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The breakup was mutual. Amicable. A series of conversations leading to a rational decision. Well. Maybe it was a bit more complicated than that.
It's not that Louis isn't enough for Harry. He's more than enough. It's just that Harry craves adventure, can't afford to have someone clipping his wings. He knows Louis wants to get married. Settle down. Have two kids and raise them in a nice house. There's nothing wrong with any of that. Harry's just not ready for it yet.
They're at two different stages in life. And, yeah, the two years between them is pretty insignificant, but it just became clear when Harry graduated and went out and partied and he came home completely drunk and his boyfriend couldn't be at the party because he had to work. Earn a paycheck to keep the place they both live in. Lived.
So, they broke up. And Harry has never been more miserable in his entire life.
"C'mon, mate, this was your idea, I can't have you sulking while we're trying to have a fun night out," Harry's best mate Niall says with a teasing — though empathetic — lilt to his voice. He digs his elbow gently into Harry's side, prompting movement.
"Why did I think this was a good idea again?" Looking out over the crowd, Harry feels nauseous. Flashbacks hit him like freight trains, bringing him back to the night he and Louis met. He'd gotten up the courage to move onto the dance floor. He'd found his groove, not really dancing with anyone, mostly just with himself. A few songs in, there were hands on his waist and a smooth voice in his ear, warm breath exhaled over his neck. He'd gotten goosebumps.
"Come here often?" The most cliché of lines. Harry's almost willing to excuse it, though, because the man's voice sounds like heaven.
"First time," Harry replies. "Nice place."
They aren't completely pressed together, not yet, but he can feel the man shrug behind him. "It gets the job done."
"Are you gonna dance with me?" Harry asks boldly, but the man doesn't reply, just uses his grip on Harry's hips to turn him around. And oh. He's gorgeous. Even in the dim lighting, Harry can make out his piercing blue eyes, the soft fringe over his forehead, the cocky curve to his lips.
"Don't know, love. Am I?"
In another uncharacteristically bold move, Harry lifts his arms and rests them on the man's shoulders. "Tell me your name first," he bargains.
The man laughs. "Louis. Do I get to know yours?"
"Harry."
Louis spins Harry around again, pressing completely against his back. Harry's breath hitches. "I think we're going to have fun, Harry."
Harry takes a shallow breath, blinking away the memory. They had. They had so much fun. It wasn't all sexy encounters in bars; in fact, it quickly progressed to coffee dates, which turned into study dates, which turned into Louis taking Harry out when he was working too hard on a project, and Harry whisking Louis off when he was stressing about finals. They helped each other cope; admittedly, Louis helped Harry more than Harry feels like he helped Louis, since Louis had the advantage of time and experience, while Harry was quite literally flailing his way through his freshman year of university.
Still, they leaned on each other, clicked like only they knew how. Until they didn't.
"I can't always wait around for you!"
"I never asked you to!"
Louis breathes heavily, pressing a hand to his stomach like he always does when he's anxious or stressed. Harry hates that he knows him so well, knows all his tics even when they're fighting. "That's that, then."
Harry turns around, leaning his elbows on the bar and flagging down the bartender to order more alcohol. Maybe if he gets drunk enough he'll actually enjoy himself. There are some major flaws to his logic, but he ignores that and takes a long sip of his drink, letting the burn slide down his throat and ignite his body with a weird sort of energy. Frenetic, like something's buzzing under his skin. His head has started to feel a little floaty.
"Make sure you stay upright, H. I don't wanna have to carry you home," Niall warns. Harry barely bothers nodding.
"Oi, Harry, you're heavier than you look," Louis laughs, trying to support Harry's weight even as he sways a bit himself. "How do you stay up while sober?"
"Balance," Harry half-slurs, leaning more heavily into Louis even as he tries to make his legs work properly. "How much farther?"
"About a block," Louis answers, sounding a bit more coherent, though not much more sober than Harry. "Can you make it?"
"Yep. Then I get you all to myself." Harry shifts in a surprisingly coordinated move to smack a kiss to Louis' cheek, which makes him giggle.
"Easy, tiger. Not sure you'll be able to do much more than sleep."
Harry pouts. "I resent that."
Louis laughs again. "English major," he teases, not unkindly. "We'll see what happens when you can think straight."
Two years into their relationship is when the cracks started to appear. They were easy to pass over back then; Louis graduated and got a job at a local theatre, pouring everything into the productions. He went from assistant to assistant director to director in what felt like no time at all, and meanwhile, Harry was barely keeping his head above water at school. Louis did everything he could; he still took Harry out when it got to be too much, still covered his face in kisses and wrapped him in his arms every night. Sometimes it was easy to imagine this being their life; going off to different places, bringing back stories from work, cuddling on the sofa, watching movies, that spark in Louis' eyes that guaranteed he'd have Harry helpless on their bed in seconds.
