Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at

http://download.archiveofourown.org/works/7421440.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: One Direction (Band)
Relationship: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Character: Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles, Niall Horan, Liam Payne
Additional Tags: Happy Ending, AU, Anxiety, Off Screen Natural Minor Character
Death, Past Unhealthy Parent/Child Relationship, Recreational Drug
Use, Addiction (not drugs/alcohol), epilogue coming
Collections: My Faves
Stats: Published: 2016-07-15 Completed: 2017-04-23 Chapters: 15/15
Words: 117941

i have your dreams (and your teeth marks)

by aloequeera

Summary

Louis and Harry don't believe in second chances, but sometimes it feels like the universe
does. A Music Industry/Getting Back Together AU.

He remembers how they were, always, Louis and Harry, Harry and Louis. He remembers
the late nights and the lie ins, all the words they gave each other. He remembers how
Harry would look at him like he hung the moon, and like he knew Louis’d done it just for
him. He remembers it all. The problem, he thinks, is that he remembers how it fell apart,
too.

Notes

i'm apparently incapable of writing fic about people with jobs i know anything about. so,
this is about a music producer/song writer/unofficial talent scout louis, and musician harry.

all the triggers in the tags are minor and will be warned for again in the relevant chapter.
the parent/child one is especially slight, with no explicit detail. it's also not an abusive
relationship. the tags being there at all are definitely a better safe than sorry thing.

the title comes from daughters of the soho riots by the national, and it's inspired by
essentially any song adele has ever touched. also same mistakes by echo friendly.

this is my first un-beta'd work, because i want to work on my grammar, so there's a higher
likelihood of mistakes than in my other fics.

template disclaimer that i don't own nor am i affiliated with 1d, and this is all obviously
fictional.

for laura, as always.

 Chapter 1
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

You were right about the end, it didn't make a difference.

-The National, Daughters of the Soho Riots.

When Louis was a kid, he’d thought he had a superpower. Not a particularly useful one, but still-
he’d thought he’d been able to predict when something was going to go wrong.

He’d know when he and Lottie were going to miss the morning bus, even if they’d left the house
the same time they always did. He had tried to get out of school when his mum woke him up, one
day, and during that lunchtime he and Stan had had their first ever fight. He’d gone to- to a
friend’s after school once, without asking or telling his mum, because he didn’t want to go home,
and when he did it was to find out the family dog had died.

In university, when all dreams of being a superhero had disappeared, he’d found an article online
that said that people always predict the worst case scenario, but they only remember the times it
actually proves true.

This, he thinks, is one of the times it’s definitely proving true. And a part of him had seen it
coming.

He’d had some weird fizzing in his fingertips, some sort of trepidation, clicking on the email from
Liam. The link provided took a while to load, and he used that as an excuse to go to the kitchen
and pour himself a glass of water.

According to Liam, the link was to a rough demo from an undiscovered artist with potential, and
Undiscovered Artists with Potential are what keep Louis going- so he wasn't entirely sure why
he’d delayed this.

He knows now, though, and he knows what he should do, seeing those letters, Harry Styles,
across the header. He should close the tab.

His fingers are shaking and his heart pumping, brain frozen with shock, with a sudden and
inexplicable feeling of vulnerability, and he should close the tab, but he doesn’t.

There’s buzz, is the thing, buzz around the EP in the form of comments and some traffic and four
stars, and as a sort-of talent scout, buzz is Louis’ lifeblood. Finding an unsigned act with proper
potential is one thing, but finding one that already has some level of following is the fucking
jackpot. And Louis could use some luck, right now, so he doesn’t close the tab.

He doesn’t listen, either. Can’t. He leaves his flat, goes for a walk in the crisp evening cold, comes
back, replies to Liam with, i like the fifth one. Hopes Liam doesn’t ask him for any details.

It’s not like Louis would know what to say. It’s not like he knows anything about Harry’s music,
now.

✺
He can’t sleep, then, which isn’t that surprising; it happens, sometimes. What’s strange is that it’s
an energy, a restlessness, that keeps him up, rather than just some vague, exhausted frustration. He
sits through it, protests the need to do something by doing nothing, or, rather, watching late night
reruns of old British sit-coms.

By the morning, Liam has replied. “Me too!! I kep listening to track three, haha, any way of
seeing what he’s like live?”

Liam doesn’t know about Harry. He knows there exists a Harry, one that Louis has a past with,
and he even knows that that Harry was into music, but he doesn’t know his second name or what
he looks like. He couldn’t work out why Louis is freaking out over that suggestion.

But it’s a suggestion that needs to be followed, Louis knows. If this is something they want,
they’ll have to see one of Harry’s gigs (if Harry’s getting them).

(Louis smiles. If he’s as relentless as he had been when Louis knew him, as charmingly
demanding, he’s definitely getting them.)

And it is something Louis wants. He hasn’t thought about it in a while, how fucking talented that
boy had been. It’s the kind of talent he’s been looking for for weeks, now, ever since Julian and
John said they were impressed with his discovery of that Australian band who posted covers on
YouTube and ended up pretty successful, said maybe he shouldn’t just work in writing, said
they’d be interested in seeing what else he could do.

Louis can’t fail. He can’t be average, even. He’s found some fine acts, but none that would take
anyone’s breath away.

Not the way he knows this one can.

On the taxi to work, he replies to Liam. Says, “i’ll look into it!”

The thing about it is that Harry doesn’t have as many gigs as Louis imagined he would, at least
not according to his Facebook page. There's one for next Saturday, and that’s the only one in the
near future. Louis doesn’t know if he’s taking time off or what, but it means that next Saturday is
definitely the gig that’ll need attendance.

That’s a problem, because Sophia’s arriving in next Saturday, and Liam has a whole romantic
night of reconnection planned that, despite Louis’ (incredibly genuine and casual) suggestion,
does not involve going to a local gig.

So it’s Louis’ responsibility to attend, and he can’t find a way out without raising suspicion. He
knows it's a ridiculous way of thinking about it, raising suspicion, like their past is some dirty
secret he has to keep hidden at all costs. He knows he should be able to tell Liam who Harry is,
especially if they do all end up working together.

But Louis, for whatever immature reason, is trying to delay that as much as possible. And when
Liam tells him he’ll have to go to the gig alone, he swallows the nausea and nods.

For the next week, Louis is a mess of nonsensical doubts and deliberate avoidance of things he
should definitely think about.
The day of Harry’s performance, though, after an insomnia-fuelled night-long pep talk, he
manages to convince himself that in fact, he is fine. That this is something he can handle.

He’s wrong.

He’s forced himself to wear the same outfit as he wore to the last gig he scouted, just so he’s sure
it wasn’t chosen for any special reason, and by the time he’s stepping out of the taxi he’s sweated
through the shirt. He’s pulled up Liam’s contact with the intent of calling and pretending to be sick
three times, and if Liam saw him he’d probably believe it. His hands are clammy and shaky, and
he might as well be a teen relying on a fake ID for the way he walks past the bouncer.

Stops in the cloak room, deep breathing. He’s terrified, and unprepared, and it feels like- like
meeting a mythological creature, because that’s the role his mind assigned Harry now. Not real, or
at least not part of Louis’ reality. One of these could be his coat, is the thought that gets him to
leave.

Harry’s got a support act, which says something. Unofficially, at least- a less popular act in a
smaller font on the posters, playing a shorter set before Harry’s. That’s a torture in itself, because
Louis fucking loves music, lives for it, especially untapped talent, but this- it just gives him more
time to agonize over the possibility- inevitability- of seeing Harry. Hearing him.

Because that’s the thing, really. Louis was vaguely aware, if he ever stopped to think about it, of
the possibility that he might see Harry again, even if only through a shop window on a rainy day
ten years down the line. But the idea that he’d hear him, watch him perform, digest his lyrics and
the inflections he gave them, see him on the stage where he belongs (where Louis used to belong
beside him, fuck, but let’s not think about that)- it’s overwhelming. Fuck, it overwhelmed Louis
when he heard it every day.

Louis can’t work out whether recognising the songs Harry will perform that night would be more
or less painful than them being entirely new.

Split second selfishness, he decides not to find out. He knows he can’t just leave- can’t fuck over
Liam or himself (or Harry) like that- so instead he leans forward and gets the bartender’s attention.

“Hey,” he says, “d’you know if there’s anyone I can speak to about- the main act, tonight? D’you
know if he has a manager, or anything?”

He knows it’s reckless to take action before seeing a performance, especially in the modern market
where so much relies on how the act does live, but- fuck, he remembers. Louis’ under no illusion
that the Harry now is the same one he knew years ago, but surely he hasn’t changed so drastically
that he lost the command over audiences he had back then. Lost the ability to enrapture entire
crowds, to make each person feel like it was a private show just for them.

The bartender nods and points towards the end of the bar. Louis’ not sure if the silence is surliness
or a reaction to the futility of speech, with the place as loud as it is, first act thundering away.

His gut clenches when he sees the guy the bartender had gestured at. He doesn’t know what
Harry’s type is- way back when, Harry hadn’t had one, had only had Louis- but even if this guy
doesn’t fit it, he could easily be the exception to the rule. He’s beautiful, and Louis’ never reacted
to beauty in a guy with vitriol before. He chokes it down, ashamed. Doesn’t want to put a name to
the reaction, knowing how fucking irrational it is. Four years, he reminds himself.

He snags the seat beside the man, and the man slides him a smile. “I’m here for business tonight,
not pleasure, I’m afraid, mate.”

“We’ve got that in common,” Louis says, small grin. He hasn’t picked up from a bar in- actually,
he’s not sure he’s ever done that.

The man turns, then. Raises an eyebrow. “How d’you mean?” he asks.

“You manage- Harry Styles, right?” First time he’s said it aloud in so long, fuck. His tongue
burns.

“Yeah, I do,” the man says, and the shift is instant, lazy informality to sharp straight-backed
awareness. “Niall Horan. You want to talk about anything?”

“I work for a record company- Direction, you know it?” It’s almost a rhetorical question; everyone
in the music industry does, and many outside of it, too.

“Yeah,” Niall says. It’s kind of cute how he tries to maintain some element of collectedness even
as his eyes widen and voice gets awed.

“There’s a possibility that we’d want to work with…” calling him Harry seems too familiar,
calling him Mr. Styles sounds farcical, “your client. Would you be up to exploring it?” The
smooth business talk comes easy to Louis, now, doesn’t make him squirm for the awkwardness
like it did in the early days.

“Yes, of course, that would be- amazing. What’s your name?”

The forthrightness has Louis holding back a laugh. Niall’s not like any manager he’s ever met; it’s
no surprise that Harry was the one to find him.

Then the question hits him, and he pauses. Doesn’t think. “Liam Payne,” he says. What the fuck.
“I’ll- I’ll give you my card, you can bring it to your client, get back to us by Friday. We’ll arrange
a meeting, consider this further. See if we’re compatible.”

Onstage, the band announces it’s their last song.

“Brilliant, I’ll definitely tell Harry. He’ll be fu- excited at the opportunity.”

Louis nods, and with hands he wills not to shake, takes out his wallet.

He has two sets of cards. One the generic one for the label, the other a personalised one for him,
that, embarrassingly, his mother had gotten made over Christmas, when the possibility of a
promotion was brought up.

He hands Niall the first option, after scribbling Liam’s number on the back.

“You not gonna stay for the set?” Niall asks, looking perplexed, once Louis stands up. “Let me
buy you a drink.”

“Thanks, mate, but early meeting tomorrow,” Louis shrugs, what-can-you-do. He’s about to add
“you know how it is,” but then he realises that there’s a very real possibility Niall doesn’t. Well.
He’ll soon learn, if Harry does get signed. If Harry would even want to work with their label in
the first place.

If.

Louis doesn’t sleep that night, either.

✺

He’s not kept in suspense long, though it feels like it. He was lying about the early meeting, and in
a weird way he wishes he wasn’t, if only for some distraction. It’s quiet at work- he has a three
song commitment for one artist, but the deadline is so far away he can’t find the motivation to
actually write- and he spends his time agonizing over what the fuck is going to happen.

But it’s only the next afternoon that Liam gets a call from Niall (only looking slightly confused
when Louis explains that he’d given Liam’s number rather than his own, and accepting that it was
because he was better at answering his phone than Louis), arranging to meet.

It’ll just be the three of them, first; Liam wants to feel the opportunity out more before bringing it
to their higher ups, doesn’t want to risk Harry being a bad choice. Louis isn’t exactly going to
reassure him that Harry’s not, isn’t going to tell him how Harry has a good work ethic and is open
to criticism and collaboration both.

It’s so, so ridiculous that he kind of wants to; that he still has some desire to vouch for Harry.

Louis had forgotten he told Niall his name was Liam Payne till the morning of the meeting, and he
struggles with a solution, curses himself for his perpetual short-sightedness. In the end he
convinces Liam to stay behind in the office while he goes down to meet Niall upon his arrival.

It’s not the first time Louis’ grateful that it’s Liam, his long-term best friend, who he works with.
There’s a much deeper trust between them than is usual for colleagues in the music industry, and
meeting a potential client alone, even if only momentarily, would likely raise suspicion with many
other people.

Niall’s crouched down in the lounge, tapping on the glass of the aquarium and making an o-mouth
at the koi fish, eyes widened. When he sees that Louis’ joined him he gives an awkward laugh
and wipes a hand down the side of his face. “Sorry,” he says, standing up straight, “used to have
one, when I was in uni.”

His embarrassment would’ve made Louis feel like he had the upper hand, but what he was about
to admit would probably cancel that out and then some. “My name’s Louis,” he blurts. Fuck.
Usually he’s good at seeming like a professional.

Niall looks confused for a second, but then his face clears. “Oh, I thought you said Liam, sorry.
Man, I was calling you that all through the phone call, why didn’t you correct me?” he laughs.
“Well, guess you are now.”

Oh, fuck, this is awful. Louis’ mortified, glad he doesn’t blush easily. “No, you- I gave the
number of a colleague. You weren’t talking to me on the phone.”

Niall laughs again. “Well then why didn’t he correct me?”

Louis barely resists closing his eyes. “Because his name is Liam.”

The confused look from the beginning dawns anew on Niall’s face. “Did you…”

“I, uh. I told you I was Liam Payne. But that’s my colleague, who you'll be talking with now.
Him and me. Louis Tomlinson.”

Niall’s confusion has taken on a wary edge, and Louis can’t screw this up. He can’t tell Niall the
real reason, not yet. Not before Niall completely understands what an amazing opportunity this
would be, for everyone involved.

“Listen, I swear I had my reasons, and we can talk afterwards. But right now we should go back
to my office and talk about the best interest of your client, okay?”

Niall, after a moment, nods. Louis really hopes he cares about Harry.

He doesn’t know where that thought came from, but during the meeting he tries to test it out.

“How invested is your artist in writing his own music?” Louis asks. He can almost feel Liam’s
raised eyebrows at the new line of questioning.

Niall bites his lip. “I mean, pretty invested. The creation is just as important as the performance, he
always says, but at the same time he’s totally willing to take advice, and to work with other
people. He wants the best songs possible, and he knows sometimes he can’t do that on his own.
But he has final say. He’s not a pushover.”

Harry can be a pushover, unless he’s changed. Louis reads Niall’s words differently: I won’t let
him be pushed over.

“What about if we wanted to… redirect his sound? Make it more approachable? Possibly lower
the age of the demographic. All the money’s in the younger markets.”

Louis sounds like an asshole, but he needs to see how Niall will respond. The guy in charge of
protecting Harry’s best interests. “Harry would appreciate fans of any age,” Niall begins carefully,
“but I’m not sure that he’d go out of his way to appeal to anyone in particular. He wants people to
enjoy his music, but it has to be his. If they’re just enjoying music you’ve slapped his name across,
that won’t matter to him. He won’t do it.”

“You’d make a lot of money. I mean you, personally. We’d make sure you do.”

Niall tenses. “That’s not my priority. It’s not his, either.”

Good. “Good to know,” Louis smiles.

“Luckily we here at Direction prioritize the authenticity of our clients,” Liam says, and if anything,
Louis’ surprised he hasn’t tried to speak up and save the meeting sooner. “We just need to know
how much you prioritize it, too. How invested you are in your client’s integrity.”

That’s exactly what Louis was trying to establish, but he doesn’t know how Liam realised. It’s not
something Louis’ ever done before, and not something they discussed beforehand.

That makes Louis feel momentarily guilty. He doesn’t want Liam to have to guess his intentions in
the middle of a meeting, but he doesn’t know how he can treat Harry like a textbook case. Doesn’t
know how he can talk to Niall without going off script.

Maybe that’s why he leans back, then. Why he lets Liam handle Niall, checking off the basics. It’s
awful of him, but he kind of tunes out for the most of it. There’s nothing all important that needs
discussing, though, and Liam’s a pro at this.

“It’s been lovely meeting with you, Niall, and I think it’s fair to say we can imagine a pretty strong
partnership between us,” Liam is saying, standing up, and Louis hastens to follow. “It’s not only
up to us, so we will have to get the stamp of approval from upstairs, so to speak, but I’m sure we’ll
be in touch soon.”
Louis barely holds back a laugh at Liam’s liberal use of the word only. Really, they have virtually
no say over whether an artist gets signed or not, they’re just good at guessing which will.
Blagging is practically a required skill in this industry, though, and it’s hardly their first
exaggeration of importance.

It’s the first time Louis’ felt sort of guilty for it. He would bet a lot of money on Harry being
signed, ultimately, but he would hate for Niall to think it was a sure thing.

Hate to get Harry’s hopes up like that. Fuck.

Once again, Liam is completely willing to allow Louis to accompany Niall to the lobby alone,
without asking questions.

“So,” Niall says, once they’re in the lobby. “Louis.”

Louis can’t tell if the inflection in his name is more accusatory or amused. Maybe some strange
combination of both.

Based on the meeting, he thinks straight-forwardness is the best way to deal with Niall Horan, so
Louis rushes his semi-explanation out. “I know Harry. Or, knew him at least. We were-” he
hesitates, wonders how much about their relationship Harry would be comfortable with Niall
knowing- “we were close.”

Niall’s frown fades into wide eyed realisation. “Wait, you’re his Louis?”

Louis flinches, although he supposes he’s not that surprised. If Niall and Harry are close, the ghost
stories of their exes have probably been breached once or twice. “I wouldn’t say-”

“Right,” Niall agrees apologetically, “but you’re the- you guys were together, right?”

It sounds like an understatement, even though technically it’s not. Maybe because of the decade of
friendship that preceded them getting together. Louis doesn’t want to analyse it. “Yeah.”

“Shit,” Niall says, looking mildly pained. “What do I tell Haz?”

The nickname is hard to hear, especially given that Louis was the one to coin it. “Tell him that if
he takes this opportunity he’ll have to work with me occasionally, on a strictly professional basis.
And then tell him everything else. All the reasons he should take it anyway.”

Niall nods. “I still don't get why you…”

Louis cringes. “Right. Well. Hearing about Harry as a possibility for this label was pure
coincidence, but I know- or knew- how talented he was, and how serious he was about pursuing
music as a career. This would be an amazing opportunity for him, although I’m sure you know
that.”

Louis pauses, and Niall nods for him to continue. “Liam was supposed to go to the gig. He
couldn’t, so I went, but I know- or, well, I thought there might be a possibility that Harry would
be turned off the opportunity if he knew it was me extending it.” Saying it aloud makes it sound a
lot more egotistical than he realised. They haven’t seen each other in years. As if Louis has
enough hold over Harry to make him turn down such a life changing opportunity.

The truth is, though, that his reasons for lying about his name weren’t nearly as noble as that,
anyway- in fact, they were entirely selfish. He just didn’t want Harry to know he was there.
Didn’t want Harry to think Louis had- had sought him out. Louis had too much pride for that. “I
wanted you guys to at least know the facts, before you considered turning the offer down.”
“So you said you were Liam,” Niall says, a raised eyebrow.

“Yes. Which was duplicitous and unprofessional, and obviously a very short-term solution, but.”

Niall pauses. “You were- you’re not just a suit, Louis, you’re a person.”

Louis snorts. “Gee, thanks coach,” he deadpans, and he’s surprised he feels comfortable breaking
out sarcasm with a potential client.

Niall just smiles, shakes his head. “What I mean is, y’know. Seeing Harry might’ve been
awkward for you. None of us make the best decisions when it comes to our exes, so.”

Louis frowns. “I don’t want you to think this will affect our working relationship, if we end up
having one. I’m capable of treating Harry like any of the other artist’s I’ve worked with. Our
history won’t affect my decisions, or my dedication to his success.” Ha.

Niall looks at him, for a moment, and he’s got a small placid smile on, but Louis can somehow tell
how hard he’s thinking.

“Well,” Niall says, as he begins to back away to the door. “I’ll talk to my client.”

In turn, Liam and Louis talk to Julian and John, the men with the final say about this. They give
them the EP to listen to. Liam makes a complimentary yet slightly awkward comment on Harry’s
looks that has Louis holding back both giggles and discomfort. Louis tells Julian that the gig went
great, that Harry was great- magnetic, he says, and it only hurts a little coming through his throat-
and he barely even feels guilty.

Two days later, after word from Julian, they call Niall and tell him they would be willing to offer
his client a recording contract for a single. This will also serve as a probationary period for the
evaluation of Harry’s work ethic, behaviour, and, of course, the response to his music. It could
end with them signing him for an entire album.

“He’ll think about it,” Niall says, and he sounds reluctant, like it’s been forced out of him.

Louis knows that means no, or used to at least, and he’s overwhelmed by how awful that
possibility is. Liam looks conflicted, unsure as to what to say- immediate acceptance is what
they’re used to dealing with- so Louis jumps in.

“Is he there? Is Ha- is he with you?” It’s the first time he’s spoken so far.

There’s a bit of a small sound that might be a gasp from the other line and a pause so quiet Louis
suspects Niall’s covering the phone's speaker, and then- “no.”

But Louis already knows he’s lying, knows that Harry is on the other line, listening in, in the same
way he knows when his tea is perfectly brewed. He just does.

So he clears his throat, and says, “I think he should take it. I think it’d be- I think it could be the
perfect fit for him, and that, that he should, uh. He should consider that above all else. Not let
anything else concern him.”

It’s not subtle, what Louis’ hinting at, and Liam’s obviously confused, but Louis doesn’t regret it.
There’s silence- presumably the speaker being covered again- and then, “We’ll think about it,”
Niall repeats, more firmly. More optimistically, maybe.

Liam nods to himself. “You have till five next Friday to get back to us. We really hope you’ll say
yes.”

Forgetting about it isn't something Louis can do, despite all noble efforts. The next week is spent
agonizing over and over-analysing the possibility of Niall calling back, and what he would say if
he does.

Liam seems pretty content with waiting for that week, pretty satisfied that they'll get an
acceptance. He thinks Niall is just playing hard to get, which isn't all that uncommon among
people new to the industry, although ill-advised. Beginners aren't in a position to play that way,
not when there are ten other versions of them begging for the opportunity.

Though Louis doubts the existence of ten other Harry's, he also doubts Niall would be
unintelligent enough to risk it. Any delay, Louis would wager, is genuine rather than for effect.

So, despite Liam’s confidence, the likelihood of rejection is probably high. And Louis hates how
much it would feel like a rejection, a personal one. How upset it would make him.

He's certainly dreading an acceptance in equal measure, though. He knows that if this does go
through, he and Liam will be expected to induct Harry, take care of him while he's still not a sure
form of success, considering that they were the two who brought him on.

Louis cracks a smile at an unexpected comparison: he and Lottie as kids, begging to get a puppy,
and their parents only agreeing with the guarantee that Louis and Lottie would be the ones to look
after it. Harry- and it's like ever since Liam's email Louis' gotten weaker at erasing that presence
from his memories- was the one who ended up walking it the most, but still, Louis hadn't minded
the responsibility. Had loved it, even. It made him feel important, an echo of how he'd feel about
his future siblings and how much they looked up to him.

The possible responsibility over Harry doesn't make him feel anything close to that. If the deal
goes through Louis supposes it'll be something they have to speak about, how they're going to
handle working together. It’ll be an awkward, unwanted conversation, and Louis expects to have
to drag it out of Harry. From what he remembers, Harry’d generally much rather ignore their
issues.

In this situation, Louis can’t say he feels much different.

At half four on Friday, Louis is in studio seven trying to find some of his notes on Ed’s new single
he’d misplaced in the last session. When he gets back to the office, Liam is smiling wide, satisfied.

“What?” Louis asks, though he could maybe guess.

“Niall and Harry are coming in this Monday. They’ve accepted.”

The weekend is a disaster. Louis comes very close to calling Aiden, but stops himself. Comes
very close to crying, but stops himself. Also considers faking his own death but rules out the
possibility based on logistics.
He’s entirely grateful he hasn’t made any plans, so there’s no one to see how much of a mess he
is. He does wish there was a more adequate distraction at his disposal than shitty TV, though.

He manages to get a song out of it, at least, although he can’t be sure how comprehensible the
lyrics are.

Monday morning, Harry walks in and the air walks out. In fairness, Louis should have been
expecting that. It’s how it’s always been. Harry makes a room feel crowded, even if he’s the only
other person in it.

That’s far from the case, right now. There’s Liam and Louis and Julian and John, a few lucky
interns who get a glimpse at the process, Liam and Louis’ shared assistant, Sam, and Julian and
John’s individual ones, a few lawyers, and a guy in the corner- almost a permanent fixture of this
room- typing word for word the whole meeting. Louis is reluctant to call him a stenographer,
because it makes him think of court rooms, and the only way he can get through these meetings is
convincing himself they’re entirely casual.

That’s failed today before his attempts even begin. There’s nothing casual about how his eyes
don’t move from Harry, who’s obviously made some attempt at looking business-like. His hair-
long, fuck, longer than Louis’ ever seen it- is somewhat well managed, and he’s wearing a blazer
and shirt. The skinny jeans and the fact that the shirt is practically unbuttoned somewhat undercut
the overall effect, but he still looks...

Fuck. Louis clenches his hands around his thighs under the desk, to stop them from shaking. His
lungs seem to think he’s just run a mile, breath coming too thin and fast. He inhales deeply
through his nose, and for some stupid fucking reason that reminds him of Harry trying to teach
him yoga on Saturday mornings. That was years ago, fuck. Years ago years ago years ago.

He’s meant to be standing, he realises a little too late. Everyone else is, reaching across the table to
shake hands with Niall and Harry. He stands slightly abruptly to make up for it.

He’s not sure if Harry’s looked at him yet. He was so wrapped up in his own hectic thoughts he’s
not sure he would even have noticed.

Right now Harry is shaking hands with Liam; Louis' not sure if he realises this is Liam-Louis’-
friend-from-uni.

