still, sure not to make a single noise. He would cease breathing if he could always see Louis in his kitchen.  Louis wonders about pouring water into the kettle and turning it on. Harry’s heart slows down as he watches Louis take the slow steps, trying to keep the noise to a minimum. His head hangs while the water boils, and it is so reminiscent of the night that Harry has made sure he would see the end of it. He could get used to this. He shouldn't, for it would be the next breeze, and Louis would disappear.

Louis turns and stumbles, taking Harry in for the first time. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

You have given me more, Harry thinks. He smiles. Harry pulls out a cup from the cupboard and says, "Pour me one too.”

“It's Yorkshire,” Louis warns.

Harry nods. “I know.” 

They were never awkward around each other. Harry remembers the day when they would crawl into each other's embrace unbidden. Whatever happened to them, time has left its mark.
One has made sure there are no ways left that they would dig up the grave, and the other has never really tried to bury the hatchet, and yet the memories are too harsh to speak of.

They sit around the kitchen table, sipping their tea. Afterwards, Harry makes them some eggs and sandwiches. It’s up in the air. Undecided.
When they finish their meal, Louis nods at him. The morning breeze flows in and out, and the kitchen door opens. The sun is warming up the room. It’s bright. It;’s cosy. It’s familiar.

“I am sorry for Robin’s passing.”

Harry shakes his head. He is tired of hearing those words, no matter how sincere they are, coming from Louis.
“And I am also sorry that I wasn’t there for him.” For you, hangs in the air.
“It’s not your fault.”
“It’s not yours either.” Louis insists.
Harry shakes him away. Harry has to take the blame if there isn't anyone else to do so. It can't just be situational. It can’t. It’s so easy to blame it on the situation, but if he had acted differently, if he had saved Louis and his friendship, if he could just do something about it,

“If you are going to blame yourself, then I am just as responsible.”

“It’s okay.”

“It really isn't, though, is it?” Louis inquiries. “I am really sorry I wasn’t there for you.“ He places Harry's hand in his, and warmth surrounds him.

“You cut me off,” Harry accuses flippantly. It comes out more harshly than he wants it to.

“I did,” Louis admits, “You left me with no choice.” he sighs. He withdraws his hands to rub his face. His hair sticks out.

Tears well up, and Harry shakes them aside. His head is pounding. He has no energy left to argue or defend himself.

“I am sorry,” Harry continues, “For the way I acted back then, which made you think I didn't want you around. I always did. I always do.”

“Then why?”

“Why have I started spending less time with you?” 

Louis nods. “Or just started acting like a dickhead.”

Harry looks for a reason within. He wants to be as truthful as he can be with Louis. If that entails showing him his ugly, shameful parts, then so be it.

Harry nods determinedly. He has Louis here with him; so many nights he pictured what it would be like to have Louis sitting in front of him again, and Harry always imagined he would talk at lengths, and here he is miles away from that feeling. His tongue feels heavy. He sighs. He decided to try, so now he has to.

“You were so confident, Louis, so sure of yourself. I envied you. I admired you. I wanted to be like you. I started to follow you around. I felt the compulsion to be liked by you. I always needed your approval. And then I met Nick and Jeff, and I thought these people didn't make me feel the compulsion to be better with them. I didn't want them to like me every single minute I was around them. I could just be who I am. and then I was angry at you. And jealous, mostly jealous. And I guess it just happened. I started spending more time with them.”

He looks down, for talking to the sky has always been easier over the years than talking to a person. After losing Louis anyway, he wonders why it has become a habit to keep his thoughts to himself and disperse them into the silence of the night, where they can be echoed in the remnants of his dreams.

“You are going to be disappointed,” Harry sighs, “but I just had no reason. Not a particular one. I was tired of arguing with you. You didn't like anything I did. You didn't like Nick, Jeffery, and others, and I was already spending time with you in rehearsals on stage and backstage, and I think I just started spending time with them. I think I just wanted to hurt you out of resentment more than anything. See if you care. I wanted to show you that I had other people, even if I didn’t have you.” Harry looks up, right into Louis’ eyes, and admits, “Yeah, I was a complete dickhead."

He is used to seeing Louis lay his soul bare all the time. He doesn't know how to navigate the walls Louis has set up. What made them set up in the first place? This time Harry opens up his soul for the taking, and nothing makes him more scared than the possibility of Louis seeing it and running for the hills again.

“And then it just became a habit. I got used to you not being there. And at the end of the day, I still get to see you. I took you for granted. I took our friendship for granted. Being with you and spending time with you, I just wanted to be better, you know, and you were always perfect, and then it was like you would bring out every insecurity that I had on the surface, and I was stressed and irritated. I just wanted those feelings to be gone.”

Louis begrudges, “You started straight up ignoring me, and you know what it does to someone when reputedly the ‘Lead singer’ starts avoiding the bandmate.” Louis stares into Harry’s soul. “They all start to do that.”

"Louis, no," Harry protests, "I never—Who?”

“It doesn't matter now; it's in the past; so many years have passed since,” Louis shrugs. He looks distant, then instantly.

Harry can't name the moment he realised it, but he believes it was the moment Louis decided to call Zayn instead of him; that was when Harry was laid aside and discarded. 

“The day you left, I was filled with rage. I just wanted you back at any cost. I didn't realise what I had lost. And it became a reality. I am facing the consequences of my actions. I had forgotten about you. You simply fell away. But at that moment, when Zayn told me, everything that I had buried and discarded came back to me." Harry finishes sheepishly. His neck is on fire. He cannot look Louis in the eye.

“I was there for you," Louis says, and Harry can feel Louis' eyes on him. "You know, trying to figure out where we went wrong and what I did, and you would be so abrupt, one day being really sweet and the other acting like I never existed. I couldn't do it anymore; I decided it was better if I kept my distance.”

“And I just let you. And when I came to my senses, it was too late. You didn't want to talk to me anymore about it."

"If we could keep talking about who walked away first, we would be walking in circles.”

Harry takes the saving grace that Louis offers.

“I want to show you something,” 

Louis looks up at him in surprise. 

Harry quickly gathers their dishes and puts them in the sink.

Olive branch. Olive branch. They might need the whole tree instead.

Harry beckons Louis to follow him upstairs.

Harry walks down the hallway, passes his room (thankfully the door is closed), passes the sky room, and opens the door to the room that had always been Louis'.

“C'mon, take a look inside.” Harry holds the door for Louis and lets him enter the room first. Harry stands in the shadows, not wanting to miss anything, while Louis takes it all in. 

It's bright inside. The white of the walls shines off every surface.

Louis' gaze travels to the doors on the opposing walls. A sky window sits above the door, dousing the whole room in white. A chandelier hangs from the triangular roof. The ceilings are high, making the room appear larger and taller. The cupboards are pushed in on the right side, beside the bathroom door. On the left, the bed is snugly enveloped in pristine white duvets and a pale green comforter. Next to the door, there are two armchairs facing each other, with a tiny coffee table between them. He returns his gaze to Harry, curious, like the flowers that always look fresh.

Harry walks across to the gallery windows, pulls the curtains back, and opens the door. As he steps out onto the gallery, Louis follows. He allows himself to lean against the parapet that surrounds all of the rooms on this floor, linking the galleries to an open terrace. He turns to face the room; Louis does the same; his eyebrows lift when he takes in the nook hidden behind the bed and between the walls. It's organised with bookshelves and a bench. And on the other side is a cushioned loveseat. The room is a dream, and Harry is proud of it.