Sometimes, though, Harry felt himself giving into the fear. Every time he'd be at a party, trying to enjoy himself, not able to stop thinking about his boyfriend, still at work. He thought maybe some distance would help ease the feeling, but instead, he feels like he's recovering from an addiction he was never meant to give up. He's not sure he can do anything now, though. A month removed from their breakup, Harry can't even count how many times he's picked up the phone, longing to hear Louis' voice, only to put it back down — or once, throw it across the room — when it's clear that won't be possible.
A month is certainly not the longest they've spent physically apart, but it's the longest they've gone with no contact since they started dating. Harry's in the worst phase of withdrawal: longing.
The thing is, he said he wanted to have fun, learn himself without the context of Louis, but he's absolutely ruined for anyone else. After four years, Louis probably knows him better than anyone, knows about his reading glasses and the exact sound he makes when he's about to come undone. Harry doesn't see the point in trying to find that with someone new. They could never do it better than Louis can.
"You're spiraling," Niall observes. "Do you want to get out of here?"
Harry shakes his head resolutely and downs the rest of his drink, barely wincing. "I'm gonna dance."
"Have fun."
"I will."
It's one of those rare mornings they both have off, and Harry is humming, dancing around the kitchen as ABBA's "Dancing Queen" plays on Louis' record player. He's nearly finished with tea and toast when arms wrap around him from behind, open-mouthed kisses pressed to the place where his spine meets his neck. Harry rests his hands over his boyfriend's, squeezing Louis' fingers.
"Good morning," he says softly.
"Morning, darling," Louis answers in a rough voice, the one Harry's gotten used to hearing just after he wakes up. It never fails to turn him on, but he's managed to get his reactions mostly under control after so long. Mostly.
"I made tea. And toast."
"I see that. Thank you." Louis helps Harry turn to face him, his lower back pressed against the counter as Louis tilts Harry's chin towards him and meets his lips. He tastes slightly stale, and Harry knows he hasn't brushed his teeth yet. It would gross him out if it weren't Louis. If he weren't in love.
Louis hums into Harry's mouth, not even bothering to pull away as he maneuvers Harry with gentle hands on his waist, guiding him in a slow spin on the kitchen floor. When Harry's smiling too much for the kiss to be comfortable, he retreats and meets Louis' blue, blue eyes. He's compared them to the sky, to the ocean, but right now they feel like a warm blanket, impossibly soft and waiting to wrap him in a tight embrace.
"I love you," Harry whispers into the space between them. They'd just started saying the words a few weeks prior, and they still felt new, though perfectly natural sliding off his tongue.
"I love you too, baby," Louis answers easily, drawing Harry in for another slow, deep kiss. They could rush if they want — tear off the minimal clothing they're wearing, give into the desperation — but something about the ability to make that decision makes it for them, and instead they kiss lazily, like they have all the time in the world. And they do.
"I won't think about him," Harry says out loud to himself as he stuffs his body in with the crowd, letting it consume him. His limbs start to move, and he lets himself go, giving into the temptation to stop thinking and just be. People brush up against him from all sides, but none of them seem particularly interested in halting his movement, and none of them do. That is, until hands settle on Harry's hips, and he's hit with a blinding rush of deja vu.
He tries not to compare the situations, but it's hard not to when this feels so familiar. So simple. So easy. The hands even feel like Louis', but that has to be Harry's mind playing tricks on him. Louis wouldn't be stupid enough to come here.
Then again, Harry was.
"Come here often?" he hears in his ear, and he's fucked. They're both fucked. This whole situation is fucked.
Harry clears his throat. "Used to," he answers this time, not particularly interested in replaying their entire first interaction. He doesn't remember too many of the details anyway. "You?"
"First time in a while." The crowd shifts, and the body behind him is forced to move closer. Harry swallows a sound at how devastating it is to feel him again. After only a bloody month.
Harry's sifting through his alcohol-and-sadness-addled brain for something to say, but comes up dry. At that moment, he stumbles into someone near him, and the person turns with a slight glare that turns into a rather blatant look up and down Harry's body. With Louis' hands still resting on his hips, but no relationship to claim between them anymore, it just makes Harry feel sick.
"Hey, gorgeous," the man says, and Harry tries to force a smile. Anything to get out of this impossibly awkward situation.
"I'll leave you to it." Louis' voice sounds detached. Nothing like the tone he'd had just a few seconds ago, and even farther from the tone Harry was used to while they were together. It reminds him viscerally of the one he'd adopted when Harry left, though.
"Don't forget your cactus."
Harry looks up from the box he's been packing, lifting his tear-stained face to look at Louis. It's the first time he's seen him in hours; he'd been hiding out, letting Harry do his thing all on his own. It's painful for both of them.