Harry had never met him, only heard about him. It wasn't weird, exactly. Louis’ friendship with
Liam and relationship with Harry had only overlapped briefly, and during that short time neither
Harry nor Louis were particularly invested in the other's life. Louis hadn’t met most of Harry's
new friends, either. Anyway, he and Liam tended to hang out at Liam's place. Even when Harry
was out, Louis would've felt weird bringing Liam to their flat. Worlds colliding, and that. Louis’
not even sure if Harry ever knew his second name.

Then Harry turns to Louis. He stops, just looks, though it can’t be surprising that Louis is there.
He looks- lost. Louis aches. Everything that made Harry up all those years ago is still there, only
more so. His hair longer, eyes greener, jaw sharper, lips-

Louis cuts himself off.

The hesitation must only be miniscule, because no one else seems to notice. Louis begins to
extend his hand, before realising that Harry hasn’t done so himself. In turn, Harry notices Louis’
slight outreach, and the fist by his side flinches, but he doesn’t- doesn’t shake Louis’ hand. Louis’
not sure what to make of it. He’s sure it’s not animosity. Even if Harry is angry at Louis- which
Louis finds unlikely- he wouldn’t let it manifest in such an unprofessional way.

Harry’s smile dispels the doubts further. It’s still slightly shocked, maybe even scared- and fuck,
that hurts- but it’s not cold. It’s... almost embarrassed, which, yeah, Louis can relate. “Louis,” he
says, as some form of greeting. His voice is gruff, low. Maybe slightly choked.

Louis’ voice doesn’t exist at all. He manages a nod, and a small smile back. Harry looks at him a
moment longer before Niall gently nudges him. Harry steps aside, and Louis turns to shake Niall’s
hand, greet him. He’s still slightly shook, and he stays that way throughout the meeting.

Harry is sitting in the periphery of his vision, on the other side of the long table. Louis doesn’t
look at him, and his eyes burn from it. The contract is gone over, and Louis tunes out but he
knows what he’d hear if he didn’t, anyway.

It’d be clear from the contract who has the power. It’d be clear that Harry was new to this, and
despite his university degrees, Niall was new, too. But there wouldn’t be anything drastically
nefarious, and for all the ways his team might have been able to take advantage of Harry as a
result, Louis’ sure none of them are willing.

At the end of the meeting, of course, a copy is given to Niall and Harry for their lawyers to look
over. Louis can tell by the look on their faces that neither have lawyers, but he also knows that
that’s okay. Harry’s priorities, it has been made clear, are authenticity and creative control, both of
which the company will be more than happy to allow him.

Direction, in some ways, places more value in good reviews than album sales, if only for the sake
of upholding its reputation as one of the best indie labels, with the best A&R department in all of
Britain.

The department Louis wants to be a part of. That’s what he has to prioritize here. He has to
remind himself that it’s worth it.

It’s all part of the job, he thinks, watching the sure lines of Harry’s back as he leaves the room. All
part of the job.

"I take it that's your Harry, then," Liam says, once they’re back in their office. Louis raises his
eyebrows at the choice of words, and Liam rolls his eyes.

"You know what I mean," he says. Louis does, and he’s not entirely surprised. Liam was looking
at him, somehow both cautious and curious, for the rest of the meeting after the handshake that
never was, and he had his arm around Louis on their way back here.

Louis smiles. Weak. "Yeah. That's him."

"Shit. So... Do I need to hate him?" He asks it with a small smile, but Louis knows Liam would if
he said yes.

"Nah," Louis says instead. "Don't see the point in you hating him, if I don't."

Liam looks kind of surprised, but it's true. Louis’ not angry, and he doesn’t have any grudges. He
understands that what happened, the breakup, wasn't Harry's fault. It wasn't his either- it was just
the only thing to do.

They didn't make sense, not really. Louis loved him, of course, more intensely than he's loved
anything before or after, but maybe that was part of the problem. That kind of all-consuming
emotion is unsustainable. It feeds on you, exhausts you. They couldn't have lasted.

“Right. Well. I need to go back to the studio with Ed, okay, but please be expecting some light
interrogation in the next 3-5 business days,” Liam warns. Louis snorts, claps him on the back.

“I’ll tell Sam to mark you in,” he says.

Louis clears out at seven. It’s not unusual for him to stay later than he’s needed, because writing
songs can very rarely follow a schedule. It happens when it happens.

The relative lateness of his departure, though, is why he’s especially surprised to see Harry
lingering at the entrance to the label’s building.

There are no distractions like there were in the meeting, just Harry and the evening light, and
Louis’ embarrassed that he has to close his eyes for a few moments.

Harry’d been a cute kid, a pretty teen, a hot uni student, so it makes sense that in his mid-twenties,
properly grown into his body, he'd be fucking beautiful. He'd always had luck on his side in that
way. Other ways, too, Louis supposes.

“Louis,” Harry says, and it’s the second time he’s said it that day. The only thing he’s said to
Louis.

“Hi,” Louis says. Just to mix it up.

"You look…” Harry clears his throat. “Different.”

Louis gives a small, nervous smile. "Been four years. It'd be weirder if I didn't."

Harry shrugs. "I dunno. You don't seem the type to age."

Don’t, rather than didn’t. Louis doesn’t think about that.

"Wishful thinking," Louis laughs, one small breath. "And, well. You too. You've definitely, like."
He gestures vaguely at Harry's entire ensemble. Miles different to the clothes Louis knew him in.

Harry frowns. "You don't like it?"

"No, no! It's- I do." The last two words are spoken quietly, softly. To make it sound less sincere
he smirks, adds- "very struggling musician chic."

Harry's lip quirks. That hasn't changed. Louis knows that well. "You know adding chic to the end
of something doesn't turn it into a compliment, right?"

Louis laughs, has to stop himself from really breaking out with it. Harry looks unfathomably
pleased, like he knows Louis is holding himself back. Maybe he does.

God, it shouldn't feel this easy.

“I was thinking we should go get a coffee or something,” Harry says, rushed yet obviously
rehearsed.

Louis’ head shoots up, eyebrows raised.

“Not, like. Just-” Harry shrugs. “Just I don’t want it to be awkward between us. I think we should
talk about, like. How we’re gonna go about handling this. If we’re going to be working together.”

Louis looks at him. It’s- he’d wanted to do that too, talk about it, but he thought he’d have more
time to prepare for the possibility. He certainly didn’t think that Harry would be the one to suggest
it. He expected Harry to just- pretend everything was fine. Hope for the best.

“I know a place,” Louis says. Harry’s shoulders relax.

It’s a coffee shop runners always get Louis’ tea from- best in a five-mile radius, discluding Louis’
own flat. Louis knows it himself, too, from when he worked as nothing more than a glorified
assistant for Julian.

They have sandwiches, soups, salads as well, and Harry says he’s gonna get something to eat.

Louis wonders if that’s because he hasn’t been able to eat all day, nervous for the meeting in the
same way he’d get before performances. He doesn’t ask.

Harry is scanning the menu for maybe five minutes, before Louis says- “you should-” and cuts
himself off.

Old habits, he thinks, wryly. It was something he used to do, starting probably when they were
thirteen. Harry’d always been an indecisive bastard, taking hours to choose what kind of food
he’d like, so Louis would make up his mind for him. When they got together, it became more than
that, became a thing for Harry, making him flush and shift in his seat and bite back a smile. That,
in turn, got to Louis- knowing that Harry liked being his.

(Towards the end of the relationship, though, Louis remembers one night where he didn’t. Where
he left Harry struggling, humming and hawing over possible choices, unable to just fucking
decide even with the waitress right there, tapping her pen against the pad. They’d just had a
massive fight, so Louis wasn’t finding his indecisiveness charming the way he usually would.
When Harry glanced at him, desperate and confused and needing guidance, Louis pretended not
to see. Louis remembers how hard Harry had fucked him, that night. How it had felt like a
punishment, even if neither of them voiced the thought. He remembers, weeks later, must’ve only
been days before the breakup, when Louis had tried to order for Harry- second nature, without
thinking- and Harry had rolled his eyes, snapped out- “I can make up my own fucking mind,
Louis.”)

Harry’s eyes flick to him, and he gives a small, hesitant smile. “Any suggestions?” he asks.

Louis clears his throat. He doesn’t trust his voice, so with a surprisingly steady finger, he points to
an item on the menu instead.

Harry nods, and Louis doesn’t know what to make of it. He’s almost relieved that he can’t read
Harry in that moment, because it seems entirely less scary than the familiarity of before.

They’re silent till the server comes for their orders.

“I wanted to say…” Louis pauses. “I dunno what Niall told you, but- I didn’t. I didn’t…” He
pauses, embarrassed at his inability to just talk. Get a hold of his thoughts. “Liam found your EP
online and it was a complete coincidence. He wanted to look into signing you, and I went along
with it because- because it’d be a good opportunity for you, and- and for me. To get to work with
someone as talented as you. And I know you used to want a break like this, so I didn’t want to get
in the way of it. But I don’t want you to think I like, deliberately- sought you out, or anything.”
Harry’s tearing at a napkin. “Okay,” he says, nodding. “And I did- I really wanted a break like
this. I actually- I had it in my head that if I didn’t have any offer, or any success here by last New
Years, I would go to LA, try my luck there. I obviously didn’t get any offers here, and I was
actually. The week Liam went to my gig, I was gonna go to LA, had plans- but I delayed ‘em,
because of this. So yeah, like. I appreciate that you didn’t let our past get in the way of- my
future.” There’s a self-deprecating twist to the last two words, and he’s clearly expecting Louis to
mock him for the over-poetic style.

Louis doesn’t. Two things:

Harry still thinks it was Liam at his gig. Niall didn’t tell Harry about Louis’ fuck up. Louis’ so
fucking relieved.

Harry was going to move to LA. If Liam hadn’t found that EP, Harry would be in LA, now. On
the other side of the Atlantic, with Louis none the wiser.

Louis doesn’t know why that’s as unsettling as it is. He clears his throat. “That makes sense,
actually. You planning on going to LA, I mean. When we were looking for gigs of yours you
only had, like, one that week.”

“Maybe I’m just shit at getting gigs,” Harry says. Teasing, maybe. Louis fucking hopes not.

“Nah,” he says, after a pause, and leaves it at that.

“So, you work at Direction now,” Harry says then, as the food arrives, and it’s funny because
usually he’s great at small talk. Not so overtly banal.

“Can’t be that surprising,” Louis says. Their second summer at uni, Louis interned at the
company. One of the guys he got coffee for liked his lyrics. That connection went a long way in
bagging Louis and Liam’s positions.

“No,” Harry acquiesces. “And when I heard Liam Payne- but I didn’t even know if that was your
Liam-” and Louis has to hold back a sardonic snort at that parallel, “and even if it was, it didn’t
necessarily mean. Like. Where Liam was you’d follow.”

Louis barely resists raising an eyebrow. They’re not here to hash out old arguments- and he can
safely say he’s forgotten the lines to most of those scripts- but that one certainly sounds familiar.
Harry’s annoyance at his new friend; how the growth of the friendship coincided with them
growing more and more distant.

There wasn’t actually any connection between those two things, of course. But at that point the
both of them were grasping onto any possible explanation, rather than dealing with the reality.

Harry must realise the old connotations, because he hastens to correct himself. “I just mean- even
if I did end up working with Liam, doesn’t mean I’d end up working with you. That was a leap,
and I shouldn’t, just, jump to these conclusions about- about places I might run into you, or…”

Louis nods. It’s obvious that there was no real way Harry could’ve known Louis was involved
when the offer was first brought to his attention. Obvious to the point that it didn’t really require
that lengthy an explanation. Then again, Harry’s always been a rambler.

“So. You wanna be, like, a talent scout?” Harry asks. His swift changes of subject are really the
only indication of his discomfort- or at least the only ones Louis can pick up on.

“A talent acquisition representative, actually,” Louis jokes, then shrugs. He thinks about how
Harry felt comfortable talking to him about his plans to go to LA, and how maybe he should feel
the same way. “But yeah. Like. I love what I’m doing now, I love writing and working with
artists and building something out of nothing and just the whole process of making music. But last
spring, I was fucking about online, right, and I just randomly found this band, this group of teens
from Australia, doing covers, and there was something- they were clearly amateurs, but there was
something there, I dunno, and I… I got them in to talk with some of my higher ups, and it worked
out, and now- now they’re doing pretty well. Really well, actually. Watching that happen was
like- it was the most gratifying experience I’ve had in this industry. Better than any song coming
together at 3am.”

Harry’s looking at him with a soft smile and wide eyes, and suddenly whatever he’s about to say,
Louis doesn’t want to hear. He clears his throat. “Anyway. We should. We should talk about our-
about what’s ahead of us. Now.”

“Right,” Harry says, and starts, upfront, with: “we broke up for a reason.”

Louis nods.

“I mean, even if some circumstantial coincidence, like, uh, has thrown us together- in a
professional way, I mean. Even if that has happened, we don’t really need to… our situation
changed, but we haven’t, and we can work together, we can be civil, but there’s no need for more
than that. We don’t need to feel like we have to- reconnect, or whatever. We could’ve gone… the
rest of our lives without seeing each other, so. There’s no reason to make this into anything.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, because some silly part of him left over from their shared time together may
ache, but he knows Harry’s right. There’s no more reason to get back into each other’s lives as
there was two weeks ago, when they were nothing but memories to each other. “I think, because
Liam and I are the ones who brought you on, I’ll be expected to-” he doesn’t want to say take on
the responsibility, wants to soften the blow that isn’t really a blow at all. “Work with you, for the
start, at least. But we can limit it. It seems practical to limit it. And soon, there’ll be other writers
for you to work with, and we can go back to how it was.”

“Exactly,” Harry nods, taking a sip from his water bottle- it’s not one he got here, at the café, it’s
one he took out from his bag. He hates, Louis knows, wasting plastic, reuses the same bottle over
and over, filling it with tap water every morning. “But-”

He fades off, and Louis wraps his leg around the chair, just to resist nudging Harry under the table
with his foot. “But?”

“But there’s no hard feelings, right?” Harry rushes out. “Like, no animosity. I- I don’t hold
anything against you, I don’t- and I hope you don’t…”

His words have slowed significantly by the end, weighed down by obvious nerves.

Louis doesn’t feel anything but relief. “No. No hard feelings.”

They stay mostly quiet for the rest of the meal, and Louis’ too wrapped up in thought to notice if
it’s awkward or not.

What he does notice is that when they do talk it’s painfully easy, and he has to restrain himself
from completely falling into the banter. It shouldn’t be like that, he knows. He knows it should be
more difficult. Not that he has much experience with exes, but still.

He’s still jittery when they’re out on the street, having split the bill. Louis’ initial instinct was to
 cover it all himself, and he tells himself it’s just because he’s used to treating clients. Luckily he
managed to not voice the idea aloud.

“So. Uh,” Harry shuffles awkwardly, runs a hand through his hair, gives a half smile. Louis tries
not to have any emotional reaction to that at all. “See you at work.”

Louis barks out a surprised laugh. “See you at work,” he agrees, and slowly, hesitantly, Harry
extends his hand.

Louis tries not to show any surprise. He looks at Harry, and Harry gives a slight nod, almost of
permission. Because, yeah, Louis would need permission to touch Harry, now.

Louis rubs a hand down his thigh, glad it’s not clammy, and then grasps Harry’s. His lungs feel
tight and his stomach jumps, legs weakening. Their grips are tangibly hesitant, but it doesn’t feel
weird. Louis wouldn’t be able to handle anything more firm. Harry’s soft palm, the callouses on
his fingertips- it’s enough to overwhelm him as is. It's off-putting, too, to have a handshake
without eye contact, but Harry's resolutely looking at the ground. Probably Louis should be
grateful.

He’s sure it’s only a few seconds before their hands drop, Harry’s index dragging across Louis’
palm. Louis nods, turns away. Doesn’t look back as he begins to walk to the underground station.

So. Shit. Harry’s part of his life now, and Louis’ just going to deal. He’ll have to make friends
with all the memories he’s pushed down through the years, and fuck are there a lot of them.

Not all bad, he admits.

He remembers how they were, always, Louis and Harry, Harry and Louis. He remembers the late
nights and the lie ins, all the words they gave each other. He remembers how Harry would look at
him like he hung the moon, and like he knew Louis’d done it just for him. He remembers it all.
The problem, he thinks, is that he remembers how it fell apart, too.

Chapter End Notes

okay so I have literally no idea when the next chapter will be up, but I'm hoping
within a week. Also! This was very long just because I don't like first chapters that
don't include hl meeting, but most of the next chapters won't be this lengthy.

Hope you enjoyed and if you wanna leave some feedback please do!
 Chapter 2
Chapter Notes

1. you might have guessed from the last chapter but i started writing this pre-hairgate,
and i still haven't completely accepted post-hairgate!harry into my heart. I'm not sure
if i'm emotionally equipped to write him with short hair. so, the long hair stays.

2. literally for no other reason but the sake of my own convenience in coming up with
the timeline for this fic, they're both the same age-- around 25.

3. i don't know if any of you had even noticed, but i've changed the chapter count. it's
an incredibly wild estimate to the point that i would be completely shocked if it did
end up at 13 chapters, just because of how much i fully anticipate having to change it
in the future. however, the /? always annoys me, and apparently i prefer inaccurate
and reckless guessing to question marks. what does that say about me?

See the end of the chapter for more notes

When Louis arrives at work next Monday- and that’s the only way he’ll refer to the day, won’t
give it any other title- Liam is waiting at the door for him.

This is not normal behaviour. It’s not entirely surprising, either.

“Waiting for someone?” Louis asks, and Liam has the good grace to look vaguely guilty.

He doesn’t have the good grace to actually answer the question, instead shrugging and saying,
“how was your weekend?”

Louis bites his tongue to restrain the truth- I didn’t get to sleep and wrote three songs that when I
read back were an awful combination of incomprehensible and embarrassing, I didn’t change my
clothes once and only remembered to shower this morning, I ignored my mother’s calls because
I’m not ready to tell her yet, I spent two hours on an animal rescue centre’s website considering
adopting a cat- and says instead, blandly, “I went skydiving.”

Liam snorts. “I finished a song for Cher. Emailed you it, looking for feedback? Just the lyrics
mind, haven’t had a chance for any audio.”

It’s Louis’ turn to feel shame, strangely mixed with gratitude for Liam’s slightly obvious attempt to
distract him from what awaits them both in an hour. Fifty-eight minutes, his brain tells him
helpfully. “Shit man, didn’t get around to checking, sorry. Always better discussing it in person
though, yeah? We can head to the studio after lunch?”

“Perfect,” Liam says, and it’s nice. It’s nice having Liam and it’s nice having plans for the
afternoon, as if Louis needs proof that the world isn’t actually going to end, in his and Liam’s
office, in fifty-eight minutes.

It comes close.
It’s Harry, without Niall, discussing what he wants to achieve with his first single. It’s his first day
in since the contract signing- first day as an official Direction artist.

It’s generally an uncomfortable conversation. If the artist is pretentious and entitled, and talks
about their vision and dedication, it’s uncomfortable for Louis and Liam. If the artist is genuine,
it’s uncomfortable for them because they still don’t know Louis and Liam all that well and don’t
know how to talk about their music without running the risk of sounding pretentious.

Harry has never given a fuck about that. Harry will talk about metaphors and allusions and
homages, he’ll talk about vocal exercises and inspiration and the language of music, about
dissonance and deceptive cadence, and he won’t give a fuck if he sounds like a pseud. It’s this
lack of concern that proves how genuine he is, that sincere unawareness of the possibility that
people would doubt his passion.

It's unbearably, unfairly endearing. It’s something Louis has always admired.

However- for all the ease with which Harry talks about music in the meeting, there is hesitancy
there, too. In how he treats Louis, and in how he treats Liam. It shouldn’t agitate Louis as much as
it does. He guesses a nervous Harry has never been something he's had to deal with, before.

“Pretty much all your songs are about- love, right?” Liam asks. “Even if not always the romantic
kind.”

“Uh,” Harry says. “Yeah.”

“So d’you think you’d want to go down that road for the single?”

Harry huffs out a laugh. “Not much else choice. I’ve got one song about slee- y’know, not love,
but it’s almost inevitable that that’s what the single’ll be about.”

Louis wonders if Harry was going to say sleeping around. He wonders if that burns more or less
than the idea of Harry writing about falling in love. The idea that he’s been able to do that, since
the breakup, in a way that Louis never really let himself. He also wonders if the aborted sentence
was merely a result of Harry’s meandering, inconclusive speech patterns, or if he didn’t want to
bring that sort of thing up around Louis.

Most of these meetings would last an hour and a half to two hours. This one barely reaches sixty
minutes.

Louis convinces himself it’s because Harry already has a very clear idea of what he wants, and not
because he himself can hardly bare to hear what that is.

For all its relative prestige, Direction Records, physically, is quite a small establishment. Louis has
never had cause for avoiding someone before, and he’s only realising just how difficult that is
now.

Sometimes Harry wears sweats and beanies and Nikes and hoodies. Sometimes Harry wears lace
shirts and skinny jeans. Sometimes Harry wears threadbare t-shirts with suggestive slogans. Louis
himself is weighing the pros and cons of wearing a blindfold.

Unfortunately, Direction Records is not only small in terms of the building it rents out, but also in
terms of the personnel it has on staff. So even when Louis manages to avoid seeing Harry, he
can’t avoid hearing about him.
Everyone likes Harry. This is unsurprising. He knows the assistants, and the producers, and the
sound techs, the session musicians- how that came about Louis has no idea, because it’s not like
they’ve gotten around to any actual recording. The runners, as much as it shames Louis to admit,
are almost mythological creatures to him and to most people who work in the industry, but even
they seem to like Harry. Probably because Harry doesn’t have any outlandish requests like so
many other artists do- creative weed immediately comes to Louis’ mind.

The only ally in the resistance Louis has is Liam, but even he seems to be softening. Louis’ just
surprised he’s not already best friends with Harry, though he can maybe understand why- the
hesitancy with which Liam treats Harry seems reciprocated. When Louis can't quite manage to
look away, it looks like Harry doesn’t show Liam the same untamed dedication he does everyone
else.

Which, as much as he hates to admit, is not the only thing Louis has managed to pick up on, about
Harry. He’s paying more attention than he should, and he’s not sure if he likes what he sees.
Objectively, there’s nothing wrong with how Harry’s acting, but it’s just- it’s frustrating.

The Harry he sees is all slow words and small smiles. Not that that’s entirely new, but what is new
is the undercurrent of certainty and self-containment. He’s less self-deprecating, not split open and
laid out like he used to be, as if he was offering himself up to everyone who passed.

He just seems so fucking cool, and Louis wants to prove otherwise. He wants to know if he’s still
got some of his dorkish tendencies, if he still has that lame fact of the day app that he’d always
read to Louis, if wildlife documentaries still make him cry, if Love Actually is still his favourite
film.

Louis has always been curious, and good at indulging that curiosity. But while he’s never much
believed it killed the proverbial cat, he knows it could easily, in this case, destroy his non-
proverbial mental stability. So he resists. He doesn’t look at Harry for longer than three seconds at
a time, he stays out of as many of those initial meetings as he can, and he doesn’t have too much
pride that he won’t resort to ducking into bathrooms if he sees Harry coming down the corridor.

Really, though, for the never ending adrenaline rush of fear that Louis rides on all that first week,
the scariest thing by far isn't knowing he’ll have to deal with Harry; it’s knowing he’ll have to deal
with Harry’s music.

He still hasn’t listened to him. Liam doesn’t know, because that would come with the confession
that Louis left the club early, something he’s not yet ready to reveal. That's more for personal than
professional reasons, though; Liam has been rather concerned about Louis since Harry got signed,
and Louis is trying his best to show him it’s unnecessary. Telling him he couldn’t stand to even
watch Harry perform would probably undermine his efforts.

Louis has a week to prepare before they actually begin the process of choosing a single. He has a
plan: he’ll listen to the EP Liam sent him on his own, in his flat, with wine and cigarettes and
blankets. He’s never been very good at concealing emotions, and he’s terrified about what will
show up on his face when he listens to Harry's voice for the first time in four years. It’s best if no
one’s there to see it.

What actually happens is him delaying it to the point that he tells himself he’ll listen to it in his
office before they go to the studio, but that doesn’t work because Julian comes to talk to him about
a new artist he should look into, which, fuck, that’s great, but.
Louis doesn’t think he’s ever been more nervous in a recording studio than he is that day. He’s
made himself at home in them, knows the ins and outs, feels almost entitled to be there. Now,
walking in to listen to Harry's potential singles, he may as well be a criminal walking into a
courtroom.

Liam squeezes his arm when he sits beside him, and Louis isn’t so proud as to push it away. He
came early, because it felt less awkward than the idea of walking into a room where everyone else
had already arrived, eyes landing on him as he made his way to his seat.

Unfortunately, it seems like Harry had the same idea. Niall’s there too, which isn’t entirely typical-
as far as Louis can tell, the manager doesn’t actually have any musical input. Maybe he’s just there
for moral support. Louis can understand that. If he didn’t have Liam beside him, he’d probably
have fled to a bathroom, by now.

His chance for escape dries up as the rest of the people assigned to Harry's single file in, and the
audio is set up.

Louis feels, somewhere in the midst of his self-absorbed breakdown, bad for Harry. They’re
listening to recordings of the song rather than the real deal, which means Harry has to just sit back
and be judged by a room of people, and can't even distract himself with a performance.

Maybe it’s fair. After all, it’s not like Louis has anything to distract himself with, either. The only
thing he can focus on, even before it starts playing, is Harry's music.

Memories fade, is the thing. It's not a choice or, like, proof that you've stopped caring- they just
fade. It's how the human brain works. It can only hold on to details for so long. Louis couldn't
describe all of Harry's rings, he doubts, not without forgetting at least one. He forgets what Harry
thought of films he knows they watched together. Forgets which module that lecturer he really
liked taught. He forgets the tunes Harry whistled, how often he whistled. Even the bigger
memories, Harry’s sweetest declarations, Louis can only recall in broad terms, no longer certain he
could recite them verbatim.

Having said all that, Louis doesn’t think there’s a single song, rough draft, or stray lyric scribbled
on a magazine cover, that Harry wrote during their time together he can’t recall word for word.
Which makes some sense- music was the biggest part of their life, the third party in their
relationship. Most of those songs Louis helped write, helped perform. He knew them like he knew
himself.

But what he knew then is not what he listens to now.

They play five songs. It lasts sixteen minutes. They’re rough drafts, only two verses or so along
with the choruses, clearly needing to be brushed up and fleshed out. The working titles are Night
Changes, Piece of Your Heart, Broken Hearts- Louis sort of cringes at that one, thinking it sounds
incredibly last minute, Right Now, and Stockholm Syndrome.

