Not with you.
The courtyard is a blur around him.
Not with you.
His feet pound the grass in dull clumps, smack against stone and echo in time to:
Not with you.
Almost-warm air slaps his face, assaults his hair.
Not with you.
Clusters of voices ooze in and out of the blood pumping in his ears.
Not with you.
He sees the door to his flat coming into view, he feels the air ripping his lungs apart, hears the fragile pounding of what's left inside.
The keys fumble and clank but they fit in the lock and he pushes it open with his shoulder as hard as he can because he just needs to go inside, he needs this door to open right now and he needs to leave.
He wants to go home.
That's all that he wants.
That's all he can think about.
Well.
Not all.
Not with you, Louis.
He thrusts every visible article of clothing into his bag (and there are a lot-he's never pretended to be anything but a slob) as he blinks back the tears that are already soaking his face, making him shiver under their wet, accusing trails. He locates his iPod and his phone and his jacket and his Toms with the frayed rips on the sides, his lips burning with memory.
Everything's burning.
Everything's cold.
He's dying in fire and ice and yes, he has a right to be dramatic right now because his fucking soul is splitting apart and he has never, ever felt this horrible before.
Maybe some people aren't made for love. Maybe some people aren't strong enough.
Swallowing his choked sobs and humiliation and fucking memories-the feel of Harry's soft hair and softer skin and the deep, rumbling purrs that escaped his throat as he pulled Louis to him, pulled Louis-that burn, memories that send fresh sobs and heart constrictions and strike Louis, making him wince. He hauls his bag over his shoulder, not even pausing to scribble a note for Niall-who is, thankfully, still at the boat race, celebrating his sure win. He can just text him later when everything isn't so raw and fresh and bleeding, barely held together by broken strings.
Without a second glance or thought-thoughts are so painful right now-he shuts the door, heaving soft shuddering breaths, eyes red-rimmed, before padding outside into the mocking sun that feels too warm against his glistening cheeks.
He hears wafts of the announcer's voice, hears the thrum of a happy crowd, and takes off for the nearest train station.
**
When he arrives home, he does something he hasn't done in years.
Louis hugs his mum, no introduction necessary.
"Louis?" she blurts, completely taken off guard, unsure of what to do with her hands momentarily before wrapping them tentatively around him. "What are you doing here? What's going on?"
And he's crying again (or has he just never stopped?) as he holds her tightly in the entryway, willing himself the capacity to speak.
"I just needed to get away," he manages, voice muffled by the cotton of her shirt, and closes his eyes tighter, sending more juicy fucking tears rolling down his fucking cheeks. He's surprised his skin hasn't begun to prune at this rate. He's so bitter.
He feels her nod as she continues to hold him, not saying another word, just petting his hair like a mother, and that's what Louis needs. This is what he needs right now.
Home.
Comfort.
And maybe. His mum.
"It's good to see you," she says eventually, rubbing his back soothingly. "Even if you are in a right state."
Louis sniffles.
A 'right state'. Hah.
She doesn't know the half of it.
"Good to be home," he says in response, voice crackling.
And it is good. She may drive him up a fucking wall and be a selfish loon and they may have their mountain-sized pile of issues, but Louis' mum is still Louis' mum and... And right now he needs that.
"Come on in, Boo," she coaxes gently, beginning to lead him forwards, never releasing her hold. "I'll make us some tea. You can tell me all about it."
When Louis makes to protest, she shushes him, a small smile on her lips.
"I'll listen this time. I promise," she says.
And he thinks she means it.
So, together, they walk into the kitchen and Louis can feel himself breathe a little bit again.
**
He'd had a good talk with his mum.
She'd listened, just like she promised, and she nodded where she was supposed to, looked sympathetic at the right times, and laughed at Louis' wry humor that managed to squeeze through the cracks of his desolation.
It was nice.
It was new.
He felt even better when his sisters came home, squealing in surprise and delight upon seeing him sitting at the kitchen table, his eyes tired and puffy, hair askew, clutching his sixth mug of tea in a ratty jumper.
"Louis! You came home!" Charlotte squeals, damn near bowling him over as she flings herself at his seated figure.
He laughs in a huff, inhaling the wisps of dirty blonde hair that have fallen out of her ponytail. The fur lining the hood of her jacket tickles his nose, prickles his left eye a bit.
"Good to see you too, kid," he smiles.
He feels their mum watching them and he glances up to see her smiling, standing by the stovetop and waiting for the kettle. There's an oddly emotional look caught in her eyes, a bit distant, as if she were lost reading a book or watching a movie, but it's a good smile that paints her face, a fond smile, and Louis warms at that because this all feels good.
So, naturally, he feels yet another batch of tears coming.
Excellent. He's becoming a weeper. Splendid.
He only pulls himself out of his revelry when tiny feet begin padding up to him, pulling Charlotte away and immediately climbing upon him.
"Louis!" they squeal as one, eyes bright and clear and unbroken.
"Well, hello," he grins, not quite whole, mussing up pigtails and kissing red, blotchy cheeks that feel like the skin of peaches. "How are my girls?"
And they all beam at him with endless adoration and missing baby teeth and they're a mix of pink and blue and Velcro shoes and it's all he needs right now, it's all he wants.
"Good to have you home," his mum says again as she watches, and, yep, she's getting emotional as she stares at the scene, unaware of the kettle steaming behind her insistently, beginning to screech.
He doesn't even nod to her that it's ready, doesn't impatiently point it out. Just holds her smile and feels yet another fucking wave of emotion and a gratefulness for his mum that he hasn't felt in years as he feels his sisters jab at his ribs to get his attention and, yes.
This is all he wants right now. This is all he wants.
**
When Louis goes to text Niall as he dumps his bag in his room, he notes, with a bitter taste in his mouth, that Harry hasn't called, hasn't texted. Most definitely doesn't even know he's left for home.
Why would he?
He swallows past the gravel that's begun to coat his throat, begins to tap out a half-hearted message.
'Good luck at the Brits tonight. Not gonna b able to make it. Tell u later.'
It's about eleven seconds before Niall responds.
'r u fucking serious??! Where r u?? I'll come get u'
'home'
'the fuck Tommo? It's the most fucking brilliant goddam day in existence tho u cunt!' And then: 'whats wrong'
Louis can't bring himself to answer that right now. So he doesn't, instead tapping out a 'Have fun tonight ireland. Send me pics' and tossing the phone onto his nightstand before leaving the room, leaving it all behind as he makes his way back to his family.
**
Stan comes over for dinner.
It's nice, it's fun, they all laugh and the girls cling to him at every opportunity they get during dinner, giggling and standing by his chair, sauce flecking their cheeks. He indulges them-he always does-and Louis and his mum smile, just watch and laugh occasionally.
They have dessert while they play video games, Louis' mum washing up in the kitchen (at her insistence), and the girls beg to play intermittently between showing off their various toys and singing for attention.
Stan grins, pinches Louis' cheek.
"You should come home more often," he says, and Louis laughs, bites at his hand.
"Maybe I'll just stay home," he wants to say jokingly, but there's a thinly veiled edge there, and Stan's eyes falter momentarily, regarding Louis closely.
"Yeah, maybe," Stan replies, and when Louis looks away, swallowing, he still feels his eyes on him.
**
Their shoes scuff the pavement as they walk.
"So you just left?" Stan asks, brows pinched, watching Louis closely. "Didn't try to call him or anything?"
The sun is setting and the sky's becoming overcast, and Louis' hands are stuffed deep in the pockets of his jacket. He's just word-vomited it all to Stan, everything, told him all about Harry and all about Harry-and-Louis and all about the dead ends and the almosts and he feels so fucking exhausted from it, just wants to be done with the conversation now that it's only started.
"He hasn't tried calling me, either." His voice carries in the breeze, breaks in the wind.
"Have you checked?"
He studies the cracks that pass beneath his feet, the little blades of grass that struggle to grow there. Louis carefully avoids stepping on them.
"I don't need to. He won't call."
"He might."
"He won't."
Stan falls silent, sighs eventually, and knocks into Louis' side.
"He'll come around. He always does, from the sounds of it."
Louis bites down hard on the corner of his lips, just because. He never does that, probably never has even once, but he does it now because there's nothing else he can do. Just bites the corners of his lips as they walk, lets it sting.
"He sounds like he really loves you, you know," Stan adds, a bit softer, and at that Louis has to close his eyes.