Louis is holding out in his palms a small plant Harry had bought for Louis' apartment when he first moved in. It was technically a sort of housewarming gift, but Harry was the one who took care of the cactus — not that it needed much attention. Still, it seems so sad now sitting in Louis' hands. Like it's somehow wilted, now that Harry's leaving.
He thinks about saying It's yours but thinks that would probably make things worse, so he takes the plant wordlessly, setting it carefully in the box with his books and other items. His clothes are in a separate box. Their — Louis' — closet has never looked so empty.
"Thanks," he murmurs, matching Louis' tone — a thousand miles away, anything to pretend like this isn't happening. They swore this wouldn't happen. What happened?
As soon as the hands on his hips are gone, Harry spins around, looking for Louis. The man in the crowd slides his hand over Harry's wrist, but Harry shakes him off easily and weaves through the sea of people, wondering where Louis disappeared to. He eventually gives up and returns to the bar, finding Niall still sitting there, chatting with the bartender. Harry doesn't even bother sliding onto the seat next to him, just rests his arms against the bar and his head on his friend's shoulder.
Niall's hand reaches up to ruffle Harry's curls, and Harry can't help but wish it were Louis' hands on him right now. Where they should be.
"You alright, H? Have fun dancing?"
"No," Harry replies, in a voice that has the conversation shifting immediately.
"Shit," Niall says. "He's here?"
Harry just nods.
"We can leave—"
"I want to see him," Harry interrupts, softly at first, but then he repeats it. He means it. "I want him, Niall. I always have and I always will."
Niall fixes him with a look equal parts unimpressed, concerned, and understanding. It's a gift. "It's been a month, Harry. Maybe give yourself a little time before you start pining after your ex again?"
"But it's my fault, Ni. I fucked it all up. He didn't do anything wrong."
"He didn't stop you from leaving."
Harry sighs, frustrated. "He couldn't have. I had to, to realize that I never should've walked away in the first place."
Niall sighs too, but Harry knows he gets it. "Okay. If I help you find him, you won't regret it, will you?"
Harry shakes his head adamantly. "No. I've regretted a lot of things lately, but not him. Never him."
"Okay," Niall says again, and says goodbye to the bartender before ushering Harry down to the other end of the bar. "I don't see him, H."
"He's here somewhere." Harry maps every part of the room, scouting faces, a man on a mission. Eventually, he accepts defeat. "I don't see him either."
Niall turns to meet Harry's eyes. "Maybe he's outside? Maybe—"
Harry doesn't let him finish, already moving. He stops a few steps away and leans in to peck Niall's cheek gratefully. "Thanks, Ni. I've got it." He knows where Louis is.
"Go get your boy."
Harry just sends a thumbs-up in Niall's direction as he walks away, shoving through people to make it to the bar's back exit. He shoves open the door. It opens to a quiet alleyway, empty except for one figure blowing smoke up to the sky. Harry steps closer, and he knows Louis sees him. Can feel his calculating gaze in the darkness.
"Lou," Harry breathes when he's close enough to touch. He doesn't.
"Hi," Louis says, voice slightly shaky. He doesn't stop smoking.
Harry screws his eyes shut. "I'm sorry." He waits for a response that never comes. When he opens his eyes, Louis' imploring eyes haven't left his face.
"Yeah? You didn't want to go have an adventure with that guy?"
Harry sighs. He deserves that. "No," he answers firmly. "I want to go have an adventure with you. Always with you."
"You hurt me."
"I know." Harry knows he'll beat himself up over it for a while, but nothing like how he'd beat himself up if he didn't try. "I miss you. I'm sorry. I know I fucked up. I love you." His voice cracks at the end, betraying the depth of emotion behind his words. Louis again stays silent for several moments before speaking up.
"You'd better not do that again, Styles. I don't know if I can handle it." The first part feels slightly teasing, but the second is all raw vulnerability.
"I can't either," Harry admits. "I need you."
Louis steps closer. Sometime in a past few minutes he's snuffed out his cigarette with his shoe, and now he moves into Harry's space, reaching up to tuck a stray curl behind Harry's ear. He'd started growing out his hair in his last year of uni, letting it brush his shoulders. He'd been toying with cutting it, particularly in the few days after their breakup, but he thinks he'll keep it a little longer. He knows Louis loves it. He loves it too.
Their lips meet with far less fanfare than Harry imagined. No angels sing, no rainbows appear, it's just the two of them in an otherwise silent alley behind the bar where they met and made so many memories, rediscovering each other. The month they spent apart felt like a lifetime, but now it feels as though no time has passed, like they're still deeply in love and chasing the high they only get from each other. And they are.
"Come home with me?" Louis asks against Harry's lips. "Unless...you have somewhere to be."
"I don't think Niall's couch will miss me," Harry says, letting a light, slightly awkward chuckle escape his lips. Louis offers him a smile, and it lights up Harry's entire world.
They go home.