The first one is probably the easiest. It's mostly in third person, and relatively vague, and though
Harry's voice has Louis clutching at cushions on the sofa, it’s bearable. He falters at the lyric "it'll
never change me and you," (because that's what Harry wanted, wanted someone who wouldn't
change, and well. Maybe he found it) but refuses to dwell on it. He refuses to dwell on any of it,
actually, and stamps down the guilt over not giving Harry all his professional attention, how any
artist deserves.

Harry’s voice has definitely grown, and it’s misguided but Louis feels a sudden rush of pride.
Harry’s more experimental with his vocals, maybe, and there’s a grit that raises the hairs on the
back of Louis’ neck. He doesn’t think it’s a personal reaction. He thinks it’s just Harry’s voice.
The next one’s more ballad-y, and more challenging for Harry’s vocals. What he lacks in
technique he makes up for in passion, though, and Louis’ gut twists with it. God, he genuinely
can’t imagine getting through this. This doesn’t seem like something he’s meant to survive. It’s
bizarre that tomorrow morning he’ll be eating breakfast, shaving, living his life, but with the
knowledge of these songs in the back of his mind.

He can’t focus on the lyrics of the second song, more personal and revealing than that of the first.
Louis knows he should, feels ashamed when he sees Liam scribbling notes in his peripheral, but
actually absorbing what’s being said in this song won’t end well. He knows himself enough to
know that.

The third song is similar, though more fast-paced. Challenging for Harry’s voice, but he meets the
challenge with the same passion Louis had always expected of him. Again, the lyrics are too
personal for Louis to allow himself to absorb. It’s fucking ridiculous, that he can’t let himself think
about Harry going through what he’s singing about.

It’s a good, enjoyable song, definitely first single material but not, Louis thinks, for Harry. It
doesn’t represent his style well enough, doesn’t communicate what Harry seemed to want to
communicate.

The fourth and fifth song wreck Louis again. He hopes none of this is visible. Liam at least
doesn’t seem to notice his discomfort, which is slightly reassuring.

The fourth one is filled with the same sort of longing as the last two, a strong melody and
instrumentation carrying it through. The fifth one- is about sex. It’s pretty clearly about sex. And
while there were references, unsubtle in the way Harry always loved, in the other songs, it was
never the flat out topic like it is in this one. Louis forces himself to not react. Forces himself not to
think about why Harry would want to write that song, what he was thinking about when he did.

Fuck.

He nearly goes into shock when the final song plays out, leaving the room momentarily silent. He
had almost thought the process was never going to end, like some unique torture thought up by the
Devil himself.

People begin to talk around him, but Louis can't. He's still trying to process what he just
heard. Even with the overwhelming nerves, Louis had thought he had had some idea of what to
expect. He was entirely fucking mistaken with that.

These songs are so- sexual, and the ones that aren’t are jaded, or desperate. Louis remembers the
first song Harry had ever written for him, Truly Madly Deeply, remembers how innocent it had
been. Remembers the look of hesitancy on Harry’s face the first time he sung it.

There’s certainly no hesitancy now, nothing but shameless insistence of what he wants, of how
things should be. Louis is fucking unequipped to deal with it. He feels like throwing up.

He knows these must all be new songs, written after their break up. Knows it for a fact. Even
during the roughest times they experienced towards the end, they were never so mad as to not
show each other their lyrics. Louis not recognising these songs means they’re about experiences,
an entire life, he knows literally nothing about. He doesn’t know why, but he fucking hates it.

Even as he becomes more aware of his surroundings he remains quiet, and once more feels
ashamed. He’s one of the key writers involved with Harry, and Harry deserves his all, deserves
him to be putting forward his say as everyone else discusses the future single, but Louis just- can’t.
He needs some recovery time.
He can't, that is, until he realises what direction they’re heading in. That of Broken Hearts. Louis
grimaces at the thought. He knows the five songs will go to focus groups soon, but he also knows
that if the producers already have their mind made up, the focus groups don’t mean shit.

“It’s fun without being forgettable, or empty. It’d get a lot of play time, definitely,” Scott is saying,
and Louis loves Scott, really, but fuck him for making it necessary for Louis to interject.

“But this is the first single,” he says. “We’re setting a precedent here, yeah? Our- Harry wants the
single to be a good representation of what’s to come from him down the line. I’m not sure Broken
Hearts accomplishes that.”

It’s too produced, too built up. Even from the rough demo Louis can hear that. Harry wants
something more simplistic, something where the emphasis is on the lyrics and his voice, rather
than the production. Louis' just surprised autotune hasn't been suggested yet; it would suit the vibe
of Broken Hearts. But it just seems- disrespectful, to do that to Harry's voice. Especially on the
first single, before the public even get to know how beautiful it is pure, with no doctoring.

Scott turns to Harry. “You wouldn’t like that song for your single?”

Harry’s gaze flits across the room, landing on Louis for a second. Louis looks away. “I like all the
songs,” he says, slowly. “I’m not sure- you guys- you guys have more experience than me with
this.”

It’s so fucking clearly not an answer, but it seems enough for Scott, for everyone else in the room,
because they go back to discussing Broken Hearts.

Maybe it should be enough for Louis. He knows where his doubt comes from- Harry doesn’t like
standing up for himself, doesn’t like inconveniencing other people. Louis can't help but suspect
that they could suggest releasing Old McDonald Had a Farm for his single, and Harry would
agree with a you know best.

But Louis' basing that on the Harry he used to know. He can’t stand up for Harry anymore, not
when he can’t even tell what Harry wants.

Maybe that single is what Harry wants. Maybe if he had any objections he’d voice them, strong
and clear.

Louis doesn’t raise his voice again. He’s the only one with any hesitation, it seems, and he’s not
even sure he can justify it.

Once the meeting’s finished, Louis’ the first out the door, leaving his untouched notebook behind
him, scrubbing a hand down his face.

He can hear someone following close enough and assumes it’s Liam, so he doesn’t turn around as
he makes his way to their office.

Until he hears, “Louis,” in a distinctly Not Liam voice.

He stops. Closes his eyes, for a moment. Turns around.

“So. That was your first time listening to my music,” Harry says. “Wasn’t it?”

Louis looks up at him. There’s even more of a height difference now, he thinks, or maybe he just
remembers it wrong. “Yeah,” he says. He doesn’t know why Harry wants to know. Doesn’t
know how he does know, hates the idea that Harry was watching how he reacted in there. He
could've been; it's not like Louis would've noticed, given how determinedly he hadn't looked
Harry's way.

Harry nods, and his lips curl a bit, earnest. “What- what did you, y’know, think?” His voice is
low. Louis wishes he could pretend he didn’t hear the question.

It’s dangerous. Even the blandest answer he could give would sound like it had hidden depths.
Talking to Harry, I like it would sound like some heartfelt declaration. To Louis’ ears, anyway.

“Harry,” he says, instead. Slightly warning, slightly scared. He wouldn’t be surprised if Harry
could pick up on both.

Harry takes a step back, shakes his head. “Sorry,” he says, then shrugs. “Not even your
professional verdict?”

Louis huffs out a disbelieving laugh. It was Harry’s decision, that they remained distant. Louis
doesn’t know why he’s doing this. “You wouldn’t be in this building if you didn’t have talent,”
Louis says. It’s the most removed response he can think of.

Harry frowns. “Right,” he says, nodding to himself.

"I should-" Louis gestures vaguely behind him, still too shell shocked from the music to feel bad
for the weak excuse. Harry nods again, and walks away.

Louis feels like he just failed a test, but he thinks passing it would’ve brought on consequences
best avoided.

He stays still, for a few moments, before continuing back to his office. Locks the door, slumps on
the two seater couch against the wall.

It’s not how someone should react to the music of an old ex. Louis can get away with some
emotional response to seeing the guy who used to be the centre of his world for the first time in
years, but this is more than that. This is like Louis’ making him the centre of his world again, with
every decision, every thought related back to Harry. All his priorities reorganized around Harry.
Louis can’t remember the last time he had such a strong response to anything, good or bad, as he
just had to that music.

That. That is not how he should feel about an ex.

Louis’ never been one for ignoring the unpleasant, or hoping things will work themselves out (that
had been Harry’s forte). He's on nickname terms with all of his demons, and could give guided
tours around the darkest parts of his personality. He knows himself. And he knows, right now, that
he is not as over Harry Styles as he should be.

And he almost laughs, trying to pinpoint even a single moment where he did think he was over
Harry. He’s not sure if he ever came to that conclusion, thinks maybe he just got used to his hurt,
rather than it disappearing.

Some- most- people would think that he should have moved on by now, but they mustn’t know
what it's like to be in love, or at least not with Harry. They mustn’t know how the love insinuated
itself into every crevice of Louis’ being, impossible to completely clean out. Always, always,
leaving traces.

It makes sense. It never really felt like it ended. Too many loose ends, too many words he bit
back. Too many questions he didn’t ask. And now they’re all piling up on the tip of his tongue,
reawakened by Harry’s presence.

It’s probably entirely too risky, the next thought that occurs to him: talk it out with Harry. He
doesn’t let it grow.

Spur of the moment, he pulls out his phone. Dials home.

“Lou?” his mum says, picking up after the second ring. Louis feels a wave of guilt for avoiding
her calls recently. It’s probably the longest they’ve gone without contact, ever. Even with him in
London, they’re still close.

“Hey, mum,” Louis says, and he already sounds vulnerable in a way he hasn’t let himself be in a
long time.

“Something wrong?” she asks. Jay has truly mastered the art of small talk, and views it with great
respect, but she knows Louis’ different. Knows she might as well just get to the root of things.

“Uh, depends on your definition,” Louis says, small laugh. She makes an encouraging noise, and
it’s all he needs to say- “Harry’s back.”

It doesn’t really make sense, and her silence is waiting for him to clarify. He takes a deep breath.
“He’s been signed with the company. As a singer. I’m- I’m expected to work with him. I am
working with him.”

A pause. “Shit,” Jay says. Louis lets out another helpless laugh. “How long ago was this?”

Louis grimaces. “’bout the same time I stopped taking your calls,” he says.

“Why’d you do that? Did you not want to talk to me?”

Louis bites his lip. “Not when I knew you’d ask questions.” He hopes it doesn’t sound accusatory.
Jay can’t help it, is too protective to just sit back and listen. She’s never met a problem she didn’t
want to solve. Louis loves that, mostly, but it’s hard to deal with when he’s having difficulties
even working out what the problem is in the first place.

“What kind of questions?” Jay asks, softly.

“What I plan to do. How I’m gonna handle it. How I feel about it.”

“They seem like simple enough ones.”

“The answers aren’t,” Louis says. He doesn’t have a plan or a method of handling it. Until the last
ten minutes he has been completely unable to identify how he feels.

There’s a pause. “Why are you calling now, love?” Jay asks. Gentle.

“I-” Louis doesn’t know, just a natural reaction to strong emotions, seek comfort from his family.
“D’you know what I should do?”

“Well what have you been doing so far?”

“We’ve been- we agreed, the first day. There aren’t any grudges so we can be courteous, but. We
should keep our distance.”

“And I assume it’s not working, if you’re calling me.”

Louis takes a deep breath, glances around like he’s scared someone’s listening. “It’s harder than I
thought it would be. Seeing him. Harder than it should be.”

Jay hums sympathetically down the line. “There’s no should or shouldn’t about it, darling. How
you feel is how you feel.”

“It’s been four years, though. I shouldn’t be feeling anything at all. Or at least not- we said we’d
keep our distance but I see him on the other side of the corridor and it feels like he’s right next to
me. I just- I’m so, I’m so aware of his presence, all the time, and… and I don’t know what to do.”

“D’you think- do you think you might still have feelings for him?” Jay has never seen the point in
treading lightly, not with her own children. Again, it’s something Louis usually likes.

“No,” he says, not even thinking. He can’t afford to think about it. “I mean- he was a major part of
my life for so long, and he’s a… a good person, so I guess a part of me will always care about
him, but not. Not in that way. It’s just… I guess, before, I thought I could be completely okay with
how we ended because it was over. Entirely. I was never going to see him again. But now he’s
here, and it’s like, it’s no longer unreasonable for me to think I could just- try to clear some things
up. But I also know that’s a stupid fucking thing to even consider, I just can’t help it.”

“Why stupid?”

Louis huffs. Jay always wrings explanations out of him. “It could make things worse. Knowing
everything. Having him know everything.”

“It seems pretty bad as it is, love. Do you want my opinion?”

Louis smiles. “Please.”

“You and Harry- distance isn’t going to work for you. It just doesn’t, for some people. And it
doesn’t have to be a big deal. But if he’s going to be working with you for a while, now, you
can’t have all those questions following you around. You should get them out of the way.”

“Easier said-”

“I know, I know. At the least you both need to stop pretending you’re strangers to each other.
You’ll tire each other out. I know you hate pretending, anyway. If you’re gonna be on eggshells
every time you so much as see him, you’re never going to get past what you feel now. You’ve got
to learn to be casual with him. As colleagues. Maybe even friends. You’ve got to reacclimatize.”

Again, Louis thinks, easier said than done. He stays quiet, and they soon move on to less divisive
subjects. Avoiding Jay also meant losing out on all the news from his family, bar what he could
gather from Facebook statuses, so they have a lot to catch up on. It’s a lovely, warm distraction
from the prickle of nerves in Louis’ spine, present since listening to the music.

Once Louis says goodbye, though, Jay hesitates, says, “wait.”

“Yeah?” Louis asks, mildly apprehensive. His mum sounds nervous, which is rare.

“Just… Could you tell me- how is Harry? How’s he doing?”

Guilt he hasn’t felt in at least a year comes crashing down. Fuck.

It shouldn’t be surprising, but he’d been so wrapped up in his own emotions he didn’t think about
the impact the news could have on Jay herself. Jay, who often said Harry was her second son,
who had had him over for dinners at least twice a week for nearly twelve years. Louis doesn’t
know if they’ve kept in contact at all- though he still gets cards at Christmas from Anne and
Gemma, himself- but in a moment of weakness probably two years ago, he did check online and
see his mum and Harry were still friends on Facebook.

That was a small consolation; for as much as their parting ways had fucked Louis up, he knows it
had been hard on his mother, too. Telling her had been surreal. He was still at the stage that he
didn't even want to call it a breakup. It had only been two days.

He’d worked around it. "He's gone, mum," he’d said. "He's left."

Jay had hummed. "What do you mean?" She was trying to sound calm, but Louis could already
hear the trepidation.

"He's no longer here, me and him are no longer-" that had come too close, so he’d tried a different
track- "he packed his bags and he left, yeah? He's gone."

"Like on holiday?" she had asked. Quietly. He’d burst into tears.

His mum had prioritized his wellbeing, in the aftermath, had offered him a never-ending well of
support, but he could tell that not all of her sadness was strictly on his behalf. Some of it was just
her missing Harry. Probably it would've been easier if she had been able to blame Harry for what
happened, but neither of them had ever been good at that.

Louis takes a deep breath. “Well, it’s not like we’ve done much catching up, but…” Louis wants
to be honest, but he’s struggling for an answer. “But he seems- good. I think he’s doing good.
Happy about being signed, obviously. His dream for so long.”

Louis feels embarrassed, like he doesn’t have a right to say what he’s saying. What does he know
about Harry’s current state? For all he knows Harry could be going through a lot right now, could
be dealing with a myriad of personal problems Louis’ not privy to. He’s not an open book
anymore, and Louis doesn’t know if that’s just because he’s gotten worse at reading Harry or if
Harry is genuinely more subdued. Either way, Louis has no way to know if Harry’s happy or not.

But when his mum sighs and says, “that’s good to hear, love,” he keeps it to himself.

He stays in his office ‘til ten, after that, which isn’t entirely unusual for him. What is unusual is
that it wasn’t a bout of inspiration that kept him desk bound, but more just a complete lack of
motivation to move. He’s too wrapped up in thought. He hates how tempting his mother’s
suggestion is. But it’s not a real solution, trying to be friendly with Harry, not when Louis doesn’t
even know what his feelings about him are. Probably spending more time with him would be the
best way of finding out, but just.

He can’t imagine it being enough. A casual friendship with Harry. Acquaintanceship.

Once his eyes start drooping, he finally decides he should head home. Leaving his office, he’s
unsurprised that there isn’t a soul in sight. He’s often the last to clear out. Not particularly due to
having an impressive work ethic, but rather a ridiculously unhealthy sleep schedule and no one to
go home to, anyway. He meanders across the building to the studios, wanting to reclaim his
notebook from where he had thoughtlessly left it after listening to Harry’s songs.

The light is still on, seeping out from below the door, and Louis knows it wasn’t left on by
accident. Knows exactly what he’ll find when he goes in. He goes anyway.

Harry looks up in surprise, and doesn’t relax all that much when he registers who it is.
“Hey,” he says, “I’m just- I wanted to work on the single they chose. Want to get a head start.”

Louis doesn’t tell him he doesn’t need to justify his presence in the studio. He also doesn’t want to
point out him saying the single they chose, rather than we.

“I’m just- I left my notebook here, earlier,” Louis says, and thinks you don’t need to justify your
presence either, dipshit. He hurries over to his easily spotted notebook, discarded on top of an
amp, and brandishes it to Harry as if he needs to prove he’s not lying. Bizarrely, he tries to
remember if that was where he had left it. If it had been moved, like Harry had looked at it, or
something.

He doesn’t know why he asks, only that he wouldn’t have if he hadn’t had that conversation with
his mother. “How’s it going?” He nods to the legal pad cradled between Harry’s crisscrossed legs.
It’s an achingly familiar position. Harry’s knees always cracked when he stood up from it, and
Louis always cringed.

Harry huffs out a laugh. “It’s not. I’m not used to, like, writing with a schedule, or a set aim. I just
write whatever comes to mind. Whenever I feel like it. I’m not, very, uh, disciplined, about it, and
I guess I’m just not used to this style yet. Keep distracting myself.”

“I can go,” Louis says, and he hates how much it sounds like a question.

Harry answers. “You could stay.”

Louis hovers in the doorway. “You’d want…”

“I- I work well with people. Could use a second set of eyes. Think my own are getting a bit worn
out.”

Louis still doesn’t move.

“It’s not weird,” Harry says, slow. “It’s literally your job. You don’t have to feel weird.”

It’s embarrassing that Louis needs to be reminded of this, but he does understand why. Helping
Harry with lyrics won’t feel like his job. It’ll feel like late nights in college and uni, ink stained
fingers and doodles in the corner, hugs and smiles and sex and soft eye contact when they finally
found the words they were searching for.

But, fuck. It is his job, and it’s about time he got used to that.

“Okay,” he says, and lowers himself down on the ground beside Harry. A respectable distance
between them.

They work for two hours on the lyrics. They’re good at it, in sync. Louis doesn’t have to spend as
long trying to explain his ideas as he usually does, barely has the first sentence out before Harry is
excitedly developing the concept. And Harry’s own ideas spur Louis to think of things he knows
he wouldn’t have, otherwise.

Louis has to stay entirely removed. He can’t wonder about the nameless people that could
possibly have inspired some of these lyrics, especially not the ones so obviously dripping with
love. He nearly snaps the pen in his fist when Harry says, slowly, so I built us a house from a
broken home. He doesn’t reply beyond a vague nod when Harry suggests love was something you
never had enough.
There’s no real moment of inspiration, though. No point when everything falls neatly into place,
or when he feels like he’s arrived at exactly where he wanted to go, even if he didn’t know that on
the way.

None of the feelings he associates with a really great song.

Still, though, it’s a good result for the first night. Louis tells Harry so, when he doesn’t look
entirely happy closing his notepad.

“Yeah,” Harry nods. “Just. Sometimes songs- I dunno. It sounds pretentious, but sometimes it
feels like they write themselves.”

Louis is slightly taken aback by the it sounds pretentious. The uncertainty behind the phrase, the
self-doubt, is at odds with the complete openness with which they shared their ideas only minutes
ago, working on that song. Louis wants to rip the hesitation out of Harry's mouth.

He realises that he’s moved at least two inches closer to Harry- or maybe vice versa, he genuinely
didn’t notice- since sitting down, and tries to scoot away as subtly as possible.

Harry stands up. His knees crack. Louis forces his face to remain neutral as he climbs up himself.

“You should go home, Styles,” Louis says, and it’s genuinely the same advice he’d give to any
artist he was working with, but there’s tenderness in his voice he’d rather ignore. “Get some rest.”

“You still giving advice you don’t follow?” Harry grins.

It’s entirely too casual for a mention of their past, even if indirect. Louis manages a laugh. “I’ll
head out, too. Liam takes it personally if I’m grumpy in the mornings, so. Best get some sleep.”

Harry’s smile fades. He gives a slight nod, looks away. “I-” he breaks off, shakes his head. Starts
again. “Working with you is- good. I know I got more done then than I would’ve on my own.”

Louis doesn’t know what to say, and doesn’t know why he says what he does: “I talked to my
mum, earlier. Told her you were- working here. She says she’s glad you’re doing well. That you
seem happy.”

“You told her I seemed happy?” Harry asks.

Louis feels inexplicably defensive. “She asked,” he says.

Harry’s brow furrows. Louis is scared he’s fucked up, and the fear worsens for the next few
moments of complete silence, until Harry says, “we’re not strangers.”

Louis pauses. It’s very similar to what Jay had said earlier, and he gets the sudden feeling that he
should act cautiously. “I know,” he says.

“D’you feel like. Maybe we should stop pretending to be? It’s not. It doesn’t feel easy. Acting as
if I don’t see you when you’re there is just…it’s just another thing to worry about, you know. And
just, if we’re gonna be doing this, I want it to be- as easy for us as it can be.”

Louis doesn’t know what to do with the possibility that Harry's been feeling even a fraction of the
frustration he himself has this past week or so. “Can you- I can’t think of any alternatives. Is the
thing.”

“We were friends before anything else,” Harry says. “We were best friends for ten years.”
 “We ended-”

“We ended our- our relationship. But there was never anything wrong with how we were friends.
We were good at that. I’m not saying we should go back to what we were like, not even saying
we could, but. I suggested we keep our distance because I thought it would be easiest, but it’s not,
for me anyway, so. This is what I’m saying. We can learn to be comfortable around each other,
again.”

Louis pauses, bites his lip. Maybe it’s because of how tired he is, that he’s unable to resist. “That
might take a while.” He knows he has doubts, and he knows they're valid, but right now they pale
in comparison to the possibility of continuing on in that anxious limbo he and Harry have
occupied for the last while.

Harry looks down as he smiles. “I’m okay with that,” he says.

Louis, all of a sudden, is too. That makes the both of us fools, then, he thinks.

Chapter End Notes

thank you so much for reading again, i hope you want to stick with it!

reminder once again that this is my first unbeta'd work so i apologise if there are more
mistakes than there should be.

also! this took a lot longer than i thought it would, but that was because i recklessly
and spur-of-the-moment-ly signed up for the 1d novena ficathon and got distracted by
that for a bit, but i'm back on track now and will hopefully get into the habit of a
chapter a week with this.

please feel free to leave feedback if you guys want, and a special thanks to the people
who left feedback on my last chapter, that was so lovely and encouraging to read.
 Chapter 3
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

When Louis was home for the summer after his second year of uni, Dan and Jay had a loud, angry
fight. Louis can’t remember what it was about. Parental arguments are something most kids have
to deal with, but all it did was bring back bad memories of the divorce, so Louis stayed in his
room for the duration of it, distracting Daisy and Phoebe by watching long-since cancelled
cartoons from his childhood on YouTube. He’d texted Harry, who was meant to be over in
twenty minutes, and told him to wait a little longer, given the atmosphere. Harry had said Louis
could come over to his house instead, if he wanted to get away, bring his sisters (he was pretty
much the only person in Louis’ life who understood why and to what extent Louis was protective
of them). Louis had declined, because he knew it’d make Jay and Dan feel guilty, like they’d run
their own kids out of the home.

Once the worst of it had passed, once there were no more loud voices or cutting words, Louis had
gone downstairs to make himself some toast. He hadn’t eaten in a while, given his dedication to
staying out of the firing zone. He’d paused in the hallway, hearing some sniffling from the living
room, door ajar, and recognised it as Lottie with a sympathetic pang. She was always sensitive to
disharmony in the family. Luckily Jay was already with her, comforting her.

Now, Louis can’t remember the exact words, but he knows he stayed long enough to hear Jay tell
Lottie that the mark of a strong relationship wasn’t that the couple never faced any challenges, but
that the challenges were faced together, as a team.

In that respect, he and Harry royally fucked up. They’d met when they were six, and for the next
fifteen years it felt like the universe, God, the Fates, and anyone else worth mentioning was on
their side. There were never really any obstacles in their relationship, except Louis’ brief girlfriend
before they really understood their feelings. Even that they dealt with easily.

They were next door neighbours, in the same school, with the same after school minder. Their
mothers were in the same book club, and were good friends- although, in fairness, that was more a
result of Harry and Louis’ closeness than a reason for it. They had the same group of mates,
studied the same subjects- though Louis knows Harry would have had rather done history than
drama- chose the same uni with modules that overlapped. Everything was easy. It was like the
world was going out of its way to accommodate them.

Which Louis suspects is a large part of why they were so fucking clueless when things did get
difficult.

But now it’s not the difficulties he’s thinking about, not at all. It’s the easy times, those fifteen
years of effortless companionship, when everything came naturally.

The weeks after their impromptu writing session feel a bit like déjà vu. Gone is the hesitancy, the
uncertainty. The only awkward thing is the concerned looks Liam keeps shooting Louis when he
and Harry fall a little too quickly into each other.

Louis can’t blame him. He’s scared of it, too.

For the first few days he’s not, doesn't understand why he should worry about how beautifully
they're getting on, but then-

He and Harry are sitting on the couch, and they’re meant to be writing but Niall- who still often
accompanies Harry to the studio even though it’s not his jurisdiction- is taking a Very Important
Phone Call, about a single release party next week.

(Given Louis’ past work with that artist he’s expecting an invite of his own. He’ll have to turn it
down if Harry’s going. That’s fine. Louis never much enjoyed industry dos anyway.)

With the single progressing nicely, the PR side is having its fun with Harry. Niall’s been setting
him up with invites to all sorts of industry gatherings, or so Louis has picked up from throwaway
comments Niall's made on the phone, and his own experience with new artists. Managers
generally want them making connections as early as possible, and Harry’s always been easy to
connect with.

Not when he gets like he is right now, all petulant and impatient at not being able to work on the
single, as if he isn’t the person who insists Niall stays in the studio with him anyway. (Louis
doesn’t ask about that, doesn’t want to know why Harry has never really been alone with Louis
since that first writing session).

Louis, despite himself, is trying to cheer Harry up. He pulls at his curls and mocks his pout until
Harry smiles, and then starts attempting to throw sesame sticks- Harry’s, obviously- into Niall’s
hood, where he’s turned away across the room. He’s just got his first one in when Harry- still
somehow slightly petulantly- begins to participate.