“I built this house three years ago,” Harry says. “I designed the rooms for all of you. I imagined this would be a gateway of sorts when it got too much to breathe in the London fog, or, you know, the shows, but it never felt complete.  I've always wanted to show you your room," his voice catches, "but I never have."

“The ground-floor one was meant to be a spare room,“ Harry explains. He put Louis in the spare room, like his presence in Harry’s life could be spared so easily. And he has battled with that, struggling even at this moment, for Louis isn't spare. “This," he gestures ahead of him, “‘is the room I planned for you; I thought I knew you, every crevice and edge, and I thought you would like it; you would tease me about the things that I missed out on.” 

He takes a deep breath.

“We were in the hallway on the first day,” Harry continues, and Louis nods, “and you looked so much out of place, and I built this around your image for what I thought you were to me, and you were standing in that hallway like you couldn't bear a second to breathe the same air as me.”

The tears prick his eyes, and he has to blink, for he cannot let them flow. He has to make it through telling Louis—at least this—one simple truth in the meadow of all the others that he isn't ready to admit to himself yet.

“I couldn't show you this room; I thought I wouldn't be able to bear your sight in these walls, not when you looked like it pained you to be back after all these years, and that pales in.”

Not quite yet. Harry cannot voice those thoughts; he isn't strong enough. His breath shudders. “If you didn't like the room, it would have been a lie for what I thought of you as the person you were.”

There, laid out in plain words. As much as possible.

“Harry,“ for the first time, they have been here. Louis looks at him earnestly, and Harry is looking back, and he doesn't recognise the look Louis is holding for him. “You didn't have to.”

And this is what Harry was afraid of. He doesn't want to hear it. Once Louis paraded him around, Louis demanded everything of him, and now he is telling him that he doesn't have to when he is ready to give anything that Louis would name.

“I like the room; it is—yeah,” Louis adds, lost for words.

“You can live up here," Harry tacks on, his voice losing its enthusiasm, and he tries not to let the dejection seep into it. Once Louis would have cached on it, now Harry doesn't even know if he cares to even look in Harry’s direction. For a week, he has avoided even talking to Harry, thinking it has gone unnoticed.

Louis nods. “I appreciate it, Harry," Louis says. “You didn't have to.” 

“No, no, I had to." Harry still protests. It's cutting him. The way Louis and Harry are trying to be polite on the edges. He knows it won't be forgiven what he did to them or what Louis leaving did to him. It's time to accept the reality of it. If he just stops thinking about accepting it and actually does accept it, it would save him so much of this turmoil. 

Harry jolts when Louis takes him into his arms. He stumbles a bit with the force, but catches himself and hugs Louis back. "Thank you," Louis whispers in his ears as he gently rubs his back. Harry takes comfort in that. Harry’s lungs fill with Louis. It’s forgiveness that hangs between them. It tastes like closure.

Louis moves away. “I wasn't sure how you'd react when you saw me, and I didn't know what to say to you. And then I figured out this was your home; I wasn't sure if I was welcome here or if you agreed just to appease the boys.”
Harry reaches for Louis’ hand and says, "Even if we don't speak or whatever happens to us, you will always be welcome in my home. always.”
Louis studies him a little longer, then ruffles his hair and says, "You are an idiot, Haz."

Harry starts crying.
"And a weeping baby too." Louis hugs him again. "You are snotting all over my shirt," he grumbles.
"Shut up." Harry gasps.

"I am still sorry for everything that happened," Harry mumbles into Louis's shoulder.

"Harry, if we sit here apologising for every single thing, a year won't be sufficient.” 

When Harry looks hesitant to let go of it, Louis says, “I forgive you. Now, show me the books you've collected for me."

They spend a bit of time in Louis’ room, with Louis curious about everything and Harry filling in. Louis then suggests that they play hide-and-seek. Harry doesn't think it’s fair, as Louis is really good at seeking. Louis counters that he doesn't know the house as well as Harry does. They spend their afternoon after lunch giggling and running around the house trying to catch each other. It’s nice.

In the evening, they go around the gardens. They decide to go cycling the next day and explore the woods. 

“We are quarantined!”

“No one is going to know; everyone will be at their house, and we have no neighbours for miles."

"What if we meet someone outside?"

"Then they're breaching the rules as much as Harold. Don't be a prude."

Harry huffs.

*

Harry packs them lunch after breakfast. They bring out the cycles on the dirt roads. The forest follows them until they come up on a clearing at the cliff. They unpack the lunch. And laze around, chatting away. Harry laughs a little too hard at Louis’ jokes. The sun shines through his eyes. Harry is happy to have Louis laughing beside him. Giggling. Louis Presence puts Harry’s heart back together as a whole. The sun gives hues to Louis’ hair. Harry’s eyes sparkle and hold onto every inch of Louis. His collarbones move when he moves his arms. His skin is soft, warm, and tan. Harry wants to trace it. See if it is as smooth as it looks. Harry wants to trace the curve of Louis' lips with his own. The way Louis’ throat moves when he swallows. Yeah, Harry’s thoughts are running way ahead of himself. And it's just two of them. In the wild, they are fitting all the pieces back into each other. Cautious, and one by one. 

On the way back, they find a stream. They let their feet soak. Louis scatters water at Harry when he comes running through the other side. And Harry throws some of it back. Soon they are soaked through the skin. Louis' white t-shirt has become see-through. Glued to his skin. Every single one of his muscles and his tattoos are visible. Harry wants to trace them with his own. There is water dripping from his hair onto his face. Harry wants to know what it tastes like. And Louis starts to shiver.

“I am smart; I brought an extra jacket with me,” Harry chirps, handing it to Louis. Harry’s eyes roam over all of his body. Louis is damp and wet, and Harry wants to warm him up. Cosy up to him. He wonders if his body will melt. Louis shivers away. 

“You really aren’t.” Louis takes it and wraps it around, returning Harry's gaze. Something shifts in the air, and Harry is quick to look away. 

“Then what? Is it just a coincidence that you are wet and I happen to have a jacket on me?”

“Duh.” Louis throws back as he walks ahead. 

They speed race back to the house, and Louis throws the bicycle on the ground. He jumps, "Take that! I won, I won. Loser!”

"The bike, Lou!” Harry picks it up and parks it next to his.

Louis doesn't care; he grins around doing his winning dance.

Harry’s heart starts racing. Harry wants to wipe that grin off his flushed face.

“Loser makes dinner!”

“Hey! We never agreed on that.”

Harry makes it anyway. They might need to go to the grocery store soon. 

*

Harry turns and tosses. He is tired from today's escapades. But sleep is his enemy. He runs hot and cold. The itch beneath his skin rips again, and he makes it out on the reverse. The cold air soothes him. The house is silent. He lets himself lean against the parapet, looking at the diminishing lights scattered around the hilltops. The village shines far away on the coast. 

Under him, the gardens light up from the kitchen light.

Louis is awake, too.

He waits it out. It doesn't turn off.

He climbs down the stairs. Some insects caw at night, and the clock is ticking on the sidewall. There is light in the passage hall, seeping from the kitchen, and Harry follows it.

“Can't sleep?” 

Louis shakes his head. He sleepily makes the tea and adds another cup for Harry. They walk out into the garden. They sip their tea quietly. Louis has to feel this isn't the norm for them, doesn't he? He has never been the quiet one, but for now, Louis holds his cup closer to him, barely looking up. The moon comes out from behind the clouds, Harry’s long-lost companion, for she is barking every word Harry has spoken to her in the past these years, and Harry can't bear to hear them, for they all scream Louis’ name.