"No, Stan," he says when he opens them finally, moist and stinging. "He doesn't know how to love." And why does his voice sound like that? Why does it sound weak and small and distant and everything Louis is not? "He doesn't want me."
And it's simple and it's dead and it's final, and Louis just shrugs as Stan sighs and they don't speak until they arrive back at the house.
**
Just as Louis suspected, Harry did not text.
He's in bed before the moon has barely even risen-after having read his youngest sisters bedtime stories and sat and chatted softly with the older ones and kissed his mum on the cheek-and he hates his phone right now, wishes he didn't need to obsessively check it for Harry's name.
He sees a stream of texts from Niall that he doesn't read, most of them with exclamation points, and he knows they're good, knows they're all having fun, most definitely won, and he'll hear about it later, he will, but right now he needs himself, the silence, and the quiet knowledge of nothing.
So he sets his phone down, punches his pillow into a cold, inviting ball, and drops down like dead weight.
Sleep. He will sleep and then tomorrow, in the morning, he'll think.
**
It's definitely not morning when a sharp buzz jolts him awake.
The monotonous wail of his phone fills the room as it rumbles on the table, making the room glow. It startles Louis momentarily before it stops and darkens, returning the room to silence and peace.
He'd put money on it being Niall. Probably drunk. Most definitely drunk. Calling Louis to sing him a victory song.
Rubbing his burning, dry eyes, Louis stretches as much as he can as he reaches for his phone, checking his notifications and-
Twenty-three missed calls.
From Rory.
Twenty-three.
Something icy spikes through Louis.
So he reads all of his texts next-Niall exclaiming 'WEVE FUCKIN WON' around eight PM. 'WE WON AGAIN' fifteen minutes later. 'WISH YOU WERE HERE MATE LOVE YA' five minutes later. 'Why aren't you here?? :(' from Liam around the same time. Another from Liam that says 'Will you be coming out with us after? :(' and a 'U okay?' from Zayn seven minutes later. A picture of them all huddled together looking beautiful around nine-thirty. Harry's there. He's giving his fake smile, his eyes closed off and dull, too many teeth showing. He hasn't said anything to Louis.
But then the texts stop. And that's it.
And then, at three in the morning. Twenty-three consecutive missed calls from Rory. Rory of all people.
Something's not right.
All Louis can think about is Niall and his heart beats painfully hard, unhealthily fast, and everything is sharp and cold as he sits up in bed. His throat itches like it wants to be sick.
Niall. Is something wrong with Niall? Rory would know. Rory would call Louis if something was wrong with Niall.
Suddenly, his phone begins vibrating in his hand again-it's Rory calling for the twenty-fourth time. His name flashes across the screen, bold and bright and terrifying, too bright for Louis' tired eyes.
He stares, feeling another icy streak of panic shoot through his entire body as he stares at the screen before answering with one swift swipe, toes tingling and heart beating uncomfortably. He can hear his sisters' soft snores drifting from the hall.
It's probably nothing. He's probably just being paranoid. Niall's probably fine.
"Hello?" he answers, and his tone is obviously stricken with worry, too discombobulated to assemble any sort of poker face.
"Louis." Rory's tone is flat, almost hesitant. Sounds simultaneously relieved and apprehensive at finally being able to reach him.
"What?" Louis asks immediately, maybe a little abrasively, but he doesn't care. His hands clench the sheets that have fallen to his waist. He can't see, everything black and formless around him. So quiet, save for the soft snores and his heartbeat.
"You better come back, Louis."
His heart jumps into this throat at the firm words. He tries to swallow, over and over, tries to push it back down so he can breathe.
"Why?" He's keeping his breath even.
Dread. He feels dread. Something is wrong.
"You better come down," Rory just repeats and Louis' about to growl like a wild dog, when: "We're at St. Francis."
Thud, goes the drop of his heart.
"Hospital?" Louis manages and there's gravel in his mouth. "What's wrong? Niall? What's happened to him? Is he alright? What the fuck, Rory?"
"We don't know where Niall is."
What??
"What does that mean?"
There's a strangled sigh on the other end and Louis' already pushing his sheets off, trying to blink through the crust in his eyes and the heavy silence of night and dark.
"Just come back. It's better to..." Louis stops breathing, stops moving, just listens. "It's better if you hear in person."
Everything freezes around him as little acidic white spots begin blinking in Louis' eyes.
"Tell me," is all he says, but it's in a tone unfamiliar to himself, one he's never used before, and Louis doesn't feel connected to his body right now.
A pause.
Then.
"Liam."
And ice floods Louis' veins.
"What about him?" he asks, panicked, high, dizzy.
"He's here. In hospital."
"What about him?!" Louis repeats in a snarl and he's sat down on the bed. He's dizzy. He probably needs water. Everything's shaking.
There's the faint sound of voices and hubbub on the other end.
"He overdosed."
Silence.
Louis stares.
"They're stabilizing him, Louis," he says, and the tension in his voice is so alien and uncomfortable and horrible. "It wasn't too late. He's still here, Louis."
Louis stares.
There's no blood in his fingers.
"Come back. Zayn's asking for you."
Zayn.
"I'm coming," he says faintly, eyes tearing because he hasn't blinked, frozen to the spot. No air, no thoughts, no movement. Louis is filled with nothing.
"Good."
Silence.
Long, thick silence.
"He's going to be okay, Louis."
"They said that?"
A pause.
"He's going to be okay."
And that's all that Louis hears before he hangs up.
**
"Do you want me to stay?" his mum asks, wrapped in a thick jacket, face still sleep-creased and puffy. Her long hair is catching in the wind as she stands beside the car, the moon glowing above the cold lights of the hospital.
It hadn't taken them long to get here, and Louis can't help but be a bit extremely thankful that his mum was as calm about everything as she was. Even when he shook her awake, his heartbeat in his mouth and his hands rougher than he meant, jerky and cold, she'd merely switched on her light, sat up, listened, and nodded. She'd wrapped a jacket around her nightgown, plucked the keys off of the counter, and waited for Louis expectantly at the door after waking Charlotte, telling her to watch the girls, to call Stan if she needed.
Louis didn't like it, didn't like leaving like that, but he had to. He had to go and all he could do was hug his little sister without an explanation as he ambled out the door; and now they're here after a silent drive, the moon high in the sky, his mum shivering in the wind, his bag slung over his shoulder, and his jacket open and rumpled.
And he doesn't want to go inside.
"No, it's fine," he finally responds, voice scratchy. He's solemn, terrified. Biting the insides of his lips and avoiding his mum's gaze.
The wind whips past them as they stand, awkward.
"And they can't find Niall?" she asks after a moment, hugging her sides.
"I guess," he shrugs, hollow. "At least, that's what Rory said."
He needs to suck it up and go inside.
"You're sure you don't need me?" she asks, one last time, unsure.
Louis is thankful for it. Niall really has, somehow, miraculously, improved her character.
Niall.
His stomach twists.
"Yeah. I don't think Zayn would-" he cuts off, swallowing.
This is all so bizarre.
She nods, silent, clearly uncomfortable.
"Call us and the girls when everything's okay. Don't forget about us," she adds with a weak smile.
A prickle of annoyance settles inside him at the request but it's only momentary before he attempts a smile in return.
"Couldn't if I tried, could I?" he tries to joke.
She merely stares at him in response, searchingly, worriedly.
The wind whips by.
"Good luck," she says at last, stepping towards him after hesitating, wrapping him up in her arms.
He feels her press her lips to his hair, her hands gripping him tightly.
Neither lets go. Louis doesn't want to let go.
But still he says, "I should go," and steps out of her embrace, face pinned together in a smile. "I'll let you know if anything happens."
She nods.
"See you soon, love."
He nods. His eyes are prickling. Fuck.
"Love you, Boo," she adds.
He nods again, glancing away because his eyes are wet. He manages a wave, watches as she gets back in the car and drives off, leaving him in his trackies and old jacket, his bare ankles bright cold in the chilly air as he wipes the back of his hand against his eyes.
No crying. No crying.
He turns around and walks inside.
**
"Louis. You're here," Rory says in a relieved whoosh, almost as soon as Louis steps out of the lift.
He must've been waiting, and that sends sharp jolts through him.
"Sorry, I had to have my mum drive me. Went home," he says, his eyes searching the cluster of chairs nearby, searching for a familiar face. The hospital is mostly empty.