Soon he’s giggling gleefully, and nudging at Louis’ arm whenever it's poised to throw. Harry’s
always played dirty.

Niall turns around once the call is finished, dislodging a few sesame sticks from the folds of his
hoodie, making them sprinkle to the ground. Harry laughs, and turns to Louis, says- “remember
when?”

He cuts himself off, but Louis instantly- instantly- knows what he’s referring to. Remembers when
he and Harry- after several warnings- were moved to the front in maths, around the age of
fourteen, and used the new vantage point to try and land little balls of paper into their teacher’s
hair- which they were both convinced was a wig. They got detention for it, and then a week of
detention for not showing up to that first one.

It’s a harmless story, but bringing up any story from their old lives now, in this entirely new
landscape, seems dangerous. It's from an era irretrievably designated to the past, and they can't act
as if what they have now is a continuation of it. Can’t succumb to old patterns, to remember
whens.

Louis' grateful Harry seems to think so too, cutting himself off before he could get the actual
memory out. He’s just scared there’ll be a point where they won’t catch themselves in time.

Louis had always loved the ease of their relationship, in its day. Even after the breakup he could
recognise how special it was. He remembers when Fizzie called him for advice about her first
boyfriend around a year ago, wondering if she was too young to actually be in love. He
remembers telling her that if it's real, it'll just feel natural, like an extension of herself. Love, he told
her, just kind of happens. And he'd always felt lucky that it had just-kind-of-happened to him,
even if it hadn't ended well.

Now, though, the ease makes him nervous. He’d been worried, when they first agreed to be more
friendly, that they wouldn’t know how to act around each other. He realises now that that was the
wrong thing to worry about. Awkwardness almost feels preferable, or at least less terrifying than
falling back into their- their thing so completely. This is about being able to work comfortably
together. It’s not about picking up where they left off.

Luckily, there are some ways in which they are nothing like how they were. For so long during
their time together there wasn’t a secret one didn’t share with the other, but now it’s the complete
opposite.

In the week since their reconnection, nothing even remotely personal has come up. A few days
back, one of the session musicians Louis knows slightly had asked him if Harry was single
(because people have started taking notice of their friendship), and Louis- Louis literally had no
idea. There was still enough gossip about Harry that he’s pretty sure he would’ve heard about it
somewhere, if Harry was seeing someone or even suspected of it, but the point still stands that he
never would have heard it from Harry.

Louis’ one regret is that he would like to ask after Harry’s family, but other than that he’s grateful
for the distance. Not particularly because he doesn’t want to know about Harry’s life- there’s still
some curiosity within him- but because if Harry did open up in that way, Louis himself would be
expected to reciprocate. He’s sort of embarrassed by how little there is to tell, regarding his
personal life, so he’s glad they’ve both silently agreed to keep it to themselves.

It’s why he doesn’t ask about the bags under Harry’s eyes or the rasp in his voice that Thursday
morning, with Harry slumped in the chair outside Liam and Louis’ office. Instead he says, “I
mostly forget to lock the door, so you can usually let yourself in. You keep loitering like this
you’ll scare off our assistant.”

“Sam loves me,” Harry says, because of course he’s already on a friendly basis with Louis’
assistant, “and I’m prettier than that dead plant you’ve got out there.”

“You flatter yourself,” Louis says drily. “Anyway, don’t judge me for that. Liam insisted we get a
real one rather than a plastic one. He had way too much faith in our ability to care for another
life.” He’s been casually bringing up Liam in conversation for the past few days, as some sort of
exposure therapy. Louis knows Harry’s doubtful of Liam, and he knows why. He’s surprised
Harry isn’t over it yet, considering how he appears to be over everything else, but Louis certainly
doesn’t mind speeding the process along.

It seems to be working, Harry not as likely to politely shut down at any mention. Now, his lip
curls slowly. “You guys put that there yourselves?”

Louis laughs. “Mate, our office was a storage room before we managed to argue a case for
converting it. We didn’t exactly get an interior decorator. We were two twenty-four year olds,
working here for only two years, and we wanted our own office. Had to do it all ourselves.”

“Self-made men,” Harry nods, “with the dead plant to prove it.” His voice really is raspy; they
won’t be able to do any recording today. Louis figures he was at another of those industry parties
last night. Maybe he should be annoyed that it’s interfering with Harry’s ability to make the single,
especially since it’s not the first morning he’s looked worse for wear, but they can focus on other
things today than vocals.

Besides, in a weird, almost masochistic sort of way, Louis loves the reminder that Harry goes out
in his personal time. That Harry talks and drinks and laughs and probably flirts, too. What he and
Harry have has never left the office building. Strictly a working relationship, Louis is able to tell
himself, and one of the many they both have. Not important. Not something he needs to worry
about.

From what Louis is able to gather, Harry likes that too. He’s referred to Louis as a colleague a few
too many times for it to not be deliberate.

“And the future popstar lounging in front of our office,” Louis grins. “Speaking of, shall we head
in?”

Harry hops up from the chair, shakes his head. “Nah, mate, not here for paperwork, wanna get
some writing down. Let’s go to the studio, yeah? Where the magic happens.” He says the last
sentence slightly ironically, and Louis would laugh, but.

He can’t help but wonder if maybe that was a bit of a jab at Louis having an office, at how he
wears suits to work every day and essentially represents what they spent a large part of their teen
years vowing not to become. Not here for paperwork sounds dismissive, especially considering
he’s talking about the office where he fleshed out what he wants from a single, where the
possibility of him even getting signed was first approached with Niall, where Liam and Louis
even ultimately decided to go after Harry, give him this. Louis’ office is for a lot more than
paperwork, and he doesn’t know if he’s reading too much into it, but it’s not exactly the first time
he’s wondered if Harry stills thinks he was a coward for becoming a suit, still sort of blames him
for choosing this career.

He shakes the thoughts away, smiles, says, “sure.”

They’re making steady progress with the song, in much the same way someone would make
steady progress building a wall or laying a road. There are no surges of inspiration, nor any
creative blocks, just technical and thought out advances in the lyrics.

Louis can see it frustrating Harry, even if he won’t admit it. This is not the sort of song that’d
wake the writer up at 3am to finish in a flurry, words falling on top of each other into something
beautiful and unplanned, and that’s the kind of song Harry likes best. He’s biting his lip and the
grip around his Bic is tight, reading over lines they’ve long since agreed upon. Looking for
something more.

Louis’ trying to lighten the mood, and accordingly he’s spent the last ten minutes laughing at how
often Harry trips up saying “now the taste of your lips on the tip of my tongue is at the top of the
list of the things I want.” It devolves into a competition as to which of them can say it the most in
thirty seconds, and they’re taking it seriously, countdown app out and Niall only slightly
exasperated in his traditional corner.

They end up tying with ten times each and despite Louis’ ever present thirst for victory, he doesn’t
mind. He said it often enough that the words lost meaning, and that's the best possible outcome he
can think of. Louis wants this song to be as meaningless to him as possible. He’s still not sure he’s
quite recovered from the first twenty minutes of the session Harry spent revising- or at least
expressing a desire to- are you sleeping by yourself, or are you giving it to someone else?

“Well, Styles,” Louis says, “we should probably get to actually working, lest Liam catches us.”

Harry glances up at him. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, okay.”

They turn to the arrangement of backing vocals. Louis’ adamant that for the first single the
emphasis should be on Harry’s alone, but there are points of the song that sound sort of empty
without another layer to flesh it out.

“You on your own isn’t enough,” Louis says about the last chorus, and Harry looks at him for
three seconds, lips pursed. Louis doesn’t want to think that he knows why. It’s been four years.

Harry doesn’t actually say anything, and eventually Louis moves on. Even for a few scattered
awkward moments, they work well together. Louis doesn’t actually know how long they work
for, only that it’s ended by Harry getting a text and saying he has to go to a lunch. The fact that he
calls it a lunch, rather than just lunch, would be something Louis might mock him for, but he’s too
busy feeling relieved.

Another reminder of their separate lives. Louis needs it. Working on music with Harry always
makes him feel a bit reckless.

Given that this wasn’t a scheduled session, but just one of the many that Harry insists upon to
Louis because of his perfectionist tendencies, it’s only Louis and Niall left after Harry’s departure.
Louis gives him an awkward smile as he begins to clear up his things.

He doesn’t know what to make of Niall, exactly. He’s essentially treated Louis like his best friend
since day one, and while Louis’ seen the evidence that that’s how Niall treats everyone, he is
surprised it extends to him. He knows by now that Niall is just as much a close friend of Harry’s
as he is his manager, and Louis keeps expecting something from Niall to show that. Not hostility,
exactly, because nothing Louis did to Harry warrants hostility, but maybe some hesitation. In the
same vein of Liam’s hesitation around Harry.

“You work well together,” Niall says, and it sounds harmless. He’s watching Louis from the
corner, looking up from his iPad for the first time in a while. Or at least the first time that Louis’
noticed. It’s not like he hasn’t had other things to focus on.

“I like to think I work well with everyone,” Louis says, in the hopes that Niall won’t push. “A real
team player, me.”

Niall gives a small smile. “Then Harry works well with you,” he amends.

“I-” Louis doesn’t know what to say. His first instinct is of course, is we worked together before,
is he knows me, but he’s instantly struck with the fear of Niall repeating that back to Harry. It’d be
fucking humiliating.

Doesn’t seem like Niall really needs an answer though, instantly steamrolling on.

"Why did you’s end it?” he asks.

Louis lets out a laugh borne of surprise and nerves. “You really wanna go down that road?” he
asks.

Niall shrugs. “Not if you don’t want me to know. I’d really like to be friends with you, Louis, but
I think I’d like to maybe understand some things first.”

“You wouldn’t feel better asking Harry?”

Niall scrunches his mouth to the side. “He doesn’t talk about- any of that.”

Any of that probably is a polite way of saying anything to do with Louis, and Louis feels- hurt, in a
way, but also strangely gratified. His and Harry’s past still holds a lot of meaning for him, given
that Harry’s the only person he’s ever loved, and he can’t help but want proof that Harry feels the
same way. He knows Harry has moved on, and it’s not like he’s sad about that, he just wants to
know that Harry has at least a little emotional investment in what they had.

Louis sighs. "We broke up because we started wanting different things."

It's not the first time he's used that excuse. It's not like it's not true, anyway. Louis can still recall,
with utmost clarity and some level of fondness, their late night teenage dreaming, Louis and Harry
and the crowd goes wild. Their priorities had always aligned perfectly, and when their dreams
started diverging they didn’t know how to handle it. They should’ve. Louis knows plenty of
healthy couples with professional or personal aims that are miles apart.

"Oh, like- one of you wanted to settle down?" Niall asks, with more hesitancy than he's shown in
a while.

Louis gives a small smile. Of all the things he and Harry used to fight about, that was never one.
They'd always been on the same page, and that page was a fairy-tale marriage with kids. Fuck,
they used to go to show houses whenever they both had the day off, the ones they never could've
afforded, put on posher accents and trick the realtor into thinking they were really considering, and
sometimes, irrationally, they were. Deep down, they were thinking about what it’d be like to live
there. They’d share secret smiles at the big garden, wonder where the piano would go. Choose
which room for the nursery.

Louis could probably afford some of those houses now. He wonders who ended up with them.
Wonders if they’re happy.

“No, just- we wanted different things from life, and we couldn’t- mesh those desires.” Niall looks
at him like he thinks he’s not finished, and Louis clears his throat. “I’m not- you're Harry’s friend,
Niall. I don’t really want to tell you something he wouldn’t feel comfortable with you knowing.”
It feels sort of like a lie, because even now, Harry doesn't know the full reason behind their
breakup. Knows most of it, knows enough that it wasn't surprising, but Louis always kept the last
straw secret. Still though; if Harry did know, he probably wouldn't want Niall to.

“Fair enough,” Niall says after a pause, inclining his head. He’s still looking at Louis like he has
questions, so Louis changes the subject.

"How did you and Harry meet?" he asks.

"In university," Niall says, and Louis frowns. He doesn't think he remembers anyone like Niall in
Harry's friend group, even as vaguely as Louis knew them, and only a week after the breakup
Harry had dropped out to focus on his music (and for the first time it was his music, only his) .

"He was working at the campus internet cafe, where I was studying for this test the next morning,
all last minute. I was the only one there, proper stressed out, and he helped me revise. Knew a
surprising amount about music theory for a random service worker." Niall shrugs, laughs. It's
obviously a happy memory for him.

"You studied music?" Louis asks.

"Music production and business," Niall says, "and then I went on and did music management."

Music production and business is exactly what Louis (and Liam) studied, and apparently in the
same university, although he'd guess he was a year ahead of Niall. Still, though. It makes Louis
feel something, thinking about Harry helping Niall with a test the same way he used to help Louis.
He remembers how the revision would be half going over the material, and half explaining it to
Harry, who was always so interested. Remembers him saying Louis would be such a good
teacher, in another life. Remembers how deep down Louis was slightly annoyed by in another
life, the assumption that there was no chance he’d end up teaching in this one. Because Harry
already had the future planned for the both of them.

"Anyway, I passed the test, and I went back to the cafe to thank him. It was mostly because of
him I'd done how I did, he understood a lot of it better than me. I said I'd take him out for a drink,
but he said he had a gig that night. So I went to that instead." Niall shrugs, the rest is history.

It's a really fucking lovely story. Louis feels sort of sick, thinking about all the lovely stories of
Harry he's missed out on.

“Sweet,” he says, and Niall gives a smile.

“That’s us.”

Louis laughs, and is glad he’d begun gathering his stuff before this conversation, so it doesn’t look
suspicious when he excuses himself.

The reprieve is only momentary; when he gets to his office, Liam is waiting for him.

“I think maybe we should talk about Harry,” Liam says, almost immediately upon Louis’
entrance. “Or at least I’d like to.”

Louis lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Jesus Christ, did you and Niall arrange to tag team this?”

“What?”

Louis waves his hand in dismissal. He wants to get this over with. He sort of knew this was
coming, but he didn’t anticipate it coming at a time where his brain was already exhausted from
fielding questions about Harry.

“Right, well,” Liam takes a breath, and Louis thinks, slightly amused, that he probably practised
this in front of a mirror. “You and Harry are obviously- reconnecting, and if that’s- if that’s what
you want than I support it. I think it’s really good you’re not holding any grudges, and I’m glad
you’re able to work together. But I just think, maybe-”

He sighs. Louis stops thinking it’s funny. Liam’s the best friend he could hope for, and he worries
about Louis like it’s his job, and- fuck. Louis just wants to reassure him.

“It’s fine, Li,” he says, his voice soft. “I’m handling it. Promise.”

Liam scrubs a hand through his hair. “I want to believe you, I do, but. You say that about most
things. You said that when your table broke and you didn’t want to buy a new one so you tried to
use a stack of magazines as a table leg. And- fuck, Louis, you said it when you guys had just
broken up and you stayed at my flat for a week because you weren’t used to living alone. Not that
you ever put that into words, but you didn’t have to, because I know you. I knew you when you-
no offence, but when you were a fucking mess about it, and I also knew you when you were
getting over it- and you were getting over it, you were past it. You’d moved on. You had Aiden,
and this job, and your friends, and I just- I don’t want you to-”

Louis raises a slight eyebrow. “Relapse?” he asks.

Liam nods fervently. “Exactly! You might laugh, but Harry’s your past, Louis. This doesn’t
change that. It doesn’t change your life, or what you want from your future. I’m scared you’re
going to- to plan around him, or something, but you can’t, because he’s your past.”

It’s like. Louis knows, completely, that his and Harry’s relationship is a thing of the past. He’s
thought of little else this last week.

He just can’t quite accept that Harry himself is, though, because Louis still carries him with him.
So much of what he has, what he is, is because of Harry. So many of the jokes he makes and the
decisions he takes and the way he looks at people- so much of it comes from Harry. He's still
there. He's stayed with Louis, for long after he left.

He can’t say that to Liam. He doesn’t know what to say to Liam, because he doesn’t want to get
angry at something that’s clearly coming from a place of genuine concern. “I know,” he settles on.

Liam sighs. “I know I can be… a control freak, but I’m honestly happy to look at this situation
however you tell me to. You just put so much work into putting this behind you. I’d fucking hate
to see it undone.”

Liam is, as usual, the voice of all Louis’ unspoken fears. Louis tries not to think about it, half out
of embarrassment and half out of self-preservation, but he had been an absolute fucking wreck in
the aftermath. He’d not been functioning, not really, had stopped writing songs and stopped
caring, about anything. He remembers the voice-breaking, door-slamming fight the first time his
mum had suggested he try dating, again. Try relationships.

And he got past that. Louis did try a relationship, and it lasted six months, and he’s proud of that.
His name had been Aiden, and he was a studio singer they used. He'd been looking to get his own
work as a solo artist (Louis could make a joke about having a type, but it just seems unnatural to
compare Harry to anyone else) and eventually Louis was able to find him some, but it had been in
LA. They'd never even considered trying to make it work, long distance. They both knew what
they had wasn't built to last.

It had been nice, though- Aiden had been nice. He never asked any questions, and never wanted
more than Louis could give. He was just sweet, and fun, but quiet too, and maybe that was the
best part. That safe haven Aiden had offered him, of simple nights in watching TV and drinking
tea, no different to how Louis often spends his time, but with warm arms around him to keep him
above the surface.

Aiden had made him feel like a functioning human being. He was popular, see, friends from all
these different places and so willing to share them with Louis. It had been low maintenance, just
introductions at parties, urging Louis to share that one story about that one singer who was a
proper diva. They'd laugh and they'd approve and Louis has never liked the emptiness of quick
connections, has always preferred the long-lasting, but that had been what he needed then. To feel
like some people would like him.

It had been such a source of comfort, while it lasted, and at the start it had been terrifying but
Louis did it anyway.

And he’d gotten this job for himself, and written countless songs for countless artists, and he still
remembers that overwhelming feeling of pride and something else he didn’t want to analyse, the
first time one of those songs hadn’t been about Harry.

He’d been doing so well, considering how much their relationship had meant to him (everything,
everything, it had been his fucking world ), and he could go days without explicitly thinking about
Harry, and when he did think about him it wasn’t even that painful, and now.

Now it’s a first-thought-in-the-morning, last-thought-at-night type thing, again. Now it’s every
decision from which staff room he’ll take his break in to what fucking tie he’ll put on.

And Liam, God, he is so, so right. Louis can’t give up on everything he worked on these past four
years.

“I could maybe- I could stand to rein it in,” Louis says.

Liam’s smile is surprised, but relieved.

Louis’ not heartless, and he’s still soft for Harry. It’s not like he goes back to ignoring him without
an explanation, and while he does occasionally avoid exchanges he wouldn’t have before, they
spend about the same amount of time together. For the most part, they continue on as normal.
There’s no physical contact anymore though, and nothing that could be misconstrued as flirting.
The major change, however, is Louis’ own mindset. For every interaction he maintains a constant
inner mantra of don’t fall for it don’t fall for it don’t fall for it. And it works.

He manages to cool things down for three days. On the third day, stressed, he takes his smoke
break on the building’s roof, because it’s the only place no one else goes.

Or at least it used to be, because as soon as he’s through the door he’s greeted by the sight of a
familiar back, Harry sitting on the ledge, hair whipping lightly in the wind. It’s all very dramatic.

“Practising for a photoshoot?” Louis calls, and briefly thinks it’s probably not wise to startle
someone sitting on the edge of a roof. It doesn’t apply in this scenario, though, because there’s an
extended platform lining the other side of the ledge, and the ledge itself is adorned with metal
railings, Harry’s legs tucked beneath the bar. If he wanted to look daring, he should've found a
building that doesn’t take health and safety so seriously.

Harry turns to him, and manages a small smile. There’s something clearly not right though, Louis
can see straight away, shoulders tense and eyes glassy and eyebrows knotted and lips bitten. It
reminds Louis of the aftermath of the anxiety attacks Harry used to get, and Louis really fucking
hopes that that’s not what Harry just endured, out here, alone.

“You alright, Haz?”

"It's fucking humiliating," Harry says. There's a slight quaver in his voice, and it's terrifying
because Louis recognizes that, too, as the one when he's trying desperately to not get angry.

"What is?" he asks anyway.

Harry shakes his head, but keeps his mouth in a tight line.

"Harry." He says it in his most reasonable voice. It used to really work on Harry. Now he stays
silent.

Louis sighs in defeat. "Fine. Do you want me to call Niall?"

"No, fuck, no, just. Just go, yeah?"

"Harry, how stupid do you think I am? I'm not leaving you on the edge of the roof of a five story
building. Especially not the label’s five story building. I'd be screwed. The lawsuits are a
nightmare."

"This happen often?" Harry says, a bit of a snort. Louis tries to vault up to sit on the facade but it's
so tall he struggles a bit. Without saying anything, Harry reaches and grabs his elbow, hauls him
up. The touch is so warm and so sudden it jars Louis, and once he's sitting he has to catch his
breath.

"You wouldn't believe. The darker side of this industry," he says, faux dramatically, and their
laughter is dragged away in the wind.

They sit there, silent, but it's not. It's not awkward. It's nice, even. Eventually Louis remembers
why he’s there in the first place, and shuffles around a bit to pull the tobacco, filter, and skins from
his pocket.

“You mind?” he asks, even as he begins rolling.

“No,” Harry says, but he looks a bit surprised. “You smoke?”

Louis huffs out a laugh. “Well, I’m not doing this cuz I find rolling therapeutic,” he jokes,
gesturing with the now completed fag in his hand.

Harry gives one of those small, watered down smiles again, and Louis’ heart contracts. “They’re,
like. Uh, bad for you,” Harry says, brow more furrowed than ever.

“Really?” Louis asks, “hadn’t heard that.”

Harry rolls his eyes but smiles a bit. “Yeah, I dunno, think I read something about it in the papers.
Mightn't be true, though.”

Louis shrugs. “People are always saying something is bad for you. First it’s bread, now it’s
cigarettes.”

While Harry looks amused, he also still looks like something that might be concerned, and Louis
finds himself saying, “I’ve been thinking of quitting for a while, though,” even though he hasn’t.

“Yeah?” Harry looks up immediately, and immediately the lie is worth it. “There are some great
articles on ways to quit, I know from when one of my friends was. I think running is supposed to
be really good for it, and this halving method. I could- could email them on to you. If you want.”

They don’t have each other’s emails. “Yeah,” Louis says anyway, “thanks.”

There’s silence, again. The wind is pushing against their fronts, and the view is sort of terrifying.
Louis' knee is touching Harry's thigh. Harry still looks distracted, and Louis is just about to ask if
he’s okay when Harry starts speaking himself.

"It's not up to me, what sort of person would like my music," Harry says, and Louis doesn't really
follow but he thinks this is the beginning of Harry telling him why he's sat on the roof ledge. "And
even if it was, I wouldn’t care. My target demographic could be fucking retirees and I'd be happy.
As long as someone’s listening."

Louis smiles, because he’s worked with a lot of musicians, and heard a lot of variations of that
sentiment, but he thinks Harry is the only person who really means it. "I know," he says.

"But other people don't see it that way. Like, so many people- friends,” and he looks sort of
embarrassed to say that word, “they never, never took my music seriously, because it wasn’t
fucking- elitist indie bull, it had fucking choruses and whatever. Even when I talked about how
much I wanted this, and when I spent half my time writing and playing guitar, they acted as if they
were just- indulging me.”
Louis knows it’s not his place to feel protective of Harry, but that doesn’t stop the indignation
building in his stomach.

“But I didn’t even mind, before,” Harry says. “Because I kind of liked having something to prove,
y’know. I thought, like, I thought I’d get famous, and I’d get the reviews and the album and the
shows, and they’d- they’d realise, y’know. That I’m- I’m good at this.”

Louis nods, silent. He’s not entirely sure why Harry’s telling him, of all people, but he’s certainly
not going to shut him down.

Harry sighs. “But, like, I got this fucking contract, with Direction Records, and it’s this massive
fucking deal and I’m so excited, but they still don’t take me seriously. They still act as if I’m a
fucking kid with a hobbie, or something. And, like, I’ve taken some of my friends- I’ve taken
some of them as plus ones, and stuff, to the parties and launches and whatever that Niall’s setting
me up with, and they fucking love that, you know, they ask me for the invites, now, because
they’re not gonna turn down free booze and the chance to meet real musicians, or whatever, and
I- I keep saying yes, I keep taking them out because I want them to realise that this is my life, that
they’re a plus one but I earned my place in those parties, and I sound so fucking- entitled, I dunno,
but I just… I want them to take me seriously.”

Harry seems to have burned himself out, by that point, voice cracking slightly before he hangs his
head.

Louis wants to say everything, wants to rant about how much Harry deserves and how he’s
always been willing to forgive too much, how Louis never trusted his new friends, anyway, but he
doesn’t.

“If they can’t hear how much there is to your music,” he says instead, heart in throat, “they don’t
deserve to listen.”

Harry closes his eyes, nods. After a silence- "If you didn't know me, would you listen to my
music?"

Louis could barely stomach listening to the songs in a professional context, and there’s no chance
he’d subject himself to that torture recreationally. Harry’s voice is even deeper now, stronger. All
his songs seem to be new, ones Louis wouldn't recognize, about things he wouldn't recognize.
Fuck, about a person he wouldn't recognize. It makes him feel sick, the idea that Harry's found a
new person to write about, a new person to think about and spend time with and love. A new
person to call his muse.

It's stupid, really. Louis hasn't been anyone's muse in a long time. And he's fine with it.

Then again, if he didn’t know Harry, he wouldn’t have all these reservations. If he didn’t know
Harry, he would never have known what it was like to be absolutely on fire with love. If he didn’t
know Harry and heard that music, the desperation and complete honesty, he’d be overwhelmed.
He’d wonder what it was like to feel that deeply.

“Yeah,” he says, after a while. “Yeah, I really think I would, H.”

It’s the first time Harry’s smile has looked genuine.

The feeling of absolute accomplishment that Louis feels upon seeing it tells him he’s not going to
be able to keep his distance much longer.
Chapter End Notes

during the last scene there were like five times where i wrote the phrase "on edge"
but had to delete it cuz i remembered they were, in fact, sitting on a roof's edge and it
took away from the serious atmosphere i was going for.

my work schedule this week is hectic, so I'm not sure how much writing I'll be able to
get done. i'm still optimistic it'll be in a week, but just a heads up.

thank you guys so so much for the response so far, it's so lovely to hear! if you guys
have any thoughts on this chapter, I'd love to hear that too.

also, i have very tentatively established a tumblr, but i'm not exactly sure what i'm
supposed to do with it. hopefully i'll have more of a hang of it by next week and be
able to provide directions, if any of you guys would like to talk fic with me!
 Chapter 4
Chapter Notes

Apology and explanation that I have very selfishly edited one part of the story
regarding Harry's songs. It's not really a big deal but I realised I mentioned one I
actually want to come about later. Just if any of you notice or something.

