Work Text:
“If you like your coffee hot,
Let me be your coffee pot,
You call the shots babe,
I just wanna be yours” – Arctic Monkeys
December 2013
Stumbling out of the back hallway of a pub trying to get outside for a smoke was when Louis realised that maybe he shouldn’t have had that last Jäger shot .
His head felt a little bit hazy and his ankles wobbled slightly even in his prized vans. Cold air hit Louis’ warm skin, sending goose bumps all over his bare skin. Now even more desperate for something to warm him up he emptied his jeans pockets onto one of the tables out back in the pub's small garden area, the contents piling up until he found what he was looking for. Pulling a cigarette out of the pack, Louis placed the stick between his lips before narrowing his eyes in confusion and started to pat down his pockets again.
His lighter was missing.
Spinning around his eyes darted over the ground to see if it had fallen off the table. There was nothing.
“Need a light?”
Jerking his head up, Louis swayed on his feet just slightly before a hand shot out to steady him. When his eyes finally focused he saw who the voice had come from.
Louis instantly recognized him even in his hazy state.
The tall boy with the smile too big for his face had been the boy playing up on the stage earlier that night before everyone in the pub had gotten too drunk to care what was being played. Louis had been with some of his friends at the back, they had all been chattering away knocking back their drinks for the night ahead.
But Louis had been watching him.
A smile tugged at his lips before he blurted out, “I know you!”
“You do?”
“Well yeah, not like, know you know you but…” Louis trailed off waving his hands around a bit, “Uhm you were the one playing earlier, yeah? It’s Harry, right?”
“Yeah, it’s Harry,” he hummed, flashing that bright smile of his.
Louis watched his eyes light up with the idea that someone had paid enough attention to him playing to pick up on his name and actually remember it. “Still want that light?”
Louis tilted his head to one side, not understanding what Harry was asking until he pointed to the cigarette he had in his hand. It wasn’t until then that Louis realised Harry’s hand had still been resting on his waist.
“Mm? Oh, yeah I do, please.”
He watched Harry carefully as he flicked the lighter, a flame bursting between the two of them. Putting the cigarette between his lips he leant forward towards Harry, both of them keeping their eyes on each other. The end began to burn brightly as Louis inhaled deeply, letting the warm smoke fill his body before he opened his mouth to let some of it curl back into the cold air.
For a moment the two of them just stood there out in the cold, no words spoken between them, just the sounds from inside the pub and the world around them. Everything felt still. Louis wasn’t sure if it was the one too many Jäger shots or the way Harry was looking at him but he felt like he was in some kind of dream.
The smoke and their cold breaths made the air between them hazy, Louis could taste the sweetness from the Jäger he had been drinking on his lips and Harry seemed to have something burning inside him. It made Louis’ head spin and he didn’t know what to do, but he could feel it drawing him in.
“Do you want one?” Louis lifted the cigarette packet, noticing that Harry didn’t have one.
“Nah, I don’t smoke.”
Louis let out a raspy laugh. “What? You just carry ‘round a lighter to keep with that indie rocker vibe then?” He gave him a pointed look, arching an eyebrow at Harry in a well-practiced manner. Harry’s laughter filled the air around him, everything he did seemed to fill the space they were in Louis thought.
“Maybe I just keep it around in case a pretty boy loses his lighter when he really wants a smoke,” Harry nudged against his hip and Louis felt his breath catch in his throat.
It shouldn’t have, Louis had had lines thrown his way before, always the drunk guy and sometimes the occasional drunk girl in the pub. All the shitty lines that Louis would usually laugh at. Harry though, with his funny smile and cloudy green eyes, spouting off shit chat up lines… Louis should have laughed at him, brushed it off, but he didn’t.
Pulling his arms tightly around him, he lifted the cigarette to his lips again, his eyes carefully watching the boy that was watching him. “You know… You haven’t actually asked me my name yet Harry, that’s a bit rude.”
He gave Louis a small smile, shaking his head at him, “I already know your name, Louis.”
Louis’ mouth fell open a little at that, a soft breath slipping out between his lips. Louis was a bit too drunk to ask questions. Looking up at Harry’s glassy eyes he knew he had had a few too many as well.
Harry shifted closer to him, hands in his pockets, ducking his head away from Louis’ stare. The goose bumps from before erupted all over again; the air around them was cold. Louis’ head a bit fuzzy, and he felt half in love with him right then and then. Harry’s mouth curved upward and Louis couldn’t help but smile up at him as well. Reaching his hand up he traced a finger along the dimple that had appeared.
It was all right there in front of him, so he leant forward and pressed his lips against Harry’s.
**
September 2018
Louis used to love this time of year.
When the weather would shift, the leaves would turn colours and scatter themselves all over the ground; when the air was just beginning to cool and the leaves around them changing into a vibrant colour. It was the time of year when he first met Harry.
He left this time of year as well. When the air was bitterly cold and everything around them seemed to be falling to the ground and dying.
Louis still loved the fall, just maybe not as much as he used to.
Because even years later when he steps outside into the cold air and can see the wind knocking the leaves off of the trees, he still remembers the way Harry looked at him as he walked out the door.
**
October 2018
It was the cold that hit Louis first.
The kind of cold that would take your breath away and all you could manage to do was stand there on the pavement, bouncing on your the balls of your feet as you tried to prepare yourself for the walk to work. Tucking his chin into his scarf, he hurried across the street from his flat to his favourite coffee shop.
People were already rushing around the streets even with how early it was. The cars and taxis weaving around each other, blaring horns and people yelling, adding to the noise of the city.
Louis huddled inside the coffee shop, letting the warmth from the heater inside hit his frozen cheeks. He couldn’t believe that it hadn’t been that long ago he had been running around town in a t-shirt and jean shorts.
“That’ll be £3.95.”
Louis reached out to grab his coffee cup, feeling the warmth from the cup spread through his frozen fingers. Tugging his glove off with his teeth so he could route around in his coat pocket, he finally found the amount of change the teen boy was asking for. It was when he raised his arm to hand over the money was when he finally saw it.
An older gentleman to his right was carefully stacking that morning’s gossip along the rack. Their glossy images and flashy phrases glared up at him, taunting him. Louis had to remind himself that this was okay, this had happened before. He was okay.
His fingers tightened around the cup of coffee, looking down at the drink in his hand, trying to ignore bright lettering on the magazines. The familiar twisting in his stomach was expected, by this point Louis had grown used to it. His eyes flickered once more to the display; Louis couldn’t seem to stop himself from one more look.
There he was.
Louis had learned to grown numb to it over time, it had simply become part of his world now. No matter how numb he had grown to it though, he didn’t think it would ever stop being strange to see Harry’s smiling face plastered across some magazine on his way to work.
“Mate?”
“What?” Louis jerked around, finally noticing that the boy was still waiting for the money that sat in his palm. “Oh right, sorry here you go,” he muttered, placing the fiver in the boy’s hand.
As the boy moved to get his change, Louis’ eyes drifted back over to the magazines. He kept telling himself that it wasn’t the picture that bothered him. Seeing Harry didn’t bother him much anymore, it was inevitable really.