"Nothing would have changed had you gotten here earlier," Rory says, a little gruff. He claps him on the back. "He'll be glad you're here."
"Who?"
"Zayn."
Louis takes a deep breath.
This is so, so out of his realm.
He nods, scanning the room again.
"Where is he?" he asks, breathless, steeling himself.
"With Liam."
His head snaps to Rory, feeling the warm trickle of hope in his scalp.
"He's awake?"
"No."
And the trickle stops.
"But he's going to be okay."
The trickle turns into a flood.
"Yeah?" Louis asks, feeling the moisture in his eyes return. "They said?"
Rory nods, a smile forming beneath tired eyes, hand still gentle on Louis' back. And then it's gone.
"Come on. He'll want to see you."
**
Louis isn't allowed to see Liam, which comes as no surprise. Secretly, he's relieved. He isn't good with this stuff, doesn't know how to handle it, and seeing Liam hooked up to machines, drained of color and consciousness.... Well.
Louis' secretly relieved.
But that's all very much smashed as soon as he sees Zayn, pacing back and forth in the waiting room, still in his satin lapelled jacked and trousers and slackened tie, polished shoes gleaming beneath the fluorescent lights as the soles click against the floor. He's pale as a ghost, his eyes black, his entire demeanor erratic and bright like a dying star.
Louis stops in his tracks.
He's never seen Zayn like this. Has only ever seen smooth, smoke-breathing Zayn with his quiet understanding and loyal looks and lightning touches, has only been met with his lidded eyes and half-smiles. Yet here he is, twitching and pink and pale and red around the edges and gray on the surface and jumpy and weak and blurry, sparking like lightning, jumbled like a hurricane.
"Zayn?" Louis asks tentatively, upon approaching him.
He hears Rory walk away, leaving them alone.
Zayn immediately whips around, strained, glossy eyes finding Louis. Relief breaks through the madness.
He doesn't say a word, just bolts up to Louis and embraces him in a tight, unyielding hug.
Louis' never hugged Zayn before. At least not while sober. It's new to him, the way Zayn's lithe frame presses against him, his hair sleek and perfumed, his skin smoke-tinged and warm.
He holds on, unsure and a little disoriented, holds on because Zayn clings to him, and he can't even think to ask any questions, his mind and body blank.
Eventually, Zayn peels himself away, red eyes inspecting Louis with a fury that raises the fine hairs on his forearms, his eyes smudged with exhaustion-emotional and physical.
"He's going to be all right," he says, but he doesn't say it with relief. His voice shakes and the words are barely holding themselves together, everything about him screaming agitation. "He's going to be alright which is the only reason I'm here right now and not fucking killing him."
Louis frowns.
Not what he was expecting.
"Look, Zayn. I know Liam's made some mistakes-"
"This isn't Liam's fault," Zayn snaps frantically, taking a step back and looking both terrified and ready to attack. Like a cornered animal.
What?
"I thought-" Louis begins, but Zayn is shaking his head furiously, stalking past Louis and bumping him in the shoulder hard enough to cause him to lose his footing.
"It's his fault. It's always his fucking fault," Zayn spits.
And, no, Louis has never, ever seen Zayn like this before. He's almost near hysterical.
"Whose fault?" Louis asks, bewildered, trailing slowly after him. "What-"
"He was such a fucking mess the whole night-such a fucking psycho like his father-that he fucking dragged Liam into it all-he didn't even know what he was taking! He just gave it to him because he didn't want to be the only one who was fucking miserable," Zayn's saying, words rushed and loud and sparking and Louis is confused because what is he saying? He's not talking about -"He gave him bad fucking drugs, is what he gave him," Zayn continues. His eyes are glossier, fierce. A tear pools and collects in his right eye before streaming down his sculpted cheek, marked in stubble and twisted into a sneer. "Laced with some fucked up, random shit. Did he take some? No. He fucking bought it and gave it to Liam because he's a selfish fuck and he knew-he knew Liam would take it and he just fucking watched."
Louis is so confused.
Surely...
"Who gave it to him?" he asks, faint.
Not...
Zayn's face twists in disgust and vehemence, another tear falling. He's terrifying, he's a terrifying crier, and Louis finds himself taking a step back, his blood cold and sluggish.
"Harry."
Louis stops breathing.
He blinks, takes another step back. "Ha-Harry gave-"
"I left Liam's side for two fucking minutes, Louis. Two fucking minutes so I could get him a drink because he was hitting it too hard as it were. And I came back and-" Zayn cuts off, steady streams now falling down his face. So, so silently. His vicious expression begins to disintegrate, leaving him looking helpless, brittle, everything he's never been.
Louis can't breathe.
This is all so fucking insane.
"I didn't know it was him until after we'd arrived here. Harry'd come, brought us here in his car," Zayn says, sadness beginning to reign over his fury. "He only told me what he did while we were waiting to hear if..." He swallows, looks away. "He told me while we were waiting."
Louis' heart isn't beating. Or if it is, he can't feel it.
"He had the fucking audacity to tell me here, while Liam was in there, with people he doesn't even know-" And now Zayn's crying, properly, and it's potentially the most heartbreaking thing Louis has ever seen in his entire life. Worse than Fox and the Hound, worse than Black Beauty.
Without thought or breath, Louis walks to him, wraps an arm around his waist, pulling Zayn to his side.
He goes willingly, briefly settling his forehead upon Louis' shoulder as he gathers himself before standing straight, the slits of his eyes glittering and sour, etched raw.
"I almost killed him after he told me," he manages eventually, sniffing, voice hard. He wipes the remaining tears away with the back of his hand, eyelashes clustered together like spears. "I never want to see him again. Or I swear on my life, I will kill him."
Louis doesn't know how to answer that, his stomach constricting painfully.
Harry.
Harry, Harry, Harry.
What the actual fuck, Harry.
Why?
"Where's Niall?" he asks because he can't ask anything else.
The lights are clinical and bright, and Zayn's eyes are tired and red, and all Louis wants is darkness. Just a billowing, endless, velvety swarm of darkness.
And maybe the sound of Harry's breath.
But then Louis thinks of Liam-smiling, bright, perfect Liam-and he doesn't know what he wants, doesn't know how to think of this, doesn't know if there's such a thing as blame, doesn't know if he should feel anger or sadness or regret or...nothing.
Because right now he feels nothing.
"Dunno," Zayn sniffs some more, sliding his hands in his pockets. His eyes droop, his shoulders sag. Exhausted. "Barely saw him the entire night."
"But surely he would've come if he'd known," Louis says, shocked, because it's Niall. Niall who throws his body onto others for a cuddle, Niall who presses wet kisses to cheeks, Niall who smiles like the sun and laughs like the beginning of summer and who leaves chip grease on the door handles.
Zayn just shrugs in response.
So tired.
"Look, Zayn, I can stay here for the night. You go back and sleep, yeah?" He knows there's a snowball's chance in hell of him taking him up on the offer, but he still hopes, still offers.
Zayn shakes his head before the last word is out.
"I'm staying. Waiting for his parents to arrive."
"Then I'll stay with you," Louis says simply.
A smile struggles through, looks warped beneath the cold lights. "Thank you, Louis," Zayn says softly, with feeling. "But go back, yeah? Come back tomorrow. I just need to sort my head."
"Need some space?"
He nods. "Yeah. Some space. Thank you, though. Really."
Louis nods, clenching his fists nervously.
Does he go, then? Just go? Leave this half-Zayn behind to sleep in stiff wooden chairs upholstered in plastic? Alone?
"Rory will be here," he says, as if reading Louis' thoughts.
He nods again.
"You're sure you don't want more company? I mean. I know I'm no Rory, but." Louis smiles.
Zayn sort of smiles.
"Goodnight, Louis," is all he says, and Louis' nodding.
"Goodnight Zayn."
He presses the button to the lift, it opens immediately. Before he steps inside, he turns back around.
"Tell Liam I said hi," he says, and it's so casual and commonplace and normal, so utterly contrasted against reality, that Zayn immediately smiles, eyes beginning to glisten once more. There's a sureness in the words, an understanding made.
"I will. Soon as he finally wakes up, the tosser," Zayn responds softly, and his entire demeanor calms, his fists unclenching, his pacing ceasing.
Louis smiles back before entering the lift.
**
Niall's not at the flat.
He doesn't answer his phone, won't text Louis back, and he's just...well. He's missing.