So he looks at Louis instead; the moon is shining from his cheekbones and lashes, making the shadows dance above them. And his hair flairs with the night wind. There is an edge that hasn't been lost. That Harry has always admired. Louis looks soft and gritty at the same time, and they both shudder at a particular cold gush of night breeze.

Louis is exhausted, Harry figures; for all he is tired too. 

“Let's go inside,” he offers, waiting for Louis to acknowledge, and they make their way up into the hallways.

Louis nods. 

And Harry sees the telltale signs of Louis on the brink of falling asleep, if he had a way of doing so while standing. 

He nods in the gesture of goodnight, for those words can't form on his lips.

Harry walks down the corridor, crossing the skyroom and making his way into his own room, and flops down on the bed. 

But the sleep doesn't come; he hasn't slept since Louis left them, and now Louis is so close, a room or two apart, and Harry can't sleep. All he can dream about is the comfort of Louis’ warmth; he wants himself to wrap up in his arm. He always says a hug from Louis can cure anything, but this is Louis who needs the reassuring hug way more than that. And Harry, for the life of his, can't put these two parts together; they are different people. He can still see traces of his Louis, and he is his Louis, so darn it. 

He throws the blankets away, straightens his nightgown, and walks out of the room towards Louis. He doesn't have to walk far because the door to the sky room is open. Louis is lying there on the floor, staring at the glass ceiling made for starry and windy nights like these. 

He had thought of Louis when he designed this room, too. 

We will make our own stars out of whatever we want, Harold.

Louis’ words from the past bring him the courage he needs in the moment, and he makes his presence known.

“Can't sleep?” Harry asks for the second time in the night.

Louis looks up from where he is lying on the floor. “Hmm,” and he goes back to what he was looking at.

Harry grabs the blankets and sheets from the cabinet beside the door and walks towards Louis, waiting for him to notice.

Louis arches an eyebrow and says, "Well, go on then; don't leave me in the cold.”

And there it is, his Louis.

He motions for Louis to shift and legs him so he does so to the side. Harry spreads the sheet and a blanket carefully and lays two more for them to cover. He walks around to grab more pillows, too.

After he is satisfied with the bed he just made, he lays down where Louis was before.

“You took up my spot,” Louis begrudges.

“There's plenty of room by my side, common.” 

Harry wonders if he said something wrong at the moment. Louis falters, but soon he is lying down on his back, a foot from Harry, and they both look up at the night sky.

The stars tell their own stories, and they look a bit different in New Zealand than back home, but they are there. They retell stories to Harry that he previously told them. When Louis wasn't there, Harry had to tell it all to the stars, for they held Louis’ space for him. But now Louis is here, and Harry has nothing to tell him because Louis doesn't want to listen.

And with Louis beside him, Harry can rest his chaos, and for a while he does, letting the sleep engulf him when his eyes tire out of the sparkling night.

He is woken up by the tickling against his face, in his nose, and in his eyes. Louis’ breath fans out over him. The night has turned cold, and as soon as Harry is on the brink of awareness, he registers the cold in the room, and Louis is hogging all the blankets and himself too. Louis moves even closer if that's possible; his warmth tantalises Harry. “Stop squirming; it's cold,” he scolds.

Harry is appalled. “I'm going to sneeze in your hair if you don't move,” Harry warns.

“You won't,” Louis retaliates and lowers himself in Harry's neck. 

"Better?" he asks, his hands clinging to Harry’s back and moving him forward.

Harry squeezes back in affirmation as he throws a blanket over them, snuggling against Louis.

The warmth is cosy enough, and Harry feels safe, his legs tucked in under Louis’, both of their breaths coming out even if the heat is a little bit sticky.

When Harry wakes up, the sun is scorching his eyes out and the brisk, sharp air hitting his nose and ears, all he wants to do is wrap the blankets around. In search of his warmth, he realises Louis isn't beside him. He feels even more cold engulfing him. A familiar dread settled over his heart. There is a hole in his stomach, and he scrambles out of the heaps of blankets, running down the hallways to look after Louis.

Louis is fast asleep in his room. For a second, Harry thought he had lost him again. He can't live with this fear. He needs to do something about it. But the other chance is in Louis’ hands, and moreover, Harry himself doesn't know how to sort this one out.

On the bedside table, Louis’ phone vibrates and flashes a familiar face. Harry hasn't seen Lottie, let alone any of them, in years. He contemplates whether to wake Louis up. But he looks at peace with the white sheets and fluffy blankets engulfing his sloppy figure. The phone vibrates again, and Harry moves inside, just to close the curtains so as to be careful of the sun waking up Louis. And the phone goes silent before it starts flashing again, and this is the third time since Harry made his way to the room. He glances over Louis, picks up the phone as quietly as possible, and closes the door behind him as quietly as possible.

Once he has made it to the staircase, he presses the answer button, and without losing a second, there is screaming in his ears.

“Where the hell have you been? They were talking about the reunion. Are you coming back? Why haven't you been picking up your phone? Daisy wants to talk to you, and so does Phoebe. Why haven't you called? You know—" 

“Lottie.” Harry sighs. He is relieved to hear the voice he didn't know he missed for so long.

“Who’s this? And where’s L— my brother?” Her tone is one of apprehension.

"Lottie, it’s Harry.” He tries.

“Harry? Where the hell have you been? Have you kidnapped Lou?”

"'Lottie, what —”

“Why do you have Lou’s phone?”

“Long story. He is asleep. I'll let him know you called. Tell me about you. We haven't met in years.”

“And who’s fault is it?”

"Yeah, you picked up my calls,” Harry huffs out.

"Sorry, been busy. Life and all.” She says it bashfully.

“Yeah yeah. You are the one to talk. How are you? How’s everyone? Tell me everything.”

“We are good. Louis looks after us, you know. He means well; he does, poor soul. Everyone is either on their way to university or just graduating high school. You know what I mean. Ernie and Dory will be entering school soon. The house is in chaos at all times. You know how loud it gets with everyone.”

"Yeah,” Harry agrees. He misses this. He misses the normal life in the Doncaster home. The gossip, the drama, and every little bit of the arm.

“You should come around.” Lottie goes on, and Harry’s mind is whirling. How did he get to this point? He should have kept in touch with Lottie.

"Yeah, I really should, but Jay, you know I will need to talk to her. Lou just made—”

“Wait, you are really with Lou?”

“Yeah.”

“As in living together?”

“Didn't Louis tell you?”

“He doesn't tell anyone anything these days. If he is living with you, then..“ She pauses and then screams in Harry’s ears. “DON’T BREAK MY BROTHERS HEART THIS TIME AROUND HARRY STYLES; I WILL PERSONALLY FIND YOU AND KILL YOU.”

“Hey, no threats.” His heart gives out under the pretence.

“Have you kissed, then?”

Harry sputters for the lack of words.

“Did you tell him how much you love him?”

“What are you on, Lots? No one’s kissed anyone, and no one is in love with anyone.”

“What a shame!” She tusks. “You two should just kiss and make up.”

“Yeah, I just realised why I stopped talking to you.” Harry deflects.

“Hey! Tell me with all your heart that you don't want to kiss my brother.” 

“What kind of sister are you? Does Louis know you talk?”

