Archive of Our Own

The icy wind seeps through the branches and knocks the last leaves to the frozen ground, crunching under the weight of his shoes. Obscured by a thick blanket of clouds, no glimmer of sunlight shines through to illuminate the lake and make it sparkle, adding an even gloomier feeling to Harry's chest. His bench awaits him under the large, bare oak tree, the cracked blue paint peeling off the wood like a thin layer of tainted snow. Maybe it will finally snow today. Three days of leaden, ominous weather, the cold so gripping that he's brought out his entire winter gear, from his expensive down jacket to his woolen hat.

His knees ache when he sits down, the outcome of running too much yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that. Too much running until he threw up on the sidewalk, tears pouring down his face, his throat burning. But today, Harry won't run. It's no longer worth it. What's the point of running from one pain to another? He's run his whole life, both to escape it and for his health. Run. But where to now?

His compass is gone. He's drifting alone in the middle of his lonesome life, with no one to stop him before he completely vanishes from the face of the earth. He could disappear right now, and no one would notice. Jump into the cold water without a sound or a hand to hold him back.

Eyes on the water, his phone starts buzzing inside his coat pocket, chasing the dark cloud winding in his head. With his gloved hands, Harry pulls it out and checks his notifications. No surprise here. Liam asks him where he is. Because even if Harry tries to convince himself otherwise, he's not so alone. He has friends. People who worry and think about him every day.

But Harry doesn't want them, doesn't want their sad and compassionate looks, their gentle and comforting words. Their pity. Because that's what it is, in the end. Pity to see him lose himself day after day. Pity to see him withdraw into his own dark bubble. Pity to see him destroyed by a single boy.

A boy.

Not just any boy.

The love of his life.

~•~•~

Louis has been gone for four months.

He dumped everything overnight to cross the Atlantic on a Sunday morning without looking back and wondering what he was leaving behind. Selfish bastard. He only took two suitcases with most of his belongings and asked his parents to empty the rest of his London apartment.

The mug Harry brought him back from Paris wasn't even part of the trip. Their first photo together, with their youthful smiles and eyes filled with hope, framed and given to him for Christmas four years ago, now lies at the bottom of a box in Doncaster. His favorite football team's jersey, which Harry had managed to get signed, is lying in his own wardrobe because he refused to give it back to Louis' family. He still remembers Louis’ beaming face when he gave it to him, his eyes crinkling as his smile had widened. And that following hug. Endless. The scent of peach had surrounded him, and Harry had been euphoric. Euphoric about Louis and his mere existence.

And then—

Nothing.

Louis has taken everything with him. Harry’s heart, Harry’s well being, Harry’s sanity. Harry’s will to live.

His best friend left him four months ago because he didn’t love him back.

~•~•~

Night begins to fall when Harry feels the first snowflake land on his already frozen nose. Cold and light like the gentle kiss of a boy with blue eyes and a pretty smile, but with a heart of ice. Harry lifts up his head to the sky, shuts his eyes tight, letting the snow mingle with the wet tears beading on his cold cheeks. Louis would find him kind of tragic at that moment and would laugh his joyful, gently mocking laugh, Harry feigning offense. He’d slap him lightly on the arm and say an unconvincing "brat." Letting out a damp sigh, Harry opens his eyes again to take in the sight before him, the white forming a thin layer surrounding the lake.

Louis loves this place. Loved it. And now Harry hates it. Hates this lake that never moves. Hates this old tree with their initials etched into it with a knife after they celebrated being of legal drinking age by spending the evening sipping beer. Hates the bench where Harry started losing his best friend - the bench where they'd first kissed. Warm lips, wandering hands, and ragged breaths. Curious fingers had slipped under Louis' T-shirt, brushing against the soft skin of his lower back, while Harry’s tongue carelessly ran along Louis' lips, stealing his breath away. Harry will never forget the startled gasp that came from Louis' mouth that day.

Their first and penultimate kiss.

A treacherous sob breaks the night's quiet, an anomaly in this peaceful corner. Harry tries not to cry, but it's too late; his throat tightens, his chest is nothing but pain and the tears flow freely.

"Fuck! Fuck! I hate you!" He hiccups, tears forcing their way between his frozen lips. Even his voice is unrecognizable, just broken and desperate. Burying his face in the palms of his hands, he speaks to no one, only to the lake witnessing his slow descent into hell. "Fuck you for leaving. Fuck you for running away. Fuck you for leaving me behind. Come back, arsehole. Come back. Please, please..."

He just needs to be swallowed up by the wind, by the storm boiling behind these clouds. Something that could take away—

His phone rings loudly, mocking him, cutting Harry off mid-sob. With a shaking hand, he removes it from his pocket to check the caller ID. Liam. Always Liam. He wipes his face with the back of his hand and takes out a tissue from his pocket. Deep breath—

"Liam."

"I know, mate. I know. Where are you?" Harry shuts his eyes and lets himself be lulled by the softness of his friend's voice. "Still by the lake? Are you warm enough?" Harry sniffs, clutching the receiver tightly to his ear.

"I'm okay. I'm okay. My car is..." His voice catches in his throat, blocked by an invisible lump. Inhale. Exhale. Breathe, Louis' voice in his head reminds him. Fuck. With a faint voice, he clears his throat and resumes, "My car is parked nearby. I didn't come on foot, don't worry."

"Good. That's good, H." Liam breathes on the other side of town. "Do you want to come over? I'm making lasagna."

Liam has been feeding him for two months now. Since that Wednesday he found Harry barely conscious, drunk, and ignoring his calls for three straight days. Since that day, Liam has called him daily, more than his own mother, whom Harry still refuses to speak to.

Harry smiles sadly in the dim light, the fog in his mind dispersing with Liam's words. "Lasagna sounds good."

"Don't get too excited," Liam jests in his ear. "I'm going to start thinking you miss me."

The sting of his careless words shakes Harry up uncontrollably. In the dark, he misses the softness of some hands, the kindness of one voice, the warmth of one smile. In the dark, Harry misses Louis.

“You know… He loved the lasagna I made for him. Whenever I cooked for him, actually. He was a good cook too, but he couldn’t be bothered to cook for himself. So he’d call me. To hang out, he’d say. And I’d finish the evening cooking him pasta. And he’d thank me by cuddling up to me on his couch until he fell asleep, his hand in mine, his breath on my nec—“ His voice breaks and Harry screams. Screams into the darkness. Screams at a ghost. Screams at nothing. Harry hasn’t even realized he’s taken off his beanie and is now grabbing his hair, tugging hard at his locks with his left hand. And he keeps screaming again and again as if someone’s going to come and mend his broken heart by a man who doesn’t even care.

"Harry!”

Is this love? Feeling like you're dying every minute the other person isn't there?

“Harry!”

If that's what it is, Harry would rather never love again. Or live.

“Answer me, mate."

Anyway, he doesn't think his heart is made to love anyone other than Louis.

"I need to contact him, Li."

"No! Not a good idea." Harry imagines his friend's frown and disapproving look, shaking his head at his more-than-stupid idea. He knows. Harry isn't a fool. Just desperate. "Listen! Come home and we'll—"

Harry hangs up and stares at his phone screen, his thumb scrolling slowly through the contact list. And there it is. That name. Five letters. Five letters that have the power to destroy Harry. To seize his soul and crush it mercilessly. Liam tries to call him back, but he declines.

Harry takes a deep breath, looks up at the black sky and the snowflakes falling, fleeing the darkness to crash silently to the ground. Harry would like to be a snowflake. Another breath, and Harry presses the call button.

One dial tone.

Two dial tones.

Three dial tones.

Four dial ton—

"Harry?"

~•~•~

"You know Niall told me he's thinking about taking that job in fucking Toronto?"

"What? Really? Crazy." Harry takes another sip of his still-cold beer, condensation sliding slowly down the bottle and cooling his fingers. "Honestly, I'm happy for him! Sad he's going so far away from us, but hey... C’est la vie!"