Speaking of songs I'm still aggressively listening to adele's new(est) album on repeat
while writing this. Specifically when we were young, can't let go, and water under
the bridge. Idk if any of you are into fitting songs with fics but I live for it so there are
some hints for likeminded readers. Anyway! Enjoy.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

In their second year of university, when Louis agreed to let Harry (try to) teach him yoga, he had
three main reasons for doing so:

1. He made the (ultimately correct) assumption it would lead to really great sex.
2. Despite his teasing Harry for it, he understood the benefits of yoga and knew he needed to
work on his flexibility for his place on the uni’s football team.
3. He’d never really learned how to say no to Harry, anyway.

He only has the third one for an excuse as to why the running becomes a thing. Even that he’s
hesitant to voice aloud.

It starts with an email, the night he got home from the roof. It’s from Harry and, as promised,
includes articles and lists and forums about quitting smoking. It ends with the first few weeks are
the hardest, but once you get through them you’re golden! Good luck!! As though Harry is some
sort of motivational speaker.

It’s unbearably fucking adorable, because Harry must’ve compiled this as soon as he had the
chance, given how soon it is since they said goodbye, and he must’ve asked Niall for Louis’
address, too, because he didn’t have it- they never had cause for talking outside of work, before.

Louis knows what it is. He knows it’s a thank you, in words Harry actually feels comfortable
sharing. A thanks for listening, for staying on that roof even as the wind picked up and the sun
dropped down, a thanks for- for whatever it is Louis did, then.

They’ve crossed a line, that’s all Louis knows. He feels too giddy to regret it.

It starts with the email, but it’s continued by Harry in person, waiting outside Louis and Liam’s
office two mornings later, a sight no longer strange.

The thing is that Louis doesn’t really plan on quitting. He started smoking when Aiden left,
because he needed to replace one coping mechanism with another, and that was only six months
ago.
He knows he’s addicted in the physical sense, in the sense that he gets cravings if he goes too long
without, but he’s not addicted in the sense that it’s part of his routine, that it feels foreign not to
smoke. He knows Liam sometimes- and entirely unconsciously- rolls stray post it notes up with
deft fingers during a writing or recording session that’s gone on too long, in a way clearly
imitating the rolling of skin around tobacco. Louis’ not at that point, yet.

He has enough practice from the weekends back in Doncaster, anyway, when Jay tells him she
had a hard enough time staying off them when she was pregnant and did not do that for him just
so he would develop the same habit, thank you very much. And he doesn’t really want his sisters
to know he does it anyway, because it’ll be too hard for him to pull the concerned angry brother
act if any of them pick it up, when he’s got Amber Leaf sticking out of his own pocket.

But even though he doesn’t really plan on quitting, he doesn’t plan on holding the habit forever,
either, so he doesn’t take issue with Harry’s interest.

It’s just that when Harry asks, “did you read the articles?” he can’t honestly say yes. He skimmed
them, and he tried to read them, but he got bored about halfway through the second. He was tired
that first night, okay, and there was a lot of information.

He doesn’t have time to come up with an answer before Harry is already frowning. “Why not,
Louis? Y’know seventy percent of smokers want to quit? But wanting it isn’t going to accomplish
it, you have to act. ”

Louis can’t hold back a laugh, even through a shot of discomfort. “Why are you so invested?” he
asks, and he means it as a harmless question, but.

But.

This is not what they agreed upon.

Louis doesn’t think about that, not really. He's never exactly been adaptive, but he's perfectly
happy to go along with this change. Especially given that he'd seen it coming; he could tell, even
as early as while they were talking on that ledge, he could tell that when they climbed down,
when they went back to the building they worked in and then to the homes they lived in, they
wouldn’t be the same.

They’d both went up there to be alone, and yet neither had minded the other’s presence. Harry
talked about his friends and his frustrations, his personal life, and Louis offered genuine comfort,
comfort he’d want to extend with dying breaths.

They’re not going to come back from that. Louis couldn’t pretend it didn’t happen if he tried.

Harry looks away, and it’s only then Louis realises how intently they’d been holding eye contact.
“I want to help,” he says, and quieter, “I want to be able to.”

“I only smoke, like. Five a day, or so,” Louis says, “so I could cut down easily-”

“Cutting down is very rarely effective,” Harry says, and from his tone Louis can tell the rest of the
sentence is, and if you’d read the articles you’d know that, Louis. Louis would find the
earnestness amusing, except. Except he’s too distracted by the buzzing in his stomach, undeniably
pleased by Harry’s investment in a way he refused to analyse.

“You have to pick a date,” Harry continues, “and stick to it. Cut yourself off cold turkey.”

Louis sighs. “That doesn’t sound fun,” he says, and maybe he wants to tempt Harry into getting
more indignant, more persuasive.
“It can be. Like, not fun, but. You can- you can put aside all the money you would spend on
cigarettes, and at the end of every week, or two weeks, treat yourself to something-”

“Like cigarettes?” Louis asks, “I think I’d have just the right amount saved for some cigarettes.”

Harry scrunches his mouth against a smile, lightly kicks at Louis’ calf. “I don’t want- you don’t
have to quit, obviously, like I don’t want you to feel pressure or anything,” he shrugs, and it’s
probably the least like this new confident Harry that Louis’ ever seen, “it’s just that you said you
were thinking about it, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to.”

“No, Harry,” Louis says, slightly contrite, “I’m just being difficult, quitting could be... I do want
to.”

Louis knows Harry is right, that Louis shouldn’t do this if it’s for anyone but himself. But. He
can’t help how much he likes the idea of Harry’s- encouragement, and approval, maybe, though
that’s fucked up, and it’s not like Harry would flat out disapprove if Louis did smoke. Not like it
would be his place to disapprove.

“Good,” Harry nods, quieter. “And I’d like to help. When I can, cuz like. You’ve done so much
for me, y’know, with the single. This could make us even.”

Louis could say that helping Harry with the single is his job, but he knows what Harry means. It
doesn’t feel like his job, doesn’t feel like anything other than- collaboration, in its purest form.
Meeting of the minds. Louis gets that Harry would see it as more than Louis doing what he
literally gets paid for.

“Okay,” he says.

So, anyway.

Creating new routines helps quitting, apparently, and so does exercise, and Louis isn’t opposed to
either. His routine is unreliable anyway, thanks to his awful sleep cycle, and he’s been wanting to
get back into some form of physical activity for a while, his stomach and thighs softer than they
were before, when he wasn’t so busy he had to leave the local football team.

He’s particular about what kind, though, has turned down Liam’s offer of a gym buddy because
he’s not into that sort of forced environment. Louis likes sports where the main aim is enjoyment,
fitness as a happy by-product. So. New routines and exercise are what lead him to waiting outside
Harry’s apartment building at 7.30 am the following Monday, wearing shorts and a hoodie and
jogging on the spot to escape the chill.

At first he’d turned down the suggestion of running-

“I’m too young to midlife crisis that obviously,” he’d said, and Harry had laughed, asked, “did
you just use midlife crisis as a verb?”

- but Harry offering to midlife crisis with him had made it seem somewhat more appealing. It
looks less like a desperate last attempt at a healthy lifestyle if you’re jogging with a friend, or at
least that’s what Louis’ brain tells him.

And, fuck. Friend. Maybe. On paper, Louis thinks, on paper any two people who talk like he and
Harry talk, joke like they joke, spend that much time together- even if mostly at work. On paper
they’d be considered friends.
Despite his barriers weakening significantly against Harry, Louis still can’t go that far. If there’s a
term for what he and Harry have, it’s not one Louis knows, and he makes his living finding the
right words for situations.

This, he thinks, is not something he’ll be writing a song about any time soon.

Harry pushes out the front door, white Nike Henley to Louis’ green Adidas, and his hair in a
messy bun Louis inexplicably and instantly wants to take down. He’s got one earphone in and one
earphone out, attached to an ipod all fancy strapped around Harry’s bicep. Of course he has
proper running gear, even as an until recently unemployed musician. On his part, Louis has
stuffed his phone into the loose front pocket of the hoodie and hoped for the best.

Hoping for the best has always been his modus operandi, a contrast to Harry’s system of over
preparation, which is made evident almost immediately that morning; Harry’s obviously made the
(correct) assumption that Louis has done no research on running (he didn’t realise it was
something you needed to research. It’s running), so he provides a helpful summary of the key
points for beginner runners.

“So,” Louis interrupts, once Harry is winding down, “essentially what you’re saying is you’re
gonna judge me for not buying new shoes for this and that after ten minutes of running we need to
walk for two minutes.”

“Worn out shoes are the number one cause of running-related injuries, Louis,” Harry says, but
he’s smiling slightly, like he’s inviting Louis to tease him.

Louis would hate to disappoint. “Y’know, the fact that you used to be an orthopedist will make
for some really interesting questions in the interviews you’re gonna get.”

Harry looks away, gives a loose smile. Louis thinks he likes reminders of the fact that in the
future, he will be interviewed. Enough people will want to hear from him, about him, for there to
be a demand for that supply. Louis thinks he’s going to remind Harry a few more times.

Harry’s building is in a relatively quiet area- far enough away from Direction’s offices that Louis
wonders how he gets there, if maybe he doesn't mind driving now, if maybe he has a car now-
and they stay to the nearby footpaths. In his head, Louis is instantly thinking about different
divergences they could follow, mountains and parks and woods, something with the sort of
scenery they could both appreciate.

There's no room for conversation when they're listening to their music, and it’s something special
for Louis, because he thinks that would be considered rude or standoffish by most people. With
them, though, there’s a tacit understanding that seems to have survived even the four years apart;
that listening to music is worthwhile and should be respected, that doing it in someone else’s
company is, if anything, a sign of trust.

Even working in the music industry for years, Louis has met few people with as similar a
relationship to music as Harry’s to his. All he wonders is what songs Harry is listening to,
anyway.

After eight minutes there’s a small buzz from Harry’s phone, indicating for them to slow into
walking. They do so, and at that point it feels appropriate to take the earphones out.

“Struggling yet?” Harry asks, small smirk.

“Piss off,” Louis laughs, although his real answer is a resounding yes. Not with the running itself,
but more the fact that he hasn’t had a cigarette since yesterday, now. He’s surprised by how soon
he’s craving one. He’s sure he’s gone longer than this without smoking before. Maybe his body is
somehow able to tell that the lack of tobacco is going to be a (hopefully) permanent arrangement
rather than a temporary delay, and is preemptively rebelling.

Either way, Louis has no doubt in mind he’d have a shameful fag in hand already, if he weren’t
out here running with Harry.

So, “thanks,” he says, kicking at a pebble.

“Hmm?” Harry asks.

“For doing this. Like, not running, I know you were into that anyway, but. For getting me to.”

Harry smiles, big. “You think it could help?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Louis nods. It already feels like it has, although how much of that is running
and how much of it is Harry’s presence, Louis can’t say.

Very, very shortly, Louis takes back any thoughts that even insinuated Harry’s presence could be
healing.

Their third time slowing down into walking, Harry pulls off his Henley. Louis can tell it’s not
something he put any thought into, beyond, possibly, a wow I’m a bit warm. And Louis has an
entire repertoire of memories where Harry’s used weaker excuses than that to get half naked, even
in public, so it’s not like he’s surprised.

It’s early, though. It’s early, he hasn’t had his cup of tea, and he hasn’t seen Harry without a top
on in nearly half a decade.

There’s a tattoo of a butterfly. It’s shining with sweat, and moving over muscles with each breath.
Louis wants to bite it, and of all the countless times he’s had to drag his eyes away from Harry’s
body in the last month or so, this is definitely the hardest.

Harry doesn’t say anything, or visibly react, but he must notice Louis’ reaction. It’d be impossible
not to, with how he doesn’t reply to whatever the fuck Harry’s saying, how he’s staring, how he
puts an extra foot of space between them. He hasn’t felt this weak in a while.

God. God, somehow Louis’d forgotten what it’s like to be turned on by Harry Styles.

Despite his stitch, he breathes a sigh of relief when the alarm goes off for them to start running
again.

Like most things with Harry prove to be, it’s a floodgates.

Now that not a single part of Louis is trying to resist Harry’s friendship, he’s starting to notice
things he’d previously been able to manage to put on hold.

Harry’s hands, for example, and his lips and back. How his voice sounds in the mornings and his
laugh and the way he says Louis’ name. How it looks fucking obscene when he’s in front of
Louis and reaches behind to tighten his bun.

Louis likes sex, fucking loves it, really, but he tends to keep it in the bedroom. Not just because
he's a professional now, either- it's genuinely how he's always been, a bit private.

Harry, though. Harry is the opposite. He's so intensely sexual that it seems to seep into everything
else he does. He has absolutely no shame, makes everything look like foreplay. Eating, talking,
walking, the way he dresses- it's all somehow provocative, or at least it is to Louis. And Louis
remembers how much he loved it, how he loved the way just watching his boyfriend pay for
coffee could turn him on.

Now it's just fucking frustrating.

On the second morning, Louis keeps pulling the earphones out of Harry’s ears, and on their fourth
attempt at getting started, they run for the first few meters with Harry holding Louis’ hands behind
his back so as to stop him from doing it again. All in the name of good fun, of course, but Louis’
legs don’t feel steady enough to run.

Louis may never have had a routine as such, but there were always certain staples to his morning-
a fag, a wank, and a cup of tea. Now the fags are out, the tea is in a travel mug on the way to
work because he sleeps in for as long as possible before he has to go running, and the wanking,
well.

He moves it to the evening, which has an unexpected effect on his lifestyle. Whereas morning
wanks can be characterised as lazy and rushed, evening ones strike him as almost leisurely. A
luxury, even. Something he wants to prepare for, put time into.

Given how his growing sexual frustration concerning Harry coincides with his more gratuitous
wanking arrangements, he’s started to feel unsatisfied with just his hand. He unearths a dildo that
hasn’t seen the light of day in months, and can hardly look at Harry the next morning. He’s just
glad no attention is brought to what may or may not be his slightly stiff gait.

On the third morning, Harry literally pours water over himself to cool down. Louis looks too hard,
and then away. He feels like he’s doing something illicit when he takes the drink Harry offers
from that same bottle, Harry watching his throat.

What’s maybe a good thing is even as their friendship snowballs, the time they need to spend
together at work melts away. Harry has finally declared himself happy with the lyrics of Broken
Hearts, (and Louis can’t help but think Harry’s thinking more I guess this is the best we’ll get than
we can’t get better than this) and now, working on the production, it’s Liam’s time to shine. Harry
too takes a step back, knows almost nothing about production- unless he can remember stuff from
helping Louis- and Niall, apparently- study in uni. He does occasionally stand in to watch the
process, constantly incorrigibly curious, and picks stuff from Liam, a more than willing teacher.

Harry’s done the vocals for it, too, but Louis wasn’t there for that. When he and Liam were setting
out who would do what, just after signing Harry, Louis had said he didn’t want to deal with
vocals. At the time it had been because he didn’t think he’d be comfortable with Harry, but now
the idea of going back on that to Liam, saying actually, I’d quite like to see it, seems excruciating.
Especially when Liam is already doubtful of Harry’s increasing presence, and Louis’ increasing
acceptance of it.
✺

On the fourth morning, Louis shows up with one of those arm straps for his phone. Harry makes a
joke that's not really a joke about being proud of Louis. He also, for no good reason, straps it on.
Louis, for no good reason, loses his breath before they’ve even started running. Harry’s hands are
chilly against his arm, despite the relatively mild weather, and it's such a silly thing to take pleasure
from. It doesn't make sense for Louis to find it comforting that Harry’s still as cold-blooded as
ever, something inherent in his biology, irrelevant to who he is or who he’s become. It’s still
somehow reassuring, though. Memories of chilly feet tucked tight between Louis’ calves still ring
true.

They go out for lunch. Not on their own. It’s an impromptu celebration for Jamie, who just found
out he won’t have to work on the next album for a particularly irritating artist of whom he’d
previously been the primary producer. Given that Louis and Harry were the ones in the studio
with him when he found out, it’s Louis and Harry he takes to the café.

Neither Louis nor Harry make any attempt to reject the invitation. Their friendship keeps spilling
out of the boundaries they built for it, and neither of them seem to care.

It’s going fine, really, because Jamie is nice and this is nice and Liam’s taken the day off so Louis
can forget to feel guilty over spending this much time with Harry.

Louis’ only on edge when the young family leaves and the place quietens down enough to hear
the music, familiar notes tracing through the air, and fuck. It’s fine, so long as Jamie doesn’t make
a joke about it, in the way they sometimes do.

Jamie doesn’t have to bring it up. “Like this song,” Harry says.

Oh, fuck. Fuck. Jamie grins, big, says, “you do? Louis wrote it, you know.”

Harry’s face does- something, and he turns to look at Louis. There’s silence for a few moments,
and then, “yeah?” Harry says, and Louis can’t work out if that’s how gravelly his voice is
normally. Louis’ physically trying to stop his ears from working at all, really, because there’s a
taunting quality to No Control that he’s never noticed before.

When he breaks eye contact to look at his lap, it’s not just from humility. He says, “well. With
other people. Liam wrote on it too.”

Louis wrote most of it. Liam worked on the melody, mostly, and the production, but Louis
worked on the lyrics. That’s how they work, and Harry knows that’s how they work.

It’s about Harry. It was written at a point where Louis shouldn’t have been writing about Harry,
and a time where he mostly wasn’t, but this one thing.

People assumed it was about Aiden, because it was during that time, but.

It wasn’t. Sex with Aiden was gentle, and sweet, but Louis' not sure if he likes that. It definitely
wasn't what he'd come to expect from sex, not after reckless one night stands, and not after Harry,
Harry who was always too impatient, who held a little too tight and who bit a little too hard. Who
always knew just how much Louis could take.

Louis looks up when Harry clears his throat, and he’s still looking at Louis. Jamie might as well
have left the table, at this point, and for all Louis knows he has, his entire focus on Harry. “I like
it,” Harry repeats.
“Would you like a song like that for your album? Louis could sort you out,” Jamie says, and
Harry lets out one of his shrieky inexplicable laughs, and Louis.

There is no fucking way Louis is going to write a song about sex for Harry’s album. He’s
definitely not going to write a song about sex with Harry. Not when the thought that Harry has
listened to this song about sex is enough to make him feel weak.

Louis remembers being around eleven and out for dinner with his sisters and mum. It was a treat,
and was mostly for Louis’ sake- his biological father had failed to show up at what was meant to
be a reunion after a decade- and accordingly Louis loved it. The evening was marred, however,
by his mother calling over a waiter and asking him to turn down the music, because she could
hardly hear herself think. Louis’ sense of secondhand embarrassment had been stratospheric, but
right now he finds himself wanting to do the same.

It plays for another two minutes, and Jamie carries the conversation.

On the fifth morning, Louis amazes himself with how well he’s able to replicate ease. He’s not at
ease; not in general, and certainly not around Harry. And it’s awful, because previously the
running has been a reprieve. The cravings are getting bad, the sleeping worse, and as a result he's
getting slightly irritable. Some people might say more than slightly.

He wasn’t like that on the runs. He thinks of Elle Woods and endorphins making people happy,
and he thinks about how Harry could distract him on his darkest days. Early morning runs with
Harry were for fucking sunshine and giggling, but on the fifth one, he’s... on edge.

The thing is that Louis can’t stop thinking about- that song. He wonders how often Harry listened
to it, and wonders why he liked it- if he just enjoyed the tune, or whatever, or if it… if it got him
hot.

He wonders if Harry’s listened to it since, knowing. He wonders if Harry can tell, can tell it’s
about him. Wonders if the humiliation of that feels worse than the idea of Harry thinking it’s about
someone else.

He’s just grateful it was commissioned for an artist who couldn’t get too explicit, but the more he
thinks about the lyrics the more horrified he gets. And he can’t fucking stop thinking about it.

Probably the worst thing about it is that it doesn’t seem like Harry’s given it any measure of
attention at all, carrying on as he always is. A frustratingly charming mystery.

Until the next day.

Louis is in studio three with Ed, and Harry’s there too. Apparently Harry’s got a bit of hero
worship going on, and has sat in on a few of Ed’s writing sessions, because “I’ve just got a
constant thirst for self-improvement, what can I say.” In Ed’s words, “I’m almost ninety percent
sure he’s going to turn out a filthy plagiarist.”

Despite the session being specifically for Ed’s music, Ed leaves the room first, and Louis doesn’t
analyse whether it’s by accident or by design. He has no idea what Ed knows about his and
Harry’s relationship, or what he makes of it, but he can’t deny that the past half hour has been a
tense one. He hasn’t said a full sentence to Harry, though he can mostly justify that by the fact that
Harry is supposed to be a silent observer, Ed the priority. Especially given a scheduled session that
evening, for wrapping up Broken Hearts, where Louis can talk to Harry all he likes.

Louis has no reason to feel guilty for not being able to look at Harry for too long without feeling
out of sorts.

“It’s on my running playlist,” Harry says. He’s on the other side of the room, perched on a stool,
feet tucked around the legs of it.

Louis looks up at him and asks, “what?” because his first assumption is that Harry’s talking about
No Control, but he wants to double check given how in the past thirty six hours, his reaction to
most things is to think of that song.

“No Control. It’s on my running playlist. Other ones, too-” and Louis can’t help but think back to
how many times he’d make fun of Harry for having- and regularly updating- a sex playlist- “but.
Yeah. I would’ve- I’ve listened to that when we were…”

Louis’ blood turns hot, stops, then speeds up again, faster than usual. He can feel his pulse and for
one nonsensical second he thinks Harry can too. “Oh,” he says. Harry is looking at him intently-
has been for this entire fucking exchange- and he- he wants something from Louis, Louis can tell,
some sort of reaction or words, but Louis doesn’t know what that is. Doesn’t know what anything
is, his thoughts centred in on Harry listening to a song Louis wrote- not for him, but about him,
and Louis not knowing, and Harry being right there, beside him, silent and sweating and panting
and listening to words Louis wrote about them. About the things they did.

God. Jesus. Fuck.

Harry gives an awkward laugh, runs a hand through his hair. “I dunno, it just felt like I was
lying?” he says, “not having you know that, I mean. Felt like I was keeping a secret.”

Louis has lost the ability to sense time passing, but it’s some kind of infinity before he manages to
say, “oh.”

“Yeah.”

Louis nods, and he turns around and walks away, and he goes back to his and Liam’s- blessedly
empty- office, locks the door. Nothing has calmed down, and he doesn’t know what Harry thinks
of that- thinks of Louis reacting like this. Of Louis not being able to say anything.

But he can’t even- he can’t even think about the humiliation, can’t prioritize it, not when he can
prioritize Harry, and Harry’s words and body and Louis’ knowledge of it.

He’s hard. Properly, achingly, hard, and surely it should take more than this. Christ, though, if
Harry hasn’t been winding him up and keeping him there for the past however fucking long, and
Louis hasn’t had sex in- God, over half a year, now, and he leans against the door and squeezes
his cock. Even over his trousers it’s incomparably satisfying, and the whine it pulls out of him is
what makes him remember that Sam is sitting outside.

There’s a small cubicle-sized storage room connected to the office, and Louis feels fucking
ridiculous. Feels dirty, scandalous, but mostly just feels needy, and he can’t go home, and he can’t
ignore this, and, fuck.

No one has to know.

He shuts himself into the storage room, under the fluorescent lighting and surrounded by various
files Sam should probably be keeping tidier, and he slides his hand, sweating palm against
sweating stomach, down the front of his trousers.
He won’t unbutton, because somehow that’s too undignified, he won’t do anything he can’t do
with his wrist caught under his waistband.

And even as his mind blanks out with those first touches, he can’t help but want more. Surely this
build up deserves more.

But it’s the kind of more he hasn’t gotten in a long time, hasn’t gotten since Harry, really, and he
can’t think about that, can’t think about the memories.

He thinks in vaguer terms, of a firm hand and dragging nails, dirty, praising words in a low voice,
and wide wet eyes.

If the blown out pupils are rimmed with green, well.

He’s twisting his fist around his cock when somehow- above the blood rushing in his ears- he
hears a knock on the door.

He stills instantly, but it takes a few seconds for him to gather enough wits to pull his hand out of
his pants.

Because he, an actual professional, had his hand down his pants, in the storage room connected to
his office.

Not even his office, an office he shares. Fuck.

He steps out as quietly as possible, and hurries over to unlock the door.

Liam’s laughing as it opens, looking bemusedly at Louis. “What was it locked for?” he asks.

“Napping,” Louis says, even though that doesn’t really count as an excuse.

Liam just frowns in sympathy, though. “Still not sleeping well?” he asks, hand on Louis’ arm.
Louis knows he must look a fucking state, and Liam’s seeming inability to pick up on that isn’t
something he wants to question. “I’m still kinda lost where this wanting to quit comes from,
mate.”

Louis shrugs. “Apparently cigarettes are bad for you,” he says. His voice is getting slightly more
steady. His cock is still hard, though, and he’s glad it’s not too noticeable in boxers and work
trousers, shirt untucked.

God, surely small talk with Liam should be enough to slow his heart.

Liam snorts. “Anyway,” he says, “you ready for…?”

Oh. Shit.

Right, yes, because that’s why Louis can’t leave. Because they’re going over Broken Hearts. And
it’s important, and Louis’ job, and Harry’s going to be there, with his legs and lips and hair, but
Louis has to be too.

Fine. So long as Liam doesn’t mind Louis leaning on him for the walk to the studio, what with
how his knees are still fucking shaking.

“Yeah,” Louis says, even though he’s sure he should have like, a pen, or something. What’s his
career again? “You?”
Liam nods. “Just grabbing something, then we can go.”

Louis has never had much of an attention span, but it’s almost impressive how much he manages
to miss in that meeting. He could guess what’s happening- given that the song is practically
finished, everyone even remotely involved in its production gathers to listen to what they have so
far, to see if anything more needs doing, and to see what the artist thinks.

This means it’s as crowded as a studio ever gets, and usually Louis would be raising his voice,
demanding attention in a way only he has truly mastered.

Now, all his efforts go to not fucking squirming in his chair. His dick has flagged, somewhat, but
the rest of his body doesn’t seem to be following its lead, still demanding something from him that
he’s not sure he can give.

What’s not helping is Harry’s presence, and how he’s the only person in the entire goddamned
room who seems to have noticed Louis’ not his usual self.

Harry’s looking at him, eyes simultaneously curious and knowing, and Louis feels even more on
edge, like his body doesn't realise it's not allowed to react to the heat of that gaze anymore.

He means to look away, and he gets quite good at looking away, but the problem is how his eyes
keep looking back.

And Harry’s always there. Eyebrows furrowed, shamelessly observing.