“Zayn was so wrong; he is going to lose the bet.” Lottie cuts him off.

“What bet?” His mind is reeling from the possibility that Lottie and Zayn are talking now. Behind their backs. 

“Hey,” Louis appears from behind the corner, “have you seen my phone?”

He is still wearing last night's clothes. His chest piece peaks out, and Harry wants to leave marks all over it. Crumpled. His eyes still scream of sleep. Harry wants to kiss it away. His skin shines with an early morning glow, smooth all over. Harry wants to move his tongue all over it. He looks small and warm. Harry wants him beneath him. His hair is all over the place. Harry wants to pull them as he— 

Yes. Harry wants to kiss Lottie’s brother with all his heart.

Harry hands him the phone out of guilt. He didn't ask for permission. When has he ever needed permission to take Louis' phone? It's really been a long time, and they really have been standing at the opposite ends of the corner.

Louis looks panicked before he sees the caller ID, and then he looks annoyed. He goes back to his room, the phone held away, and closes the door.

Harry sighs. They need to talk. He is sure. But where to even start, back at that night in Hong Kong, seems like a good start.

Chapter Text

The next day, they are having breakfast in familiar silence, if you can call it that. Harry, though lost in his mind trying to find an opening, seems utterly unaware of this brewing storm.

He walks in circles around the fact that Louis left them five years ago and called Zayn out of nowhere, refusing to talk about anything. The conversation he had with Lottie spins in his head.

The sun-rays are slowly filtering in. The sky is blue with white fuzzy clouds, and the wind is strong. He suggests taking a walk on the cliff, and Louis seems to agree hurriedly. There is only one thing that runs through Harry’s mind. 

They both make it out the back door after grabbing their cloaks.

The trees line the dirt roads. Their bicycles rot away in the shed. Maybe they can bike tomorrow. Louis is half a step behind Harry. The leaves have turned orange-brown. they  cling tenaciously to the branches. The seagulls hoot over their heads as they make their way closer to the cliffs. Once they reach the strongly cemented wooden railings, Harry chooses a spot to rest his elbows, lean over and look beneath.

It’s a wide view from over the hills. The sea comes crashing at the shore as if to apologise for their times in Scotland. The sandy beaches look warm. The shrubs and trees span the entirety of the hills. Harry breathes out, taking it all in.

This is his favourite place. Many do not understand why. It isn't fancy and doesn't have breathtaking views. It never gets lonely up here, and it is never busy. It's just a random place at a random world’s end. The moment you look into the sky, you will gravitate to meet the ocean at some point. The shores below tell you the tales of humanity. Maybe that's why Harry likes it. Humans closer, abyss farther. He wonders if Louis is grateful that it isn't cold.

“Do you miss the cold?” Harry asks.

“Sometimes.” Louis answers.

“Did you sign the NDA?" Harry turns and looks Louis properly in the eye. But Louis is busy counting the waves; at least he looks intrigued by them.

“I signed all that could be worded once, Styles,” he says, speaking of a different time.

“We all did.” Harry agrees. 

He ponders whether to keep going or if he has already pushed enough buttons. 

“Ask away.’ Louis turns to him, then back to the cliffs. “I'm sure you have more than questions.”

“Why?” Harry asks.

It's a loaded question, and Harry knows it well, for he sighs and settles down on the grass. It's still early enough in the morning, and thanks to the breeze, the sun isn't hot. Besides, the tree beside them is there for emotional support. For Harry, anyway. He sits next to Louis, both of them looking at the winding path that led them here.

There was a time when his only concern was these questions. All of them went unanswered. He couldn't find the answers to them—neither in other boys, nor in himself, and never in Louis. Why hadn't Louis called him in Hong Kong? Why did people need to sign NDAs in order to talk to Louis? Now, Louis was spilling his guts. Not exactly with bluster. Not at all. But what transpired when Louis lost all the spotlight? The most impending of all was: What made him return? Why this time? Louis decided to stay, but why?

He has questions for himself as well. Why hadn't he moved on like Zayn, Niall, and Liam seemed to? What was the grudge he was holding against Louis? Why did he ask him to stay?
Why did Louis decide to stay?

“Why are you so quick to forgive me?” Harry asks, staring into Louis's open, bright blues.
“I have some regrets of my own. I need you to forgive me too. You wouldn’t be gracious if I held a grudge over your head. Out of pure selfishness.”
“Bullshit,” Harry responds.
Louis smiles. “So quick. I can always forgive you. Almost anything. It isn't hard to forgive. Easier when you ask for it.”

Harry contemplates, mulling over his words. Too quick to forgive, too quick to take him back. People stumble over this kind of forgiveness; they make the same mistakes. Don't feel any guilt or shame for repeating the same hurt. Harry would never. He knows the depth of his regret and the cost he paid for it, but the trust Louis is showing is a lot to ask for. And Louis is giving it to him; no questions were asked.

“I made all of you sign the NDA so you wouldn't waste your breath on stupid questions, and it was more for the technicality than anything.” Louis answers another unasked question, to the point. "You can ask." He nudges Harry.
“Why then?“
“Harry, I am not going to fill in your questions for you. Just straight up ask honestly. God knows why, but today I will answer them all.”

Harry draws a figure in the sand. “I want to hear everything,” he says, staring at it.

Louis stays quiet.

Harry feels a pain in his chest. He doesn't want to address the pain. His throat is closing in on itself. He thought confronting Louis might get answers, but it is a testament to how much power Louis holds over Harry. What if Louis never wants to tell them anything? What if Louis never wants to be asked? What if Louis decides to pack up his shit and leave in the middle of the night? Louis answers everything, and it isn't what Harry wanted to say at all. What if they were never the reason? What if Louis never cared about them?

“It was a shitstorm.” Louis starts. “I'm not supposed to tell you this, but,” he says, taking a deep breath, “well, it's in the past anyway. He looks at the stick figure Harry has drawn in the dirt. Louis picks up a broken branch and starts drawing his own beside Harry's. "They were going to hand over the contracts to all of us individually, making one of us the star. A megastar, if you will. Five gold albums, Grammys, world tours, advertisements, campaigns, and charities. A household name. Every nook and cranny will forever remember the name. It is sad that it can never be shared in the spotlight.” Louis's eyes shine as he looks up at the sky. Louis looks mesmerizingly lost in the world of the past. His jaw moves as he speaks. The sun sparks as he talks. His eyes are determined, with a slight furrow.

“They offered an image that was untouchable. Everyone would know the name, but no one would be able to tell the stories. You know how it works. Spinning stories. You can be everywhere if you have access to the media and own them. And you know who has that kind of money and authority?” He asks Harry, and Harry nods quickly. Harry is all too familiar with it. A friend said this, a coworker said that, this singer said this, from close sources, and so on and on and on.

Louis nods. “They had plans to take this megastar out of the public’s eye, but only on stage, so a mass audience was almost always guaranteed. No public interactions, no public sightings, no in-person interviews. They intended to maintain the enigma and rumours. 

"No sightings in public? "You wouldn't be able to go anywhere," Harry states, perplexed.

"Exactly. They had these massive contracts drafted. You should have seen the sheer size. They were going to offer each of us one, just that we would have to sign the usual NDA, so none of us will actually know. They were not going to stop at that; whoever was going to refuse, they had planned to vanquish their future records, tours, and whatnot. They wanted one to rise to the top with little to no control while others were to become dust.”