“I love it when you speak French, you know. You could talk to me like that all the time, and my heart would belong to you.” Harry whips his head around and stares into a sea of ​​uncertainty. Louis is there, sitting beside him, his eyes twinkling with mischief and a smirk, tempting Harry. “Don’t look at me like that, Haz. You know you already have it.”

"Do I have what? Your heart?"

Does he?

A week ago, it was a blank-eyed blond who seemed to hold the keys to Louis' heart—and his ass, if Zayn told him the truth. "I'm not sure, mate."

"Why?" Louis’ smile is genuine and his eyes cautious as he inched closer on the bench toward Harry, putting his beer on the ground, his thigh barely brushing Harry's.

"How's— what's his name again? The guy from last week. Matt? Mike? Mark?"

"Thomas, you idiot!" Louis barks a laugh, slapping his arm. "He was dull. Only knew how to use his mouth to suck a cock, nothing more."

"Oh my god," Harry bursts out laughing, "you're so insensitive! Poor Matt!"

"Thomas."

"Whatever."

Fingers discreetly push Harry’s windswept curls away from his forehead. He freezes at the touch and stares at Louis, hand raised, fingers still tangled in Harry’s locks.

"That guy was nothing," Louis whispers now, just the sound of the water tickling the pebbles on the shoreline. "Nothing compares."

Comparison to whom? To what? Harry's heart is beating frantically inside his chest, and he feels like it's about to burst any time soon out of it.

What's going on?

"Louis?"

"Hmmm?"

"Do you ever think about me?" They're so close. His hands are sweaty, his breath heavy in the air. Louis is the sun, and Harry can't help but revolve around him. The collision is going to be brutal.

"Sometimes, yes." Louis' fingers slide behind his ears to brush the back of his neck and stay there. "Often." His nose brushes against Harry's, finally nuzzling it. "Always."

And Louis kisses him. A firm pressure on his lips, the taste of beer barely perceptible as Harry deepens it, dropping the bottle in his hand. He floats, no longer in his body but flying far away from their bench, from the lake. He's all alone in the world, only with Louis and his soft mouth. Louis’ skin is made of silk, and his little moans, like little jewels, echo in his mind. His tongue slides against Louis’, seeking answers without questions, his fingers unraveling riddles never asked. Harry is no more. He is only Louis, Louis, Louis. The only thought that loops through his head and makes sense.

You have my heart. You have my love. You have my being. You have my everything. I trust you with it.

Louis lets out a last tiny sigh in Harry's mouth and breaks the kiss.

~•~•~

"Hello? Harry? Is that you?"

That voice.

"Hi, Niall."

"Harry, it's so good to hear from you." Niall is practically shouting with joy in Harry's ear.

"Yeah, you too. How are you? How's life in Canada?" He tries to sound cheerful, but it comes out flat. "Tell me everything. It's been so long."

"Mate, I'll talk about myself in a sec, I promise, but first ask me the question you've been dying to ask. I'll answer as honestly as possible, but let's get this over with." None of his friends are fooled. They've been there from the beginning, witnessing him and Louis' love at first sight. Platonic love. Their first drunken night out. Their first fight. And their first breakup. Clean and brutal. Inseparable for everything. Well— almost. Unrequited love breaks a friendship.

Tears well up in his eyes, and a shiver runs down his spine, making him tighten his coat around himself. The snow continues to fall silently, but less heavily; the flakes are already beginning to melt on the ground. He dreads asking this question and probably doesn't want to hear the answer, but he'll suffer either way. Whether he asks it or not.

He braces himself and goes for it, speaking softly into the phone. "How is he?"

How is he doing? Is he happy? Unhappy? Is he over the moon with a new boyfriend? Is he depressed like Harry? Is he able to sleep? Does he have nightmares?

Niall coughs, clearing his throat. "He's fine. He's surviving. He got a job a month ago. He's still living in my spare room. Tries to see new people. Tries to be happy." Niall stops talking, and Harry takes a deep breath. Nothing Niall said made him feel anything. Louis is alive and seems to be going on. Without Harry, of course.

"Thanks.” A pause. “Is he... well... is he talking about me?" Harry needs to know. Maybe it’s selfish, but Harry deserves to know. You can't be best friends for ten years and then suddenly erase it all. Change numbers, move abroad, change jobs. And change friends. Fuck him, really.

Harry tried to contact Louis at first. Dozens of messages a day, at least three calls every day for two weeks, a few emails here and there. He even wrote fucking letters when he found out Louis was living with Niall. He tried, and Louis ignored everything and changed his phone number after a month. Message received.

"Harry, I don't think it's a good idea to go in that direction," Niall sighs from thousands of miles away. Harry gets up and walks towards the lake, the ground crunching beneath his feet. Once at the edge, he looks into the distance, but the night is pitch black tonight, not a single glint of moon or stars, just reflecting Harry's inner darkness.

"He left me, Niall."

"I think it's more complicated than that. I think you're hurting, but just know that he's hurting too."

"Should I care?" The icy water brushes against his boots, and Harry is fascinated by the waves lapping the shore.

"Well, I do care, idiot! I care about you, and I care about him. And believe it or not, he cares about you too. So stop your nonsense."

Bullshit.

Louis didn't care four months ago when he spat in Harry's face that he meant nothing to him. Just a mistake I'll regret for the rest of my life. Harry can still hear Louis’ broken voice, his eyes reddened by tears, and his hands frantically sweeping them away from his cheeks. Harry had been stoic in front of Louis falling apart. He collapsed to the floor once the door had closed and Louis had left without sparing a glance in his direction. Harry’s only wish at that time had been to simply stop breathing.

"If he cares one iota of what I care for him, he'd be here. With me. On our bench."

"Are you still there? By the lake? What time is it?" The worry in Niall's voice would almost make Harry laugh if he weren't on the verge of a nervous breakdown. "Harry? Are you alone?"

"Tell me about yourself." Water begins to seep into his leaking shoes, the cold gripping his toes.

Niall is silent for a minute, but Harry can still hear his breathing, so he knows he hasn't hung up. "I… I'm fine.” Harry knows Niall is indulging him with his answer. “I still work at the same hospital. And... I met someone. Fanny. She's a nurse like me. The funny thing is, we met in a bar while we work in the same place."

"That's nice. I'm happy for you. Really."

"Yeah. She's really great and—"

The sound of an engine makes Harry's head spin, and the end of Niall's sentence fades into nothingness. The headlights blind him, and Harry covers his eyes with his hand, dazzled by the white light. A door slams loudly, and footsteps echo in the silence.

"Harry," the relief in Liam's voice shouldn't surprise Harry. Yet...

"I have to go, Ni. I'll call you back."

"Why? Haz—"

"Liam's here. I'm fine. Take care of you." A silence. "And him too," he adds in a whisper.

Niall rushes out, "I love you, H." And Harry breaks.

As he hangs up, Harry bursts into tears, his body betraying him, ready to collapse into the icy lake when two strong arms come to support him and a warm body nestles against his own, Liam’s forehead against the side of his head. Harry can’t breathe.

"I'm here, Harry, I'm here," Liam repeats over and over, his choked words firm while hugging him tightly. Harry cries against his shoulder, panting. He clings to Liam, and Harry just wishes the lake would swallow him up.

~•~•~

Louis,

Two months without you.

I can't believe I've come to this. I'm writing to you on a piece of paper with a pen as if you'd gone to fight for our country on the other side of the world. But no. You just left...

You left me because being with me was too hard for you. Too hard to stay close to your best friend.

Tell me, Louis... Do you feel any better? Do you feel happy? Free? Because I don't. I feel like shit, I want to die between every breath.

Seriously, fuck you. You broke me. And I know I broke you too, so... We're even, I guess.

Do you remember the day you kissed me on our bench? Because I remember it pretty well. How you grinned at me afterward and kissed my knuckles. And then we went to Zayn's party. And you let Mark, Tommy, or whatever... fuck you. It was amazing. Not a dick move at all...