Louis’ pretty sure if it wasn’t for that, he would’ve managed to calm down at some point during
the meeting. Instead the need only grows, becomes more frustrated, more loudly demanding.

Somehow, mercifully, the meeting ends. Though Louis was planning on being the first one out,
his thoughts are so hazy he doesn’t actually realise everyone’s standing up till half of them are out
the door.

After that, it’s the fact that Harry hasn’t made any attempt at moving that keeps Louis seated.

Then it’s just the two of them. Louis sees Liam give a curious, maybe concerned glance into the
room, but he doesn’t say anything.

Harry stands up. Louis inhales a breath. He keeps it in his lungs for the length of time it takes
Harry to walk across the room, and close the door.

The breath comes out more high pitched than would be ideal.

“‘d love to know what’s got you all worked up,” Harry says, small awful terrible smile, and Louis
somehow manages to scoff.

“Let’s not play,” he says, because they both know fairly fucking well why Louis is like he is.

It shouldn't heighten Louis' arousal, it shouldn't, the idea that Harry is still so in tune in with him,
can tell that he’s turned on, but fuck- in most situations he hates it, having anyone be able to read
him, but the way Harry always knew exactly what he needed still seems to get him weak in the
knees.

Harry sits, cross legged, on the floor beside Louis’ chair, and his body tells him that this is exactly
what he needs.
“You were like this the entire meeting,” Harry says, and he says it in a way that somehow makes
Louis feel proud, like he’s done something good, something Harry approves of.

There’s a hot pressure low on his thigh, and even though he knows it’s Harry’s hand, he refuses to
look. Hasn’t looked away from Harry’s face in a while now.

“Entire week, more like,” Louis says- breathes- because he doesn’t have the strength to lie. Harry
could ask for his bank account details and Louis would give them, if he was in any condition to
remember long numbers.

“Fuck, really?” Harry asks, and once again Louis feels like he’s done the right thing.

Pleasing Harry has always been its own kind of special.

“I- worse, it’s gotten worse today, but yeah. A week of this.” Harry’s hand has started rubbing
circles on his leg, and Louis can’t tell whether it's conscious or not. “Can’t- can’t keep it anymore,
though,” and that doesn’t even really makes sense, but it doesn’t have to with Harry.

Harry laughs something that sounds almost pained, and nods. "So fuckin' obvious, Lou, always so
fucking obvious, don't know how the others didn't notice, Christ. Kept thinking someone would
say something- about, about your eyes or your..."

"Guess they don't have the experience you do,” Louis says, past the point of caring, and his own
hand has found a death grip around Harry’s elbow. At his words, Harry’s hand tightens to a
similar degree around Louis’ thigh.

"Yeah? Not even Liam? You guys have been friends for a long time now, he's never had you like
this? Not even once?"

Louis shakes his head.

"One way I know you better," Harry says, sounding like he's won something.

Louis whines. He’s turned towards Harry, and Harry’s standing up on his knees, now, their faces
level.

Somehow, somehow, when Harry leans in, Louis manages to lean away. Harry’s forehead presses
against his shoulder.

“We shouldn’t,” Louis says, because even if he’s forgotten the details he knows that’s true. They
shouldn’t.

"C'mon, Lou, don't you want some help? I know how impatient you get," Harry’s voice is low,
but it doesn’t sound as controlled as it had before.

That, like most things right now, goes straight to Louis dick. He drops his gaze down and bites his
lip when he sees what must be an outline of Harry’s own stiff cock through his jeans.

Mutual, mutual, mutual.

“So what are you planning on doing, then?” Harry asks. “You gonna get a taxi through the traffic
with a driver who wants to make small talk? How long does it take for you to get back to your
place, Lou?”

Louis doesn’t say anything, until Harry repeats, “how long?”

“Twenty minutes.”

“You're gonna wait twenty minutes?”

“‘v waited long enough already. Nother twenty won't hurt me.” Louis’ not really sure why he's
arguing.

“But surely,” Harry says, and he's practically whispering now, so close to Louis’ ear, “surely what
you're waiting for has to be worth it?”

Harry’s hand has slid around to the inside of Louis’ thigh, fingers tucked under his leg and
squeezing intermittently. Harry's bravery fuels Louis’, and his hand starts moving up and down
Harry’s arm in short strokes. Harry pushes into the touch, and out of everything that gets to Louis
the most.

“What’re you waiting for? What's at home for you? Shitty porn on your laptop?”

Louis doesn't really watch porn, has very rarely needed that kind of stimulus, and he certainly
won't tonight. Not when Harry's already giving him so much.

Too much, a voice tells him, and it tells him he should walk away, but Louis can't. He hasn't felt
this intensely in so long, and he's addicted.

“Are you gonna use your hand? Maybe give yourself a few fingers if there's time? You know you
always preferred mine.” Harry's voice is the strangest mix of urgent and confident, and Louis
wants to drown in it.

“I know how I can work myself,” Louis says, “know what I want my hands to do.”

Harry groans, and his arm moves, and Louis’ not looking in that direction but he thinks Harry
might have just cupped himself. It's only then Louis realises how insecure the situation is, doing
this in an unlocked room at work.

“Don't fucking doubt it, Lou, I remember what you look like touching yourself. Remember,
remember when I walked in after the cancelled lecture? And you were just- just splayed out,
Christ, I couldn't believe it. That, that, that's what you got up to when I was gone. Leaving me
fucking clueless.”

Louis gives a weak smile, and squeezes his legs together. “I wouldn't let you touch.”

Harry lets out a hoarse laugh. “I wanted to touch so fucking bad.”

“What would you've done?”

Harry sucks in a deep breath. His eyes are so dark, and so dedicated to watching Louis. Louis
thinks at least part of the reason he feels so hot is the heat radiating off Harry's body. “Whatever
you asked.”

Louis’ caught breath must be taken as encouragement, because he goes on. “And you would've-
would've loved it, Louis, would've been desperate for it, my cock or my fingers or my tongue.
You would've gotten so loud, I would've had to keep you quiet-”

“Thin walls,” Louis says, like it's an inside joke.

“Thin walls,” Harry agrees with a smile, “so I would've- would've given you some of my fingers
to suck on?” He laughs, “or bite on, knowing you.”
 Past tense, but enough to get him there.

Louis is too close, but he has enough clarity to know if he doesn't get gone now, he and Harry are
gonna go further than just words.

It's a twenty minute taxi drive home.

It's the best orgasm he's had in God knows how long, and he falls asleep almost immediately.

Retains consciousness enough to acknowledge how much he truly, truly fucked up.

He can't explain it. Harry just makes him forget.

Chapter End Notes

As always, comments are what I live for. Always feel lowkey hypocritical asking for
them because of how anxious/hesitant I am about leaving comments on fics, and
therefore how rare it is for me to actually do so even though I know I'm being
irrational. Just. If any of you would like to that'd be very very much appreciated.
Hearing what you guys think makes me feel less like I'm posting fic into the void.
Thanks! (And as always, thank you to the people who have left comments, I love it!)

in other news, i'm as lost about tumblr as i was last week. how does it work?? what
do i do with it?? who am i supposed to follow?? my url is aloequeerafic, i might as
well say now cuz i'll probably delay it forever otherwise. i honestly don't know what
i'm going to do with the blog, and if any of you would have tips, that would be cool. i
like harry and louis and fan fiction, so hopefully that's what i'll end up blogging
about. as of now, the blog is literally empty, though i have picked a theme i quite like.
 Chapter 5
Chapter Notes

this chapter is the shortest so far I think, but I'm hoping to have the next one up
sooner than usual, which should hopefully make up for it. it's also what i think of as
one of those "in between chapters," which is more about build up than actual Events.
hope it's still worth it, though.

also, reminder that i know nothing about how the music industry works, and while i
tried to do adequate research i know nothing about how that works, either. for anyone
more informed, i apologise for the 498593 times you must cringe per chapter over my
inaccuracies, and i hope your capacity for suspension of disbelief is vast.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Louis wakes up to a text from Harry, minutes before his alarm is set to go off. Meeting at mine for
a run?

For a moment, Louis is confused by why Harry needs to clarify what has become routine, but then
he remembers last night, and why he feels so well rested right now, and oh.

Oh. They almost- almost did something, anyway, though Louis doesn’t want to think about what.
And, fuck, the dirty talk they did indulge in isn’t much more forgivable. Louis feels hot shame
(and also some plain old heat, but he ignores it) crawl up his spine at the memory, him sitting in
that chair and letting go in a way he hasn’t in so long, whining, and talking, and fucking biting his
lip like he was desperate.

And he had been desperate, fuck. Harry had made him desperate- Harry had seen him like that.
God, how fucking humiliating, that Harry can still get to him. That Harry knows he can. Louis
groans, buries his face in his pillow.

Then, slowly, sits up. He rereads the text, and the pixelated words act like a balm on his panic.

Harry still wants to meet up. Harry isn’t running for the hills, and it’s not like- not like he wasn’t
involved in last night, too, no, God, the things he said-

But Louis can’t think about that, because Harry isn’t thinking about that, just wants to make sure
they’re going to go for that run.

He’s never had to make sure before.

The reason for why he would now pains Louis; he hates the idea that Harry would be feeling
hesitant. He's overwhelmed by the need to offer reassurance, to let Harry know that nothing has
changed, that they don’t have to change. That they can go back to how they were, if that’s what
they want.

It’s what Louis wants, and judging by the text, Harry feels the same way.

✺
The half hour before he shows up at Harry’s, it’s a pattern- the panic (about what happened last
night, about the idea that they’ll never be able to associate again, about what the fuck it means that
it happened in the first place) builds and builds and builds, until Louis pulls out his phone, pulls up
the text, and calms down.

It shouldn’t work, those six simple and impersonal words, but it does.

Harry’s not turning his back. It’s all Louis needs to know.

It is, but Louis can’t be blamed for waiting an extra minute or so before buzzing Harry’s flat once
he’s outside his building, anyway.

Just building up courage, and all.

The thing is, he realises as he waits for Harry to come down, that he’s not just dealing with the
aftermath of an incredibly regrettable experience, he’s also going to have deal with seeing the guy
he’s ridiculously fucking attracted to, the morning after getting off to thoughts of him, memories of
his voice.

The morning after getting off to thoughts of Harry and having Harry know that that’s what he
would be doing.

Christ.

When he comes down, Harry’s wearing a hoodie and shorts that Louis has come to recognise, but
it feels particularly disrespectful right now. How dare Harry have the audacity to wear anything
that in any way shows off his body. Fuck.

The fact that Louis is completely lost for words- tongue dry, throat dry- is easily covered up by
how Harry instantly opens his mouth.

“Maybe we should talk about it,” he says, and Louis is instantly brought back to that first night
after Harry’s return into his life, going for coffee to talk about it, and how surprised he was that
there was no need for him to initiate the conversation himself, after years of being forced to drag
the fight out of Harry.

Louis nods in agreement, small smile, but he’s not even sure what to say.

What he wants is for them to go back to how they were, to that easy maybe-friendship, but that
mightn’t necessarily be what’s best. After all, it’s the comfort he let himself feel around Harry that
led to last night’s fall out. Who’s to say shit like that won’t keep happening?

But, no, no it was the exception, a one time thing, and now that it’s happened they know to protect
against it. It’s not like there are any favourable alternatives, anyway. Not like going back to acting
like Harry’s a stranger would be any better for Louis’ wellbeing. Fuck, he can’t go back to that,
can’t, it was tearing him apart.

This entire thought process happens in about five seconds, and then Louis thinks fuck it, starts-
“It’s not a big deal, really. In a way it sort of makes sense, given how long we were together, that
we might- react to each other that way. But, I mean-”

“We can control it, easy,” Harry nods. “It’s obviously not something we want to- make a habit of,
so.”
“Yeah,” Louis agrees. It sounds like they’re in denial, he thinks, sounds like they’re rationalising
something inherently irrational, the idea they’d be able to stay away.

But he can’t afford to think like that. Not if he wants to keep Harry in his life.

And then they put in their earphones, fall into step, and run past buildings just waking up,
together.

Getting over whatever the fuck it was that happened that night isn’t as free of hitches as Louis
would’ve hoped, and it isn’t even the end of the run before he figures that out.

When Harry reaches out to offer Louis his water bottle, Louis flinches. Steps away.

Harry pretends not to notice, but, God. Louis feels so intensely and all-encompassingly aware of
Harry, of his body, that he doesn’t know how he’ll ever manage to pay attention to anything else.

It’s fine.

Louis’ fine. Or, well, he’s better than he would be if he and Harry weren’t friends at all. And
that’s what he reminds himself whenever he gets distracted by Harry, or his hands or his hair or
his lips.

Which is happening more than ideally. For as easy as it is to talk to Harry, there’s a tension to their
exchanges that could be entirely one sided. Louis just feels like he’s waiting for something,
watching for something, no matter how many times he tells himself that’s irrational.

It’s his body, he thinks, his traitorous body who doesn’t think it’s got its fill. Who wants more and
doesn’t have a strong enough grasp of logic to understand why that’s not possible.

Christ, Louis doesn’t even know what it is he’s hoping for. Okay, so he’s still clearly pretty stuck
on the whole sex with Harry thing, but he shouldn’t be. The most recent memories of sex with
Harry, from the last few months of their relationship, aren’t exactly romantic. Aren’t exactly
something he should long for, feel wistful for.

They didn't stop having sex when things got bad, is the thing. The sex just changed, changed into
something animalistic and demanding, selfish, more punishment than praise. The last time they
fucked before they broke up neither of them said I love you. Harry called Louis his seven times-
Louis counted- and Louis bit into his neck so hard he broke skin.

And if it is the romantic sex Louis is wishing for, the sex from the good times, filled with praise
and affection and smiles and softness, even when it was rough, then that’s just unrealistic.

Just because Harry’s back doesn’t mean what he had with Harry is. Fuck, at this point he should
get a fucking t-shirt with that on it.

But, really. It’s fine.

The deep sleep gifted to Louis from that distressingly amazing orgasm seems to be a one time
thing, and given that he’s trying to limit orgasms in general now (there’s some Pavlov response
going on with his dick and his brain, where if the former gets hard the latter instantly thinks of
Harry, which has led to an indefinite postponement of wanking), his sleeping schedule is just as
shitty as it has been for the last year or so.

It’s gotten to the point where he dreads going to bed, lying there with some awful energy crawling
through his bones. It feels ridiculous, the farce of stripping and turning off the lights and crawling
under the covers, when he knows he’s not going to actually be able to sleep. He delays it as much
as possible, creates tasks for himself to complete just so he doesn’t even have to think about rest.

Accordingly, at nine thirty on the next Wednesday evening, he’s still at work.

And so, it seems, is Harry- curled against the arm of the sofa in one of the studios, jacket draped
over him like a blanket, chewing at the end of a pen. There’s some ink on the side of his lip, and
it’s only a shade darker than the shadows under his eyes. His eyebrows are furrowed, hair messy,
and he’s so intently focused on the journal balancing on his knees that he doesn’t even notice
Louis entering.

“Oh, hey,” Louis says, surprised- he hadn’t worked with Harry all day, hadn’t even known he
was scheduled to be in. “What’re you doing here?”

Harry looks up only briefly, but the smile he gives is genuine. “Writing,” he says, and Louis
would press him, because it’s late, and there’s not really any official writing Harry’s required to do
now, but. Louis’ not exactly in a position to judge. The reason he came down to the studio was to
go over a song he’s been working on- though he doesn’t know for whom, yet- that has no
deadline at all.

“Same,” Louis says, “d’you mind if-” he gestures at the room, aware of the possibility that Harry
might want him to leave. Writing can be a solitary thing, and Harry seems pretty involved in
whatever it is he’s got going. Louis would hate to disrupt it. Direction isn’t exactly short of
studios, and he could definitely relocate.

Harry shrugs. “Have at it, mate,” he says.

There’s a beat or so of silence, and then, “cheers,” Louis says, taking a seat in the chair on the
other side of the room.

He doesn’t write. He’s always liked the atmosphere of studios, found them much more conducive
to creativity than just his office or bedroom. Not that he’d ever use that phrase aloud- Liam’d
never let him live it down (Harry, he thinks, wouldn’t mock at all- would probably nod earnestly,
understandingly). It’s not like he’s starting from scratch, either, has enough of the song finished
that the rest should just feel like filling in the gaps. Still, though. The pen in his hand may as well
be dried out, for all the ink he uses.

And it’s not his fault.

Harry keeps glancing at him, is the thing, biting at his lip like he’s keeping words in. He looks
away whenever Louis looks up, though he must know Louis has noticed. It feels wrong, for some
reason, to break the silence between them, but Louis can only resist so long.

“What?” he asks, but keeps his voice light, amused. Harry looks nervous enough as it is.

It’s still something to get used to, nerves in this Harry- who otherwise seems always composed,
always in control, always above it all.

“I-” he shakes his head, laughs. “I kind of want you to read these lyrics, but I’m working up to it.”

Louis’ skin grows hot, and he hopes he’s still tan enough to not show a blush. What a fucking
ridiculous reaction for a songwriter to have to an artist, Christ. “Well, uh. I’ll give you some more
time.”

It takes five minutes, and Louis doesn’t spend them doing anything but waiting. Then, slowly,
Harry draws his sprawled legs in closer to his body and catches Louis’ eye, a clear invitation to sit
by him on the couch.

Louis does so, though keeping a foot of space between them. “What is it, then?” he asks, as Harry
hands the journal over.

It feels intimate, accepting it, because Louis knows this isn’t the format through which Harry
usually shows people his songs. The journal is solely for his personal use, dog eared and bulging,
sentences etched with ballpoint pen into the leather binding that Louis’ never had the guts to read,
on the occasions Harry’s had it with him in writing sessions.

And he sort of laughs at himself, a bit, because the reason he didn’t simply sit right next to Harry
and read the words with the journal safely on Harry’s lap was that he didn’t want to risk that sort
of closeness. Holding this journal in his (now slightly unsteady) hands isn’t exactly better, though;
feels like a different, more dangerous kind of closeness.

“It’s a song,” Harry says, and from experience Louis knows the obviousness isn’t deliberate. “I
don’t really know- I’ve been writing it only for the past week, almost, and I haven’t- haven’t
brought it to anyone, it’s just been me, but. I- I really like it, I think.”

He’s so nervous, and Louis is torn between finding it adorable and forcing himself not to think
about it, not to contrast it with how, when they were together, Harry would text him at any time of
day (or night) as soon as even the vaguest idea popped into his head for a song, and never felt any
need to worry about what Louis’ reaction would be.

Louis smiles, hopes it eases the nerves. “Take me through it, then,” he says.

Harry does so, the verses and the choruses and the parts he wants repeated, the parts he wants
gentle and the parts he wants passionate. The parts he’s not entirely sure about, though there are
very few of those. He seems pretty confident in the work he’s showing Louis, and Louis gets
why. It’s impressive, even to a relatively seasoned songwriter like Louis, who’s worked with
some of the greatest names in the industry. As always, it’s a strain to remain impartial, to not try to
work out the context for the words. There’s a desperate fervour to it that Louis instantly wants to
know the origins of, and he can only imagine how that will sound in Harry’s voice.

The two open pages are a mess of addendums and revisions, entire paragraphs completely blocked
out by black pen. Louis could barely work out the starting point, until he noticed a small jammed
in diagonal “VERSE 1” at the top of some writing.

“You have the melody worked out, and all?” Louis asks. “Have you sang it?”

While Louis himself may be tan enough to hide a blush, Harry definitely isn’t, and even in the dim
lighting Louis can track the spread of blood below his cheeks.

He nods.

Louis pauses. “Would you sing it?” he asks, then.

Harry’s blush gets richer, his voice more bashful. “Maybe... maybe not right now. I think I’d
rather- I could send you a recording, tomorrow or something. I just don’t want to like, mess it up,
y’know.” The last statement sounds tacked on, like an excuse.
Louis’ not sure he’s ever experienced both disappoint and relief simultaneously, before. “Okay,”
he nods. “It is- it is a really, really great song, though, Harry. Fuck, I mean, it’s- you should be
proud. I don’t often hear songs like this, y’know? This special.”

Harry’s smiling widely, nodding. “I think so too,” he says, and then bites his lip, blurts- “I kind of
want it to be my single.”

Louis pauses, his eyebrows rising of their own volition. “You mean your second one, or…?”

Harry hesitates, before resolutely shaking his head. “No. Like, my first one. I know it’s, y’know,
but I think I’d like it to be how I’m, uh, introduced to the public.”

Louis tries to work it out in his head, instantly wanting to accommodate Harry. “It- you know
you’re still sort of in a probationary period here, right? And, like, don’t get me wrong, I’ve no
doubt you’ll be offered an album out of this, because- everyone, everyone loves working with you
and you’re obviously talented, but. I’m not sure that’d be a very good impression? It’s still early
days, so I’m not sure what people would think if you, y’know. Changed your mind like that.
We’ve put a lot of work into Where Do Broken Hearts Go . Like, it’s practically finished.”

Harry’s face falls, and Louis can’t be responsible for that.

“Shit, H, I’m not trying to guilt you or anything. If I’m being honest I’ve not been too sure Where
Do Broken Hearts Go is the best debut single for you, either, but I just… I want you to understand
the possible repercussions if you do ask for that. Especially because I’m not even sure that it’d be
allowed, for you to change your single at this point.”

“You don’t think so?” Harry asks, and fuck, Louis really wants to lie, wants to get that assured
smile of moments ago back on Harry’s face.

“I- I don’t know, really. It wouldn’t be my decision, and I don’t know of something like this ever
happening, before, so.” He shrugs, again. “That’s not to say it wouldn’t be allowed, and I’m sure
people know by now that you’re not fickle, or selfish, or unrealistic. I’m sure they’d know you
wouldn’t ask for this if it didn’t mean a lot to you. And like, I said you’ll probably get the album
deal anyway, now, so it’s not like our work would be a complete waste. We could use the song on
your album, or even as a later single, y’know?”

Harry’s quiet for a few moments, and Louis can almost see him putting his thoughts in order. “I
think. This song means a lot to me, already, and I think if there’s a chance I could make it my next
single, I’d take it.”

Louis inhales. This feels risky. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Despite how much he wants to, Louis doesn’t delay breaking the news to Liam, telling him almost
first thing the next morning. Liam reacts with about as much skepticism as Louis himself initially
had, but it’s harder for Liam to recover it.

He hasn’t seen the song Harry wants to replace the single with, though, and Louis tells him that if
he had- when he does- he’d know how worthwhile it’ll be. Liam gives in- like Louis knew he
would- and asks Sam to set up a meeting with Julian and John, for permission.

Selfishly, it’s not just Harry’s own skin Louis’ worried about. Julian and John are pretty important
in the A&R department, and while they’re overseeing Harry’s single- from who’s involved to
what it will be- they’re also, essentially, in charge of Louis’ future, and any prospect he has at
graduating to the talent scouting job he dreams of.
For now he brushes away the worries, smiles bright and big as he makes his way to studio three,
to tell Harry the good news.

Except when he gets to the studio, he sort of gets distracted. Because Harry’s not alone, and it
takes longer than it should for Louis to realise who it is that’s with him.

He just wasn’t expecting it, is all.

“Gemma,” he says, surprise obvious in his voice, mouth acting without permission from his brain.

Harry’s sister turns to him, noticing his entrance for the first time, and in that moment Louis feels
genuine terror.

He hadn’t really kept in contact with Gemma, and instantly he’s worrying about what she makes
of him. He knows it would be mostly unjustified if she did harbour resentment, given that the
breakup had been courteous, almost.

It’s probably something Louis should be grateful for, that when they did go down they didn’t do it
in a way that hurt each other. It actually kind of made it worse, though. They’d been so intense, so
on fire and obnoxious and big and bright- they’d been everything- that it almost felt like he’d been
cheated, when it ended with a barely-there smile and a neatly packed bag and a softly, politely
closed door. Not with a bang but a whimper.

The main problem, however, was how hard it made it to explain to friends and family. When
people asked why, asked how something so beautiful and meaningful and strong had come to an
end, it didn’t feel like enough, to just tell them that they’d drifted apart.

And for the people who had to pick sides- their families, namely- it was as much a loss for them as
it was for Harry and Louis. They almost had it worse in a way, because it’s not like they could’ve
seen it coming, how Harry and Louis did.

That’s one of the few things about the situation for which Louis does feel guilty; how he and
Harry, without discussion, pretended in front of their families. It wasn’t particularly a conscious
decision. Whenever they visited or were visited by their families, they became the couple they
used to be, even during their worst times. It was a reminder of what they’d been like, at home, and
seeing Harry help his mother and listen to the twins and joke with Lottie and Fizz- he couldn’t be
mad at that. Similarly, whenever he spent time with Gemma and Anne, it reminded him of parts of
Harry he’d forgotten he loved, and he could see Harry soften as well. The visits were the only
times they were able to trick themselves into thinking everything was alright, and Louis supposes
they managed to trick their families, too.

Guilt-ridden along with everything else, Louis'd sort of deliberately not contacted Harry’s family
in the aftermath. He has no idea what Gemma heard from Harry, but he knows it’s the only thing
she would’ve heard about the breakup, and that has him wary.

But.

But Gemma smiles, and God, Louis smiles back.

“Louis,” she says, and she sounds happy, “been wondering if I’d run into you.”

Louis laughs, steps further into the room. “Can’t say I was thinking the same about you, Gemma.”
Behind her, Harry is watching the exchange carefully- warily, even- but that’s not what Louis’
going to focus on, right now.

“Well, I’m up in London for the week, thought I’d do my sisterly duties and see how Harry’s
doing in his new job. Proper professional, this set up,” she comments, gesturing to the studio
around her, the soundboards and instruments. Her voice lowers with the next statement- “I’m glad
I ran into you. It’s good to see you again, and to know you and Harry are getting on. And- thank
you, for giving him this opportunity.”

For some reason, it feels wrong to take any sort of credit for that. “Oh, well, Harry’s earned his
place here and then some. You know how talented he is. He’s doing the company a favour as
much as it's the reverse.”

Louis resolutely doesn’t look at Harry as he talks, focuses instead on Gemma’s face. She’s still
smiling widely, and she shakes her head as he finishes. “It’s so good to see you again, Lou,” she
says, and despite the fact that she’d have had much more chance of foreseeing this encounter, she
sounds just as shocked as Louis feels.

“You too, Gems,” he says, earnest. They go in for a hug, slightly stilted but still so, so appreciated,
and when Gemma pulls away Louis catches a glint on her finger that makes all awkwardness
instantly vanish.

“Fuck!” he says, louder than advisable, “is that- that a ring?” He’s unashamed of the simple
question, grabbing her hand to inspect it. “Married?”

“Engaged,” she clarifies, smile big, big, big.