And Louis is so fucking emotionally exhausted at this point, so utterly undone, that he can only add it to his list of things he feels helplessly terrified about as he drops his bag off into his room, searching the place for any indication that there'd been a recent inhabitant.
But everything lies still and cold and untouched and there are no answers to be found.
He stands in the middle of the room, taking in the decadence, the chandeliers, the velvets and the silks and the polished floors and the ridiculously sized TV that Niall's come to call 'home'. He looks at the piano-sleek and unassuming and a fucking nuisance-and smirks, picturing Niall in his pants and snapback so easily, his fingers smelling of weed, his mouth stuffed with cheese, his laughter booming louder than the keys. He takes in the low-set windows that Zayn had vomited in so very long ago (and fuck, Louis never thought he'd ever be eternally grateful for someone getting sick on his feet, but here he is) and he shakes his head and marvels at it all because it all looks so different to him now.
What had been ostentatious, unbearable, ridiculous, is now commonplace, casual, comforting. Has become home.
What he had sneered at, he now adores wildly.
What he had thought empty, heartless, ridiculous, he now thinks of as warm, open, beautiful.
Enchanting.
Childlike.
Strong.
Home.
He closes his eyes as his thoughts whisper the name, that name, a thousand conflicting feelings bubbling beneath the surface. Wild adoration, despair, shame, worry, affection, anger, frustration, love....
Not with you.
His heart lurches as he thinks of the feel of his lips, as he thinks of the way he looked when he left Louis behind.
No. He can't keep doing this. He just can't.
But then he hears Zayn's voice.
I never want to see him again. Or I swear on my life, I will kill him.
Never see him again.
The thought alone pushes into Louis painfully, pierces his heart like a thorn.
Once more. He'll see him just once more. Because this is all so fucked up and, yes, he might've pushed Louis away, he might've rejected him, but this is more. This is so much more than unrequited love, and Louis needs to just see him once more.
When he finally opens his eyes, he grabs his keys and leaves.
**
He's standing outside Harry's door and, this time, it's difficult to go inside.
He wants to, wants to more than anything because he needs to see him. Desperately. Needs to just understand what's happened tonight, needs to know if he's alright.
But every time he closes his eyes he sees Harry's wild eyes retreating away from him, hears his weak voice spitting out a, "Not with you, Louis," and it's all so fresh still. So fucking excruciating and humiliating.
He clenches his jaw.
And opens the door anyway.
The room is dimly lit by a gas lamp and candles-sun still having not yet risen-that cast shadows upon the walls in flickering sighs. Their flames catch in the cold breezes that whip through the room, pushing through the windows that are opened wide, wide as they can go-as if there wasn't enough air-the curtains rippling and snapping. Suitcases lie half-packed around the room, bits of clothes haphazardly strewn about, papers stacked, their edges fluttering, and cracked, leather-bound books litter the floor. The cat figurines are missing from their shelf. Flowers lie dead on the tables, crispy petals lifted in the gusts of wind, drifting to the floor.
And there, amidst it all, is Harry.
Harry, with his tangled curls and...
Louis swallows at the sight.
Harry. With his tears that glisten his soft, pale cheeks and sobs that wreck his trembling body and hands that he doesn't know what do with as he wanders in circles, journal in one hand, his lilac jumper in the other.
Like Zayn, he's also still wearing his suit from the Brits, his bowtie undone and his shirt unbuttoned at the top, ripped apart wide as if he'd been choking, revealing the slender line of his white neck that heaves unsteadily. Little noises escape him-little hiccups and little shaky breaths-as he walks, clearly distraught, clearly blinded by tears and just aimless, stumbling over the oriental rug and stumbling over himself.
He doesn't see Louis.
So Louis just watches for a little longer, watches because he's transfixed and heartbroken and very, very fucking terrified, unsure if he should even be here.
But he always keeps coming back, doesn't he. He always comes back.
He swallows.
Just once more.
"Where are you going?" he asks at last, voice raspy. He clears his throat, but Harry's already spun around, his eyes wild and body stiffening and-
And he lets out a sob the minute his eyes land on Louis.
It's open, it's unabashed, and it's raw, his entire composure unraveling that much more, and Louis feels it too, feels the relief and the dread and the exhaustion in that sob, sees the helplessness in his tears, and that's enough. That's enough to assure him that, yes, he should be here.
"Harry," he says, voice breaking, as he rushes to him blindly, instinctually. When he reaches him, he touches unthinkingly, cradles Harry's head in his hands and brushes away the fresh surge of tears and it makes Harry cry harder, the jumper and journal falling out of his slackened hands, thudding onto the floor.
Louis' eyes sting, his throat stings, his chest stings as Harry's head bows with the weight of his tears, and he feels it as Harry brings his hands up to rest on Louis' forearms, loose, then gripping, almost bruising, and the sobs never stop and Louis can't swallow, can't blink. He just brushes tear after tear away with his clumsy thumbs, fingertips lost in wisps of hair and smooth flesh as he holds Harry together, keeps all of his pieces in place as they crack and crumble.
He doesn't want to say 'it's okay' and he doesn't want to shush him, doesn't want to tell him anything because Harry needs this, needs to cry, and Louis wants it for him, doesn't want him to feel ashamed of his tears or feel weakened by them.
Minutes and forever passes, and Louis never releases Harry and Harry never releases Louis.
Louis can't let go. He just fucking can't. Can't even look away.
"Is he okay?"
Louis startles at Harry's quiet, almost-whimper of a voice, his heart breaking all over again as Harry bows his head further down, ashamed, quiet, small.
"He's going to be okay, yeah," he whispers, his thumbs brushing the thin flesh beneath his eyes, wondering if he's leaving indents.
Harry nods, sobs quieting.
They stand longer, stand together, and Louis never looks away.
"I have to go," Harry says at least, head still bowed, voice miserable. His grip on Louis eases, and the tip of his nose is pink, his eyelashes wet and clinging to his skin. "I'm going to leave. Tonight."
Louis freezes, impaled.
What?
"I'm not coming back this time," he continues. "I can't come back."
Incredulous and a bit completely fucking shattered, Louis stares, moving his hand to brush his thumb over Harry's lips, wanting to push the words back inside, keep them away from the world.
He watches, heart rate increasing, as Harry's eyelids flutter at the contact, his lips momentarily turning to graze Louis' palm; he watches the sweet press of his lids as they shut, watches Harry inhale his skin.
He's inhaling Louis' skin.
He's breathing him.
He's relaxing, loosening, cells melting into Louis' cells and his eyes are closed as he breathes Louis' skin, grazing his face against the flesh of his fingers so gently, so reverently.
And holy fuck, holy shit, fuck, shit, what, what?? Louis is going to die, is going to-
But then he pulls away.
Always pulls away.
And he opens his eyes, revealing a blankened stare that doesn't reach farther than the floor, before slipping out of Louis' grasp and turning away.
"No," Louis says dumbly, finding his voice, because that's all that he can say. He shakes his head, following Harry as he picks up the journal, the jumper, picks up another book. "No, you can't leave. You can't just leave. You're in school, for fuck's sake. This isn't a fucking novel, Harry, you can't run away."
"I don't need school. You know that. I'll be fine." His voice is raspy, low. Quiet.
Louis doesn't know how to respond.
"You can't leave."
Harry continues to move throughout the room, dropping item after item in each suitcase, an occasional sniffle breaking the steady sounds of wind, flickering candle, and billowing curtains.
A panicked desperation begins to drip cold down Louis' scalp.
"Harry-fucking-you can't fucking-you can't just leave, you can't do that!"
That goddamned heart shirt gets dropped in next, rumpling softly as it reaches the suitcase. Louis tracks the movement with his eyes, palms cold.
There's a few more pangs of silence, of Louis watching Harry pack and feeling his heart crack, and then his pulse quickens. His heart beats harder, each thump vicious against his frail bones and shivered skin. It might crack him in half.
"Take me with you," Louis finds himself saying, desperate.
He might be going insane.
He says it before he understands it, but the minute the words fall into the room, he knows that he means them, means them more than he's ever meant any other drivel he's spewed in his entire twenty-one years of existence, and he stands there, defiant, refusing to take the words back.
And Harry freezes.
"Take me with you" he repeats, stepping forwards, breathless. "I want to go with you."
He's panicked, he's blind.
Slowly, Harry's head turns, eyes wide, bright, careful.
"Louis," he drips slowly, drawing the name out into a song, "I can't do that to you."