All this to say, you can't blame me for what happened with Alex. You can't tell me you don't matter to me when I'm the one who loves you and is waiting for you to finally get your head out of your ass…

I'm sorry, I didn't mean for this letter to turn into an angry one, but Louis... I can't anymore. I can't get up every morning without you.

I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…

Alex was a mistake. He wasn't you, and no one will ever be you. But you have to grow the fuck up and take responsibility for what you did and said too. I'm not the only one who fucked up. Every day, by not picking me, YOU fucked up. Because I was in. In, from the beginning, from your fucking "Hi Curly."

Please come back. I love you. You know that. I need you. Always, always, always.

Call me. Text me. Tell me you think about me. Tell me everything isn’t lost. I love you. Come back.
I’m still here by our bench. The leaves are turning orange. Your favorites. Come home.

Yours,
Be mine,
Harry

~•~•~

His cup of coffee must be cold by now, forgotten on the small round table in favor of another shot of tequila. He stopped counting a while ago. It's 8 a.m., and Harry is close to being beyond drunk. Two hours ago, he saw that Louis blocked him on Instagram. Even though he hadn't posted since he left, it hurt. Another bullet in the chest. It was Harry's small daily gesture; every morning he checked to see if Louis had moved on social media.

But now he can't even do that anymore. Louis cut the last thread that connected them, or rather the last rope Harry was holding onto. Louis hasn't been holding onto anything for a long time. Harry closes his eyes for a moment, attempting to breathe through the memory of Louis’ hands on his cheeks, the warmth of his body, the lingering touches that have felt so intimate. He was so soft. His phone pings with a new message beside him, and Harry drains his glass in one gulp before grabbing it.

Liam (8:12 a.m.)
How are you this morning?

Liam dropped him off last night at his small, depressing apartment, fed him a portion of lasagna he'd planned before picking up a pathetic Harry from the water's edge. Liam is so forward-thinking, and Harry is so fucked up. Liam only stayed for an hour while Harry ate painfully and went to bed. And now Harry's drowning not in a lake but in a bottle Louis left behind after a night spent trying to polish Harry's nails, laughing into his hand, too drunk to do a proper job. Those were the good old days.

Harry (8:15am)
! Lousis si a duck

Harry (8:15am)
DICK

Harry throws his phone on his couch and gets up to dump the rest of the bottle down the sink with his cold coffee. Don't throw up. He closes his eyes and presses his forehead against the cupboard, trying to tell his stomach to calm the fuck down. He needs to drink water and eat something. Liam isn't going to be happy.

But that's the tune of his days. Disappointing everyone. Disappointing his boss because he can't be on time. Disappointing his mother for not holding onto the love of his life. Disappointing his friends by not being there for them. Disappointing his best friend by making the wrong choices. Harry is nothing but a huge disappointment. Someone you put on the shelf and let slowly fade away until you forget him. And he's slowly getting there—only Liam and Zayn are still clinging to him. He's just a few shots away from drinking them away.

Minutes pass, and Harry is sitting on the floor, propped up against his furniture, when Liam lets himself inside his flat with a relieved sigh. Because yes, Liam has had the key to his house since the day Harry stopped answering his phone and wouldn't get up to open the door. The deal for him staying home alone was to give Liam a key so he could let himself in at any time.

"For fuck's sake, Harry," he hears footsteps approaching and the sound of a bag being placed on the table. He keeps his eyes closed, convinced that the brightness won't dull the pounding in his head. "What happened?" Harry feels the warmth of Liam's body, sitting down next to him on the floor. Two grown-ups sitting on a freezing kitchen floor in the middle of a winter morning, one smelling too much of tequila. Beautiful picture.

Moistening his dry lips with his pasty tongue, Harry slurs, "Louis happened." His voice is thick, and he needs to drink water, so that's what he's asking for. Liam stands up, takes out a glass, and turns on the tap.

"Drink up," Liam commands, placing the glass in the palm of his hand. The liquid numbs his mouth, and after a few sips, Harry places the glass on the floor. "Do you want to talk about it? Or keep whining in the middle of your kitchen?"

"Fuck you."

"No, fuck you for scaring me to death! Again! Fuck you for not calling me when you're feeling down. Fuck..."

"YOU'RE NOT HIM!" Harry shouts, opening his damp eyes, something he immediately regrets when the light burns his retinas. "He was the one I called with the slightest problem, he was the one I could count on. He was the one. He was that to me, so don't ask me to erase him."

"But he did!" Heart ripped out, breaths stifled, skin torn. And silence. Only their two ragged breaths. "I'm sorry, H. It was uncalled for." Liam places his hand gently on his knee, squeezing. "Harry. I get it. Believe me. You need him, I know. But I need you; I need my friend too." Liam continues in a softer voice while silent tears roll down Harry's cheeks.

But Liam isn't wrong. Louis did erase him from his life, and this morning was another proof of that. Louis used to be one phone call away, two a.m. text, or unplanned visit just because he wanted to see Harry. "I was bored, and what better way to be bored than with you now? You, me, and our boredom." Louis usually laughed. But it wasn't a joke to Harry, who hung on to his words. How could Louis say all of this to Harry and not feel anything else? How?

Several times Harry tried to hint at his true feelings for him, tried to make him understand that holding hands in the street wasn’t platonic, that knowing what your best friend tasted like wasn’t common, and that wanting to fuck each other is much more than just friendship. Indeed, Harry experienced this for Louis... and Louis did too. For Harry. That night, when Louis completely lost it and shouted at Harry, breaking him with his words, the trigger had been Alex. Harry's boyfriend at the time. Or rather, his fuck buddy.

"H, let's get up. You need some sleep." Liam cuts off his thoughts and wraps Harry in a side hug, his left arm behind his back, hand resting on Harry's shoulder. "I can stay for another hour if you want. I don't need to be at the store right away; Zayn can handle it."

"Mmokay." Harry mumbles, his head heavy and his body empty, playing Louis' last words in loops. "You can keep your fucking love, your fucking life to yourself. If you loved me at all, you wouldn't have done this. You wouldn't have done this to me. Fuck you. You're just a mistake I'll regret for the rest of my life, Harry."

The weight in his chest, hidden beneath his ribs, is too heavy, and with a wrenching sob, he buries his head in Liam's outstretched legs. And cries. Over and over. His shaking hands tightly grasp onto Liam's thighs as he lets out hiccuping gasps and mumbles Louis' name into the air. Liam shushes him quietly as his hand gently pets his head with soft fingers.

"He... he cut everything off, Liam." Harry splutters, clenching his fists, his voice unrecognizable. "He doesn't want me anymore. It's over. For good."

"I think you should talk to him," Liam says carefully. His words are like an electric shock, and Harry sits up abruptly, body sore and heart in his throat, knocking away his friend's arm.

Harry swipes at the tears on his face. "What?"

"I can't stand seeing you both hurting so much. Louis promised me it was for both of your own good, but I don't believe him anymore. Look at you!"

Harry’s dizzy, his brain frozen, and he's never sobered up so quickly in his entire life. Liam suggests he get in contact with Louis. Louis. His Louis. The one who has been trying for four months to empty his life of Harry's. He's going to throw up. Oh god.

"I'm going to throw up." Liam just has time to pull him upright, two arms under Harry’s armpits lifting him as if he weighed nothing, and Harry empties the contents of his stomach into the sink mid-sob. He's a mess. A disgusting, pathetic mess. "I need a shower."

"I agree." Liam laughs softly, wiping Harry’s forehead with a washcloth and rubbing his back. "Come on. Let me help you."

And Harry lets Liam drag him into the bathroom. While the water heats up, Liam goes to get him some fresh clothes and undresses him once he’s back, throwing his clothes in the washing machine. He pushes Harry into the shower, adjusting the spray towards him, who lies limp underneath. Liam makes Harry promise not to linger for too long and to use soap, then leaves the bathroom, the door creaking as it closes.