Louis feels a jolt of affection, and he can’t help smiling back. All worries forgotten, he’s nothing
but happy for this girl, who he grew up with, for whom he sometimes pretended to be a groom
during her dress up wedding game. “To who?” he asks.

“His name’s Anthony, you'd love him, Lou. He’s really smart, and funny, same age as me. I’m
friends with his cousin, that’s how we met, and we’ve both been travelling for a year, now, but
we’re trying to find a place in Manchester, which would be-”

“Breathe, Gems,” Harry notes wryly from the couch, and Gemma’s smile doesn’t break even as
she flips him off.

“D’you have a picture?” Louis asks, more than happy to indulge her enthusiasm.

“Uhuh, yeah, I actually just took one this morning, cuz it’s his first day at the hospital- he’s a
doctor, y’know, looked very proper in his coat and all-”

“Oh, bagged yourself a rich man,” Louis teases, as Gemma pulls out her phone.

“Yeah,” she jokes, “life of the trophy wife right in front of me, won’t have to lift a finger again.”

Louis laughs, genuine, because Gemma is like her brother in a lot of ways, and her need to do
things for herself, to earn her own keep, is one of them.

The picture she shows him is adorable, a man decked out in a doctor’s coat, the white contrasting
with his dark skin, handsome face pulling an exasperated look like having his photo taken isn’t
something he’s particularly excited for.

It’s only one picture, but it still seems like the sort of television happy ending Louis knows
Gemma deserves. “He looks great,” he says, honestly, “I’m so happy for you. Really.”
“Thank you, I’m happy for me too. I’m still sort of in shock, we only got engaged two weeks ago-
”

And that’s shocking for Louis, too, because he and Harry were on pretty good terms two weeks
ago, and Louis knows, beyond a doubt, that finding out his sister was engaged would’ve been
major news for Harry. Not something he wanted to share with Louis, though.

Not that Louis’ bitter.

“-I’m in London to look at dresses, actually, I just want to get married soon, you know, don’t want
it to be one of those really long engagements.”

“Less time for him to back out, yeah?” Louis teases, and maybe he shouldn’t do that with
someone he hasn’t seen in four years, but.

He hasn’t noticed a single thing different in Gemma from the day he last saw her, and it’s hard not
to fall into old habits.

Gemma just laughs, anyway, before her expression changes into something slightly more
thoughtful but no less pleased.

“Y’know,” she says, “our engagement party is actually in a few weeks, if you’d like to come?
Harry could pass on the details. I know it might be- I’d understand if you didn’t want to, but I’d-
I’d really like it if you could make it.”

For a moment, Louis’ just grateful he doesn’t tear up. It means more to him than he feels
comfortable saying, that Gemma would want him there for that, there to celebrate her happiness.
“I- that’d be amazing, Gemma. Thank you so much.”

After so long of being hyperaware of his every move, it’s slightly funny that Louis’d completely
forgotten about Harry’s presence until he speaks up. “Is there-” he breaks off, clears his throat.
“Did you come down here for a reason, Louis?”

Louis doesn’t know what to make of the tone, and neither, by the looks of it, does Gemma.

“Oh, yeah,” he says, voice deliberately light. “I just thought I’d tell you that I told Liam about the
single thing, and he’s on board, and we’ve got a meeting with Julian and John scheduled, as well.
It’s them who’ll make the final call, y’know.”

For some reason, the news makes Harry look almost- guilty. “Oh,” he says, and the smile is so
obviously fake Louis doesn’t see the point of it, “thank you, Louis. Seriously, I- that means a lot.”

His tone softens towards the end, the gratitude genuine. Louis nods in response. “Well,” he says,
“I’ll let you guys get back to your catching up. Don’t mess with the buttons too much, Gemma.”

When he walks out the door, he’s not entirely sure what he’s leaving behind.

The rest of the day is nothing but routine, though Louis holds some secret, shameful
disappointment over the fact that he doesn’t have any reason to see Harry again. There’s no more
work to be done with him, and a lot of work to be done with other artists, because, oh yeah, they
do actually exist.

Like God is finally taking pity on him (and Louis will admit that he is being pretty pitiful), when
he’s leaving the office at seven that evening, Harry is leaning against the wall by the building’s
front entrance.

Maybe it’s by the way Harry looks up that Louis can tell he’s what Harry’s waiting for. He’s
instantly filled with some boyish excitement, wonders if they’re going to get coffee, if Harry wants
some feedback on the new song, wants to play Louis the promised recording that he hasn’t sent on
yet.

“You really liked seeing Gemma,” Harry says instead.

Louis doesn’t know how he’s supposed to respond, so he goes with honesty. “Yeah, it’s great to
see her so happy. And d’you approve of her fiance or are you playing at the overprotective
brother?” he asks, teasing.

Harry looks thrown for a moment, before smiling. “Yeah, he’s great,” he says, and Louis nods,
but doesn’t say anything. It’s not like Harry’s giving him a lot of information to work with. He’s
getting the feeling that this encounter, whatever it turns out to be, probably wasn’t borne from the
goodness of God’s heart after all.

There’s a suspended silence, till- “don’t go to her engagement party. Please. Like- you probably
don’t even want to, but just. It’d be easier if you didn’t.”

Distantly, Louis knows he shouldn’t be as taken aback as he is. He doesn’t manage to form his
thoughts, let alone a sentence, before Harry’s talking again.

“I just- you get it, right? That I wouldn’t want- I wouldn’t feel comfortable with that… It’d just be
too messy, and my parents are gonna be there, and I just-” he breaks off, sighs, and repeats- “you
get it, right?”

And Louis sort of has to get it, can’t show up to Gemma’s engagement party without Harry’s
approval. “I- yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I get it. Don’t worry about it.”

The relief on Harry’s face makes the hurt in Louis’ stomach worth it. He hopes Harry can’t
somehow see his upset, when he makes hurried excuses and goes home.

Harry’s request makes more sense in the morning, once Louis’ burned through most of his
misplaced disappointment. If anything, he himself shouldn’t have been so reckless as to accept
Gemma’s invitation in the first place.

He and Harry aren’t- they aren’t anything real, or permanent, so there’s no point making room in
their lives for each other. There’s no point in Louis reconnecting with Harry’s family.

Harry was acting in both of their best interests. Louis should be grateful.

He doesn’t quite have the strength to dredge that up, yet.

It’s probably not the best mindframe to go into the meeting with Julian and John the next day, but
Louis doesn’t really have a choice. Any and all attempts at distracting himself from replaying
Harry’s expression when he asked Louis not to go have been dismayingly unsuccessful. (His
expression had been hopeful, fuck, hopeful that he wouldn’t have to deal with Louis outside of
work.)

At least he manages to keep from actually talking about it, somehow, explaining to his bosses the
idea of changing the single even as he mentally composes letters to Cosmo about what it means
when he doesn’t want me at his sister’s engagement party. Liam is sort of letting Louis take the
lead, which makes sense. Given how Louis was the one who suggested this risk, it’s Louis who
should suffer any consequences.

Not that Liam is entirely opposed, now. They got sent the audio that morning, and despite the lack
of instrumentation or development, it impressed Liam just as much as Louis knew it would.

He’d tried not to listen too hard, himself.

“You’re the two who brought Harry to us,” John says, “and we already took a risk in signing him-
”

In Louis’ humble opinion, that’s bullshit. There’s nothing risky about Harry’s music, or about the
success it will undoubtedly bring. He doesn’t say that, though.

“-and you want us take another one, now.”

“Really, though,” Julian adds, “it’s not the song itself we’re worried about- we’re sure it’s just as
good as you both promise- and it’s not all the work that’s gone into Styles’ first song being
potentially lost. What would worry me is what this says about the artist’s work ethic. What I want
to know is why he’s not worried about the work that’s gone into that first song, and why he felt
comfortable making this kind of request when he’s only got a contract for one song. We’re an
independent label in a tricky climate. Artists like that aren’t always worth it, even when they’re
talented.”

Louis can’t say that Harry’s the hardest working person they’ll ever meet, or that he’s so
completely appreciative of everyone around him, from the producers to the people who stock the
fucking vending machine outside the recording studio, or that really, him changing his mind about
the song only shows how much he cares, how much he wants to give his best.

Instead, he says- “It wasn’t Harry’s idea.”

Julian, John, and Liam’s eyebrows all go up. Louis is undaunted. “He just wanted some feedback
on the lyrics, but when I read them I thought- I’d had reservations about the single choice for a
while, now,” and that in itself is true, “and when I saw this song I knew it’d be a much better
option. For him and for us.”

There’s a few moments of silence. “You said you have the audio for Something Great?” Julian
asks.

Louis barely restrains a sigh of relief. “Just a rough demo,” he says. “Just Harry’s own vocals.”

Julian nods. “Get that to us as soon as you can.”

Walking back to their office from Julian and John’s, Liam glances at Louis approximately seven
hundred times. Once he realises Louis isn’t going to be the one who brings it up, he says, “that
was a lie, right? I’m not just misunderstanding it- it wasn’t really your idea, was it?”

“Leave it, Li,” is all Louis can offer, and luckily Liam does, with a small smile and a pat on the
back and silence.

Louis knows it’s not permanent.

✺
 It takes Julian and John less than twenty four hours to approve the single change, and it’ll
probably take longer for Louis’ resulting smile to fade.

Fuck, but is he excited. It’s not even just for Harry- though he can admit that that’s a large part-
but because of how much he genuinely loves the song. He’s excited to work on it, in a way he
never was with Where Do Broken Hearts Go.

He’s also maybe partly excited for when he gets to tell Harry he has the go ahead, which should
be in around a half hour. He can’t wait to see Harry’s face.

The excitement must show, because when Liam walks in, he instantly asks who the smile’s for.

Louis rolls his eyes at the phrasing. “Not a who. Julian and John called, we get to change the
single.”

“Shit, great,” Liam grins. “Sort of siked for this, not gonna lie.”

Louis nods, can’t speak because he’s sure Liam will hear something Louis doesn’t want him to
hear.

Liam seems to hear it in his silence, because then he’s asking, “this really means a lot to you,
Louis, doesn’t it?”

Louis pauses. “It’s a good song.”

Liam’s too considerate to directly call Louis out on his bullshit, but his expression does gain a
skeptical edge. “I think you’ve got a lot of other reasons to care about it. I think you’ve given
yourself a lot of other reasons.”

“Don’t be vague, now, Liam,” Louis says, and the sarcasm is more bitter than he was going for.

“Fuck, I know I said it’s up to you how you handle this, and it is, obviously… I’m just worried
that maybe you’re in too deep,” Liam says, and the thing is.

The thing is, Louis can’t bring himself to care anymore.

Especially not a half hour later, when he tells Harry, and Harry smiles so big, so big and excited
and earnest and grateful, and says, “thank you, Lou,” like it’s the most important thing in the
world that Louis gets that acknowledgement.

Especially not then.

Chapter End Notes

thanks so much for reading, hope you enjoyed! if so, please feel free to tell me why
or what about it you did, and thanks so so so much to everyone who have left
comments so far. It is the main incentive for public posting, so it means a whole lot.

unfortunately no news on the tumblr front. still struggling with the concept. also not
putting as much effort into working it out as i probably should.
 Chapter 6
Chapter Notes

another sorta short one, and in (just about) less than a week.

triggers for: casual non-explicit mentions of underage sex. also this is where the
unhealthy parent/child relationship tag comes in to play, although only through
discussion. any questions or desire for clarifications regarding these warnings, please
feel free to comment and I can clear things up, no problem.

anyway, hope you guys enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

In Louis' view, Harry always was and always will be the worst kind of perfectionist, because he
mixes it with a healthy dose of spontaneity; the combination of a constant stream of new ideas and
a focused dedication to each of them generally means things end up taking twice as long as they
should.

Maybe it’s because Harry has a (surprisingly supportive) team working with him, or maybe it’s
because he has such a clear understanding of what he wants from the song that there’s little room
for new ideas, but Something Great is coming into shape at a speed Louis would never have
predicted. It’s barely a week in and almost everything is planned to a t. Harry’s a man possessed,
and two nights ago Louis got a text in the middle of the night about a possible lyric change. It
reminded him so strongly of their youth he couldn’t stop smiling, and also couldn’t bring himself
to reply.

The remarkable progress they’re making means they don’t feel guilty when they give their writing
hands a rest one Thursday afternoon, after an hour of working, fuelled by the burgers and weed
earlier delivered by a runner Niall called for (even though, as Louis occasionally likes to teasingly
remind him, he doesn’t actually work at Direction). They means Louis, Liam, Harry, and Niall,
who is ostensibly there as moral support for Harry but, actually in possession of quite a musical
mind, has been unassumingly putting forward suggestions that fit well into the conversation
between the rest of the boys.

Niall’s in the chair in the corner (which Louis, to his mild horror, has started referring to as Niall’s
chair, even when he’s using this studio with artists who wouldn’t be able to pick Niall out of a
lineup) and Liam slumped on the floor, too lazy to move away from his precious soundboard.
Louis and Harry are on either side of the plush leather couch, Harry facing forward and Louis
lounging against the arm, legs elevated on a mound of cushions he built in the middle.

"Y'know the way having a vag means you can have multiple orgasms?" Liam asks. Louis snorts,
but Niall nods encouragingly. Louis can't see how Harry's reacting, and he doesn't let himself
check.

"Is it expected?" Liam continues. "Like I know it's possible, but is it normal? Every time?"

Louis and Niall both laugh. "How's Sophia, then, Li?" Louis asks. Liam throws a cushion at him,
and Louis happily adds it to his mound. Now that he thinks about it, he does genuinely want to
ask after Sophia. He hasn’t heard about her in a while. He hopes she and Liam aren’t fighting
again, although mostly with Liam’s relationships no news is good news; during rougher times he
thinks of venting to his best friend as healthy, with a recommended five a day. Ha. At least Louis
doesn’t have to feel guilty about missing signs, what with how distracted he’s been recently. If
Liam wants support for any reason, he’ll sure as anything ask for it.

"It's not that hard," Harry says, slow, and it takes Louis a while to remember what it was they
were talking about. Or, well, what Liam was trying to get them to talk about. Once he does,
though, Harry’s comment gives him pause. Does that mean-? But it doesn’t matter. He moves on.

"It's not?" Liam sounds dubious.

Harry groans. "Just, like. Google it. Yahoo Answers."

Louis sits up at that. "Oh no, don’t trust Yahoo Answers about vaginas. They lied to me, ruined
my first time. They don't know what a clitoris is," Louis sighs. "Neither did sixteen-year-old me."

They all laugh at that, but Harry the loudest. "Fuck, I remember that," he says. "Beth couldn't
look you in the eyes for weeks."

It's the first time that they've publicly acknowledged their shared past, and even though it's about
Louis being with someone else it feels noteworthy.

They’re having a lot of firsts like that recently, eviscerating the few remaining bricks in the wall
between them. They’ve got their very own inside joke, now, something about video game
characters. Louis’ pretty sure they’ve spiralled far away from the starting point with that one. "In
fairness, mate,” he says because yes, it’s his turn to talk, “I didn't make it easy. Ran into random
classrooms whenever I saw her coming."

"Not that you ever got to," Harry says. He pauses, and Louis knows it's going to be awful. "See
her come, that is."

There's a slight breath before they're all laughing again. Louis reaches out to kick Harry, and
Harry grabs his ankle. His hand is warm, and it squeezes, just for a second, before the grip relaxes.
It's possessive, but too natural to be deliberate. Louis could easily, casually, move away. He
doesn’t.

It’s weird, though, that they're laughing about the Beth thing, because at the time it had been so
fucking serious. It was just around when they’d begun to feel something more for each other, and
Louis still remembers how sad Harry looked that night, when Louis left his house to go to Beth's
parent-free one. He hadn't understood it, then, but once he did it broke his heart.

Sixteen-year-old him would never have guessed it’d be something they could ever laugh about.
He wonders if when they're older still they'll be able to find humour in the break up too, in how
melodramatic they were, in the painfully forced attempts at ignoring each other once they were
both back in each other’s lives. A part of Louis hopes not. It's cruel, both to him and to Harry, but
a part of him hopes it'll always be a big deal.

Something twists inside of him, at the idea of the momentum fading.

He tunes out from the last dredges of conversation, and is only brought back by a buzzing against
his leg. He pulls his phone out to see his mother calling, and he stares at it for a few seconds
before he fully comprehends what that means. God, being high is not a good starting point for
conversations with Jay. He doesn’t want to ignore it, though, because he’d missed a call from her
that morning when he was out for a run with Harry, as well.

It had been such a good run. Harry’d taken his top off, again, and made Louis tea, and Louis’d
only slightly felt like he needed to complain about the cravings.

As if urging him to take the call, Harry pushes Louis’ legs off his lap and Louis uses it as incentive
to stand up, balancing with a hand on Harry’s shoulder. He sends a small sweet smile Louis’ way,
like encouragement, and Louis possessively, carefully, adds it to the section in his memory
dedicated to Harry.

He walks out of the room, and presses answer. Luckily, he doesn’t need to worry about how
conversation normally works, because his mum is instantly talking.

What it was that Jay was saying is definitely something he should give more thought to, but Louis
doesn’t, just pushes it to the back of his already messy mind and returns to the studio, seeking
distraction.

Upon entry he realises that the break they’d been taking has finished up in his absence. Despite
still being stoned- presumably, anyway- Liam and Harry have moved back to the soundboard,
Liam sticking headphones on Harry’s head in a way that deliberately messes his hair.

Something Great seems to have magical properties, and Louis’ not talking about the genius lyrics.
He had expected some backlash, once everyone was told Harry’d be doing a new single, and
there was some grumbles and gossip initially. Careless comments about entitlement and diva
behaviour that Louis could only criticize with a laugh in his mouth, lest he came across too
invested.

But once everyone got to work on the song, any grudges against Harry faded away. Most are
excited because they think it's an amazing song, and people who don’t think that are probably
excited anyway, Louis thinks, because how could they not be, when they get to work with Harry
when he’s like this? Enthused and passionate and so willing to share that passion with anyone
who asks.

By far the finest example of this phenomena is in front of Louis right now, laughing and
collaborating and teasing. For all the small efforts Louis’ been making to get Harry and Liam more
comfortable with each other, it turns out he needn’t have bothered. All they needed was a strong
song to work on, and they’d be thick as thieves. Which makes sense, considering how important
music is to the both of them.

Originally the desire for Liam and Harry to get on had been entirely selfish in nature- Louis simply
hadn’t liked the idea of two guys he spends a lot of time with not being comfortable around each
other. Now, though, Louis realises how good it is for both the other boys as well. Harry, while
loveable, can be seen as slightly untouchable; often people fix him with admiration rather than
friendship. Maybe the fact that Harry is Louis’ ex has sort of ruined the image of perfection, but
Liam doesn’t seem to have any hesitation about teasing and bantering with Harry, winding him up
and provoking him in a way Harry seems delightedly unused to. And the sort of all-consuming
attention Harry focuses on the people he’s with is the exact kind someone like Liam, still tinged
with doubts of inadequacy, needs.

Watching them interact makes Louis feel like a teacher who sat two kids beside each other in
class, and now gets to see the friendship blossom. Even though it’s not actually him responsible
for the newfound bond. It’s Something Great.

Niall has temporarily abandoned his throne, sauntered over and sank down on the couch beside
Louis, leaning his head on Louis’ shoulder.
“‘S’nice, isn’t it?” he asks, and it seems to be an observation on the general situation.

Louis ruffles his hair, eyes not moving from Harry, faced away and focused. “Yeah,” he says, as
Harry ducks his head, “it’s nice.”

It is nice. Louis doesn’t think anyone can really know Harry until they know what he’s like
creating music, and Louis doesn’t think anyone could love him until they know what he’s like
when he loves the music he creates.

Louis’d forgotten what it was like.

Where Do Broken Hearts Go had been important to Harry, he’d been proud of it and he’d cared
about it. It doesn’t compare (nothing does, Louis thinks, nothing can) to how beautiful the
dedication looks on Harry’s face when he’s working on Something Great, or the secret sort of
pride when someone mentions it, or the genuine praise and admiration he aims at anyone working
on the production when they do something in keeping with his vision.

Sitting side by side on the couch in Louis’ (and, fine, Liam’s) office, Louis likes to think that he's
more frequently on the receiving end of that appreciation than anyone else, and it means so much
to him, that whenever he works with Harry he can almost predict how strong a memory it will be,
ten twenty thirty years down the line. While he doubts Harry feels the same way- imagines the
string of songwriting sessions are beginning to fade into an indistinguishable blur- it’s as if he can
already feel his own brain capturing and storing each detail. The occasional brush of their knees,
shoulders, elbows; the heat of Harry; how eye contact, no matter how meaningless, feels so
intense this close together. The way it makes Louis shake, when they lean in to look at each
other’s notebooks, working over the words.

They’re coming to a close, Louis can tell. Harry came into this with almost a fully fleshed set of
lyrics, but it still feels like such a victory to be nearly complete.

Truthfully, Louis thought maybe they were complete days ago, but apparently not. Harry’s been
fretting over the words for a while, acting like he thinks something’s missing but never really
being more specific than that.

He’s been humming and hawing with no real progress for ten minutes, now, so Louis maybe
zones out, a little. Does getting distracted from your client’s words count as shitty, when what
distracts you is the way they move their hands?

Surely that counts as paying some kind of attention.

Louis can’t help it, not really, and he’ll admit that he’s sort of stopped trying to.

He’s known ever since he claimed changing the single as his own idea that he was in deeper than
planned. He would like to think he's a good person, and he's not too modest to admit he's
definitely capable of doing good things, but taking the fall for a client despite the risk of seriously
disappointing the men in charge of his career isn't something he would describe as common
practice.

It's what he did for Harry, though, and there's no way around that, no way to ignore the
implications. It’s the final piece of the jigsaw he needed to realise what the picture was of- him,
hopelessly and rapidly succumbing to Harry.
And maybe he’s in some sort of post-realisation shock, but Louis is okay with that. He’s just
waiting for his feelings to plateau, settle into something he can familiarise himself with. Right now
it’s as if they’re forever rearranging themselves.

He’s getting to know Harry all over again, and it feels like an adventure. He knows that Harry
doesn’t feel the same way, can see it in the insistent distance still between them, one that, by now,
Harry is wholly responsible for.

In a funny sort of way, Louis is grateful for Harry’s attitude. While there have been a few slip ups
on Harry’s part- he’d called Louis sunshine, the other day, just like he used to, even if his voice
had been joking- mostly it seems he’s gotten a hang of the whole distance thing. Louis figures
that, with Harry holding back, it doesn’t matter how carried away he himself gets. Once he’d
gotten over the initial wave of emotions, Harry asking him to abstain from Gemma’s engagement
party had seemed like some sort of insurance policy. As long as he stays put on solid ground, I
can only fall so far.

The text he gets is as effective at getting him out of his thoughts as a bucket of ice would’ve been,
and no less chilling. No pressure honey but wondering if you’ve made a decision?x, from his
mum.

He thumbs over the reply, and it’s like. He has made his decision, the same one he made last time,
he doesn’t want to see him, but. He can’t put it into words, somehow. Still feels like he doesn’t
have a right to say no. Fuck.

“Y’alright?” Harry asks, once Louis is- probably- staring at the screen too long.

When Louis’ eyes flick up, Harry looks concerned to the point that Louis wonders how his own
face is looking. Must be pretty dire, to warrant such a reaction. He tries to find an expression that
doesn’t feel wrong on his skin, and settles on a small smile.

“Yeah, sorry,” he says, and shakes his phone as if Harry needs help noticing its presence, “just
distracted. Slave to the modern world, me.”

Harry snorts. “You’re just so susceptible to capitalism, Lou,” he says sombrely, “you should live
off the grid, like me.” Harry’s phone broke last week and he’s too lazy to get it replaced. Acting as
if his lack of a phone is a noble personal choice has become a running joke.

Some people- Liam, Niall- think Harry’s been bringing it up too much, but Louis’ always been a
great endorser of getting as much out of a gag as possible.

He’s definitely not going to complain when the alternative to Harry making those jokes is Harry
asking questions Louis doesn’t want to answer.

“Anyway, best get back to work, yeah?” he nods. Harry’s face falls so instantly Louis can’t help
but laugh.

Harry runs a (big, clever, pretty) hand down his face, groaning theatrically. “I just- it feels like. It
feels like there’s no real conclusion to it,” he says. “I love the song, but I want more from it. I want
it to be like- like a story, or something, conflict and resolution, y’know? I dunno.”

“You want an answer,” Louis says, thinking maybe he’s finally figured out what Harry’s been
getting at, this past while.

Harry looks up. “Huh?” he asks.

“Well the song, it’s all about a question, right?” Louis continues, needlessly nervous. “Is it too
much to ask… so, like, you need some answer to it, yeah?”

Harry looks at him. Swallows, nods. “Yeah,” he says, and it almost makes Louis blush, the way
his voice- his face- seem awed. Impressed. Like Louis just did something Harry had been waiting
for.

And Louis’ gotten so good at ignoring the meaning behind lyrics, but he has been spending the
past week writing about passionate unrelenting love with Harry. It has its difficult moments.

This moment, whatever it is, is slightly ruined when Louis has to turn away to cough. Harry
laughs slightly, nervously, and when Louis’ turned back round he’s pulling his hand out of his
hair, like he’d just run it through the way he does.

“Cravings are fucking so bad,” Louis says, because even as his addiction to Harry grows, his
tobacco one doesn’t necessarily lessen, and of course that’s what he thinks about when he coughs.
Truly, someone could mention lung cancer and it’d only make him want to pop out for a ciggy.

Harry laughs, a slow, private thing. “Yeah? Running not good enough for you?” he asks.

“Shut up,” Louis says, “stop fishing for compliments.”

“Can’t help it if I want to see positive results in my projects,” Harry says.

“Why, wanting to be one of them quitting therapists?” Louis says. “Get your very own pop up
ads?”

Harry shrugs, and Louis almost feels it, they’re so close. “In case the whole singer songwriter
thing doesn’t work out,” he says.

Louis laughs, but keeps it quiet. “What did I say about fishin’ for compliments?”

Harry smiles innocently, and Louis shakes his head. “It’s gonna work out. Never mind pop up
ads, there’s gonna be billboards with your face on ‘em. ‘Course it’s gonna work out.”

Harry’s eyes are so fixed on Louis’ it’s like they’re searching for a lie. For something, anyway.
“You think?” he asks, and these rare moments always surprise Louis- the idea of Harry needing
reassurance, and seeking it from Louis, of all people.

“‘Course,” Louis repeats. “We’ll make sure it does.”

It’s a whisper, and Louis doesn’t know why. He sucks his bottom lip in, and it’s only that that
makes Harry break eye contact, his gaze travelling down. Louis lets his lip pop out from between
his teeth, and leans in, slightly, slightly, unintentionally.