"Take me with you," Louis says again, walking up to him and locking his gaze, and Harry looks down, trapped, torn, and frayed.
He tries to shake his head, but his eyes crawl to Louis' eyes, settling there, and he stops, his brow furrowing.
"That doesn't make sense," he whispers.
"You make me want to not make sense," Louis whispers back with a smile, and something shifts in Harry's eyes. Maybe a returned smile.
Harry swallows, still staring, still caught. Almost dazed.
"That doesn't make sense, either."
Louis dares to smile wider. "Good. I should hate to make sense."
"'To be great is to be misunderstood,'" Harry quotes mindlessly, unblinkingly, lost.
Louis' ribs are cracking. He grins.
"So it's decided, then?" he asks, and what is he saying? What is he asking? What is he doing?
What about the rejection? What about Liam? What about what he did? What about Niall and Zayn and what about, what about, what about??
He's spinning out of control. But he can't think about any of that, any of it, because he's drowning in right now and trapped by Harry's eyes.
At Louis' words, Harry's trace of a smile vanishes, leaving only darkness.
"I could never do that to you," he says, low. "I could never take you with me. You don't deserve that. You deserve-" His voice cracks, stops, a ripple of a grimace shadows his face. Louis watches the lines of his throat as he swallows.
"Then stay," Louis insists, gripping his arm. "I won't-I won't kiss you again, all right? I won't-I'm your friend, first and foremost, okay? I won't and-and the lads will come around, Zayn will come around. He's just upset. He's..."
He falls silent as Harry shakes his head, his eyes intent on Louis' lips. His breathing is harsh through his nose. He remains perfectly still, face tense, chest heavy.
Pinpricks of seconds pass by, Harry's eyes still locked on Louis' mouth, Louis' mind whirring, and there they stand, alone together, surrounded by open suitcases and wind and flickering candles and a moon that's begun to descend on the horizon.
Louis' mind is fucking whirring.
"Why did you do it, Harry?" he needs to ask after a stretch of silence, voice in a whisper. The mood shifts immediately. "What did you give him? Why? What happened tonight?"
Again, Harry grimaces, but he remains silent, eyes flicking away from his lips and up to Louis' eyes. The glassiness of his gaze intensifies, but the tears never fall.
"Zayn's my best mate," he eventually says, cracked. He doesn't answer the question. "They're my only mates. I don't want to them to look at me like that again. I can't stay here, not when Zayn looks at me like that."
"Like what?"
Harry's voice comes out even quieter, weaker, face threatening to crumple. "He hates me, Louis. He hates me and I can't stay here. I don't want to."
Louis ignores the pang at that.
He doesn't want to stay? Even if Louis' here?
Louis couldn't leave Harry if he tried.
"I don't hate you," he says, pushing his thoughts away because no. This isn't about his heart-this is about Harry's. "I don't hate you at all-I just don't understand you. You never let me understand you. I want-" He stops himself, unsure of what he was about to say.
The wind whistles low as it slides past the windowpanes.
With a deep-set frown, Harry lifts his hand, cautiously, shakily, to Louis' cheek. It's electric, almost too much, as it touches Louis' cheek, just barely. "You don't deserve-" he begins, eyes softening, and the electricity turns into a fire.
With hot, burning coals that ignite Louis' insides, flare his temper.
"Stop fucking telling me what I deserve!" he snaps, angry, exasperated, gripping onto Harry's wrist and securing it in place. Okay, maybe he will be a little bit selfish. He deserves to be. "Don't just leave your messes behind, Harry. Just don't. We'll sort it out. Both of us. Me and you." As Harry begins to shake his head, Louis growls, grips tighter to Harry's wrist. "Yes. Just-just don't leave this time, okay? Stay. Please. Please stay."
Harry regards him, eyes cloudy, hand limp against Louis' cheek as he holds it up. Doubt reigns in his features.
"Please," Louis says again, softer.
Moments drag by, moments filled with the sound of Louis' body thrashing in agony.
Then finally, finally, Harry's eyes clear the tiniest bit, his lips quirking down a bit more, and he nods. Just once, quickly, but he nods, and Louis breathes as he releases Harry's wrist, letting his hand fall back to his side.
"Good," he breathes, "good. Stay tonight, yeah? And lemme just-lemme talk to Zayn. I think he'll listen to me. If I just put some perspective into him...we can work on this, all right? I know you didn't want to hurt Liam-"
"Never," Harry interrupts, impassioned, pained, eyes wide and lost. "I would never want-I'd never want that." He swallows.
Louis nods. "I know. And Zayn does, too. He does, deep down. He's just upset right now. He's not thinking clearly. I'll talk to him."
With determination, he begins backing away, confidence pairing with the adrenaline in this body, the hysteria and the panic and over-abundance of emotions and sleep deprivation.
"What-now?" Harry asks, brow furrowing. "I can't ask you to do that, Louis." His voice is doubtful.
"Let me talk to him. Stay here. I'll be back, okay? Just let me talk to Zayn and I'll be back."
Please don't leave, is what he means.
Harry doesn't reply.
"Please," Louis says, pausing, because Harry isn't agreeing anymore, is just standing there. He needs to agree. "Just stay, okay?"
Another beat of silence from Harry.
Louis' heart is quivering, bruising.
"For me."
At that, Harry starts.
"Please stay for me."
More silence passes, more drags on.
Then. At last.
"Tonight," Harry promises, quiet, eyes locked within Louis'. "I'll stay tonight."
Louis feels his chest expand.
Thank god.
It's enough. It's not everything...but it's enough.
He turns to leave as Harry watches him, eyes unblinking, face hard. He watches him, his curls ruffling in the wind, before he suddenly strides forward before Louis' hand reaches the door handle.
"Louis," he says, quiet and loud at the same time, voice pitched in fear.
Louis turns immediately.
Harry stares at him, eyes scorching him alive.
"I'm sorry," he says, overwhelmed, frail. "I don't know-you weren't there tonight and I wasn't sure if it was because-I don't know if I-I didn't mean to-" he cuts off, swallowing, eyes wide. His hands clench at his sides. "Thank you. For coming tonight. For coming here."
Fuck.
Louis' insides soften.
"I always come," he says, lips twisting in a self-depreciating smile. "For you, at least." He tries to sound wry, but he sounds hurt instead. He licks his lips.
"I wasn't sure if-" Harry falls silent.
His heart drags. Rejection, rejection, rejection.
"I'm the one who should be sorry," Louis says. He looks away, anywhere but at Harry. "I shouldn't have kissed you."
In his peripherals, he sees Harry stiffen.
He swallows past it.
"You need a friend," he says, hollow, keeping his voice level. "And I respect that. I don't know what I expected, I just..." And he can't help it, he looks to Harry, looks into his wide, wide green eyes and pale, terrified face, his brows that are beginning to pinch, his lips whose fine, red lines warp into a grimace. "I lost myself. Just, for a moment..." He breathes through his nose.
Now is not the time, Louis. Now is not the time.
But, of course, he ignores his rational thought, instead opting for doing what feels right, because he's lost right now and he can't think properly, he's spinning out of control.
"I thought... I thought, maybe, if you just knew how I..." He stops, once more unable to look at Harry, voice weak.
Okay. Maybe he can't do this after all.
He swallows.
"I'll never do that again," he says instead and it hurts. Things are caving in. "I'll never make you feel that way again."
He still can't look at Harry, but he hears him breathing, hears the harsh breaths through his nose and can see the shaking of his hands. But he can't, can't, can't look at him.
"I don't.... I don't want anything that you don't want to give," he continues, and he breathes, forces himself to look up. "And I won't ask it of you."
God, this hurts.
Harry stares at him, shiny and pink and agape, looking somewhere between confused and speechless and terrified and he just stares at Louis, won't stop staring.
"Just please don't leave. Okay? I'll be back. I'll be back and I'll fix this," Louis says in a rush because this is horrible, this is embarrassing, this is pathetic.
He came here to find answers about Liam, because Liam's hurt-really hurt-and instead he's made a fucking fool of himself, thrown himself at Harry again and why?
Why is he doing these things? Why can't he stop? Why must he constantly find himself drowning in Harry and why can't he think properly? He's focusing on this drivel, this mess of emotions seeping from his heart, instead of the things that matter.
Or, maybe, these things do matter.
He doesn't know.
What he does know is that he needs to get the fuck out of here.