Once dry and finally dressed in clean, non-sticky clothes, Harry finds Liam sitting in the middle of his sofa with his phone and two hot coffees waiting on the table in front of him.

"Are you ready?" Liam moves forward, making room for Harry to sit next to him and hands him a steamy mug with a paracetamol.

“Thanks, Li. And ready for what?” Harry takes a sip of coffee to swallow his tablet, the bitter taste making him wince. Liam always had a tendency to make coffee too strong for Harry, who usually drowns it in milk. Louis knew how to make it perfectly for Harry. Like his tea. Just a splash of milk and a sugar drop. The best.

Liam remains silent to Harry’s question and continues to type frantically on his phone. Instead of waiting for his reply, Harry sighs and goes to his fridge to get some milk. The inside of it is a sad sight. Once filled with vegetables, yogurt, some fancy food, and beers or wine, Harry now only finds leftover lasagna, some suspicious-looking cheese, and a slowly dying butternut squash. And milk. Thank goodness. He sniffs the contents inside before pouring a good portion into his coffee when his phone vibrates in his pocket.

"I just sent you Louis' new number," Liam says nonchalantly, leaning on the armrest to face Harry. Harry's eyes widen and he's about to drop his mug right in the middle of his kitchen.

"Come again?" He's been living a nightmare for the past 24 hours—no, four months, but hey... who's counting?

"It's just a number, Harry; you don't have to use it. But now you have a choice. The ball's no longer in Louis' court, but in yours."

He can't breathe, he needs air, he needs to open a window, the door. His head is going to explode, his vision blurring on the edges. Air. Please, please, please.

"Liam..." his voice breaks on his friend's name, and in a flash, Liam’s there, hugging him.

"It's okay. I'm not asking you to contact him right away. What time would it be… 3-4 a.m. in Toronto? If you call him now, he'll definitely kill you." Liam reassures him, giving him one last squeeze and then releasing him. "I have to go if I don't want Zayn to kill me. Go to bed and call me as soon as you wake up, okay?"

Harry doesn't want him to leave, but he won't say so. Since Louis left, it hurts every time Zayn and Liam have to leave, leaving him alone with his thoughts and ruminations about Louis. Because they're the only ones he has left in the end. Niall is far away, and it's hard to maintain a connection when he's hosting the love of his life, who hates him. His own mother chose Louis four months ago. Took his side and left Harry to fend for himself. He could reconnect with his sister, but she doesn't really care about him these days, living her French life far from her family. And his work friends are starting to lose interest in him. So yeah... Liam and Zayn are all he has left. He’s such a disappointment.

"I promise. I will."

"Good. If you need anything, call me, text me, or Zayn, okay? No moping, no drinking. I'm serious, H. No more." Harry feels scolded like a little boy, but it's not far from reality. He feels so small lately.

"Okay for the drinking, and I'll try with the moping. No pinky swear for that." Harry attempts a small smile, but the action has been unnatural for a while, his dimples gone at the same time as Louis, still not daring to show themselves.

“I love you. Go to bed. We’ll call each other today.” With a pat on the shoulder and a wink, Liam leaves the apartment, letting silence invade the four walls and Harry’s heart. He puts the cups in the sink, locks the front door, and returns to his room, flopping down on his bed. He curls up under his duvet, his head nestled in his soft pillow, when he feels something hurting him on his thigh. That’s right, his phone is still in his sweatpants pocket. With Louis’s number in it. Harry takes it out and stares at the screen, Liam’s name and an unknown number underneath. Harry stares at it. And stares. For long minutes, his thumb brushes the screen without pressing, without daring to go any further.

Louis blocked him this morning. Louis doesn't want him anymore because Harry hurt him too much four months ago. Louis left to protect himself. Louis doesn't want Harry anymore. He regrets his friendship with Harry.

Louis.

Fuck him. He's the one who pushed Harry away. He's the one who friend-zoned Harry at every opportunity. He's the one who fucked anyone who looked his way except Harry. He can't blame Harry for Alex just because he finally woke up when Harry was fucking someone else. Selfish bastard, that's what he is.

Harry clicks on Liam's message and the phone number, types five letters, and hits send before he regrets it. He throws his phone to the other end of the bed and hopes sleep takes him far and long.

(9:28 a.m.)
Louis

~•~•~

Louis snores peacefully, his head nestled on Harry's chest. He's been asleep for about thirty minutes, and Harry doesn't dare wake him up. They spent the evening together. Harry cooked an asparagus and salmon risotto while Louis downed a 2012 Chablis at an alarming rate. After Harry forced him to swap the wine for water for the rest of the meal, Louis suggested watching a movie and snuggled up directly to Harry on the sofa, falling asleep after ten minutes. Talk about a fun evening.

Louis is acting weirdly these days. He's there without being there, playing a game of push and pull with him, except Harry doesn't understand the rules. Sometimes, when he's been single for a while, Louis craves attention more than usual. Harry tries to remember the last guy he saw on Louis' arm and—

"What time is it?" Louis yawns into Harry's t-shirt, soaked with a bit of saliva that Louis must have drooled while sleeping. He rubs his eyes and slowly straightens up, looking slightly disoriented, checking where he is.

"Ten past twelve."

"Only? Fuck! This wine killed me," Louis laughs wearily, trying to smooth down his hair. It's no use, Harry thinks, smitten by the red mark on his cheek left by Harry's t-shirt, his bright eyes, and his shaggy hair. He's adorable. "What are you looking at? Stop looking at me like this."

Harry beams, kisses his cheek, and stands up, delighted to finally be able to stretch his legs. "Alex wants me to join him. Do you mind if I drop you off on the way?"

Silence answers him, and Harry puts down the plates he was clearing away. Louis stands still, playing with his drawstrings and scowling at the couch.

"Louis? Did you hear me?"

Louis says nothing for an interminable minute, Harry unsure what to do. Louis has been having such mood swings with him lately that he doesn't dare push him too far.

"Can I... Can we—"

"What's going on? Lou, hey, it's me. You know you can tell me anything." Harry closes the distance between them and clasps Louis' hands in his own, stroking them with his thumbs. "Look at me."

Louis visibly swallows and nods several times. "Can we stay here?" If Harry weren't so close, he wouldn't have picked up on Louis' whispered words like a secret.

Harry is taken aback by them, not expecting this request. "Oh... sure. Let me send Alex a message, and we can go to bed if you like."

"Good. Thank you." Louis gives him a small smile that doesn't reach his eyes and heads toward Harry's room without saying another word. Harry lets out a deep breath, begging his heart to calm the fuck down. He doesn't understand Louis anymore, doesn't get his reactions, his shifty glances, and his empty words. He's tried to talk to Zayn about it, but he seems as clueless as Harry.

Harry sends a quick text to Alex canceling their plan, calmly tidies up his kitchen, puts the dirty dishes in the dishwasher and finishes the bottle of wine in one gulp, drinking straight from the bottle. He turns off the TV and the lights, relying on the glow beneath his bedroom door to move forward. When he pushes the door open, the sight that greets him seizes his heart. Louis is buried under the covers, curled up, face turned toward Harry's side. His things are scattered on the corner armchair: hoodie, t-shirt, and sweatpants. So he's in his underwear. Cool.

"Do you need anything else? I'm going to brush my teeth."

"Just you, please." Harry is out of his depth here, and seeing Louis so small and withdrawn breaks something in his chest. Has someone broken his heart without Harry knowing? Is he seeing someone? What's going on? Harry quickly brushes his teeth, rinses his face with cold water before applying night cream and undresses. He follows Louis' line and returns to him with only his boxers still on. He lifts the duvet and slips into the cold sheets. He barely has time to put his head on the pillow before Louis is there, chest against his, breathing on his neck.

"You're always so warm."

"You're always freezing."

"Perfect for each other."

Harry's heart leaps in his chest, making his breath catch. Louis traces patterns on his forearm, his fingers light and gentle.