Harry nods. He has seen many artists shelved just for any reason.Once he realises who would go to such lengths to gain their way, he scoffs. He knows Louis can't name names. It's all “apparently and allegedly.” He waits for Louis to continue.

“When we arrived in Europe, I was offered one. The megastar one," he chuckles. 

"You would be a great megastar." Harry can't help the smile that mirrors Louis'.

He smirks at Harry and says, "I would," and Harry outright laughs.

"But at that cost," Louis disapproves. He discards the stick and brushes the dirt from his hands. The two little stick figures look cute together. "I brainstormed with my lawyers. They said if I actually signed this, I would also be signing myself up to drop from the face of the earth.”

"You still did," Harry says.

"It's not the same." Louis rubs his face in awe. "It was also not stipulated what would be offered to whom. The way it was worded ensured all the benefits, but it didn't say how many of them. They provided asset and money guarantees. Though it had restrictions on how it might be used, there was an estimated percentage. They wanted it to be invested in them again. They wanted to keep it circulating. And if we had agreed that one of us would rise and we would get compensated, we were also agreeing to be non-competitive in any way," he exclaims. "I am actually breaking my contract by telling you this; you know that!"

"But you still haven't explained why you left?" Harry says it exasperatedly.

"I am getting there." Louis raises an eyebrow at Harry and then adds offhandedly, "Be patient."

"I have been patient for five years." Harry responds bitterly, staring at the ground. When Louis offers him nothing, Harry looks up to find him staring back resolutely. Harry shrugs, and Louis continues.

“So if this megastar is interviewed multiple times and that interview gets published or referred to anywhere, others wouldn't be able to work with those tabloids in any shape or form. It was ridiculous. At first, we thought they meant okay; we were not allowed to address the interview or something, but it came down to just limiting our existence to none. No music; some countries would be banned for us to step foot in. say if the megastar is in America, we cannot be travelling here by any means in case someone sees us.

And if we breach the contract, it's over for us. They were going to wipe out our names. This also meant handing over our rights. If two of us signed, one would be completely banned; if any one of us refused, they were going to carry it out anyway. Make one of us the megastar. This contract was a gamble for them. They knew none of us would sign it. But supposedly, one of us did, and automatically others will be considered to have abided by it.

"We wouldn't have signed," Harry insists.

"I know,“ Louis assures.

So far, Harry doesn't see the problem. He knows there’s more; there’s something that Louis isn't telling him. He searches for Louis’ face. Something is hiding behind those blue eyes. There’s something that's eating Louis away. Harry can't catch it. But he knows to wait. At “This was only contractual. If none of us had signed by the time the Asia tour was over, they were going to drop us as a group, so we would have had to go solo. I knew we were all going to end up that way in our careers anyway. That is what boys are for: to launch our careers and then move on. I knew you or Zayn would have signed the offer next year.” There’s no accusation in his voice. He is merely stating the facts. Harry still doesn’t understand where this is going.

"If we had disbanded amicably at our own will, they would get a lot of say in the stakes and hold on to our career. They were planning for Zayn’s solo exit. Unannounced. Come down with all these things planned, and you, Harry, would have ended up as a megastar.” 

“I would never do that to you.” Harry assures. He would defend them to his last breath. They are his family. It's not that easy.

“It was so easy for them, Harry,” Louis insists. You should have seen them in the meetings. We would all get pushbacks. Completely orchestrated. I know it sounds impossible, but hear me out."

"It sounds exactly like a thing that they would actually do."

"They knew us; they had documented us over the years, and some things they had on us would have destroyed us.” He says it so passionately, as if the last five years were somehow different. Losing Louis had not destroyed Harry in some way or another. All the sleepless nights, the empty hallways, the empty hotels, beds, and tables Just wherever Harry went. This aching, unravelling part of Harry. He hadn't even ever addressed or understood. Since Louis left, Harry has kept it shut.

Louis is staring at Harry as if he knows something that Harry knows too. It is a cruel twist of fate that they are even sitting beside each other.

“When you were out partying, getting knackered, and whatnot,” Louis says, looking directly at Harry with such disappointment, which stirs something deep in him.

“I was being handed new policies and new contracts every day. It was just too much, and there was only one way to hold the stakes. It was the only thing that belonged to us. So I started searching for loopholes in which we would all get decent careers to some degree without oozing much. There was absolutely nothing that we could do. They had taken care of everything,” he pauses.

“Remember the night you and Niall were out in Dublin?”

Harry remembers; he had chewed on Louis’ ear the next day as to why he had been so distant. It was the start of what would be their fights, arguments, whatever you want to call it. Harry places bets that's where it all started; to this date, Zayn disagrees. So does Niall. All they told him was that it was better if it came from Louis. And Louis disappears, and they stop suggesting, knowing deep down that Louis would never come.

“Zayn and I had a chat. That's why I lashed out on you.” Louis avoids his eyes as he says it. Harry knows it's not true.

Harry remembers that night like the back of his hand. It's all unresolved between them. This isn't the answer that he was looking for. This wouldn't result in Louis scolding him and demanding to have a chat, and when Harry is ready to talk, he completely goes off on him.

Harry has never seen Louis lose hope. So disappointed. And he was disappointed by Harry. Harry never understood. All he remembers is Louis saying, in his smallest voice, the last thing he ever said to him.

“You wouldn't understand, would you? ever? All these years, did you even care? Apparently, not so. I was a fool, such a fool.”

Harry would always remember the lowered head of Louis. The shake in his voice. The devastation as something had dawned upon him. And Harry was too drunk to respond. He has never found the guts to respond to this day.

But today, he would go back and shake Louis and beg him to stay, to make him understand that he doesn't. Fuck their careers. Harry would trade millions for a day with Louis every single day.

“We finally had found the loophole,” Louis goes on, far away lost in this train of thought. “You were so trashed and incoherent. If one of the people goes away from the band and not the one they were planning, diverting, and spending money to build a way to do so, I thought it was the only option, and I didn't have a reason to stay.”

“You had—you had reasons, Lou. You always had. You always have.” Harry is quick to reassure.

Louis doesn't answer. Harry puts it away as a fight for another day; that space in his mind is overflowing now, and it's all the fights that he would never have with Louis.

"I didn't have a reason to stay, nor did I have an option,” Louis reiterates. “I spent the entire month or so planning with my lawyers, filing contracts, and everything. Once I did what I had to, once I got it all signed and parted ways, I left Hong Kong, came back to Doncaster, spent a year and a half with my mom, then was in Japan for a quiet while.” Louis ends his answer.

He understands now. It has answered what and how, not why, leaving Harry upset.

"Louis, you didn't need to. We would have figured out a way. As you said, none of us would have signed; we would have fought, done something, and we would all have had our careers in some way or another. Hell, if it had come to it, we would have released it on YouTube.” It's just that Harry is at a loss with his words. “What you did is astounding, Louis, but you just didn't have to. You could have stayed.”

Louis just shakes his head in wonder. "You have changed Harry Styles. a lot."

Harry assumes this is all that Louis will say to him. Harry is missing something. Harry finds it offensive the way he says it, but he quickly moves past it.
“So you just gave up on the music?” he prods.

"Nope,” he smirks proudly. “You might have heard my song or two.”

Harry’s eyes are wide. “You write?! I want to hear them.”

“Not telling you.” Louis stands up and pokes a tongue at Harry.

Surely there's a lot more.

For now, Harry follows Louis.