Sure when it had first started happening there had been moments that had left Louis feeling like the wind had been knocked out of him. Moments when he first heard Harry talking on the radio or when one of his songs would come on and he would let herself just stand there beside the speaker. His hand would hover over the radio and he would just listen to him. Just listen and sometimes he could let himself pretend Harry was going to leave the radio station he was at and walk back into their flat in Brixton.
Now Louis just changes the station.
So, no, it isn’t his picture that bothers him. Louis wouldn’t care if Harry Styles walked down the path right this very minute.
“He’s quite handsome isn’t he?” The other barista nodded her head over to where Louis had been staring, his cheeks flushing at being caught.
“That one?” Louis pointed to another magazine with a popular footballer on the cover, “m’yeah quite handsome, not really sure I’d want to get involved with all that mess though.”
“Oh no, not that poor lad, the singer,” the older woman’s eyes crinkled and she peered around the stand to get a good look, “that Harry Styles, now that is a handsome boy.”
This is okay, Louis is okay with this.
He’d dealt with Harry’s first album coming out, when he had gone out on a fancy world tour, when he had won awards and accolades; his face would be printed all throughout London. The entire city glowing with pride over the local boy who had made it.
Louis just seemed to have an uncanny knack for getting caught in these situations and even after all this time he still hadn’t figured out what he should do.
Part of him wishes he could tell them the pictures don’t do him justice. That they should have seen him when he would first wake up in the morning, lips puffy and eyes full of sleep. Or the way his whole face would light up when he finally figured out the right chord to use. How he would look after a few pints on a night out, his smile slackened and eyes glassy when he would look over at Louis.
Does he tell them that? Or does he just flash a tight smile and nod politely before walking away.
Louis always goes for the latter.
With a forced smile on his face, Louis nods his head, “oh that one, yeah, I suppose he is,” grabbing his change from the young boy who had originally served him and stuffed it in his pocket, he gives one last look to the magazine before uttering a quick, “have a nice day.”
Bringing the coffee to his lips Louis hurries through the people, trying to push the image of the magazine cover out of his mind. The words that had been written out beside him were what left a burning in Louis’ chest, the familiar background of the picture. That was what bothered her.
Because, Harry Styles had returned to London.
**
One Week Later
Louis was locked away in his office shuffling through some papers he needed to have signed by some of the customers when Zayn walked through the door.
He smiled at Zayn when he looked up and his eyes got brighter when he saw the cup of coffee Zayn held in his hand.
“Got this for my favourite person,” he said placing the coffee down on Louis messy desk before he flopped down in the chair and kicked his feet up.
“You only say that because I put your art up on the walls.” Zayn nodded his head thoughtfully, breaking out into a laugh when Louis chucked a ball of paper at him, “you ass! You aren’t meant to agree with me!”
Louis leant back in his chair, glaring at Zayn over the rim of the paper cup.
They had known each other for a few years now, after Louis had found Zayn selling some of his stuff out the back of an old beat up car in Brixton. Louis had been fresh faced and eager in the art world, with a new job at a gallery and Zayn had been a pretentious ass.
He adored Zayn though, and he knew underneath all that apathetic attitude Zayn was quite fond of him as well. He wouldn’t bring him coffee every Friday morning if he didn’t.
Taking a sip of the coffee Louis’ nose instantly wrinkled up in disgust, “why do you always forget the sugar?”
“Lou,” Zayn sighed running his hand through his slightly greasy hair. “I can barely remember what I ate for breakfast this morning, let alone your bloody coffee order.”
“We’ve known each other nearly three years, and it’s only two bloody sugars!”
“I know you’ve got at least fifty sugar packs in your drawer so stop with the whining, Lou.”
They fell into a comfortable silence as Louis moved around his desk fixing the coffee the way he liked it. Zayn sipped on his tea as he scrolled through his phone looking more like a defiant teenager than a successful artist. Music drifted from the record player Louis kept in his office and he continued to work a little.
Fridays were always a bit slow, most days of the work week tended to be that way. So Louis wasn’t too concerned about being out on the floor.
“Zee?”
“Hm?” he grunted, not looking up from his phone
“Was anyone in the gallery when you walked in?” Louis asked, hating the idea of some potential customer or art lover wandering around with no help.
“Oh, Right, about that,” Zayn said, as he chewed on his lip lightly, putting his phone back in his pocket, “there was actually.”
“Zayn…” Louis sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, knowing that professionalism didn’t mean a flying fuck to Zayn. “Why was that not the first thing you said when you walked in?”
“Well the thing is, well I don’t really know how to say this.”
“What?”
“Are you aware that Harry Styles is out front?”
Nine words.
Nine Words was all it took for Louis’ peaceful Friday morning to be ripped away from him.
Louis’ mouth dropped open, leaving him staring at Zayn blankly as his eyes watched Louis carefully. He knew about Harry, Louis had figured out early on how perceptive Zayn was and one night after one too many drinks on Zayn’s sofa Louis had found himself spilling everything to him.
His words had set Louis off balance, even more so than seeing Harry’s picture or just knowing he was in London.
Louis could disconnect if he didn’t see him, he could pretend he wasn’t actually here. Louis had always done that with Harry since he left. He would tuck anything to do Harry Styles away from him. He was thousands of miles away from him anyway, off in LA or New York, cities that didn’t mean anything to Louis.
It was impossible to pretend that he didn’t exist when Harry was apparently only 20 feet from him.
“What do I do?” His voice was soft, quiet and he hated that Harry wasn’t even in the same room as him and he made him feel this way. So unsure about everything, because that wasn’t Louis anymore, Louis knew what he wanted, and had a life for himself now. Then all the sudden Harry Styles bursts back into his world and he felt like that foolish, romantic twenty-something all over again.
“Well you can’t sit in here and hide, I’ll tell you that much.”
“Why not?” he snapped, playing with the plastic tab on his coffee cup.
“Lou,” Zayn rolled his eyes at him “chances are Harry Styles wasn’t just wandering ‘round here and thought he’d pop into a gallery, guy could get a private tour at Tate Modern if he wanted.”
“That’s…”
“The truth.” Zayn deadpanned, reaching across the desk to take Louis’ coffee away from him, “he probably knows exactly who is helping to run this place, and you can’t just hide back here in your office.”
“Technically I do have a back door I could –”
“Louis,” he cut her off. “You knew this was bound to happen eventually.”
Louis knew Zayn was right.
He still couldn’t believe he had managed to avoid Harry for three years. Sure he had moved away from the city, only coming back when he was promoting his first album or when he did a few shows here. He never stayed in London too long though. Maybe it was some unspoken pact between the two of them, that London was Louis’, this was his city, and Harry knew it.
Louis ignored the small part in his head shouting that London had once been theirs.
Pushing himself back from his desk he rose, tugging at his shirt and peering over at the mirror to see if his hair looked alright. If Louis was going to see Harry for the first time in three years he’d be damned if he looked anything less than perfect.
Just as he had almost made it out the door Zayn’s voice called out to him, “Lou?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you ever listen to his first album?” he asked
“No, no, I never did. Why?”
“Just curious is all.”
Zayn gave him a quick nod, before he stood and walked towards the back door that Louis had been plotting to escape from. He was officially alone now.
The front room of the gallery had always been a favourite of his. Louis loved all the studios they had for artist to rent out upstairs and the classroom they had down in the basement for the after school program Louis had helped start up a year or so ago. But the front gallery were always his favourite.
