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It’s really not even a cause for alarm at first. Harry starts refusing to go out with Louis anymore, instead choosing to get drunk with new people.
“Maybe it’s good that he’s finally branching out, becoming a little bit less co-dependent.” Niall contemplates, “You guys were always attached at the hip.”
Louis nods, but there’s a little part of him that’s wary, as Harry is becoming too independent in too little time.
Louis’ watching bad TV one night when Harry comes home late. He throws his coat onto the chair and plops down. He pushes his hood back, and Louis feels like he might throw up.
“What... the hell.”
Harry shrugs defensively. “I needed a change.”
“But... you love your hair!”
“I used to. It just got annoying.”
Harry turns his head, blatantly ending the conversation. They don’t discuss it again.
The next week, Louis spills his orange juice on the carpet in the living room. Harry glances at it, but makes no move to rise from his sprawled out position on the couch. He doesn’t even move when Louis starts furiously scrubbing at the carpet, whereas before he would have been leaping off of the couch, grabbing the dishrag from Louis, and making some comment about how Louis was, despite being smaller, obviously not the housewife in this relationship. But he doesn’t. And the carpet ends up with a massive stain.
Harry stops singing. Louis wakes up one morning, realizing the flat is eerily silent. Harry always sings in the mornings.
Sliding out of bed and into the slippers Harry had gotten for him as an anniversary present, Louis quietly ambles down the hall into the kitchen. Harry’s sat at the breakfast bar, holding a cup of tea and staring blankly at the wall in front of him. Louis perches on the stool next to him, and takes a sip of Harry’s tea. It’s cold.
“Harry, your tea’s gone cold.”
“Oh. Okay.” Harry makes no move to rise, not even glancing at Louis.
“Want me to make you some more, sweetcheeks?”
“That’s okay, I think I’m going back to bed anyway.” Harry puts his cup in the sink, not even bothering to rinse it out. Louis watches Harry trudge back to their bedroom, slamming the door heavily behind him.
One day, Harry doesn’t get out of bed at all. At quarter to four in the afternoon, Louis knocks, receiving no reply. Louis cracks open the door, and walks over to Harry’s side, where he’s still laying, unmoving.
Louis kneels by the side of the bed. “You feeling okay, babe?” Harry just nods.
His green eyes, once so full of light, are dark and empty.
Harry still smiles, though. The only time Louis really worries is when he laughs, as it’s not the same laugh, it’s a high pitched fake laugh. He still laughs though, so that’s something, right?
There are days where Harry doesn’t get out of bed, just stares at the wall blankly, wrapped in an oversized down comforter. Louis hates those days.
It doesn’t really get too bad until Harry refuses to kiss Louis.
Louis wants to cry.
(Harry does too, but Harry doesn’t do anything anymore.)
Harry’s stopped smiling. Louis is more worried now than ever. He doesn’t even try to fake a smile anymore, instead staring at Louis every time Louis tries to crack a joke.
Louis climbs into bed and goes to kiss Harry. It’s no longer surprising when Harry turns his head and Louis’ lips land on Harry’s cheek.
“Harry.”
“ ‘M tired, Lou.”
“You’re always tired.”
Harry gazes blankly at Louis, then rolls over to face the wall.
Louis takes his pillow, along with the hint, and goes to the guest bedroom.
It becomes Louis’ bedroom.
When Louis comes home one day, Harry isn’t in bed, and at first Louis is so relieved, he’s finally moving. He smiles to himself, maybe things are finally changing.
The feeling of relief soon vanishes, when Louis walks into the bathroom and sees Harry lying face down in the bathtub. Louis tries to save him, and the rest of the night is full of flashing lights and medical professionals.
(Louis wonders how he’s going to keep saving Harry when theres nobody left there to save.)
When Harry comes out of the emergency room, he’s in a nondescript hospital gown, arms hung limply at his sides. With the strict doctors orders to watch him well, Louis reaches his hand out to grab Harry’s. At the slightest touch of fingertips, Harry flinches. He doesn’t even look at Louis. Louis actually cries this time, knowing Harry is not with him anymore, he’s in a different place.
He watches Harry, making sure he stays in bed. When Harry rises to go to the bathroom, Louis sits by the door, making sure he doesn’t hear the water running for too long. It’s hard for Louis, watching the shell of his past lover walk past him without the slightest acknowledgment.
Louis loves Harry, he does. But it’s becoming harder each day to remember that.
It’s been a while since the incident. Harry seems to be alright now. Louis knows it’s now or never. He talks to Zayn, making plans to crash at Zayn’s place until he can get one of his own. He makes arrangements with Harry’s neighbor to check on him every so often until Harry’s mother arrives. He knows Harry will be alright without Louis, in his heart. “It’s not as if he really noticed me anymore, anyways.” Louis thinks bitterly.
Louis begins to pack, ripping clothes off of the hangers and stuffing them into his duffel, not even bothering to fold them. He leaves the picture of them on their anniversary on the beside table.
He’s just about to walk out of the front door, when he hears padded footsteps down the hall. At first they’re quiet and slow, but they quickly accelerate. Louis didn’t expect to have to say goodbye.
Louis almost cries when he sees Harry’s hand on his arm. It’s the first time Harry’s touched him in months.
“Please stay.”
Louis doesn’t know how he’s going to be able to leave the boy, who was once his entire life. All he knows is that he has to.
“How can I stay? There’s nothing left for me, Harry. You’re gone.”
“One more day, please.”
When Harry starts crying, Louis should be relieved, Harry’s finally doing something, showing some emotion. Louis should be happy. But instead he’s just sad.
Louis pinches the bridge of his nose, knowing he can’t say no to Harry, as he’s never been able to. “One more day. And I swear to God, Harry, if you pull anything, I will-” Harry's actually smiling. Maybe it doesn’t reach his eyes, but Louis feels his heart skip a beat just the same.
The next morning, when Louis opens his eyes, the smell of pancakes fill their flat. Harry’s trying. And maybe it will be okay again.