They trod their way down towards the house after spending a few more minutes in the sun.

Louis goes to his room once he has the brunch to take a nap, and Harry dials Zayn because, what the fuck?

Zayn doesn't pick up. Harry lingers in the kitchen. His head is running at miles per hour. He is so confused and dumbfounded by what Louis revealed to him. It isn't shocking, per se. It has always been the underlying threat. One of them moved out, leaving the band. It was only a question of time. And how would it be? Would someone be kicked out, or would they sign the first record? They even had a song written about it. When Louis first brought up the idea, everyone looked at him like he had grown a head.

Harry stands, revelling in the sheer silence of the house. The wind oozes over, caressing his confusion. He thinks back to London, where he and Louis used to live together; they had a similar kitchen back then. A white fridge and dainty cupboards. The wooden chairs that scrape around the dining table.

Harry contemplates. This is not a sufficient reason for Louis to leave, though. Harry had considered leaving at so many points. Everyone had. The tensions were running high, and Harry couldn't stand the thought of Louis leaving. So he decided to give him space.

Harry had decided to leave first. It would hurt less, he thought. He started numbing his mind with alcohol, with the chas and the people. To the point that he and Louis never lingered in the room. Looking back, Harry is shocked at how easy it has been. He had thought leaving Louis, staying away, and avoiding him would end up with him consuming himself with guilt. But it never happened. Louis didn't give him a chance. If Harry took a step away, Louis would take four back. And Harry was so submerged in losing Louis first, avoiding it at all costs, that he never saw it actually coming.

Still, it doesn't explain why Louis left first. Harry would have never done that to him. Without saying. Without talking, without waving goodbye. Louis had called Zayn, and by the time Zayn had told them, it had been too late to do anything. Harry had never seen Louis or talked to him outside of the stage, meetings, or recordings for months. Even then, he avoided him to the point where he never stopped to consider Louis's approach. When they would go back to London, Harry would dread going back to their shared house, as how would he avoid Louis then? But, as it seems, Louis was ten steps ahead of him. He would always make a point to go to Doncaster right away. And Harry pushed it all under the rug, now it was all coming flooding back to him.

He remembers going out and being with other people. And Louis was there too. Until he wasn't. Harry is sure he didn't ignore Louis at all, at least in the beginning. At least until Louis started pulling away, and even then he tried. But at the end, he just accepted that Louis didn't want to be with him anymore. So he just let it be. He remembers how painful it was. How painful it has been. He thought that after these many years, the pain would have subsided, but as fate would have it, it didn't. 

It makes him cringe. It's all bits and pieces, and he can't point out what the hell he's missing because it's all in the open. Harry hadn't spoken to Louis a single word before he left. And at the same time, he was engulfed in Louis’ thoughts so much that he didn't even realise he was ever there. It's too much beyond his ability to make sense of it at all. 

He sits around his kitchen table. He rests his head on it, feeling the cold seep in. It has a calming effect, entirely soothing the headache he was hit with. Their figures from the past dance in his mind, the memories that he had shut close swim to the surface. 

And it hits him, like a bucket of cold water has been thrown over him. 

He bolts from the kitchen, winds up on the staircase, taking multiple steps at a time, and runs through the hallway, his footsteps thudding. He opens the door to Louis' room and doubles over. 

The water bottle stands still. The curtains flutter around with the wind from the fan. It's a summer afternoon. The room screams Louis. And Harry lingers at the door with the guilt that he is about to shatter this peace.

Fuck him. He is tired. Tired of waiting? Tired of finding answers? Tired of blaming himself? Putting Louis on the pedestal all the time.

Louis stirs at the noise and sits up, rubbing his eyes.

Harry catches his breath. He didn't need to run; Louis wasn't going anywhere. 

Foolishly, he looks at the boy in front of him. 

Louis’ gaze is serene. Harry wants to curl up beside him. 

He just broke his promise to himself. He just embarrassed himself in front of Louis.

Never fall in love with your best friend. Louis had said it years ago, jokingly, and Harry took it to heart. never. ever. They knew they were doomed to be. And Harry had just panicked in front of him. 

What if he tells Louis that he loves Louis? But does he? Does he love Louis? 

Most of all, Harry wants to apologise. 

I apologise for ever coming into your life. I apologise for asking to be friends forever. The best buds. It sounds rusty even in his head.

His seventeen-year-old sugary-sweet voice echoes in his head, and he wants it to stop. The world needs to stop for a second. 

You will look after me, won't you? Forever? No matter what happens, promise?

Promise ., Louis had said.

Harry should apologise for buying a home.

This feels like home. We can stay together here forever. 

Lou? Do you think something is wrong with me?

You won’t leave me, Lou, will you?

You are the only person that I tell things to. You are a great listener, Lou.

Lou, I can't sleep. Can I sleep with you? Not like that dickhead.

Lou, do you think if...

“Come here.” Louis’ soft voice invites him.

Harry steps inside. He is unsure of where he should stand or sit or how to even speak. He has never felt so disarmed under Louis’ gaze. Louis isn't even assessing him. He is waiting. Questioning. And Harry feels like he might collapse.

Louis’ smell and warmth have taken over the room. Harry doesn't want to move. He stands there for more. Lost in his daydreams. He feels surreal. Louis is sleeping in his home.

 Suddenly, his eyes flood with tears, and his throat closes in. He missed this. He yearned for this. Louis’ presence soothes all the wounds he didn't even know he had in his heart. Louis seeps through the crevices of his soul. He remembers all the nights he couldn't sleep. He remembers all the days he spent looking for Louis. And Louis is here. He can't let him go. He won't let him go. He needs to make sure he doesn't repeat his mistakes. His eyes scrunch up. His breath shudders. He feels the cold shivers run through his spine at the thought of losing Louis again. A fear wrecks through him, and Louis frowns.

“Are you okay?” Louis asks him. His eyes are soft. His hair is straw. He withdraws his legs from the tangle of the duvets, and Harry feels bare. 

“I am sorry,” Harry pleads. 

Louis stares at him, his eyes wide. And yeah, Harry is an asshole. He remembers all the insults he threw at Louis. And suddenly, it's hard to breathe. That was unfair. Everything is unfair. The way he treated Louis. 

“You went away anyway because you didn't want to stay with me,” Harry continues. “I wasn’t there for you, Lou. I am sorry.”

Louis straightens up. He holds Harry’s gaze. Contemplating and waiting. And Harry takes it as his cue and falls to his knees beside the bed, closer to Louis. He doesn't care about how sloppy he looks. He places his hand on the bed near where Louis sits, in amends, begging. “I ignored you, Louis. I kept away from you.” 

Louis doesn't move. He stares at Harry. He looks more and more dejected. It makes Harry's insides burn. This isn't the reaction he expected. He expected Louis to make fun of him, yell at him, or even cry with him. Louis looks even more resigned. And Harry thinks he isn't making any sense. Not to himself. Not to Louis. He is confused. He is lost. He doesn't know where his emotions are stemming from. All he knows is to come clean. “I thought you didn't need me. You had Oli. You had Zayn. You stopped listening to my recordings. I stopped inviting you out. I don't understand why I did that. I really don't.“ Harry shakes his head. He sounds selfish even to his ears. But the years between them stand out the most. He doesn't know how to get past them, and the years that he had held onto are slipping through his fingers as Louis sits before him. 