"Louis..."

And Louis kisses him. Again. Feather-soft lips on his own. Louis’ hands grip his forearm tightly, and Harry drowns. The kiss is chaste and innocent, but Harry feels all the warmth spreading through his whole body. He responds by deepening the kiss, his breath coming in gasps and his hands tangling in Louis' silky locks.

"Louis."

"Kiss me."

And Harry does. Again and again. Louis licks hotly inside his mouth, easing his tongue alongside Harry’s as if trying to get to know him better. Trying to unlock hidden, unspoken secrets. Harry loses himself in the kiss and is heartbroken when Louis breaks it. Always the one who initiates. Always the one who stops.

"We should sleep," and without another word, Louis turns, his back now facing Harry, his breathing steady. He's already falling asleep. Harry can't; his body is in turmoil, and his head is singing a litany of LouisLouisLouis.

It’ll take Harry three hours to fall asleep and one more day to lose his best friend.

~•~•~

Empty Rooms.

Empty Streets.

Harry wanders alone in the night, goosebumps all over his icy skin, the old bench waiting for him, the large oak tree resting on the ground, cut down where his name was engraved intertwined with Louis'. It lies there, practically swallowed up by the lake, a few branches barely protruding from the water. And Louis is sitting on their bench with his back to Harry. He's here. He came back. At last. Harry runs to him, but the bench only moves further away. Harry speeds up, forces his legs to move faster, shouting for Louis to turn towards him, but he stays put, ignoring his pleas. The water rises, submerging the bench, threatening to take Louis with it. No, no, no. Harry moves faster to reach him and sav—

The incessant vibrations pull Harry from his sleep, and the nightmare he's been having on repeat for months disappear. He turns onto his back with a groan and stretches, the headache less intense than expected. He opens one eye, the sun already setting over the horizon, his room immersed in an eerie atmosphere. He reaches out, grabs his phone lost among the pillows, and checks his notifications. Two missed calls from Liam and a text from Zayn. And one call from the number Liam sent him earlier.

Louis.

That's the call that woke him from his nap. It's Louis who woke him up. Shit. It's almost 4:00 p.m. here. Harry's slept for over six hours, and now Louis is calling him.

And he feels almost nothing. Just numbness. After so much pain, so much emptiness, so much loneliness these past four months. Knowing Louis is trying to reach out to him doesn't even give him a spark of joy. Or hope. Because there's none of it left. How could there be any? Louis took it all with him when he decided to leave for Toronto two days after kissing Harry in his bed. He took Harry's sanity, his sleep, his will to live, and his heart. Harry is just… tired. His friends, his family, all of them are tired of Harry. Maybe this is finally the closure Harry was hoping for. One last goodbye. One last conversation. And Harry can finally move on and leave behind a friendship of fifteen years.

When his phone rings again with the same number, Harry doesn't think twice and picks it up.

"Hello?" His voice sounds hoarse and not like his own; having just woken up from his nap and his excessive morning drinking hasn't helped. He needs water. And another paracetamol. He clears his throat and starts again, "Hello?"

Shaky breathing, but no one speaks. It's Louis. Harry is sure of it; he'd recognize him anywhere. Louis can erase him from his life, but Harry knows him. Whether he likes it or not. And he knows Louis must be terrified. His anger, long forgotten, like Harry's.

"Louis." It's not a question. Harry knows he's still there. "Louis, Louis, Louis." Answer. Talk to me. I'm here. "Louis."

Like a breath of life finding its way back into a bruised body, a whisper, "Harry."

And it's broken. Louis' voice breaks, cracks, reopens all the barely healed wounds in Harry's entire being. And it's violent, a storm rushing through his veins, his heart, his head. The sobs are impossible to hold back and burst forth mid-exhale.

"Louis." That's the oxygen he needs. On the other end of the line. Selfishly, Harry will steal as much as he can to fill himself up. "Louis, please."

"I can't anymore. Harry..."

"Please, Lou. Stay with me. Don't hang up. Not now. Louis." Harry is standing now, pacing his room like a caged animal looking for a way out. And Louis is the key. "Talk to me."

“These past few months…” A deep breath. Don’t cry, Lou. I’m here. “I knew…” Silence. Harry is losing it. He’s no longer in his room, but on a bench. Their bench. Holding hands. And Harry will give him time, but Louis will talk to him. He owes him. “Liam told me… these past four months… Oh Harry. God. I’m sorry.” Louis’ voice hiccups and turns into a sob, Harry’s heart clenching. “I’m so sorry, love. I can’t… I can’t… I can’t…”

“What? What can’t you?”

"I can't be here." Here. Where? In Canada? On the phone? Where? "I know I hurt you. I hurt myself too. But I needed time. But Liam... he's so worried about you. Telling me you're not well."

That's an understatement. Harry almost rolls his eyes at Louis' words. Try the bottom of the abyss instead.

"He was worried about your health, said you were hurting yourself." Louis continues, his voice quavering, "and I can't... can't get up in the morning anymore, imagining your face from our last day, Harry. So pale. So hollow. You were so..."

"So what?" Harry whispers, clutching the phone so tightly to his ear that his hand begins to hurt. "So what, Louis?"

“Gone. You weren’t with me anymore. Like you’d given up on me. I hadn’t even walked out the door before I lost you.”

Wait a minute. Harry is lost. Louis thought he'd lost him, but he's the one who left him. It's so wrong.

This conversation is wrong.

"Harry, I didn't think you wanted to..."

"Stop right here, Louis. Stop." Harry sounds angry, but he isn't. He doesn't have the strength.

This is something else. Something darker, whose origins he doesn't seem to understand. Louis remains quiet on the other end of the line, waiting for Harry to speak again. But Harry is lost for words. He's been waiting four months to finally be able to talk to him, to get his mind off things, and now that he's finally here, Harry is speechless, his head empty. Louis' words unsettled him; he's blaming Harry. Not for messing up with him and Alex, but for messing up during their last fight. And it's not fair. Louis took it out on Harry. Not the other way around.

"I... I'm a bit lost right now. I never gave up on you, Louis. You pulled me in and pushed me away. I never..."

“You asked Alex to be your official boyfriend after you kissed me goodnight!” Louis explodes, his voice cracked and furious. So much hurt and resentment. Harry stops pacing and swallows, his throat hurting. He should have taken his pill before this call. His head still aches, and the pounding is unbearable.

“Harry, your sheets were still warm from both of our bodies when you’re telling me Alex finally grew a pair and you’re both official. What did you expect? A fucking party in your hon—“

“Fuck you, Louis. You had a chance to say something, and you pushed me away. Same as always with you.”

"What does that even mean?" Gone is the hesitation and apprehension of their first words. They're back in their familiar, cocooned surroundings. It means Louis' words will once again have the power to destroy Harry. He has to hang up. He's not ready. He doesn't understand Louis right now. Nothing makes sense.

"I need to hang up, Lou," Harry says quietly and unemotionally.

"Oh no, no, H... don't hang up on me now. After calling me hundreds of times, sending me emails and fucking letters, we're going to talk." Harry shakes his head and shuts his eyes.

"I have to go."

"Haz—"

"I love you. Bye." His voice cracks at the end of the word.

And Harry presses the red button. He wipes away the tears he hadn't noticed falling from his eyes; he hasn’t even realized for how long he'd been crying. The sky has darkened, night will return soon, and Harry is dreading it. Too many thoughts. Yet he feels drained, his head hazy. His phone rings again in his hand, but Harry ignores it, throws it on his mattress just after blocking Louis’ number, and leaves his room.

His living room is dark and silent, nothing warm or comforting. Liam shouldn't be long. Liam will be taking care of him again instead of enjoying his own life. Harry is just a burden for everyone. Just one more task to manage in a day. He crosses the room and opens a cupboard to take out a new bottle of tequila. Liam should be here soon, he tells himself, unscrewing the cap and drowning out his thoughts.