"I'll be back," he says, near frantic, one last time as he shuts the door, leaving Harry's open mouth and wide, wet eyes.
**
It only occurred to him as he was about to leave the school gates that it wasn't yet morning, was still mostly night.
Cursing, he walked back to his flat. Maybe for a nap, maybe just for a cup of tea, maybe just to sit in silence for a bit. But he came back because Zayn's still at the hospital, wanting to be alone, waiting for Liam's parents, and Louis can't talk to Harry right now.
Not when he can't fucking handle it. Not when he's throwing up feelings and emotions and words he doesn't understand. There are more important things happening right now.
And besides-just how many times does Harry need to reject Louis before he gets the hint? (A lot of times, apparently.)
He's lost in thought when he opens the door to his flat, the sky still a navy sort of blue, the stars a little weaker, the very faint peakings of the sun beginning to unleash upon the world.
He's lost when he flicks on the light, and so he doesn't see the figure sitting at the table in the dark, doesn't see the fingers that grip in blonde hair.
Instead, in his haste to collapse at the kitchen table and-maybe?-cry, he almost collapses on Niall.
"Fuck's sake!" he yips, jumping up as Niall starts. He collects himself, allows his thoughts to quiet, and then, heart warming, gasps out a, "Niall??!"
But Niall doesn't say anything.
He just slides his hands down to his face and hides, and his skin is the hue of tears, is muddled and moist and he's dressed to the nines and completely undone and...
And what's happening?
"Niall?" he asks again, tentative, taking in the boy before him who is...wrong. Just wrong.
Niall is bright and alive and unaffected. Not...this.
"What's wrong, Ireland?" he asks, playing for casual, playing for light, but Niall just shakes his head and-
And Louis thinks he just heard a...quiet sob? Like. An actual sob?
Panicked, alarmed, and very fucking upset-this might be more heartbreaking than Zayn's meltdown-Louis just places his arm around his shoulders, grips him to his side, and instantly Niall sinks into him, his shoulders shaking as he silently weeps.
What's wrong what's wrong what's wrong.
Louis' blood is humming. (Worst. Night. Ever.)
They remain like that for some time, Louis keeping calm because he's become a bit of an expert at dealing with tears, just holding Niall silently and trying to just take each moment as it comes before he explodes, and Niall shaking, occasionally emitting tiny, painful noises, and Louis just listens because there's nothing else he can do.
Eventually, the noises quiet and the shakes lessen and Louis waits some more.
"I fucked up," is what Niall finally says, low and anguished.
Louis' heart breaks a bit as he takes a seat beside him.
When he finally lowers his hands, his face is red and mottled, his hair askew with product and the traces of his fingers, and his eyes are lost, crimson, and puffy. He looks broken. It makes Louis swallow.
"What do you mean?" Louis asks softly, never releasing his grip on him.
"I fucked up real bad, Lou," he says, and his face begins to fall again, his eyes crumpling and no, no, no there's just too much crying right now.
Louis is so tired.
"You heard what happened, yeah?" Niall continues, swallowing down the tears, breathing slow and shaky. He glances sidelong at Louis before looking away, folding his arms over his chest. "Tonight? With Liam?"
"Yeah," Louis nods sadly, tightens his hold around his shoulders. "Yeah, that's why I'm here. Mum drove me back."
Niall nods, breathing through his mouth, still assembling himself.
"Good woman."
Louis half-smiles. "I guess. Could credit you for some of that."
Niall's face falls that much more.
"No. No, don't do that." His voice is strangled and fuck, this is all so wrong.
"He's going to be okay," Louis assures gently. "Do you want to go? Zayn's there right now. Liam's parents are on their way if they haven't arrived already-"
"Fuck, Lou, stop! Just stop, all right?" Niall says, pushing his chair away and breaking free, making to stand up. "I fuckin'..." He walks to the windows, shoulders tense.
"You fuckin' what?" Louis asks, confused. "What's wrong, Niall? He's gonna be okay-"
"I did it."
A drop of silence.
"What?" Louis asks, confused. Because... "Did what?"
"I gave it to him. I gave that shit to Liam. I took some, too."
Oh fuck.
Oh shit.
What?!
"You gave-" Louis starts, dead.
"I don't know, I just... We fuckin' won-we won, Louis! We won every fuckin' category and I was having the best fuckin' time and I was getting all this recognition and these fuckin' offers and shit and I just fuckin'.... I felt on top of the goddamn world, ya know?" He laughs, dry and empty, running his hands through his hair as he stares out the windows, at the awakening sky, his back to Louis. "And Liam's always up for it. So I gave him some and it just so happened that the shit he took was... It was bad, Lou. I fuckin' gave it to him. And I should've stayed to see how he'd react to it but I just left him and-" He cuts off, and Louis can't see his face.
Louis can barely see anything, because there are spots in his eyes and his world has just been fucking turned upside down.
His blood beats in his ears.
"Why didn't you say anything?" Louis manages to ask in a brittle voice, eyes wide, and he stares at Niall's back unblinkingly. His own thoughts are assaulting him.
What what what.
"I was scared," Niall admits quietly after a moment. The cool blue of the fading night sky glows on his pallid skin, soaks into his tangled strands of hair. "I was scared shitless so I fuckin' left." He hears him swallow. "I just left." And his head droops.
Louis' thoughts are on overload.
He tries to absorb the information, tries to think of Rory and how he couldn't find Niall, Zayn's fury at Harry and-Harry.
Fuck.
"Why the fuck did you leave? Why the fuck didn't you talk to Zayn?" Louis asks, standing up as well, but he's not mad. He can't be mad right now when everything else is so strong and it's left no room for anything else. "Niall, that was such a shit move. You're better than that. He could've died and you would've just hid??"
"I know."
"Do you??"
"Yeah, I fuckin' do," Niall says louder, turning around. His face is pained and marked in lines, ghostly illuminated. "I'm going to talk to Zayn."
"Good," Louis says, walking up to him. "I'll go with you. First thing in the morning."
"So. Like, an hour."
Louis nods. "Like an hour."
The air is tense.
And Louis is still confused.
"Harry told Zayn he did it," he says, low and careful, watching Niall's face.
Niall blinks at that, surprise alighting his expression.
"Wait, what?"
"Harry said he did it. Zayn almost killed him. Was he there, or...?" Louis asks, and his heart is picking up pace because things are slotting into uneven places in his mind, coming together jaggedly.
"No, no he wasn't there," Niall says, taken. "He was off in the corner, moping about you."
Louis feels sick.
"What?"
"He was like that the whole night. Barely spoke to anyone. Just stared at his fuckin' phone. He wouldn't even talk to Grimmy."
Oh god.
"Then why did he..." Louis searches for answers. Comes up with nothing.
Fuck.
"I've got to talk to him."
"I've got to talk to him," Niall says, bewildered, but Louis stops him as he makes to leave.
"No, please. Let me just-let me do this first. I need to talk to him on my own. First. Then, you can?" Louis' voice is hopeful, is teetering on the edge as he stares at Niall. His heart is racing.
Niall nods.
"Yeah, sure. That's fine. Just. Just tell him I'm going to come clean to Zayn, yeah?"
"Yeah, of course. I'll text you when we're finished? You can come over? Or, whatever." Louis can barely think. His heart just keeps beating so loudly.
Niall nods. "Sounds good, yeah."
"Okay."
They stare at each other for a moment before Louis rushes forward, wraps Niall up in his arms in a fierce embrace.
For a moment, Niall is stunned, body stiff against Louis' before he finally relaxes, wrapping warm arms around Louis' body.
"We'll fix this, all right? It's fucked up. It is. But we'll be all right," Louis says, voice muffled by Niall's blazer.
Niall nods.
"It's down to me, though, isn't it? Gotta fix it on me own, Tommo. I fucked up, not you. Gotta try and fix this. Well. Fix whatever can be fixed." He releases Louis, expression dark. "Not sure how you can fix something like this."
"Maybe fix isn't the right word," Louis says. "But we'll work through it. All of us, yeah? And when Liam wakes up, we'll have a proper chat with him as well, yeah?"
Niall nods, eyes still dark, before he attempts a smile.
"Yeah. Now go on, get it. Go fetch your prince."
Louis smiles sadly.
"No prince fetching, I'm afraid. 'S not like that. He needs a mate, Niall."
And Niall actually smirks at that.