The way the grey light from outside would come in the massive windows, bouncing all along the worn bricks and bringing out different colours in all the art. Louis could spend all day in here if he really wanted to.
Right now though, the front gallery might have been his least favourite room he had ever gone into in his twenty-six years.
Louis saw him before he could see her. That idea calmed Louis some. Gave him the slight upper hand, gave him time to prepare, because he sure as hell needed it. The sound of his shoes hitting the wooden floor gave him away.
Harry’s head jerked from the painting he was looking at and focused on him. Louis couldn’t even appreciate the way his eyes widen and his lips parted. Louis couldn’t even seem to remember how to breathe.
He looked like Harry. Louis wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but he still looked exactly the same as he did three years ago. There were subtle differences; his boots probably weren’t from Primark anymore, his black coat looked like it cost more than two months of Louis’ rent, but it was still Harry.
And for a moment Louis forgot and all he wanted to do was wrap himself around him.
He didn’t. But god did he wanted to.
“Loulou…” Harry said, the old nickname falling from his lips like they were still friends. It was enough to pull Louis out of whatever memory he had been living in.
“It’s Louis; no one calls me Loulou anymore.”
“Oh, yeah, right, sorry.”
Silence fell between them again. Not the comfortable silence he’d had in his office with Zayn.
As they stood there, nervous eyes taking the other in, Louis couldn’t help but think of all the times he had pictured this. Three years he had been imagining all the things he would say to Harry if he ever saw him again. Now here Harry was, in London, in Louis’ gallery, standing right in front of him. All those words slipped away from him, leaving him with nothing.
“You look great,” Harry said finally.
Louis ducked his eyes down, catching Harry twisting the rings on his fingers a nervous habit of his that he still hadn’t gotten rid of. Louis couldn’t help the tinge of pink on his cheeks at Harry’s compliment.
“Thanks, uhm, you look…”
Louis licked his lips nervously, not really sure where to go with it. Harry did look great, he looked expensive and worldly, all grown up from the boy he had met in the back of a pub. But he looked tired, and Louis hated that all he wanted to do was run his fingertips over the bags under his eyes.
“I look like shit.”
“No um –” Louis felt flustered, but stopped when Harry let out a low laugh.
“It’s alright, they’ve had me doing all this promo for the new album, don’t think I’ve properly slept in a week or so now.”
“Oh right, I heard about that.”
Silence again. Both of them watching the other carefully, unsure of what to do now.
Louis couldn’t help but feel odd, talking to Harry about his album. He knew with the way Harry was looking at him the both of them were replaying the day he left over in their minds. Going backwards in time through all their moments, how everything they had been led to them standing in front of each other like strangers.
“Do you need any help with anything?”
“What?” Confusion clouded Harry’s eyes at his question.
“With the art? Do you like, do you need any help with it or are you just looking?”
It took Harry a moment and Louis hated it, he hated his stiff questions. How cold he was being, but most of all he hated the slight drop in Harry’s shoulders when he realized what he was asking.
“Uhm no, I just, heard from Lou and Tom that this,” he waved his hand around to the room, “was where you were working now and wanted to check it out. You’ve done really well for yourself Loulou.”
“Louis.”
“Right, sorry. Louis.”
“Thank you, you did it as well,” he told him, unable to keep the tone of pride out of his voice.
“Did what?”
Louis couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at Harry’s confusion, “you got the world Harry, you got what you wanted. You’ve come a long way from all those pub gigs yeah?”
“The pub gigs weren’t so bad.”
Louis hummed in agreement, his mind flickering back to all those nights he had spent in the back of pubs all across London watching him play. “Well, I need to get back to work. You’re welcome to look around if you’d like.”
With one last look, Louis turned on his heels and walked away. The pounding in his ears ringing and the knot in his stomach twisting with each step he took. Louis could feel Harry’s eyes on his back but he couldn’t turn around, he wouldn’t turn around.
Closing the door to his office, Louis pressed the back of his hand to his mouth taking in a shaky breath. Louis was okay, he was okay. It was only that now, Louis was beginning to think he wasn’t as fine as he had thought.
**
November 2014
The couch Louis was stretched out on was threadbare at best, next to an equally distressed looking coffee table and lamp that Louis had found at a charity shop for twenty quid. The whole room was quite, any noise echoing against the empty walls.
It wasn’t much at all, but it was theirs.
Shifting his legs around, he smiled when Harry’s arm wrapped tighter around him and he burrowed his face against Louis’ sweater. Sweeping some of Harry’s hair off his face Louis bent down, brushing his lips against his temple.
“Loulou…” Harry groaned, turning his face into his arm
“Harry….” he sang back to him, laughing at the glare he threw his way, “no more napping, you’ve got a show tonight.”
“Tell ‘em I change my mind, all I want to do is nap some more and then, not nap with you.”
“That was an awful innuendo, I’m ashamed really.”
Harry ignored Louis, stretching himself up closer to him and placing gentle kisses along his neck.
“Harry?”
“Mm?” he pulled back, his eyes still sleepy. It took everything in Louis to not go along with his nap some more and then not nap anymore plan.
“You’ve got to get ready, got to be there in an hour.”
Letting out a loud huff Harry leant forward to kiss him one last time before rolling his body off Louis’ and onto the floor.
“Do you want some tea?” Louis asked, reaching down and playing with some of his curls
“Yeah, I’ll make it though, don’t worry,” as he got up and padded across the wood floor to the kitchen he looked back to him, “I’ll even make you some coffee.”
“How did I ever get so lucky?”
Harry smirked at him before turning back around, moving around the new kitchen with relative ease. Although there was barely anything in there so it shouldn’t have been too difficult.
It had been about two months since Louis had graduated from uni, with a freshly stamped diploma and a heart full of possibilities. Harry had asked Louis to move in with him the day after his graduation and without any thought Louis had said yes, he was always saying yes when it came to Harry.
Now here they were, in the smallest flat in London, with almost no furniture, and Louis had sworn he had seen something furry darting behind the stairs in the lobby. For some reason the whole thing felt romantic to Louis, like this was the kind of thing you did when you were twenty-one.
“Here you go. Its two sugars right?” Harry looked down at him, Louis reaching out for the mug in his hands
“Yeah, two sugars,” he smiled over at Harry as he sat back down on the couch, pulling his legs up across his lap.
Harry grew quiet as he drank his tea, the familiar crease appearing between his brows, and Louis knew he was worrying about something. “Are you nervous for tonight?”
“A bit…” he confessed, looking over at him with wide eyes, “you are still coming right? It’s just this one is the biggest I’ve played and its fine if you want to work on stuff here but I’d just really –”
“Harry,” he cut him off, weaving his fingers through his, “I’ll be there in the back, like always.”
**
October 2018
A few days after Harry had shown up at the gallery Louis found himself perched on a stool in the front room. A warm cup of coffee in his hands he watched the rain lash against the windows. It was another slow day, only a few women and a group of pierced teenagers that were probably meant to be in school had come through the doors.
Louis was enjoying the quiet moment, flipping through the newspaper that had been waiting out front when he had gotten here earlier this morning.
A bell sounded off, letting him know someone had walked into the front room. Sighing he set the paper back down on the table, leaving the page he had been reading open, “I’ll be right there!”