~•~•~

“Louis! Baby where are you? Fuck… sorry. I just knocked someone’s drink over. Oops. Hi Lou… Louis, don’t move! Let me get out of here. Sorry, sorry… Excuse me. Thanks. Good, I’m outside; it'll be better! Baby where the fuck are you? It’s time to come home. It’s been three months; I got the message… you’re not happy with me. But you know what? Me neither… and I’m sad now. Sad because you’re not here anymore making me laugh… talking to me for hours about your obsession with this podcast… what’s the name again? Shit I forgot… whatever! You make me sad when you’re not here. I miss your cuddles. They’re so good. You know you give the best ones? The champion of cuddling. And I miss your voice and your laugh. Always so loud. And… did you know you have a Harry laugh? Just for me. It doesn’t sound the same… like… full of life with your eyes crinkled… and … fuck… okay… I miss your kisses. Because guess what? I loved it when you kissed me. It was nice. And not awkward. Not like with Alex… oh, Alex… remember him? Well he’s gone too. Apparently I wasn't worth it... it's becoming a habit these days... look at me... my best friend and my boyfriend dumped me at the same time... and I don’t talk to my mom anymore! Isn’t that great? I think it is! I need another drink. Fuck. Louis, I miss you. Can we start over? Just you and me? Because I don't feel good... And you know I love you. Not as a friend. More as someone who wants to have sex with you. I'm sure we'd be good, right Louis? We would be! Tell me you want me again... I'll come. All the way to Toronto if I have to. Oh fuck, Liam found me... Hey, Liam, did you bring me a drink? No... whyyy... no no no, get off my phone... Louis, I lov—”

~•~•~

It took Harry a week to unblock Louis' number after a more than heated conversation with Zayn. It was Zayn who knocked some sense into his head, tired of finding Harry drunk every other day, on the edge of a coma. After threatening to have him hospitalized, they had a big argument, and unlike Liam, Zayn didn't hold back his words. Harry had cried, screamed, and finally collapsed, feeling worn out, head on Zayn's knees, making him promise to never leave him. Harry wouldn't survive it.

But Zayn was right. Harry fucked Louis up as much as he did. Their last call is proof of that. Louis didn't leave because he didn't want anything to do with Harry anymore, didn't want him in his life. He was just hurt. Hurt by Harry. Harry, who was so blinded by his own jealousy of all the guys who were around Louis all the time, that he didn't see that Louis was going through the same thing. That he was longing for Harry.

They were so stupid, wasting precious months not speaking to each other. Because if Harry never said anything out loud, trying more to stifle his feelings, Louis had given him the opportunity twice with his kisses. For Harry, they were merely two moments of Louis' carelessness, a few fun things with his best friend. When in fact, they were hints that Louis slipped into Harry's mouth. What he didn't say with words, he said with his hands, his lips, his tongue. And Harry had ignored it.

So a week has passed, and Harry feels a glimmer of hope deep in his chest, gently warming his broken heart.

The lake is peaceful today; there's no wind to make little waves, just a light drizzle drawing a fog above and giving it an eerie feeling. Sitting down on the damp bench, Harry regrets not carrying a scarf. Even with his hood up, his anorak zipped up as high as it can go, Harry is shivering.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, unblocks Louis’ number and hopes he’ll pick up. After their last call, Louis had apparently tried to contact him four times before giving up. No texts. No emails. No letters. When Louis is hurt, he withdraws, cowers like a wounded animal. Unlike Harry, who screams his despair to the world, dragging everyone close to him into his fall, only to have them witness it all. Louis has simply moved thousands of miles away and avoided everyone.

The dial tone echoes in Harry's ear, his hopes dwindling by the second. Thinking it's over, Louis finally picks up on the last ring.

“Hello Harry,” Louis answers, uncertainty simmering in his voice. "I didn't think you'd call me back. Or at least so soon."

"Hi Lou," Harry plays with the pebbles at his feet, his shoes scraping the earth, his thoughts drifting in and out like shadows. "I think we know which one of us can easily do without the other. And it ain’t me if the answer wasn't obvious before." Harry continues dryly, not quite the calm and quiet approach he wished to convey.

"That's fair. Untrue, but fair.” Louis huffs, and he continues in hushed tones, as if afraid to be overheard. “Harry… I can't easily live without you. I can't be myself without you by my side. Everything is so fucked up here. I'm trying, but lately…" The sentence hangs in the air, just the sound of dishes in the background, the only proof that Louis is still there.

"Lately?" Harry pushes.

A sigh and then—

"Lately, I miss you so much it hurts to even breathe."

Harry's eyes burn to hold back his tears and he lets himself feel everything he'd bottled up over the last few days. Regret. Anger. Sadness. Each tear rolling down his cheeks carves its way deep inside him, and he can't hold it back. Each one is a testament that Louis belongs to him.

“Louis…”

“I need you, Haz.” Louis admits and it’s obvious from the quiver in his voice that he’s crying. “I’m so sorry for the last few months. I wasn't trying to hurt you. Believe me… I was just trying to protect myself first. Without thinking of you for once. Maybe it was selfish, but… I think I needed time for myself, to clear my head. Alex was my wake up call and it took some time to get my thoughts in the right place.”

Harry's boots are all soiled from dragging them on the ground so much that he'll have to wash them when he gets home. Shit. He might even get it all over his car. Worst-case scenario, he'll rinse them in the icy lake water to get as much as possible off of them.

"H? Are you still here?" Louis' voice is so small and vulnerable that Harry feels a heavy knot settle in the pit of his stomach. Maybe remorse. For making Louis suffer at the end of their relationship. And for the past five months. Because Harry understands that Louis wasn’t in a better state than him. He threw his so-called happiness with Alex in his face when Louis was trying to make him understand something.

And now Harry remembers all those previous weeks of their fight, when Louis asked him to stay with him at night, when he called him during his hookups with Alex about a problem with his washing machine or a faded t-shirt, or when he spent more and more time just touching him. Tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. Gently brushing his fingertips against his arm. Nuzzling his neck. And the last blow. Kissing him. Which Harry did before leaving Louis alone in his bed to go and make out with someone else.

Harry is an idiot.

"Yeah, I'm still here. Just thinking... about you. About us. About how much of a jerk I was. God, I'm so tired." Running his hand over his face, Harry wipes away his cold tears to end their fleeting lives on his gloves. “I was so sure you didn't want me anymore. I thought you'd grown tired of me, that you'd finally opened your eyes and realized I wasn't worth it. That I wasn't the one you wanted in your life.”

Silence falls once again in their conversation, dancing between each of their answers, waiting for its moment to shine. A door slams in Harry's ear, making him jump slightly. The drizzle has finally stopped on his side; now it’s just a dull and depressing atmosphere with gray clouds giving the lake an unsettling hue. Another door noise and Louis falters—

"Do you…? How do you…? I mean. Maybe we could…" Louis cuts himself off, and Harry wishes he was right in front of him. He clearly pictures him in his head right now, eyes shifty, hands twisting together, mouth set, probably stuffed into an oversized hoodie, hair fluffy and tousled. Harry wouldn't stand a chance if he were facing him. "I don't know why it's so hard to talk to you. You're fucking you. My best mate. It's like—"

"Talking to a new crush?" Harry whispers, getting up to put his muddy boots in the water.

"Yeah," Louis laughs awkwardly. "Talking to someone who broke you and you broke them back more like." His tone is soft, but there’s no mistaking the bitterness and emotion behind the words.

“I get that. I get it now, and… and even if I still need time to process you leaving me and how you treated me these last months, I know now that I have my part too in this mess…” A deep breath. “So I’m sorry, Louis. For pushing you away when you finally tried to pull me in. I was so blind and locked in my head… that you could never feel what I felt for you... What I feel for you. It was like spinning around you all the time.”