“I missed you. I am sorry; I did something to hurt you, Louis. It was never my intention. I am really sorry. I feel responsible for your leaving. I am sorry I pushed you out. I am sorry I ignored you. I am sorry. I am the reason you are not in my life anymore.” He gulps, “But, Lou, I missed you. I searched for you. I tried to get a hold of you.” 

Harry’s fingers play with the duvet that is still bunched up around Louis. Louis is still out of his reach. And Harry wants nothing more than to be in his arms. Harry longs to touch him. To have his hands in his so he won't feel alone and scared. He needs Louis to be beside him. He needs Louis to be smiling and bellowing his laughter down the halls. He needs Louis to make snarky remarks. He wants Louis to lash out. He wants Louis to get under his skin.

“Did you ever love me?” Louis’ voice spears through all the hope and darkness and leaves Harry hanging off a cliff.

Harry is speechless. Shell-shocked. He opens his mouth, and nothing comes out. He isn't sure what he heard was right. He searches for something in Louis’ face. Vulnerability is written all over it. He doesn't even look like he asked what he asked. He looks like he offered. His life, his breath, his heart, his love.

And Harry can't get away from his gaze. It holds him in his place. He feels seen through. Louis has taken all his thoughts and shredded them in a second. His heart jumps in his throat. 

He can't fathom why Louis asked him this. He feels on edge that Louis felt the need to ask him. Ask Harry.

Harry, who once couldn't keep his hands off of Louis; Harry, who almost drunkenly kissed Louis.

The reason he kept his distance. The reason he wanted to be away from Louis. This is why he stopped hanging out with Louis alone. The reason he felt comfortable going from boy to boy in his inebriated state. 

Eyes that are bluer than the sky.

The reason he gave into shabby blowjobs in dingy lights. The reason who came and upheld his world and upended it in a mere second. 

Louis’ lopsided, winning smug smile.

The reason behind his muse. The reason that he wakes up every day. 

Louis.  

He can't believe Louis is asking him this.

Love.

Mere love. What if Harry says yes? What if Harry denies it? He knows he needs to answer without deflecting. He doesn't know how to do that. This is Louis, though, and he is waiting for his answer. 

He must see something in Harry's face, because he sighs. He rubs his hand over his face. 

And Harry knows he is about to give up. Harry knows he doesn't have to answer. Louis is about to drop this. But this time, Harry doesn't. He needs to be brave. He trusts Louis. So be it.

"Yes,” he says, looking Louis right in the eye.

Louis holds his place and nods. “Were you scared of it back then?”

Harry doesn't have to think back; "yes,” he admits.

“Is that the reason you pushed me away?” Louis asks a bit, bristling.

Harry thinks about it for a bit. Their history is complicated. Harry doesn't even remember what grudges he holds against Louis, except that he left him without telling him. But this is Louis . 

“Okay,” Louis says when Harry continues to search for his words. He nods once more. “We are okay, Harry.”

Then Louis moves to the side, making space for Harry on the bed, and beckons him to climb in. Harry follows wordlessly, leaning against the cushion of the bedhead and pulling the duvet over his feet. His sides are touching Louis'. He holds back the urge to rest his head on Louis’ shoulder.

For a surprise, Louis doesn't seem that cranky but only crumples in the best way possible. And he has found some courage to bring this up without prompting. And Harry needs Louis to guide him through this conversation. It had always been Louis who held his hand, who let him cry on his shoulder, who supported and accepted Harry and his quirks, who laughed at his jokes that fell flat after telling him they fell flat, who let him dance around him. This is Louis. It was Louis who let Harry get away with almost anything and who defended Harry time and time again. Until he didn't.

Until Harry's circle grew and Louis disappeared somewhere. It always seemed like Louis was there for Harry; no questions were asked, but Harry couldn't say that for himself. Along the way, Louis had closed the doors. The walls were so high he couldn't jump them, nor could he peer through them, and after a while, Harry stopped trying once he had no energy to deal with his own shit.

Louis leaving was like life-awakening. 

And now they are facing each other, moving over to sit across from one another on the same bed, asking him if he had pushed him away.

“You didn't push me away,” Harry answers earnestly. “I was there for you, Lou. At every step. And you were there for me too,” he says, taking Louis' hand in his comfort. “Then you weren't. You slipped away, and you were gone way before you were actually gone.” Harry turns to face Louis and asks, "Why didn't you tell me, Louis? Why did you call Zayn and not me? Was I so utterly worthless to you? No goodbye. No call. No note. I have looked for you in every corner of this eerie alley. I didn't know what I had done wrong. Did I overstep a boundary?” Harry asks earnestly. “I respect you, Louis. I would never do something that would hurt you.” He finishes.

“And yet you did.” Louis breaks his rambling, turning to him. Harry’s heart shatters. He wants to take Louis into his arms. Warm his heart. He can't hear the thought that he might have hurt Louis. He took care of it to never hurt him. Harry cannot fathom the idea of him being the reason Louis is so upset. 

“You ignored me. You pushed me away. Once Nick and the boys were attached to your hips, your life had no space for me in it. What was the reason to stay anyway? And by the time I left, I didn't think you would have cared if I had stayed or not. You had made it clear that I didn't exist for you." Louis' words ring in the air.

“I am sorry I hurt you, Louis. I didn't even realise I was doing that. I didn't know,” he begs. It's so much easier to bear his heart once Louis is in front of him. He doesn't understand why he is doing this. He has thrown his self-preservation in the air. Why isn't he lashing out? Maybe it was because of how timid Louis is. How lost he looks! And now Harry is scared. Louis decided to talk to him. So it's all out in the open.

“I am still scared,” he whispers, looking at Louis for help. He needs Louis to figure this out. Louis must know that too. “I still don't understand. Where did we go wrong? I made you leave, didn't I? I am so sorry, Louis. I did something so messed up that you didn't feel the need to call me. You called Zayn.” Harry sighs. “I don't know how to make things right. I just hope I give you enough reason to stay.” 

He wants to be held by Louis.

“Harry.” Louis is looking closely. "Gosh, you don't have anything to apologise for. It's all forgiven and forgotten. There was nothing to forgive to begin with. I needed to go, and it was my own volition. You understand that, don't you?” and Harry still understands nothing. His heart is racing. He felt his face on fire. His throat is dry. He feels empty as he nods.

Louis has his fingers clasped around Harry’s, his arms resting on his thighs. He leans forward and looks Harry in the eye.

“I added the clause in my contract so as not to have to answer any of you. No responsibilities were held. But I am going to wear my heart on my sleeve now, Haz." Harry’s heart skips a beat and another. His face gets hotter. He is sure he looks red in the face. A tingle runs down his spine. He has a need to bare his neck and look away. But he holds his ground because whatever Louis is going to say, he has waited to hear it for years. He shifts his place, feet under his thighs. And he looks at Louis with attention. Every single cell in Harry’s body is eager for Louis. 

Louis licks his lips.

“I ran away because it got too much for me not to have you around whenever I called your name out. You would be out with your friends and everyone, and I know, as I have said before, that you were never there. But what hurt me most was that you didn't feel the need to be there. And I did. Every single day. Every minute. In the hotel rooms, in the corridors, and on aeroplanes, Harry, you were never there for me. I couldn't look back while walking and just talk to you. I always needed to hold my head down because I was sure I was going to break my neck straining to get a glimpse of you, even though we were two feet apart. Or break your promise because you won't look at me. And you wouldn't stay in the same room as me for a single second more than you needed to.” Louis laughs, and it's the most hollow sound Harry has heard out of him. 