Taking a moment to smooth down his shirt, Louis hurried through the back room into the main gallery. Skidding to a stop when his eyes fell on just who was standing in the room.
“What are you doing here?”
“You know, I never really got all this urban art shit, whatever happened to the classics.”
Harry stood, ignoring his question and gazing curiously at the latest installation he had gotten put up.
“You can’t call the art shit in a gallery, Harry.”
“Oh,” he looked around the empty room, grinning cheekily at him, “right don’t want anyone to hear me.”
“Don’t be a smart arse,” Louis snapped at him, “and you never answered me, that’s quite rude.”
“Well, I’m in a gallery, so guess I’m looking for some art.”
Harry rocked back on the heels of his boots, ones that looked a bit more worn than the last ones he had seen him in. All over he looked quite different than the last time, his jeans had holes in them, there was no fancy watch on his wrist, and the sweater.
How many times had he stolen that sweater from his drawer, or worn it to bed at night. Now he was wearing it right in front of him, he wondered if he had ever gotten the hole in the elbow fixed.
“Why would you need art Harry?” Louis asked, arching an eyebrow at him
“Got myself a new flat didn’t I? Bit bare on the walls and I thought who better to come to than yourself.”
“You’re moving back?”
“Yeah, it’s, L.A. was great but it’s a lot being out there, messes with your head a bit.” Harry shrugged, turning his eyes back to the painting in front of them.
Louis wasn’t really sure what to say; actually he knew exactly what he wanted to say he just wasn’t sure he could ask. The way his eyes had glazed over a bit when talking about L.A. wasn’t lost on him, and Louis wanted to ask him what had happened. What made L.A. not everything he had thought it would be, what made him come back home after so long away.
“There lots of galleries, it’s London, there’s practically one on every corner,” he said, changing the subject back to something safer.
“But this one has you.”
Louis felt frozen, his breath catching in his throat at Harry’s words.
Harry took a step closer towards him, Louis should have backed away but he didn’t, he couldn’t.
“Would you like to get lunch or dinner with me? What about a coffee? Just to talk, I’ve been -”
“I already have some coffee,” Louis blurted out. Desperately looking towards the door and hoping someone else would walk in.
Harry let out a deep sigh, shaking his head at him. His mouth parted open like he was going to say something, but he said nothing. Only glanced back over to the piece he had been looking at earlier, “maybe some other time then.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
Nodding in goodbye Harry walked out onto the busy streets. Louis never took his eyes off of him as he walked past the windows. Just before Harry had almost gotten past the building he looked into the gallery, smiling when he saw Louis still there.
Louis wished he had walked away.
**
Harry came into the gallery five more times in the span of two weeks.
He would look at the art, call some of it shit, Louis would scoff at him for not being able to understand it. Then he would ask, “Dinner or lunch? Coffee?”
Once he suggested ice cream which had made Louis laugh since it was freezing outside. He had called him mad for wanting something frozen when there was an honest chance of snow at any point. Harry hadn’t disagreed; just smiled at him saying that maybe he was a bit mad.
It had gotten to the point that Harry was in the gallery so often that even Zayn had taken a notice to it. Spending more and more time in the studios upstairs, smirking at Louis whenever Harry would walk in.
One day he and Zayn were watching Harry talk with his assistant about one painting he actually liked. It was a painting that had come in a few days earlier, not really fitting with the more urban pieces scattered throughout. Louis had fallen in love with it though. Something Zayn had already pointed out numerous times despite the several swift kicks to the shins Louis had given him.
“Lover boy’s looking over at you,” Zayn nodded, hunched over a canvas filled with swirling colours.
“Shut it.”
Louis wanted nothing more than to stomp his foot on Zayn’s canvas to wipe the smirk off his face, he would never, but it was tempting.
“When are you going to throw the lad a bone Lou?”
“Never.”
“Ah come on, could at least have dinner with the guy,” Zayn shrugged before adding, “as friends.”
Louis could feel Harry’s eyes on him. Braving a quick look over his shoulder he met his eyes. He felt so small when Harry would look at him sometimes, as if he could see straight through him. Harry’s attention was torn from him by his assistant, yet another reminder of how different their lives were now. Another reminder that Harry had done what he wanted and Louis had done what he wanted. Even when they had been together Louis had always known it would fall apart. Because Harry had wanted to go out and conquer the world, and all Louis had ever really wanted was Harry.
“There isn’t a point,” he said, turning back to Zayn
“Why’s that?”
“Harry and I don’t work, so why bother trying,” He sighed, running a hand through his hair, “all we are is just a bunch of sad songs and I’m not really looking to give him more material for his next album.”
*********
“And I strum my fingers gently across your skin,
like I was playing the slowest love song
in the world and only you and I could hear it.” – Unknown
November 2018
“Louis?”
He jerked his head around at the mention of his name, careful to not spill the Jack and Coke in his glass. It was one of the regular clients of the gallery he worked at; Ms. Jameson Lane believed was her name.
“Oh, hello,” Louis reached a hand out to greet the woman.
Ms Jameson began rambling on about some of the paintings that she had recently seen at an exhibit, about how Louis really needed to make an effort to get some of them to display. All Louis wanted to do was tell Ms. Jameson to fork over another twenty grand and he would get right on it. He held his tongue though, assuring Ms. Jameson that he would do his very best to try and get the paintings she had requested.
Louis watched the woman walk away, probably slightly put off with his less than friendly demeanour. Normally Louis would have been upset, would have never even acted that way with a client to begin with. Tonight though, Louis had maybe had one too many glasses and for once he wasn’t working.
The launch of a new magazine was enough to bring out all the “it” people of London. Everyone he usually saw in magazines were scattered throughout the dark club. The fashion girls were all huddled together, pausing every now and then to pose for a picture for the photographer that had been wandering the room. The business types stood around the bar in their classic black suits, probably talking numbers and eyeing the girls around the room since their wives were at home.
Louis faded into the background at these things. He would get an invitation, or the gallery would get an invitation and Louis was required to show up and represent them for a few hours.
Sipping his drink, he watched the party around him; it was by no means one of the wild ones he had often found himself at a few years ago. The subtle air of sophistication and money was laced through the air. Louis had a few people stop by his table and chat, a few men nod in his direction as they lifted their drinks to him in hello. Besides that, Louis kept to himself, something that he didn’t mind one bit.
“Loulou?”
It was a soft voice, almost as if the person asking wasn’t sure if it was really him or not. Louis could feel that same ache he had felt a week ago at the gallery flare up in his chest. There was only one person who called him that.
Spinning around in his chair, he came face to face with the same green eyes that had been on his mind for the past few days or past few years if he felt like being honest.
“Hi,” Louis tried to keep his face neutral, tried to hide the sense of calm that washed over him whenever he was around Harry.
“Can I?” Harry pointed to the chair next to him, letting out a soft sigh when Louis nodded his head. “So,” he drummed his fingers along the wooden table, “come to these things often?”
He didn’t know if it was the alcohol running through his veins or the absolute absurdity of the situation but Louis let out a loud laugh. When he finally stopped he noticed Harry had that smile, the one that seemed too big for his face. “Just a few,” he finally told him.
“What?”