In the quiet moment that follows, the only sound that resonates is their respective regrets that fill the space between them. Harry hears Louis sniffling and blowing his nose discreetly, and to avoid pointing it out, he simply ignores it. His boots are clean now, soaked, but at least his car won't look like a mud field. One last glance at the lake, their old oak tree, and their bench, and Harry speaks again.

"Do you ever miss our bench?"

"All the time," Louis confesses, his words barely above a whisper. "More than once in the last few weeks, I've wanted to sit there, with you by my side."

"Do you think that'll happen again? I mean, you and me on that bench," Harry said uncertainly, afraid of misinterpreting Louis' words.

"Hazza," Louis sighs into the phone, his voice shaky, the nickname piercing Harry's heart and lodging in his throat. "Haz... I need to see you."

Harry tries desperately to fight the new wave of tears lodged in the corner of his eyes, a sob threatening to escape from between his lips. He shudders when he finally opens his car door and ducks inside; the warmth of the cabin doesn’t make up for the cold inside him. He shuts his eyes, allowing himself to listen to Louis' ragged breathing.

"Baby…" Louis chokes at the word. "I'm not even sure we're ready. I think we should give ourselves some time to process this."

"I don't need more time, H," Louis begs, and Harry breaks down, unable to contain his sobs any longer. He gasps in the car and starts the engine so he can open the windows, the fresh air seeping into his lungs. "Harry, breathe, darling. Please. Don't. Stop. Breathing. With me… Inhale. One. Two. Three. Four. Exhale. One. Two..."

Harry lets Louis' voice soothe him because he's always known how to do it in the past. Sitting beside him without smothering him. Holding his hand without squeezing, just so Harry could feel his presence beside him. Whispering to him to breathe without infiltrating his head. He was perfect and still is. "That's better. That's good, Haz. You're okay, you're fine. We are fine," Louis proclaims.

"We aren't, baby," Harry utters, still out of breath. He has to call Liam; he needs him. "But we will." Harry wants to go home.

"You're going to hang up, aren’t you?"

"I'm going to hang up." Harry echoes Louis' words, exhausted from the call.

"Can I call you again?"

The irony of it all makes Harry laugh, unable to stop the sound from escaping his mouth. It's been so long since he's heard that sound from himself that he’s even surprised by it. Louis asks him if he can call Harry. Louis, whom Harry has been chasing for months. Mourning for weeks. Crying about for days. Truly absurd.

"Of course, we'll talk. Soon."

"I missed you."

"I missed you too. So much."

"Harry, I..."

"Don't. Please."

"Okay."

Louis hangs up, and through the tears streaming down his cheeks, Harry chokes out, "I love you," into the silence of the car.

~•~•~

"Where the fuck are you?" Loud noises are heard in the background, and Harry struggles to catch Louis' words. "Speak up. Isn't there a quieter place where you can—"

"Wait a minute," some shuffling sounds, stranger voices, a few footsteps, a door slamming, and finally Louis' voice becomes more audible. "Sorry about that. I didn't think there'd be so many people."

"Niall's a celebrity, duh?" Harry tries to put a little more energy into his voice, but it all sounds flat and hollow.

"Yeah, right! Why aren't you here anyway?"

Niall's leaving for Canada in four days and decided to throw this huge goodbye party. Harry didn't feel like it. Lately, being at a party with Louis is just another excuse to have his heart broken. He could have gone with Alex; it would have taken his mind off things, but not enough in the face of Louis getting picked up by some random guy and going to fuck in the nearest bathroom.

One day, Harry might be brave enough to talk about his feelings with Louis. But that day hasn't come yet. He and Louis aren't on the same page; Louis is looking for fun and meaningless sex. Harry is only looking for Louis.

"Haz? Still there?"

"Sorry... yeah... still a lot of paperwork to do, you know..."

"That excuse doesn't work anymore, mate. What's going on?"

Opening his mouth to reply, someone knocks at his door, cutting him off in his tracks. He gets up from his chair, looks through the peephole, and Alex is standing in the hallway, a big smile stretching his face into a sort of grimace, probably hoping for a quickie with Harry. Not the time. Shit.

"Lou, I'm going to have to call you back—"

"Hey! Not cool. You called me, Haz." Harry imagines the pout Louis must be making as he opens his front door. Alex doesn't waste a second, sliding his possessive hands down his hips and giving his neck a long lick.

"I know, I know. Tell Niall I'll come by tomorrow and..."

"Is that Louis on the phone?"

Fuck.

Fucking Alex and his big mouth.

"Is Alex with you?" The coldness emanating from Louis' voice makes Harry shiver for some unknown reason. He's used to his rolling eyes whenever Alex is in the same room, his biting voice whenever Alex dares to speak to him, and his murderous glare whenever Alex dares to touch Harry. But he doesn't understand this coldness now, when he doesn't have to endure his physical presence.

"He just arrived. I didn't know..."

"Of course you didn’t know. You had to work and miss one of your best friends' parties when your fuckboy decided to pay you a visit. Fucking hell, H." Louis sneers, the loud noises and cheers making their comeback.

Harry’s heart is about to burst out of his chest, trapping the air in his throat, his lungs emptying inexorably. Harry pushes Alex away, who keeps groping him, his tongue now licking behind his ear.

"Lou... please... I didn't know. It was—"

"Save it. I have to go. Enjoy your night."

Louis hangs up without waiting for his answer. Harry is almost grateful for it, not knowing what he would’ve said anyway. They'll talk tomorrow when Louis is less drunk and Harry has a clearer head. They'll talk, and this whole conversation will be nothing more than a bad memory. The worst thing that could ever happen between them.

And even if Harry takes another man by the belt to lead him to his room, he’s still in love with the one who just hung up on him.

~•~•~

After their last call full of tears and shattered feelings, Harry had tried to keep in touch with Louis. He prayed so hard for the last five months to have Louis back in his life, and now that he has him, he finds himself overwhelmed to even talk to him. Probably because he’d been convinced all this time that the fault lay with Louis, that Louis was the one who pushed him away and ghosted him, while the reality is quite different. And now Harry must learn to live with it and win Louis back, just as Louis must do too.

It's baby steps, tentative texts, shy, brief calls, whispered words at three in the morning when Harry can't sleep or when his vodka bottle is screaming his name across the living room. Louis once let the idea of ​​a FaceTime slip, but Harry flatly refused, crying into the phone. Seeing him on a screen would only reopen a wound that's still trying so hard to heal.

Liam is proud of him. His own words. One night when he walked by with Zayn, pizza under one arm and lemonade under the other, he blurted out how strong Harry was and what a role model he was for him. That he was proud because every day he tried. Zayn cried on the other side of the room before crossing it and collapsing into Harry’s arms, repeating that he loved him and was grateful to still be able to hold him in his arms. That Harry had chosen the best path. Harry understood something that night. It's not just Louis who makes his life better. He has two of the best people in the world already by his side.

Niall calls more often too, talking about everything and nothing but not-so-subtly slipping Louis' name from time to time. He's still as infatuated with his nurse as ever and is even thinking about asking her to live with him. Harry shed a tear and sent Louis a simple text after that call. Sometimes love wins. Louis replied with a simple white heart emoji.

Everything seems to be moving along nicely and peacefully, which is why when Louis calls him at 10 a.m. one spring morning, Harry's heart freezes. 4 a.m. in Toronto. He picks up with a knot forming in his stomach.

"Lou? Aren't you asleep? What's going on?"

The sound of sheets rustling fills his ears. Louis seems to be shifting in his bed. At least he’s safe at home.

"Can't sleep. I was woken up by a fucking thunderstorm an hour ago, and I can't get back to sleep." Louis says, his voice quite awake for this hour of the night.

"Oh... okay." Harry is lost for words. It's been a long time since Louis called him about something so silly and intimate at the same time. This kind of call for no reason. For no reason other than “I need to hear your voice to entertain me.”

"I could use a cuddle to go back to sleep, to be honest. This bed is too big and fucking cold," Louis mutters, his voice sounding so close, as if he were with Harry in his kitchen and not an ocean away.