"He needs you, is what he needs. Go on. Shoo. Go!" he laughs, and Louis hugs him once more, just briefly, before bounding out the door.
**
When he opens the door, he finds Harry at his desk, journal open.
He's staring down at it, hands in his lap, just staring.
The click of the door as Louis closes it brings him back to life though, makes his head snap up and his eyes brighten infinitesimally.
And they stare at each other from across the room.
Louis, hand still on the door handle, jacket open.
Harry, sat at his desk, the trickling of pink and purple sun framing the frizz of his curls, his shoulders tiny and slouched.
"You didn't do it," Louis says, beginning to walk slowly towards him. "You told Zayn you did it, but you didn't do it."
Harry's face changes, but he says nothing.
So Louis continues.
"Niall did. He's at the flat now. He told me everything. He doesn't know you took the blame, you know. He had no clue! And he's gonna fix it. As soon as the sun's risen, he's going to tell Zayn."
Harry bites his lip, still says nothing, following Louis with his eyes.
Louis reaches the desk, his knees bumping against the cherry wood. He stares down at Harry, lost. So lost.
"Why did you fucking do that? Didn't you think Liam would tell the truth? Didn't you think Niall would say something? Why did you do that?!"
"I told Zayn before we knew if Liam was going to be all right," Harry says softly. He keeps staring.
"But Niall?"
"I gave him an option." Harry swallows, never blinks. "His career, Louis. He did so well tonight. He's just a kid, he's got the world before him. Something like this would ruin his life-"
"It'd ruin your life!" Louis interjects, but Harry stands, shaking his head.
"Better me than him."
Louis stares.
"Niall's good. He's a good person. And, like, he's going to have a good life. He deserves that. But me? They expect it of me. It made sense, Louis. And I was going to tell Niall, I was, but-"
"But I got to him first," Louis says, watching as Harry walks to him hesitantly. "And now he's going to tell Zayn and Liam's going to tell Zayn and-fuck, Harry, what were you thinking? This was completely fucking unnecessary you stupid fucking martyr! It's senseless! You fucking oaf!"
And he wants to be angry, but he's not, his voice almost hysterically relieved.
"I'm sorry," Harry says, voice carrying in the breeze.
"Stop apologizing."
"I'm sorry."
"Fuck's sake," Louis sighs, but half-laughs, rubbing his eyes. He looks at Harry, takes in the torn boy before him, and he laughs once more, shaking his head because everything is so fucked up. "So that means you stay then," is all he thinks to say. "For good."
Harry watches him closely.
"Perhaps."
"Not 'perhaps'. Stay. Come on-there's no reason for you to go anymore."
He's silent, eerily silent, watching Louis. But then he nods eventually, just once, his eyes boring into him.
"Good," Louis says, muscles relaxing.
But Harry keeps staring. Why is he looking at him like that?
"What did you mean before?" he suddenly asks, voice odd. He's still staring at Louis, almost fiercely, his hands at his sides.
Louis blinks, startled.
"Before...?"
"When you said you won't ask it of me?"
Oh.
Well oh shit.
Louis swallows, ducks his head, clears his throat.
Shit.
"Oh. Er. Well. I-"
"What did you mean when you said you didn't know what you expected? When you said you lost yourself?"
And Harry's eyes fucking burn. And his voice is strange.
Shit shit shit.
"I just..." he begins, surveying the half-empty room, before his shoulders fall in an exhale. Tired, he looks up at Harry, looks in those wide, penetrating eyes that sear. "I care about you so much," he admits quietly, openly, nakedly. His voice is weak under the strain of feeling he allows to seep forth. "So, so much. And you mean everything to me. Somehow, without me even really knowing how, you mean everything to me. And it's the little things and the big things and... And it's sort of quiet, you know? It's sort of this quiet feeling that is just so fucking powerful and essential but so quiet that sometimes I forget it's there almost? But then, sometimes, it just sort of washes over me and I... I lose myself, I guess. I forget that I'm not supposed to. I forget that I can't. I forget because all I'm aware of his how much I-"
No.
No no no.
He can't say it. He can't do this to Harry.
Not with you.
He closes his mouth, sucks in a breath.
Harry's eyes have widened-is that possible?-as they stare at him, his entire body in Louis' direction, focused on Louis, and he's like a force of concentrated energy, ready to combust and change the world. Like the moment before the Big Bang. Harry's the Big Bang.
Louis stares back though, tucks his hands in the sleeves of his jacket and holds on just to grip something, tries to breathe evenly even though he's just spilled his innards and embarrassed himself yet again, has lain himself out to dry, and he tries to sooth the tight muscles in his face because everything hurts and-
"Say it."
Harry's voice is soft, firm, raspy and catching in his throat.
Louis starts at the words.
"Wha-" he begins, taken aback, clutching tighter to his sleeves.
"Say it," Harry repeats, and his eyelids flutter, eyes terrified but determined, set in the steel of his face, his copper curls framing and cutting into the porcelain of his skin.
"Say what?" Louis asks, breathless.
What is he asking? Surely not...
"Say it," Harry says again, and takes a step forward. His eyes grow glassy, staring at Louis as if he were the only fucking thing in the world and fuck. "Please." The last word is barely above a whisper.
So Louis loses himself again.
"I'm in love with you," he says after a moment's pause, all of the oxygen leaving the room. And he's on fire, he's on fucking fire, but he doesn't look away from Harry's eyes. "Duh," he adds after a moment, needing to lessen the pressure, needing to lighten the pounding tension, but it comes out weak and frail and he can't feel his face so he's not completely sure he's even attempted a smile.
He doesn't know what he was expecting Harry to do.
But he certainly was not expecting him to break into tears.
In one swift tidal wave, Harry bursts, crying, crying, crying, burrowing his face in his hands, and fuck, no, Louis has had enough crying for the day.
"Curly," he says lightly, wants to laugh and feel lighter because he's sick of being on fire, as he takes a tentative step forward. "I-" But he doesn't know what to say.
Harry just cries.
But then. But then he suddenly tumbles forward and Louis catches him and Harry's suddenly clinging to him, clutching him to his chest and burying his face in Louis' neck and he's holding onto Louis for dear life, just crying and grabbing and staying.
And Louis' shocked-really fucking shocked and confused-but he holds on, unsure if he's being rejected or brushed aside or what, so he just holds.
Then Harry finally lifts his head, little hiccups and sobs still escaping, and what is his expression? It's a mixture of relief and raw emotion and it's a lot. It's everything.
But before Louis can touch a gentle hand to his cheek, before he can search his face, label it, give it a name he'll keep in his bones forever, Harry's leaning forward with his red, open lips and wet cheeks and damp eyelashes and he-
He kisses Louis.
He's absolutely kissing Louis, one hand in his hair, one hand clenched in his jacket, and he's still crying and Louis is dying. Maybe already dead. It's soft, alarmingly soft, and slow as the drip of rain, fallen from wet leaves. Like he's being careful, like he's savoring, like he's handling something precious even though Louis feels as if he's locked in marble. So opposite of their last kiss, of their panicked desperation.
Then Harry gasps for breath through his tears that, apparently, have kept flowing and he breaks off before Louis can even begin to kiss back-and then he's pressing a kiss to the corner of Louis' mouth and, yes, Louis is most certainly already dead.
He can barely grasp the situation, can barely keep himself upright and Harry's shuddering breaths collide with Louis' cheeks as he presses wet kiss after wet kiss to his cheekbones, jaw, nose, forehead, temples, eyelids, the little space between his eyebrows, the bit between his lips and nose, his chin-he's just kissing Louis, little wet, sweet dabs that are reverent and careful and sighing and crying and Louis' face is moist with Harry's tears and Harry's kisses and it's the most perfect fucking thing in the world, with the sun rising, the wind whipping through the windows and licking his skin icy.
"I thought," Louis begins, tangling his hands in Harry's hair and staring, just staring at Harry's pink cheeks and the way his eyelashes flutter with every press of his lips to Louis' face. "I thought you needed a friend?"
Harry stops, pressing one last hiccup-y kiss to the space near Louis' left ear, and he shakes his head, his grip on Louis tightening.