“I only come to a few of these a year, have to keep up appearances and such,” Louis couldn’t help but notice that despite the absolutely dull nature of their conversation Harry seemed to be hanging on his every word. “How about you rock star? Do they ever let you just have a night in or are you always being tugged and pulled around to these things?”
Harry shrugged his shoulder as he took a sip of his drink, whiskey Louis noted. “Don’t think I’ve slept in three years, figured why start now.”
“Harry, that’s awful.”
“Nah, pros outweigh the cons, ‘sides you and I both know it’s not like I could be doing anything else.”
Louis could feel his tough exterior cracking once more, taking in the bags under Harry’s eyes and his messy hair. He wondered just what these past few years had been like for him. He wanted to ask. Wanted to know everything Harry had done and everything he had thought about. To know if he had laid awake at nights thinking about him just like he had, if he had that stabbing pain in his chest for the first few months after he left, if he ever heard a song on the radio and thought of Louis and just forgot what to do for a moment. Louis wanted to know everything.
“Harry I –”
“Harry!”
Both of their attentions were pulled from each other, Louis just then realising how close they had been sitting to each other. The man with the camera attached to his hands was looking at Harry with eager eyes. It made Louis shift uncomfortably in his seat; he was looking at Harry like he was some kind of prize.
“Mind if I get a picture?”
“Yeah, yeah course you can.”
Harry shot Louis an apologetic look as he stood from the table, straightening the jacket of his suit as he did. Louis rested his chin on his palm as he watched a blank look slide over Harry’s face; the camera’s harsh flashed almost unbearable in the dark club. It only lasted for a couple of minutes, Harry shaking the man’s hand once it was all over with before he sat back down.
“And I thought it was bad when people would throw their numbers at you on stage,” Louis commented, raising his eyebrows at Harry.
“Yeah it’s,” he ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head at him, “it’s a bit strange all the pictures and stuff.”
“You’re very popular on the magazine rack at my coffee shop; think the old lady that works there fancies you.”
Harry smiled over at him, letting out a small laugh. It felt good. It felt like them, and Louis found himself wanting to lean in just a bit closer to Harry. Or maybe that was just the alcohol talking.
“Have dinner with me?”
“Harry…”
“Please.” Harry’s hand brushed against Louis’, his eyes wide, pleading with him. Louis thought he looked nothing like the confident rock star they splashed across the pages of magazines. Right now Harry looked very much like that boy he had met nearly five years ago.
Louis let out a sigh, pulling his hand back away from Harry’s, his stomach twisting when Harry’s face fell. “I can’t.”
Quickly, Louis pushed away from the table grabbing his jacket and walking away as fast as his feet would take him. He ignored the fact that he had left Harry sitting alone in a corner table in the back of some club and definitely ignoring the ache in his chest as he walked away.
**
February 2015
Louis tugged at his jacket, trying to pull it tighter around him. The wind coming off the river whipped harshly around them, leaving both Louis and Harry with red noses.
“Have to admit, was thinking this might be a bit more romantic.”
“It is!” Louis insisted, stepping to the side to avoid a patch of snow that hadn’t been pushed off the walkway.
Harry rolled his eyes at him, tucking Louis’ smaller frame in closer to his side, “think they can hear your teeth chattering in Scotland.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” he nudged him in the ribs with his elbow, a smile breaking out across Harry’s face.
Walking closely together they continued down the path, Louis more than content in the silence that had fallen over them. Every so often Harry would squeeze his hand or pull him closer, pressing his lips against his temple.
Louis wondered if it could always be like this. Just him and Harry, and London. But the shows Harry was playing were getting bigger and bigger, opening for people the world had heard of, and soon they would know Harry. He couldn’t seem to shake the idea that the days where they were just Louis and Harry were fading, and one day they would just disappear. Someone would come along and offer Harry the world and he would take it. It made Louis want to grab onto him, hold him tightly and hideaway in their bedroom where it was safe. The world couldn’t touch them there. But Louis knew he wouldn’t do that, he wouldn’t stop him.
Because that wasn’t how love worked.
“What’s going on in there?” Harry tapped a finger against his forehead, staring down at him curiously.
“Nothing,” Louis gripped onto his arm tighter, “why’d you want to come down here anyway? We might be the only two dumb enough to be walking around the river in the dead of winter.”
“Dunno, I like it, reminds me of you.”
“A frozen river makes you think of me?”
“Not the river Lou,” Harry wrapped himself around him, “London, being right in the middle of it all… London reminds me of you.”
**
November 2018
Harry came into the gallery the next week to buy the painting he wanted. He lingered around the studio, chatting with Zayn and a few of the other artists. Trying to delay actually picking up the frame Louis had spent all morning wrapping up and leaving the gallery.
He was wearing the sweater again. The one Louis had used to steal from him.
The resolve that Louis had built so carefully was being taken away piece by piece. He found himself smiling and laughing at Harry’s crazy suggestions and comments about the artwork. Rolling his eyes at Harry and joking with him right back.
When Harry asked him about dinner or coffee that day, Louis said yes.
**
The thing was Harry and Louis had never been very good at being friends.
When they had first met it was instant, Louis wanted Harry and Harry wanted Louis. There were no games, no awkward period of will they won’t they. Neither of them had been shy over what they wanted.
Both of them knew. They knew that they had never seen each other as just friends.
It was for that reason that Louis had turned down the offer of dinner, and it was that reason that he had eventually said yes.
His new flat was impressive; something Louis had told him as soon as he walked through the door. Harry had given him a tour, eagerly showing off his new home like a kid in primary school. Louis found himself biting his lip to keep from smiling so much. So much of Harry’s new home was unfamiliar to him, things he had bought in their three years apart, things he had collected from all his travelling.
But there were some things that were familiar.
That old beat up guitar he had always been playing still sat in the corner of his living room; the same record player they had used was up on a shelf surrounded by all the albums they had danced around to. There were other things, things that had meant something to them in their life together, scattered throughout Harry’s new home. It left Louis with a twisting in his stomach.
It only got worse in the moments when they would walk past something that had been theirs and Harry’s eyes would flicker over to him. As if saying, do you remember?
Louis wanted to scream at him that of course he remembered. Tell him he remembered every moment and every detail and everything he had ever whispered into his ear when they laid in bed at night. He remembered because it had been all he had of him the past three years.
But Louis just gave him a tight smile, asking him about something else he had gotten when he had gone to Japan.
The entire time Harry showed him around and cooked dinner Louis made sure to keep himself away from the line he had drawn. Redirecting conversation at times, breaking eye contact when it was held a touch too long, anything to keep Harry at a safe distance from him. To make sure that all this was were two old friends getting together after a long time apart.
He could feel his resolve cracking just a little when Harry sat a bowl of Mac ‘n Cheese down in front of him.
“See we’re enjoying the finer things in life tonight.”
“Hey it’s not out of a box; I’d say that’s growing up right there.”
Louis laughed and Harry smiled at the sound, and he could feel the idea of just friends fading.
They ate in silence for a while, the record player spinning around and filling the room with music.
“Do you remember when you almost burnt the building down trying to bake a cake?”
Louis nearly choked on the wine he had just taken a sip of, having to wipe away the little bit that had fallen from his lips. “Yeah I do, it was your birthday, I wanted to do something nice,” Louis grimaced thinking back to how that plan had worked out, not.