“Niall’s 10 meters away from you, you know… why don’t you go and annoy him?” It’s a beautiful day today, the sun warming Harry’s face through the window. He decides to crack it open to let in the fresh air and the sound of the busy street. Something to distract him from Louis’ haunting voice that’s making him lose his footing. Harry isn’t ready.

"To be honest, it's not his arms I crave. That I need." Harry pauses for a few seconds to take the time to decipher Louis's words. He repeats them to himself, but the meaning remains the same. Don't get your hopes up. Stop. "Haz, can I tell you something?"

No.

"Yeah. Go ahead." Harry stutters a breath, watching the wind brush the trees.

"The two times I kissed you... I... I always hoped you'd take things further... that you'd try something. With me."

"Lou..."

"No, let me talk, darling." Darling. "I know we've talked about it these past few weeks. We've both talked about our sides of the story... what we did and didn't do... our hurts. And I'm still sorry about that and know I'm not mad at you anymore. But I can't help going over and over all those missed opportunities. All the times I should have spoken out loud and asked you clearly what I wanted from you instead of letting you guess. Hoping you'd guess. And those kisses... God, Harry... I wish I could kiss you right now."

Harry gasps out a sob, trying to stifle it with his hand but failing. Hot tears slide down his neck, soaking his t-shirt, and he unconsciously brushes them away, staring out at the street.

"Louis."

"I know. You don't have to answer me. And to be honest, I'm not waiting for an answer. I just want you to know. I'm yours. I've been since you decided it was a good idea to dye our hair pink for a party, and we stayed that way for a week." Louis chuckles, seemingly muffled by his pillow. Harry feels a smile lift his lips, mingling with his tears.

"That was at least two years ago."

"Exactly."

"Baby... fuck... you can't... you..."

"I'm not asking you anything, Harry. I'm just stating the obvious. No more secrets. That's what killed us." Louis almost whispers, his voice hoarse and cracked.

Harry takes a deep breath, begging his heart to slow down. The words coming out of Louis' mouth are the ones he's been hoping to hear for months. But now that they're here, Harry doesn't know what to do with them. He doesn't even know if he feels the same way anymore; if Louis were in the same room, he'd want to kiss him, to hold him. Harry loves Louis; there's no doubt about that, but the desire for him seems to be stymied by the months of silence between them.

"I... I don't know what to say... I don't know what you want from me. I'm trying... I really am. But..."

"Hey, hey, Hazza. I'm not asking you anything. I just... I need you to know everything."

Harry feels dizzy, the air seeping through the window not enough to clear his thoughts. He pours himself a glass of water straight from the tap and drinks it in one gulp, Louis' voice distant, repeating his name over and over again.

"Harry... come back to me. Are you still there?"

"Yeah..."

"Come to me."

What?

"What?" Harry chokes on the word, coughing into the crook of his elbow. Louis laughs softly, a small, affectionate snort.

"I think this phone thing isn’t working for us. I feel like you're building a wall to protect yourself and keep me from getting to you. And I can't stand it."

Eyes closed, hands gripping the sink, Harry cries silently, his tears flowing freely. Louis. His everything. Louis still wants him, he wants him; so what's holding Harry back? He hates himself for being so indecisive, so fearful. But Louis is right. It's time to take the plunge. To close the gap between them.

"I will come to you."

~•~•~

Harry,

My darling boy,

We just hung up and my heart is going completely crazy in my chest. It's completely at your mercy. I think I'm screwed to go back to sleep now, which is why I decided to take this piece of paper to finally answer you.

Because you deserve it.

Because you deserve my effort.

Because, love, you never gave up hope for us. When I fled halfway across the world to escape my broken heart, you remained brave and tenacious despite your own wounds. And I admire you for that. You're fucking amazing, Haz.

Never think my decision was easy back then. That I didn't cry for you for whole nights. Because every fucking day, hour, minute, you were on my mind.

Do you know I avoided sitting on a fucking bench for weeks? Or refused the invitation from Niall's group of friends to go camping by a lake? Because everything led me back to you. I even refused to work with a guy named Alex. That fucking name. He was just using you like you were using him. Now I understand that. He was just a pale substitute... because I was fucking blind. Locked in my head, thinking I was the one who wanted you, while you were just thinking about getting your dick wet.

What stupid idiots we've been...

But that's over...

I'm waiting for you.
I need you, idiot.
Desperately.

Harry, I'm yours.

I know that now. I don't belong to anyone else.

Come to me.

Louis

~•~•~

It was already dark when he decided this evening would be his— just him, a beer, and last night's leftover food. And a movie. Just something to take his mind off the constant commotion that keeps him restless. He quickly heats his meal in the microwave, uncaps his beer, and grabs the blanket he'd carelessly thrown over the back of the couch before curling up in it, body pressed against the armrest. He doesn't have time to grab the remote before there's a soft knock at the door. Fucking hell. He wanted to be alone, brooding all evening. He gets up with an annoyed sigh and shuffles to the front door.

He opens it, and there's Harry. Harry, soaking wet on his doormat, his face pale and frowning at the ground. Louis doesn't think twice and jumps into his arms, draping his own over Harry’s shoulders and burying his face in his hair.

Harry.

He still smells the same, his scent intoxicating and all him. Louis squeezes his arms and legs, afraid he'll slip away. But Harry holds him back. Like always. Both strong arms support Louis's legs, wrapped around his waist. His tears blur his vision, but he doesn't care; he doesn't try to blink them away because they are tears of joy. Relief. A new breath of life.

"Louis."

Harry gently lets go of Louis, keeping his arms looped around him, and Louis tightens his grip, unwilling to let go. To let him go.

"Look at me," and Louis does, his gaze sinking into an unreal green, a forest of answers to his ocean of questions. Harry's stunning, with his wild curls falling over his forehead, cheeks flushed from the cold, and lips pinker than ever. "Baby." Harry murmurs against Louis’ lips cradling his cheek with his hand.

Harry kisses him then, soft and chaste, lips against lips, just wet with their tears. Harry pulls away after a few seconds, and Louis whines. But Harry doesn't go far, resting his forehead against Louis’ and nuzzling their noses together.

“Louis.” Harry keeps repeating his name with no real intention other than to say it. Like tasting it. And Louis realizes he still hasn’t said a word since he opened the door. No sound, except for his crying. It’s tempting and shaky, but the “Harry” that escapes his lips is like an electric shock.

Harry pulls back slightly, searches his gaze, and must find what he’s looking for, because a faint smile spreads across his face, revealing a dimple. More assuredly, Louis repeats “Harry.” And, in a silent agreement, they both rush forward at the same time, hearts pounding and mouths open.

This kiss is nothing like the previous one. Desperate. Dirty. Their hands dig under layers of clothing to reach skin. Louis needs to touch. Needs to feel, to sense. Nine months since he’s been dead inside. Nine months since his heart cried out for something, since his skin burned for Harry’s slightest touch. And the answer is there, in his arms, sliding his tongue against his, nibbling at his lips, his hands under his hoodie, caressing the small of his back, his fingers sliding under the elastic of his sweatpants. And Louis can't get enough. Never enough.

"Harry." Louis gasps into his best friend's mouth. "Harry, love."

"I love you," Harry sighs, breaking their kiss but staying close, resting his cheek against Louis'. And Louis remains silent. "I love you. Don't push me away, please. Let me love you. I love you. Louis. Please."

"I'm in love with you." Louis’ voice is barely above a whisper, but he's sure Harry heard it when he feels him melt in his arms with a catch of breath.

"Louis."

"I know."

"Can I come in?" Louis hesitates for a second, considers playing a joke and sending him home, but they're not there yet. They'll need time and discussion to rebuild their bond and trust. But it's a start. Harry in his arms is a sign that things are about to change for good. And Louis can't wait to see what the future holds for them.

~•~•~~•~•~
THE END
~•~•~~•~•~