“I am sorry, Louis.” Harry rushes in. “I am sorry I neglected you. I am sorry I made you feel dejected.” Harry braves on. “It was intentional on my part, but I don't think you even noticed. I couldn't love you enough to have you love me back. I was too much. I knew I was too much, and I was scared that if I told you, if I opened up to you, you would run away from him. I was egoistic. I thought it would never hurt me or you at all. I had company to forget about it, and you did too. I never thought you would leave, and you did. I have never been the same since. The house is too big. The praise is empty. Louis, no one criticises my songs like you do. It's pointless. I'm so lost without you. I am not in the past; I am not in the present. I don't know where I am. I don't know what I feel. All I feel is numb. Numb to the core. It's been these weeks that I feel like you are in my life again. I lost a precious friend. I don't want to lose you ever again. At whatever cost,” Harry's brain-to-mouth speed train betrays his conscious soul. He feels bare. It's all out on the table. 

“You acted like such a shithead back then.” Louis calls him out, and Harry crumbles.

“I hope you don't hold that against me.”

“No, you were young, Harry. Too young for all these emotions over the top of what we were experiencing. I will not hold it against you that you gave in. It was too much pressure, and trust me when I say this. No one understands it more than you do. I thought I would facade it first and was depending on you. It was too much to ask of you.” 

"No, Louis, whatever you ask of me, it's never too much. I would have left it all behind, I think.”

“Thank you,” is all Louis says, and it sounds earnest.

The silence blankets the afternoon, and they stay there. Harry's heart beats in his head. He feels exhausted and lighter at the same time. The heat and humidity make Louis' palms feel warmer in his hands.

“Come here.” Louis says and drags Harry by his hands in his lap. And Harry feels soothed. Harry feels this is where he belongs. This is where he has always belonged. He is his best friend in the whole world. No, his best friend is his whole world. The love of his life.

The love of his life.

Love. life. 

Louis wraps his arm around Harry's shoulders, guiding Harry to lean even closer, their chests pressing together. Harry turns his face into Louis' neck, where it meets his shoulder. Louis rubs his back reassuringly when he hugs him back tightly. Harry might combust.

And suddenly he is lost in his surroundings, but at the same time he can place where he is. Louis. Love of his life. He is in the arms of his love of life. The love of life that he didn't know existed a mere second ago. He feels hot. Suddenly, there is blood rushing to all his body parts. There was a ringing in his ears. And he wants to run out. But he knows if he did. If he turns away now, Louis will leave in the second. Does Louis know? He has to know, doesn't he? He knows Harry inside and out. He can always read like an open book. But it's been years. Harry surely has to adapt to his own devices. Nothing seems important. His heart is racing miles ahead of him as he stays put and lets himself melt into Louis’ ministrations until he has lost track of time. 

“Hey love?” Louis asks as he cards his fingers through Harry's hair.

Harry noses at Louis' neck, breathing deep. It's grounding. The way Louis smells and the way Louis feels around him. He moves into Louis and grunts a response lazily. He is way too comfortable in Louis’ hold.

And the room comes flooding back to Harry. Louis is at Harry's house. Harry is in Louis’ lap. Louis’ eyes are sharp, commanding, and blue. Harry nods as he gets up. Too fast, apparently, because he feels dizzy. Like the room is tilting on its axes. He doesn't dare to speak. He nods again and tries to rush out of the room. Louis catches up to his wrist first, pulling himself up along the side of Harry, coming face-to-face.

“Harry, Don't be scared. I am here now. For you. If you will have me.” Louis’ breath is too close to him.

“For me?” Harry’s voice wavers. They are standing close. Their lips are mere inches apart. And Louis looks more on the side of delicious pink. He wants to know what they will taste like in this room afterward.

“And your food,” Louis smirks.

“You only want me for the food, then?”

Louis nods, his eyes falling to Harry’s lips, and then lifts up his eyes.

He can handle this. He loves Louis. Louis is his best friend. And he missed his best friend. Who might or might not love him back? The brain is playing tricks on him. All he needs to do is get busy.

He stumbles a little as he steps back. “I'll be in the kitchen.” He says. He nods again and rushes out.

He brings out the utensils. A pan and a knife. He lines up the kitchen counter with ham, cheese, veggies, and bread. Apparently, he has landed on sandwiches for lunch. Great! He can work with that. He puts on one of his comfort playlists on the shuffle. More to ease his worked-up heart and mind than habit. He needs to keep his mind from wandering. He cannot deal with the can of worms he has just spilled. 

One of the bangers starts spilling into the room as Louis enters. Harry sees him halt for a second at the door, but then he makes his way slowly to the counter and takes a seat. Making himself comfortable. He swirls on one of the chairs, spreading his legs on the other. Harry is sad to see Louis like this. Comfortable. In his own zone. Harry could just sit and watch him all day long. His fingers itch to take a picture. Maybe someday. He shifts his focus to cutting the bread and vegetables in the right proportions. 

The song frazzles Harry a bit as the lyrics start crying about being young and hurting someone you love and apologising for it. Harry’s every bone is cold and on fire at the same time. Belatedly, he has realised that this playlist that he calls home, that comforts him to the core, is filled with everything that he wants to say and wants to hear. If Louis looked at the lyrics closely, he would be able to read Harry’s secret diary. Harry can't even go and change the songs without being suspicious. He doesn't want to draw any attention to himself. He keeps cutting the onions and sticking a pan on the gas. Pretending it's all background noise and not the track of his life. He stumbles a bit as his own song starts to play. He prays to God that Louis doesn't read between the lines. He is wailing about not wanting to fight and assuring himself of being alright. He hopes that Louis has not heard any of his songs in light of what he revealed to him. 

He is creating a mess in the kitchen, just like himself. He cleans it real quick and goes back to plating the food.

Not only do the songs keep playing, but Harry is aware of every lyric and every word that they have managed to say for the last half hour and more. The longing of half a part, the searching for faces in the crowds, and whatnot. Harry can blame it on these other artists for being as sappy as himself. Harry wonders what the songs are that Louis has ghostwritten. What does he write about? What is his muse?

As if he heard him, Louis moves towards Harry to take the plates from his hands and serve himself. 

Louis is home, and they are going to be okay.

*

London, one year later.

Harry is covered with a thin blanket when he comes up. He is still on the sofa. The TV is muted, the curtains closed, and the and the lights off. There is a microwave beep under the sound of music. His playlist is still going. And he never wants to get up. He needs to be swallowed in this blanket right now because Louis is making his way towards him.

“Oh good, you are awake!” he says with a smile, and that is the Louiest smile if Harry has seen one. He gets up and hugs Louis tight. Louis is back from his ghost writing sessions. His Louis. Louis. His . Louis’ arm comes behind his neck, gripping his shoulder tight, and then squeezing his waist.

“I missed you.” Harry says. 

“I missed you too, boy.” Louis says this in his ear. 

The ground beneath Harry is melting. He loves Louis. Louis loves him. It's fated. It's divine. And he is filled with warmth and familiarity.

He. loves. Louis. 

Loves.

Love .

“Stop freaking out styles.” 

“Don’t call me Styles,” Harry whines.

“Want to be a Tomlinson that bad, huh?” Louis asks, tightening his hold and making more room for Harry to nuzzle in. “I am not going anywhere. I will stay here as long as you need me.”

“And what if I need you forever?”

“Then I will stay forever.”