“Think I nearly shat myself when I came back from work and found all the emergency trucks outside,” he laughed dryly, letting his head fall back against the chair, “don’t think I’ve ever been so terrified.”
Harry looked over at him and he knew both of them were replaying that night. Louis had been laughing with some of the fireman about how he’d never use the oven again. Joking about how he would have come back and haunted his boyfriend if he had died making him a birthday cake. Louis had been able to hear Harry shouting his name before he could see him. When one of the emergency workers pointed him to Louis he had probably cleared the twenty feet between them in about three seconds flat. Louis couldn’t remember a time when Harry had held him like that. Tightly but so carefully, as if at any moment he was going to slip away from him and disappear.
“Do you remember that time you got arrested for playing at King’s Cross?” Louis asked, standing up from the table and walking over to the balcony.
He looked back over at Harry and found his eyes clear again, he stood and motioned to the door of the balcony; both of them stepping out into the cool night air.
“I do,” Harry finally said, rubbing his chin where Louis knew there was still a scar from when he had fallen trying to get away from the cops. “Spent the night covered in blood next to a drag queen.”
“The blood probably gave you some cred, made you seem tough.”
“I’m plenty tough,” Harry scoffed at him.
“You and I both know you’re too pretty for jail, they’d eat you alive,” he teased him, knocking Harry with his hip before he froze and took a step away. Just friends he reminded himself. Just friends.
“Yeah, you’re probably right.”
Harry leaned against the railing, grabbing a strand of Louis’ hair the wind had blown about and tucking it behind his ear.
Louis could feel his heart nearly pounding out of his chest when Harry’s fingers grazed against his cheek. Everything about being here, being next to him felt exactly the same has it had before. The wind blowing around him, the goose bumps that were covering his arms. It all felt the same way it had that night three years ago. Only now the two of them were all grown up, standing on the balcony of Harry’s fancy new flat and the air was clear because Louis didn’t smoke anymore.
“I miss you,” Harry voice was rough; he pushed himself away from the railing stepping closer to him. Louis didn’t move away.
“Harry –”
“No just,” he ran a hand through his hair, letting it fall by his side, “been missing you quite a lot.”
“Then why’d you leave?” Louis’ voice was soft, and he thought Harry hadn’t heard him at first. He just stared out onto the city around them.
“I –” he broke himself off, his lips parted as he looked at him. “You know, I’ve had three years to come up with something to say for that, and I still haven’t got a good enough answer.”
“You broke my heart when you left.”
“Think I broke my own as well.”
There they were. Not as eloquent as Louis had envisioned over and over again in his head, but they were the words he had wanted to say to Harry for a very long time. There were times where he imagined screaming them at Harry, times where he could barely get the words out from crying so much. Now Louis had said them. Quietly and softly with no dramatics or tears.
In all his imagined scenarios he never thought about Harry saying them back to him.
Louis had thought he had known everything there was to know about heartbreak. But maybe this was what heartbreak was really like. There was no yelling or crying, nothing dramatic or especially devastating. Just two people that had been everything once finally saying to the other years later, you broke my heart.
“That wasn’t fair of me just now,” the crease between Harry’s brows appeared as Louis tried to find his words, “to ask why you left I mean. That -that wasn’t fair of me, because I do get why you left.”
“You do?”
“I do, yeah,” Louis stepped closer, “we were young and it was all just so much, and I didn’t get it at first but I do now. You wanted something, you had all these things you wanted to accomplish and you had to go off and do that.”
“I’m sorry, for whatever its worth, I’m sorry.”
“Harry no, it’s -” they were standing so close Louis could feel his fingers brushing against Harry’s, fighting down the lump in his throat and the chills going up his spine, “we turned out alright yeah? No need to apologize.”
Harry leant his head down, resting his forehead against Louis, “Louis?”
“Yeah?”
“Will you stay? Please just, I’ve missed you. Missed you so fucking bad and I- Just stay, please.”
As Harry’s fingers began to trace patterns over Louis’ sweater he could feel any resolve he had been clinging to disappearing. The ache in his chest beating heavily. Louis didn’t know what to do or what to say but Harry was right in front of him. He came back to London, he was here, and he was holding him so carefully.
So he leant forward, pressing his lips against Harry’s.
**
In the early morning hours, when the sky outside was its darkest, Louis could feel himself drifting off to sleep. Those quiet moments when you aren’t truly asleep but not quite awake either. He was warm and tucked carefully against Harry’s side.
He thought he could feel someone brushing against his hair, pressing their lips against his temple, lulling him into a deep sleep.
And right before Louis finally drifted off he heard words whispered so quietly that in the morning he believed it had only been a dream.
**
Louis didn’t think he’d ever missed someone as much as he missed Harry.
Louis was right next to him in bed and he still missed him. It was a feeling that he had fought down for years, Louis had stuck his head in the sand and acted like everything was okay. Doing that had gotten him through the past three years, helped him move on with his life. All the years they had been apart had never seemed so painful until right now, when Louis was tucked into Harry’s side and he could feel his soft breaths blowing against his shoulder.
It was a funny idea, that when you were finally with the one you had been missing that was when you could feel your heart breaking all over again.
Harry blinked up at him, his eyes blinking a few times taking a few seconds to register that Louis was actually there. His lips brushed across his bare shoulder a sleepy grin on his face as he looked up at him. All the sudden it wasn’t such a funny idea anymore.
“Mornin’.”
“Morning,” Louis whispered back, brushing some of the curls away from his face.
“You’re here,” he rasped, burrowing his face against Louis’ neck.
Louis watched the covers slip down, the tattoos that Louis had once known like the back of his hand standing out against Harry’s pale skin. There were some Louis didn’t recognize.
“I am,” he managed to choke out.
He watched as Harry rolled out of bed, grabbing a pair of pants off the floor and slipping them on. Just before he walked out of the room he looked back at Louis. It was such a familiar scene that Louis felt like he was 21 again and spread out on a too hard mattress that rested on the floor. And Harry, with his sleepy eyes and pants slung low on his hips, looking at Louis like he would give him the world if he would only ask for it.
Louis could feel everything crumbling around him.
He waited, practically begging for Harry to say something, to say anything to him. He didn’t though; Harry just looked at him for a moment longer before walking out into the kitchen. Louis knew how this would all play out.
Jumping out of the bed he started picking his clothes up off the floor, yanking them on. He could hear Harry putting an album on the record player in the other room, before he shuffled back into the bedroom.
“What are you doing?”
Louis jerked around taking in the confusion in his eyes and the two cups of coffee he held in his hands, “this wasn’t a good idea Harry.”
“I-” he sputtered out, “but you stayed. You said you would stay.”
“I can’t, I won’t do this again.”
His lips formed a tight line, hurt flashing in Harry’s eyes, and the aching in Louis’ chest only got worse and worse. He had to. He had to leave because Louis needed more; he needed more than gentle looks and soft touches. That hadn’t been enough back then and it wasn’t enough now.
“I came back to London.”
“I know.”
“For you, I came back to London for you,” he pleaded with him, “ I kept all the things that used to be ours because I couldn’t stand the idea of getting rid of anything that reminded me of you, just please, stay, we can try again and it’ll all be better this time and -”
“Say it,” Louis cut him off, his voice shaking, “say it then.”
“Say what?”