"I just need you," he says, eyes finally meeting with Louis'. They're shining. They're fucking shining and they're brighter than the rising sun, more important than the rising sun, warmer than all the suns in every stretch of the endless universe. They're the collisions of stars and the supernovas, the moons, and the nebulas and they're everything. "I don't know what I'm-I don't know anything," he says, holding onto Louis, face alive. "I justneed you. And you're so much more-you're so much. And I-"
"You left after I kissed you," Louis says, bewildered, breathless, swirling his fingers against Harry's scalp, causing his eyelids to flutter like the broken wings of a moth. "You left and I thought-"
"You're more than that," Harry says, impassioned, gripping, burning. His eyes are clearer, drier, his eyelashes still damp and sparkling under the dim lights and speckles of fresh, barely awoken sunlight. "I couldn't do that to you. I couldn't. Not with you, Louis. You're more."
Well.
"You can, though," Louis says, soft, bringing his hand to Harry's face and brushing his thumb across ever plane, every stretch of soft skin.
Harry closes his eyes, leans into the contact, cherishes the touch.
Louis is going to die.
"No," Harry insists in a mumble, eyes still closed, his eyelashes catching on Louis' fingertips. "I want to do it right, Louis. It's different. You're different."
"You're different," Louis says, just because he can, because he's ready to be sick and he's floating and he might fucking burst. He's grinning now, can feel his painful, brilliant, blinding grin and Harry's lips quirk upwards, too. "I've never met anyone like you. You've restored my faith in humanity, Curly. Just by existing." He laughs, grinning, brushing fingers across Harry's lips which smile wider at the feeling, his eyes intent on Louis, bright. It's exhilarating. "Just because someone like you exists... You made me fall in love with the world again."
Harry's breath catches, just for a moment.
But Louis feels it. Loves that he can feel it.
"You gave me a world I didn't know was there," Harry whispers in response, stilling, staring at Louis so gently, so reverently, so adoringly.
And oh, sweet fuck, what is air??
Louis' heart soars. It soars above treetops, on birds' wings, and breaks through cloud clusters and chases the sun.
"I'll always give you everything," Louis says, lightheaded, soaring, full.
Is he high? Is this normal? Does emotion do this to people? He must be high.
He's so fucking happy.
"I'll always give you everything," Harry mimics, sincerely, and they just stare, lost in each other, before Harry breaks out in a wide grin, glancing down at Louis' lips shyly. "If you want," he adds quietly.
"I only want what you want to give, what's good for you to give, and what I will give you in return. What I will never stop giving you," Louis beams, leaning forward. And he kisses him, seeking the comfort of Harry's satin mouth that parts eagerly. Because he can, because he finally can and because this is okay. This is what Harry wants.
He's so. Fucking. Happy.
"Never?" Harry giggles between kisses, his lips warm and red as apples. He giggles. The fucker giggles and he dips in for another kiss, impossibly soft and impossibly perfect, slotted just right to Louis' body and it clicks.
They kiss like they've kissed for-fucking-ever and they align like a key in a lock and Louis is so fucking happy.
He thinks he hears the world sigh.
"Never," he confirms, before they finally break apart, Harry warm and pink and clutching him, calmer and softer than he's ever been.
"Now," he says, as Harry leans forward, presses his face gently to the side of Louis' just because. Just nuzzles into him like a kitten and just breathes him in, just stays there. Louis can smell the sweetness of his curls, can hear his breathing in his ear. He grins even wider. Soaring. "We best go fetch Niall. Then go talk to Zayn."
He feels Harry nod.
"Together, yeah?" Louis whispers, pressing a kiss to his temple.
He feels Harry's smile before he sees it, before he raises his head, curls mussed. The smile's a dopey one, gleeful and almost sleepy, as if drunk.
"Yeah," Harry says, happily.
And then Louis finds himself kissing him again, grip around him strong.
**
It goes better than Louis expected.
By the time they arrive at the hospital, Liam's awake and with his parents and Zayn has finally stopped pacing. He grins widely upon seeing Louis and Niall, faltering only slightly when he sees Harry.
"I've got to talk to you, mate," Niall says immediately, and Zayn rips his gaze away from Harry, focuses it to Niall who looks worn, save for his occasional sly grins and quick winks he relentlessly sends Louis' way. (He was not oblivious to the way Harry snuck his hand into Louis' on the ride there. He was not oblivious and Louis absolutely did not give a fuck because he was still soaring, soaring higher, and he gripped Harry's hand firmly and unbreakably, fingers laced.)
Zayn nods, confused. "All right," he says, and they walk off, Niall's shoulders slouched.
"At least he didn't attack me, I suppose," Harry mumbles, watching them walk away.
"He wouldn't do that," Louis insists, poking his side, and when Harry looks to him, the clouds clear. Louis smiles. "Besides, Niall's going to set it straight."
Harry nods, catches Louis' hand.
"Can we see Liam soon?"
"Yeah, 'course," Louis nods, sliding fingers together. "Shouldn't be too long now, love."
Love.
Oops.
Too soon?
But Harry beams at the name, pulls Louis closer by their linked hands and kisses him-open, free, young, beautiful, barriers gone.
It's, maybe, not appropriate, but Louis thinks Liam will probably approve.
**
"I have to go to rehab," is the first thing Liam says when they finally get to see him. He's mortified, glum, weak, and pale. And that's the first thing he says.
Zayn sighs, shakes his head, but says nothing as he holds his hand from the bedside. He'd returned from his talk with Niall only ten minutes prior, his face remarkably calmer than Louis had anticipated.
"He told me everything," he'd said, eyes finding Harry's. "I'm sorry, mate." He shrugged, a bit lost. "I'm sorry."
"You don't have to apologize," Harry said quietly, watching him. "There's no reason to."
Despite everything, Zayn's eyebrows rose, his lips forming into a smirk.
"Oh, trust me. There's plenty reason to be."
Harry just shrugged, averting his gaze.
Louis squeezed his hand.
"Where's Niall?" he asked.
Zayn sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
"He went back to your flat. He's ashamed. Says he can't face Liam."
Louis sighed.
Of course.
"Are you...happy about that?" he asked tentatively.
Zayn shrugged, gaze falling to the floor.
"Not really. I don't..." He shrugged again. "I don't blame him, I guess. Now that I know Liam's going to be all right, I just want it all to be over. I can see straight now. Just want to move on. No point in dwelling."And then he looked up, half-smiled at Louis. "It'll be all right."
Relief flooded the room.
"Good," Louis nodded. "It's just an overall shit situation, really. But. Like you said. It'll be all right." He glanced over at Harry, only to find him staring at him, smiling softly. His heart lurched. "It'll be all right," he says again.
And now Liam's awake, they're clustered in the room, and the first words out of his mouth are about rehab.
"I don't care where you have to go, you tosser. You're alive," Louis blurts, hugging him gently. He always feels in danger of breaking people.
Liam positively pouts.
"This is horrible. This could ruin me."
"Babe, everybody goes to rehab. It's not as much of a scandal as it used to be," Zayn soothes. "It's not going to set you back if you don't let it." He pauses, eyes serious. "And I think it will help."
Liam looks down.
"Yeah. It probably will." When he looks back up, his eyes are watery, his smile bumpy. He looks to Zayn, reaching for his hand, which Zayn easily offers. "I love you," he says with a teary smile.
Zayn swallows, smiles beatifically.
"I love you, too."
Louis watches, chest tight.
Those are emotions he understands.
He feels Harry shuffle that much closer to him.
He understands.
**
When Liam begins falling asleep, they walk into the hall, including Zayn.
"I want to talk to you," he says to Harry, eyes full of apology, and Harry nods, casting a quick look at Louis before following.
Louis smiles, is about to flash a thumbs up, when his pocket vibrates.
It's Niall.
'U comin back soon? Feel like shit'
Louis feels a slight pang-Niall's the only one missing from here. Where he belongs. He might miss him.
He taps his reply quickly.
'Yeah. Be there soon'
'wit harry?'
Louis looks up from his phone, looks over to where Harry is, being released from Zayn's embrace. He's smiling, bright, sunny, and full, his eyes the color of sun sparkling on the surface of a lake. His skin is warm, full of color. Slowly, he looks over to Louis, catches his eye. His smile widens, his eyes brightening that much more.
And Louis feels warm. Forever warm.
When he goes to smile back, he realizes he's been smiling the whole time.
Flushed, he returns to his phone, tapping out a reply before sliding it in his back pocket and striding over to Harry and Zayn, finding Harry's hand as Zayn's eyes flicker amusedly down to the movement. Louis grins, Harry grins, and neither let go.
'Yeah. With Harry.'
*
THE END.
(SORT OF)