“You know.” Louis whispered, swallowing the lump in his throat, “god Harry. I really loved you. And I still do, I love you.”
Silence .
The coffee pot in the kitchen beeped and the record player switched songs and Harry stood in front of him, his body stiff and lips parted slightly. For a moment Louis thought he was going to say something, but then he closed his mouth. The aching in his chest almost brought him to his knees right there.
“Still?” He asked, his voice so small, “I’m about to walk out the door and you still can’t say it.”
Louis brushed past Harry out of the bedroom, searching the living room for his phone as he heard heavy footsteps behind him.
“Loulou please,” he grabbed a hold of his arm, pulling him back to him, “I don’t want to do this without you anymore, it’s been such shit, and I-I don’t want to do it without you.”
“Louis, it’s just Louis now.”
Harry dropped his arm like he had burned him.
Louis grabbed his phone off the counter taking in slow breathes; he was not one to cry. There would be no tears when he walked out that door. Turning his head he gave Harry one last look. He didn’t say anything; he didn’t move closer to him or try and beg Louis to stay. He just watched him, his eyes burning into Louis’.
Fleetwood Macs old song was coming out of the speakers and it took every ounce of self preservation Louis had to not drop his things and run back to Harry.
He wouldn’t do that though, he wouldn’t take the risk of trying this again and having it all disappear. Better to leave now before either of them got too attached again he told himself.
“I’m sorry. For whatever its worth, I’m sorry.”
Harry’s face fell at his words, words he had spoken so softly to Louis just last night when they had both let themselves believe this could work. Now those same words were being used to end it all.
Louis hardened his heart as he stepped away from the door, jumping as it slammed shut, cutting him off from Harry. He felt numb as his legs carried him through the building and out onto the sidewalk. It wasn’t even until he was in the back of a taxi that he noticed the tears on his cheeks.
**
In the most twisted logic in the world Louis kept his phone attached to him for the rest of the weekend. This time he had been the one to walk away, he walked away before Harry could leave him again. Yet every time his phone lit up he would rush to it, thinking, hoping, just maybe it would be him.
Louis didn’t even know if he would answer if Harry did call or if he would just sit and watch his name flash across the screen.
Harry didn’t call though.
And on Monday Louis turned his phone off.
**
July 2015
When Louis walked into the flat he knew. Something wasn’t the same as when he had left for work that morning. As he placed his keys on the table a knot began to form in his stomach, it was too quiet.
Harry always had music playing if he was home or often Louis would walk into the bedroom and find him sprawled out with his guitar across his stomach. Fingers lazily pulling on the strings with his eyes shut to the world. He was home, he had seen his coat thrown over their old couch, but there was no music.
The old floors creaked underneath his feet as he moved towards the bedroom, pulling at the curtains Harry had hung up one Saturday morning trying to make their flat seem more homey.
“Hi.”
Harry was sat on the edge of their bed, arms resting on his knees, and Louis could tell that he had been picking at the hole in his jeans. His voice was rough, a tone to it that Louis wasn’t sure he had ever heard before. And he knew.
“You got it didn’t you?” he said, walking over to sit next to Harry on the bed.
The question was pointless because Louis already knew the answer. He knew the answer the moment he pulled the curtain back and saw Harry sitting there in the silence. The guitar leaning against the wall in its case next to a battered duffel bag gave him a good idea as well.
“I’m sorry,” Harry reached across to grab onto his hand, weaving their fingers together. Louis could feel the calluses on them from the guitar strings. “I have to I-they want me to go to L.A. and its L.A. Loulou.”
All Louis could do was nod and hold onto Harry’s hand a little tighter. There wasn’t really much else he could do really. Louis knew how much Harry wanted this, how much he needed this. Months ago Louis had told himself he wouldn’t stop Harry and today was no different. Harry was going to leave and Louis would let him, he couldn’t make him stay because Harry was always meant for this, he was meant to go off and get the world. Louis had known when he first saw him up on that stage in a dingy pub that he was meant for so much more.
So he rested his head on Harry’s shoulder, a soft sound slipping from his lips. “I know. I know,” he whispered.
They were both quiet, Louis’ words hanging in the air around them. He looked down watching Harry circling his thumb over his hand drawing lazy patterns onto his skin. Never had he felt at such a loss as he did right now.
“I’m so sorry Lou,” Harry pulled him closer, his voice muffled as he turned his head into his hair. “I –” his voice broke and Louis could feel his unspoken words like a punch to the gut. “I just want you to be happy; all I want is for you to be happy.”
Tearing his eyes from Harry’s packed bags, Louis took a deep breath and looked at Harry. They were so close to each other he could see the faint freckles he had across his nose. All the sudden it hit him that this might be the last time he was this close to him.
Louis wanted to yell at him, to grab his bags and throw his clothes back in the drawers, beg him to stay.
He didn’t do any of that though.
Leaning up he kissed him gently, and for a while they just sat there. On the edge of their bed, holding onto each other as their lips tried to memorize everything they were about to lose.
**
November 2018
“What are you doing here? It’s Monday?” Louis asked when he looked up from the table he had been standing over, organizing pictures for an exhibit, and saw Zayn walking through the door.
“Can’t I miss you enough to visit?”
“You saw me three days ago.”
“Maybe I was just bored then.”
Louis arched an eyebrow at Zayn, narrowing his gaze because he knew him well enough to know he was up to something. Zayn Malik did not roll out of bed before twelve on any day of the week except for Fridays when he brought Louis coffee. He was about to say something else before Zayn beat him to it.
“Courier was outside about to bring this in, I signed for you. Hope you don’t mind.”
He walked over and tossed a square shaped object wrapped in nothing but newspaper and tape onto the table in front of him. Louis’ eyes shifted from the gift in front of him to the coffee in Zayn’s hand.
“Is that for me?” He nodded down to the drink, Zayn handing it over as he took a sip. Then another sip.
Bringing the coffee cup away from his lips Louis stared down at it a moment before his eyes darted up to Zayn, “did you get this for me?”
“No, the courier brought that as well…” Zayn paused eyeing him carefully. “Why, what’s the matter with it?”
“Nothing,” Louis whisper, fingers tightening around the cup.
Because there was nothing wrong with this coffee, it was exactly how he liked it. Black with two sugars. He knew who had sent the courier, he knew what the package was, and he knew that even though it had been years, Harry still remembered that he took his coffee with two sugars. Louis tried not to fall apart right there.
“You going to open that?”
He looked over at Zayn and Louis knew that he was completely aware of everything going on inside his head. Glancing over to the package on the table Louis reached out to it, tearing the paper away, revealing a gleaming new record.
More specifically Harry’s second album.
Running his fingers along the title something that Zayn had said to him crossed his mind, “why did you ask me if I ever listened to the first album?”
“Wanted to know.”
“But why?”
Zayn just shrugged at him, “wanted to know if you were that dumb I suppose.”
“Excuse me?”
“No I just, wanted to know if you could listen to something like that and honestly not know that the guy is completely in love with you.”
“He never said it…”Louis spoke softly, looking down to the record in his hands before looking back to Zayn. “Not once, we lived together for fucks sake and he never once said it!”
“Maybe not,” Zayn walked over, grabbing the coffee off of the table and taking a drink. “Or maybe he just said it in the only way he knew how and you weren’t listening to him.”
“That’s bloody cryptic,” he scoffed at him only earning another shrug from Zayn
“I’m just saying Lou; maybe you should give the record a listen. Should get the first one as well.”
“I have the first one.”
Now it was Zayn’s turn to go silent, his eyes widening at Louis’ confession. It was his secret; sure he could avoid listening to him on the radio or turn his head away from the magazine rack, even change the station if he was on a chat show. Louis had spent years avoiding Harry the best he could. But the one thing he hadn’t been able to do was walk past his album and not buy it.
Louis probably had ten safely tucked away in a chest by his bed.
“You know, I think you ought to go listen to them.”
Louis felt rough fingers brush across his cheek wiping away a stray tear that had fallen just to spite Louis. In a rare moment, Zayn pulled him in close to him, Louis’ cheek pressing against the leather of his jacket. He sighed against him because he was just familiar, “does this make me silly?”
“Nah,” he answered, giving Louis one last squeeze, “what’s the point of it all if we don’t get a second chance every now and then."
For once Louis couldn't agree with Zayn more.
***********
“It was love at first sight,
at last sight,
at ever and ever sight.” - Unknown
December 2018
Louis didn’t really smoke anymore.
It was a habit he’d picked up in uni like everyone else did and one he finally managed to kick for good nearly two years ago. Still he kept a pack of Marlboros in his flat, just in case he had the itch for one.
Apparently listening to your ex-boyfriend’s - who you just had sex with two days ago - first two albums, called for a cigarette.
Stretching his legs out in front of him, Louis rested his head against the window. Fingers playing with the cigarette that lay burning slowly next to him, now long forgotten as he listened to the music.
It had arrived by a courier, wrapped neatly, with no explanation and no note; when he had opened the package though, there wasn’t really an explanation needed. Maybe Harry hadn’t seen the point of one. His songs were enough, the words that were carefully written on the inside cover were enough.
Looking down Louis traced his fingers over the words. They were small, up in the left corner, not where you would typically find a dedication but they were there. And they were Louis’.
He could feel that ache in his chest that had seemed to be his constant companion lately. He didn’t know what it was, all he knew was that it was Harry. Something about Harry drew him in. Always had, always will.
Picking up the cigarette, he put it out against the side of the ashtray, his eyes drifting back over to the words. They weren’t some massive declaration, nothing over the top. To anyone else reading them they would be vague at best, words written out to the fans that had shown up in the early days. A thank you to them.
Louis knew though. He knew the moment he had opened the cover and saw the words.
Then again Louis had always known.
Maybe Harry didn’t always say the words Louis had wanted to hear; the phrase “I love you” so rarely came from his lips. But god Louis had always known. Even when Harry had walked out of their flat, he knew. There was something in the way Harry would look at him, the way he would always look at him.
Louis’ fingers lightly traced along the patterns on the record in his lap, the music still drifting around the flat, little whispers of things Harry could never say.
A small smile traced across his face when he thought of Zayn’s words from before. He was right. Harry might not have always been the best at saying it to him in the way most people wanted to hear it, but there was no denying that Harry said it in the only way he knew how.
Louis had two albums worth of “I love you’s” sitting on his counter to prove just that.
The only question now was what he was going to do about it. The two of them had never been one for dramatics or grand gestures. Harry had made the decision Louis’. Harry had given him the album, written the words scrawled across the top, and said nothing more. It was now Louis’ choice.
The December wind blew in through the open window and Louis let out a choked laugh when he felt the burning behind his eyes. Reaching up to wipe away the few tears that had fallen, he knew.
Life didn’t always work this way, you didn’t always get a second chance. The guy you love didn’t always come back in the end.
But Louis’ had.
Harry had come back to London.
Harry had written him two albums worth of songs. For Louis. Maybe it wasn’t so silly Louis thought. When Harry had first shown up he had pushed back, thinking he would be weak if he went back, if he let Harry back in.
Glancing down to the words Harry had written Louis thought he had never been so stupid in his life. You didn’t always get a second chance, so who was he to throw his away?
“For you. The one in the back of the pub, this will always be for you.”
The words he had whispered lingered in the air, hanging around him. Scratching at his stubble lightly, Louis pulled the record closer to his body.
He had always known.
**
The wind blowing off the river was unbearably cold to most of the tourists that were scattering around the walkway, eagerly trying to get their pictures taken before they could retreat back into their warm hotels.
Louis ducked his head into his wool coat, protecting himself from a particularly strong gust of wind. He wasn’t sure why he had decided to come here, to walk along the river. It hadn’t even really been his plan he had just gotten off the tube and started walking. So here he was.
He watched the people walking past him, all dressed in darker shades, blending in with the grey skies around them. The city was loud today, the cars and the people, and as strange as it may seem Louis loved the noise of the city. It had a way of making you feel a part of something. Even when you were walking alone, you weren’t really by yourself.
Someone on a bicycle rushed past him surprising him and pulled him out of his thoughts, and Louis looked up.
It happened the way it always did, that aching in his chest when he sees him. Only now it seems different.
For the first time Louis thought he finally understood what that ache in his chest was.
He had thought maybe it was nothing more than basic sexual attraction still lingering around after all this time. Or that aching pain from seeing someone you used to know so well after so long apart. It wasn’t either of those though.
Because he’s here. Harry’s here.
Harry isn’t a face on a billboard, or a headline across a magazine; he isn’t travelling from country to country. Harry is in London, he’s standing right in front of him, he’s Louis’ and he can’t help but laugh at it all.
Harry hasn’t seen him; too busy looking out on the river and watching the boats bob along the choppy waters. His messy hair blowing around in his face with all the wind. Louis feels like he’s in some kind of dream.
“Need a light?”
Harry didn’t turn and look at him right away but he was standing close enough to see his face. To be able to watch his eyes flutter shut for a moment, Louis’ favourite smile that was too big for his face appeared as he hung his head down.
“Nah I don’t smoke,” he turned to look at him, Louis returning his smile.
Louis knew then this was right.
Everything he hadn’t been sure about seemed pointless now, all the things he had been afraid wouldn’t be there between them anymore. It was all still there. Despite the years and the miles that had separated them, Harry was still Harry, and Louis was still Louis.
They stood close enough to each other to touch but they didn’t, not yet. For just a few moments they stood there by the stone wall, the wind coming off the river, and the noise of the city where they had first met all around them. Neither of them said a word, not because they didn’t know what to say, just that for once there was no need for words. Both of them knew exactly why they were here.
“Did you –”
“I did.” Louis cut him off, edging his hand closer to Harry’s, “did you mean it?”
“Every word,” he nods pausing only to tuck a strand of hair behind Louis’ ear, “I should have told you.”
“I knew.”
“It doesn’t matter. I should have told you every day, every time I felt it, I should have told you.”
“You did Harry, in your own way you did,” Louis whispered softly to him, sweeping some of his hair away from his face, letting his fingers brush against Harry’s cheek.
Harry bent down pressing their foreheads together. Louis smiled thinking that to strangers they must look like new lovers, but they were so much more.
Harry’s hands rested on the side of his face and Louis pressed himself against Harry, their bodies remembering just how to fit together. And finally Harry said it. His words were soft, only for him to hear, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”
And Louis thought maybe, him and Harry were more than just a bunch of sad songs after all.