“Lou,” Harry’s saying, and for a second he’s leaning in too, just as minutely as Louis, and Louis
thinks, maybe, but then Harry’s pulling back. Clearing his throat.

The thing is, Louis’ not surprised. He’s not even going to pretend to be surprised. There’s still,
clearly, some residual attraction that Harry feels for Louis. Maybe not something he’d give much
thought to, or something that even occurs to him apart from on a few rare moments, but there have
been too many almosts for it to not be there at all.

But, y’know. Harry pulled back. Harry always pulls back. Louis can rely on that, at least.

✺
A while ago, Louis got an invite to an album launch. He’d replied with a non-committal yes,
because he wasn’t particularly interested but hadn’t shown his face at an industry do in a while,
and knew it was about time. Besides, he’s pretty fond of the producer who extended the invite,
and he thinks if he does show up she might suggest Louis working with the artist on their next
album, which would be a bit of a coup. He never stays that long anyway; as soon as it’s the time
of evening where people are too drunk to be a useful connection to him, he’s out of there. Not that
he’s opposed to getting drunk, he’s just always too on edge at those sort of gatherings to do so
himself.

Historically, finding out that Harry had gotten an invitation- things he never seems to refuse- to the
same party as him is an instant guarantee of Louis cancelling any plans to appear himself.

This time he doesn’t. It’s been too long, and it’s too much of an opportunity to turn down, and
besides, seeing Harry out of work is probably going to be something he has to get used to.

This invitation Harry didn’t get through Niall, and that means something. Baby’s learnt to fly,
Niall had theatrically sniffed, telling Louis how it actually came from a studio musician who’s
friends with the artist. It’s one of the studio musicians working on Something Great, one who had
been working on Where Do Broken Hearts Go, and Louis thinks there are very few people who
would be able to still receive fucking party invites from colleagues they doubled the workload of,
but Harry is definitely one of them.

Louis doesn’t actually know that Harry knows he’s going, until Friday afternoon, the day before
the party. They’re walking out of studio seven, which they’ve now settled on as their own, when
Harry clears his throat. Says, slightly awkwardly, “So, see you tomorrow then?”

Louis figures Niall must’ve told him Louis was going, and he can’t help but wonder about the
context. “Yeah,” he says, voice slightly airy. “See you tomorrow.”

The night of the party, the only thing Louis can think to compare his nerves to are the feelings
he’d get before a first date, and he brushes that analogy aside pretty promptly. It’s him and Harry
in the same place, but it’s him and Harry and a hundred other people, too. Probably they won’t do
anything more than exchange pleasantries. Maybe it won’t even be words, just a smile across the
room the first time they see each other.

That’s not the case.

As soon as they find each other in the crowd (and he thinks of it as finding, even though he doubts
either of them would admit that they were looking in the first place), they fall into sync,
monopolizing each other and ostracizing anyone else, making everyone who tries to breach their
conversation feel like intruders in a way they haven’t pulled off since they were twenty. The new
album is good, Louis’ had it preordered for a while and knows it’s going to be on his recently
played for at least the next month, but he also knows that nothing about the music will be in the
standout memories of that night.

It’ll all be Harry, the way he insists on trying each of the fancy foods and sticks the cocktail
umbrella behind his ear, the way he leans into Louis to make observations about fellow party
goers and laughs at all Louis’ replies.
It only cuts short when Louis spots Niall by the bar, watching them. It could be judgmental, it
could be fond, it could be something else entirely. In any case Louis feels fucking caught out.
He’s always felt like Niall’s one of those guys who knows more than they let on, notices
everything but says nothing.

Louis sighs. “Think maybe we should mingle, Curly? Make something of our careers?”

Harry’s pout is painful, but he nods, and it’s with regret Louis watches him leave. The evening is
aging, anyway, and Louis got its best hours with Harry.

Despite his suggestion, Louis doesn’t actually do much mingling himself. He doesn’t find the
producer who invited him, but if he’s honest he wasn’t looking all that hard.

Without Harry as a distraction, and with nothing else at his disposal either- these parties are really
fucking boring- he can’t help but fall into thinking about the last few days, poking at the ball of
worry lodged deep in his stomach.

When he does get a distraction, it’s not actually all that effective. He’s pulled his phone out to
check the time, and there’s a missed call from when he would’ve been talking to Harry, from an
unknown, unrecognisable number.

And, it’s like- he knows it's not going to be his father, for lack of a better word, because he never
contacts Louis directly, but he can't help that that's where his mind goes; can't help that that's
where it stays.

He’s not really been talking to anyone in the past twenty minutes, so it’s not exactly dramatic
when he tries to find a way out. He just needs to gather his thoughts.

The party is on the third floor of a hotel Louis has been to before, exactly for these sort of things,
so it doesn’t take long for him to find the stairs that go up to the roof.

Despite this section being open to all guests, Louis is the only one on it.

Till ten seconds later, when the door opens again. Louis doesn’t need to turn to know who it is,
but he does anyway.

“I saw you- if you want to be out alone that’s fine,” Harry says, shrugs. “Just thought I’d check.”

"S'nothing," Louis says, because it should be nothing. He shouldn’t be this worked up over a
missed call when he doesn’t even know who it’s from.

"The something kind of nothing though, right?"

Louis snorts. It's the most Harry phrase he's ever heard. "Right."

Harry just continues looking at him, patient. He’s hardly moved from the doorway.

“Troy wants to get in contact with me again,” Louis eventually says, quick, and Harry is
genuinely the only person outside of his family who could understand the significance of that
sentence.

"Bastard," he says, straight away, and it startles a laugh out of Louis.

“Yeah,” he says. “And I just got a call from an unknown number, and like, given that I give out
my number a lot as part of my job it’s not that unusual? But I just. I just thought it might be him.
Which doesn’t even make sense, because he doesn’t even have my number, y’know, whenever he
wants to suggest some fucking father-son bonding, or whatever, it’s always through my mother.
And like, he makes me into such an idiot, because I know that’s only because neither me nor mum
have ever given out my contact details, but I can’t help but think… Him going through my mother
makes me feel like such a child, like I’m some nine-year-old she’s arranging play dates for, or
something, and like. That’s always how he makes me feel, young and immature and
inexperienced. I think that’s how he likes to make me feel.”

Despite the anxiety inside him, Louis has to hold back a laugh at how rambly he’s being. The
situation’s so reminiscent of Harry talking about his frustrations that night, up on the label’s roof,
and distantly Louis wonders if this is always how it’ll be. If they’ll only ever be able to open up
when they’re suspended above the world, no one else there to remind them of reality.

“He’s a bastard, Lou,” Harry repeats. “I hate how he still has that power over you.” The way it’s
phrased is so warming, somehow. The fact that he isn’t dismissively telling Louis not to let the
man have that power over him, but just acknowledging that he does.

“D’you know why he called, now?” Harry continues then, brow furrowed. “Like it's been so long
since- when was the last time he pulled this shit?"

It's a risk, but for a second Louis doesn't realise that. "Nearly five years," he says.

There's a deafening pause. "Nearly five years ago we were together," Harry says, voice tight.

Oh. “Yeah,” Louis says, realising slightly too late the implications. Maybe he should be, but he
can’t get himself to worry. Still too preoccupied. His fingers are clasping and unclasping in his
jacket sleeve, and fuck, why did he ever think quitting fags would be a good idea?

“I- fuck, I know we don’t talk about then, but, fuck. You didn’t tell me?” He sounds so confused,
lost.

“I- you were away. Paris, I think. The last trip before we-”

“Prague,” Harry corrects, softly. “You could’ve called me. Or texted me. Or told me when I got
home. You know that, right? You knew that?”

It’s the second question that stumps Louis. “We were already fighting a lot,” he says, slowly, and
it’s enough for Harry, who looks pained.

“You still could’ve. Did you tell anyone, or were you- did you deal with it just by yourself?”

“Well. My mum knew, obviously.”

“Fuck," Harry says, and for the third time in that incredibly emotional exchange, Louis gets the
bizarre urge to laugh. He doesn’t know how much of the implications Harry has managed to pick
up on, but not feeling like he was able to tell Harry about that whole nightmare was sort of the last
straw in their relationship. Trust had always been such a prized commodity between the two of
them, and once its absence made itself clear in such an awful way Louis’d hardly been able to
deny their issues any longer. He knows, and knew, it wasn’t really Harry’s fault, that he was in
Prague with his friends, that he was all smiles and stories when he got back, that Louis got it into
his head he was some sort of burden, but that doesn’t change the facts.

Harry never knew about such a key reason for their relationship falling apart. And keeping it a
secret always felt like a massive deal, but here Louis is, on the roof of a random hotel he can’t
remember the name of, after three glasses of champagne and zero cigarettes, telling Harry as a
matter of conversation.
“I just- you were gone, Harry, and that’s not your fault or whatever, but you were having such a
good time, and I just…” he fades off, and he hates how long Harry stays silent. He’s frowning,
jaw tight.

“Of all the trips I went on,” he eventually says, voice soft, “I was always- every time I got on the
plane I wondered if it’d measure up to Milan, with you. Even though we had hardly any money,
and we were still pretty much just kids, just out of school, like, we didn’t know anything about the
world, Lou. And we didn’t know any Italian, and we only had that guidebook from the local
library from, like, 1996, recommending all these restaurants that’d been closed down, and I just-
none of the places I went compared to Milan with you when we were eighteen. I never enjoyed
any of those trips as much as I enjoyed going to Milan.”

Louis doesn’t know what to do with that, feels comforted and on edge all at once. Something to
think about later, probably. Definitely. He backs away to lean against the wall, and Harry follows
suit. Louis pushes his arm against Harry’s. Neither move away.

“That was a good weekend,” Louis finally says, for lack of anything else. It had been, too. A few
people in Holmes Chapel knew about their relationship, but not enough for them to throw caution
to the wind. They could do that in Milan, could hold hands and hug and kiss, could buy each
other flowers and sit on each other's laps in parks. "This is what university will be like," Harry had
said. "This is what we'll be like, from now on."

“It was good,” Harry agrees, and then silence falls once more.

“I think- you asked why Troy was trying for contact, and it’s never really a good idea to try and
work out his motives, it just fucks with me in the end, but I think… I’m really close to a
promotion, I think, Julian’s basically guaranteed me a spot in A&R, and my mum is really proud,
and she’s telling people, and he still knows people in the area-”

“You think he’s looking for money?” Harry asks, and it’s telling that he doesn’t even sound
surprised.

Louis huffs out a breath. “It’s a possibility, but Christ. I hate that I’m even trying to work out why,
it shouldn’t matter , but he- when I was young, I dunno if I ever told you, but when I was really
young and things were tough for mum, he- and you know it’s not something she’d have wanted to
ask for at all, but he gave us some money. And it sort of solved a lot of problems for us. And I
don’t even know but I’d guarantee that mum’s paid him back already, as soon as she could,
probably, and even if she hadn’t- if you add it up, what he did give is probably less than what he
should’ve been giving if he ever bothered to fucking pay child care, anyway, so fucking hell.” He
takes a deep breath, and his next words are barely more than whispers: “he still makes me feel like
I owe him something, though.”

Harry’s shaking his head fervently before the sentence is even out. “No,” he says, “no, you don’t,
fuck, Lou. You’re such- such a good person, such a fucking force of nature, and you can’t let
yourself be- be dimmed, by someone like him, by anyone. You can’t let him get to you, and I
know it’s easier said than done and that I probably don’t know what I’m talking about, but, fuck,
you deserve- not this, anyway.”

Despite the fact that he’s talking at his customary slow speed, Louis feels like he doesn’t have time
to even process Harry’s words.

He’s still maybe sort of preoccupied, but fuck- there’s such deep admiration in Harry’s voice, and
that means so much coming from him, the man whose opinion Louis regards so highly.

The only thing he feels safe saying is, “thank you, Harry.”
 Harry sighs. “Have you ever considered asking Jay to just, not tell you? If this ever happens
again? I know she’d want it to be your decision, but if you told her you never have any intention
of meeting up with him-” and it’s only then Louis realises that he never actually said he had no
intention of meeting up with his father, that Harry figured that out on his own. Knows Louis well
enough to. “I’m sure she’d be happy to keep it from you in the future. It’s not good for you.”

It must be further proof of Louis’ masochism, that that genuinely never occurred to him. He
smiles, turns to Harry. “Might just do that, H,” he says. “Thank you.”

The thing is, Louis has never believed in fate, or some great meaning. Life is nothing if not
random and impartial, and sometimes the coincidences it creates are beautiful, amazing things, but
they're coincidences none the less.

It's just- he told Harry about what happened almost five years ago, something he never thought
he'd get to do, something that his inability to do literally ended their relationship. He was able to
get over whatever barrier there was last time, and more than that, Harry reacted to the information
better than could ever have been expected.

Though Louis knows there were other issues leeching on their relationship, the problem that
ultimately tore them apart doesn't exist anymore. And maybe it's just the random way life has
gone, but he can't help that the phrase second chance keeps floating to the surface of his mind.

And it’s like. There’s not a single person in the world he would’ve rather had follow him out onto
the roof than Harry.

Chapter End Notes

so that's that. as usual, i'm hoping for the next one to be up in a week. however! the
deadline for the novena ficathon is looming (september 14th), and while my planned
submission is going to be relatively short, it will be taking up some of my attention
from now on. as always, thanks so so so much for all your lovely encouraging
comments, and i wholeheartedly welcome any more!
 Chapter 7
Chapter Notes

the fact that this is possibly the longest so far should make up for it being a day late.
enjoy!

(1764)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Early morning outskirts of London is a different place, a London from an alternate universe like in
that science show Louis watched late one night, when he couldn’t sleep and thought he might get
into science-y things because Brian Cox is sort of hot.

Living in a city makes Louis forget about nature, forget about trees and leaves and mud and small
animals. Parks don’t count, Louis thinks, too planned, too deliberate.

Early morning outskirts of London is too sleepy to fight nature, though, bird song too loud and
sky too bright to ignore, no bustling human presence to cancel it out.

Louis remembers Cheshire and camping and boy scouts and the woods, and going into farmer’s
fields to climb on the bales that seemed to sweat under the sun, and it’s nice. His family’s
relocation to Doncaster, after the birth of the youngest twins made Jay want to be closer to her
parents, came at a time where it was mostly appreciated. After all, it gave Louis an excuse not to
go back to Cheshire, the entire place messily tattooed with memories of Harry. Jay’d originally
moved from Doncaster when Louis was six, so while he’s sure some of his early memories must
be from there, there’s nothing specific about them that gives him a particular impression of the
place. He’s since created new memories there he’s quite fond of, but the new home environment is
much more urban. There’s something nostalgic about nature for Louis, like it’s purely a historic
thing, and suddenly being aware of it on his runs with Harry makes him feel peaceful.

Louis wants to go for a run with Harry out of London, in fields or muddy tracks made wide
enough for carriages from decades ago, in mountains or by streams. He’s looked up locations
online, even, but for now they stick to the citified streets near Harry’s flat.

Louis has a feeling he heard running on pavement is bad for your feet, or back, or something, but
he doesn’t care. It’s a form of adrenaline he didn’t have in his life before, a welcome stitch tickling
at his side and his tshirt growing heavier with sweat. Harry smiling and groaning and turning
around to stick his tongue out at Louis whenever he’s in front.

The third time he does it his tongue catches rain, and this is one of the reminders of nature Louis is
a little less fond of. Given that the world is just dipping its toes into Spring, and given that it’s
London, rain has been a common third party to their runs, often ends with them damp and
laughing, shaking themselves out like wet dogs and complaining when one of them gets drops on
the other, despite already being soaked through.

This rain is more insistent than what they’ve dealt with before, though, and it’s barely been a
minute before Louis genuinely wonders if humans have nerve endings in their bones, or if he’s
just being dramatic by thinking he can feel the chill in his.
It becomes too much soon, and they slow down till Harry’s just jogging on the spot, like the over-
dedicated twat he is. God, is he endearing. They’ve stopped outside a bakery, standing tight under
the awning. The sign says it’s open but there’s no one actually in there, yet, early as it is.

“Wanna pop in?” Harry asks.

“Thought we were running for our health, Styles,” Louis says, though he’s not actually opposed
to the idea. “Think going to the bakery might be slightly counterintuitive?”

“We’re running to get you off smoking,” Harry corrects, “and I think baked goods might be just as
good a distraction.”

Louis gives a small laugh. “I don’t actually have any money with me,” he says.

Harry shrugs as he shoulders the door open, quite a feat. “I think I’ve got my card. I can pay.”

It’s only because it’s convenient, Louis tells himself, I’ll pay him back soon, anyway.

“This is sort of like the place I worked, isn’t it?” Harry says as they step through.

“Oh, you used to work in a bakery?” Louis asks, fake shocked. “I never knew.”

Harry snorts even as he elbows Louis lightly, the both of them beginning to take in their new
surroundings.

There’s an older woman behind the counter Louis didn’t notice when he glanced through the
window, and he thinks that makes sense. She sinks right into the decor, pale pretty colours and a
bright smile fitting in with the pastel jam jar patterns and Cath Kidston style prints. Louis feels sort
of like a stray dog, with his cut off grey nike sweat pants dripping onto the clean floor and the itch
he can’t resist scratching under his three-day stubble.

Harry, despite being similarly bedraggled, deals with none of the same insecurities, walking up to
the counter with a kind smile, royalty approaching a subject.

“Got caught in the rain,” he explains needlessly, with a what-can-you-do smile.

The woman hums sympathetically. “I thought you might when I saw it first start. You both pass
my window every morning, now,” she adds as an explanation, “so it’s about time you came in.”

That draws a genuine laugh from Louis, and the woman’s returning smile is full of warmth that
goes beyond good customer service. “I didn’t actually realise it was open, before,” Louis says. “I
think I just kind of assumed everything was shut.”

“No,” she says, “you’re not the only ones crazy enough to be up this early. We don’t really get
any customers till eight, usually, but we deliver to a few businesses, a few cafes, so I have to open
up for my niece, who does the deliveries. Figure I might as well keep it open, on the off chance
someone would be craving a pastry right about now.”

She’s a talker. Louis’ always appreciated that, and he knows Harry has too.

“Well, we’re grateful you do, now,” Harry says, “because a pastry sounds good. D’you have any
recommendations?”

The woman seems to give it serious thought, and Harry shoots Louis a smile like he’s loving the
experience just as much. “I was always tempted to bring out some lemonade when I saw you run
past, but given the chill this morning a hot chocolate could be more appropriate.”
She sounds like a doctor prescribing medicine, and Louis doesn’t feel like he has the expertise to
correct her. It does strike him as too early for something like hot chocolate, but then this whole
place seems to exist independently from time. It’s old fashioned and bright and relaxed on a
dreary, modern, early morning.

“....as for the food, well, it’s quite literally a matter of taste. Everything we have is good,
obviously-”

“Obviously,” Harry and Louis repeat at the same time, smiling, but the woman just ignores them,
gives them a guided tour of the goods on offer. She lets them interrupt, joke around, and there’s
something properly charming about the whole set up.

Despite Harry comparing it to the bakery he’d worked at, it feels completely separate from their
past. She doesn't know, Louis thinks gleefully, she doesn't know anything about Harry or Louis or
what they’ve been through. She’s basing her opinion purely on the last five minutes.

It's a guilt ridden, self indulgent thought, but Louis wonders if she thinks they’re a couple.
Nothing was said, but she looks at them with a softness that suggests she thinks they’re soft for
each other.

Louis picks out a slice of carrot cake, and Harry some madeleines. Harry pays as Louis sits at the
table by the window, waiting for Harry to come with the food.

“She’s quite like Alice Dipper, isn’t she?” Louis says, watching the woman walk back into the
kitchen to make them some hot chocolates.

“Shit, I was thinking she reminded me of someone,” Harry says with wide eyes, like Louis just
worked out what happens after death. “I haven’t thought about Alice in years.”

Since Harry came back, Louis has thought about her a few times. His memory is merciless.
“Yeah,” he says anyway, “Wonder how old Al is doing, now.”

Harry snorts, and Louis assumes it’s at the nickname. They’d known Alice Dipper since they
were six, originally as she minded the both of them, Lottie, Fizzie, and Gemma after school. At
that age, the idea of assigning a friendly nickname to an adult was surreal, no matter how fond
they were of the adult in question.

And they were fond of Alice. By the time they were teenagers she’d grown too weak to care for
any kids at all, and Louis got a summer job helping out in her garden, her house. Her kids were in
Australia and she’d divorced her husband at the age of sixty-two- something Louis had always
found strangely admirable- but despite living alone, she loved company. Was friends with most
people in the village, and Louis got genuine enjoyment from the chats they’d have over the scones
and tea she’d have ready for him once he’d done his two hours. He knows Harry did too, on the
occasions he joined them. She was one of the first people to find out about their relationship,
actually, when she saw them kissing by her prized rose bush. Louis was still surprised by how
well she took it, considering the generation she was from. Her acceptance was probably when he
realised just how fond he was of the woman.

She’s one of the people he’d love to see, if he was ever to work up the courage to return to
Cheshire.

Harry’s amusement fades, turns more pensive. “Not that well, actually, now that I think about it-
mum told me she’d gone into hospital, for an operation on her stomach.”

“Shit, really?” Louis says, disheartened.

“Yeah, I think so, but I can’t remember how serious it was. It was months ago, though, I’m sure
I’d have heard if it had gotten worse.”

“Christ,” Louis says. “That’s shocking, she seemed proper, I dunno. Strong? It’s hard to think of
someone like her having-”

“Actual human problems?” Harry grins, then nods. “I know, though.”

“At least to twelve year old me,” Louis adds with a laugh, but he means it. Twelve year old him
had no understanding of, and no need to understand, the concept of impermanence. Everything he
had then, he thought he’d have forever. Louis tries not to apply that theory to the boy in front of
him.

Harry giggles. The rain stops, but they stay to finish their food. Louis can’t stop smiling.

Louis’ not in denial, is the thing, and he doesn’t appreciate the bordering on pitying looks he gets
from Liam when he plays a joke up a little too much, just to keep Harry laughing.

He doesn’t need Liam’s pity. Louis understands, and has for a while, that he has a crush on Harry.
Feelings, anyway, feelings that are deeper than he would’ve originally planned.

It's not just the attraction and endearment that would ricochet through his body at the mere thought
of Harry, which he's been vaguely aware of for a while now. Since opening up about his
biological father, his feelings have become more focused, more certain. He wants Harry in all
respects, pet names and morning breath and coffee dates.

That presents its own issues. Having romantic feelings for Harry, he can accept. Even having
those feelings be tragically unreciprocated, he can accept- can argue it's for the best.

What’s dangerous, he thinks, is that he can’t work out which Harry those romantic feelings are for.
He can’t work out how much of what he’s feeling is genuine affection for this new Harry, who
he’s still getting to know, and how much is something unhealthy and unrealistic, borne from his
confused brain's increasing inability to separate the past from the present.

He can’t fall for a Harry that doesn’t exist anymore. He won’t let himself.

To combat this, Louis tries to get to know this new Harry even better, even more than he already
does, and the more he gets to know Harry the more he notices has changed. That’s reassuring in
itself.

Harry, now, doesn’t embarrass himself constantly to make other people laugh. He doesn’t
overshare, or silently beg for physical attention. If he has an issue- which he rarely does- he’s
slightly more likely to bring it up, rather than pout and wait, expectantly, for everyone else to
figure it out. He doesn’t seem constantly shocked by the body he’s been given; instead he's aware
of it and its movements. Aware of it in other ways, too, his flirting more deliberate than before,
rather than the accidental seduction method he used to champion. He takes care of his body, health
conscious. It’s not to an extreme degree, Louis’ seen him steal Niall’s ice cream after finishing his
own, but he certainly doesn’t live off McDonald’s chicken nuggets the way he could’ve when he
was younger.

He’s easier on himself, though, when it comes to exercise. For the last two years or so of their
relationship, Harry’s second home was the gym. While Louis definitely appreciated the fruits of
Harry’s labour, the arms practically twice as wide as his own and the defined stomach, there’s
something infinitely endearing about this softer Harry. More relaxed, hand resting on his slightly
curved stomach, completely comfortable with his appearance.

But, fuck. Even though Louis can tell he’s not completely blinded by memories, that he does
genuinely care about twenty-five year old Harry, he still finds himself slipping, finds himself
expecting behaviour that really only belonged to Harry at twenty years old.

He’s not sure how he can forget about the past, when the object of his obsessions is such a blatant
fucking reminder.

While in general terms Louis finds it disrespectful for his friends to be happy when he himself is
struggling through a lot of shit, in this particular instance he’s grateful. He doesn’t want anyone
catching on to his worries, so he manages a smile and a laugh and a joke, and nobody does.

They’re distracted enough by Something Great, and its imminent completion. After some struggle
with tying the lyrics up ( “I’m this close to rhyming sky with fly, I swear to fucking god,” Harry
had threatened), they’d been sailing on calm seas for the past few days, and looked to be finishing
the journey in the next few. Louis steps back, as is custom, during the production. Despite letting
Liam take the reins, though, he stays present in the studio, offering his view when he feels it’s
worthwhile.

Right now he doesn’t feel that way, and is talking lowly with Harry about what he's going to do
once the single's finished. It’s not Louis’ job, but it would be part of the job he hopes to get in the
future, so he can’t help but indulge himself.

“D’you know where you’d want it first played? First introduced?” he asks. He knows where this
is going, and wagers Harry does too, but they play dumb first.

“I dunno, really. Don’t know anything about this side of the business,” Harry says, and there’s a
late night six years ago, sweaty sheets and empty takeout containers and that’s what I’ve got you
for, isn’t it Lou? The brains of the operation, “don’t know about what time of day or week it
should be first played. Don’t know any of that.”

“D’you…” Louis doesn’t really know why he’s asking, but, “d’you trust the label to know what’s
best for you, your career? Are you happy with trusting them?”

“I- yeah, I mean. I don’t see why I shouldn’t, at least. What's good for me is good for them, 's'far
as I can tell. I’ve got Niall lookin’ out for me, anyway… And-” he clears his throat. “And you.
Right?”

“Yeah,” Louis says. He’s grateful there’s work going on around them, that they already have that
reason to stay quiet, because he’s not sure his voice would be steady at any higher a volume.
“And me.”

Harry nods, looking pleased. Louis looks away.

“You still friends with Nick, though?” he asks, and it feels inevitable. He doesn’t mind asking, is
the thing. He never really had a problem with Nick. He was jealous, sure, but he knew Nick
seemed like an alright guy, could get why Harry would like him. And out of all of Harry’s new
friends, it was Nick he trusted the most. Nick was the one who actually seemed to care about
Harry as a person, rather than just Harry as a method of entertainment. Louis’ll always be grateful
for that. After the breakup, especially, he was happy to know Harry had Nick to make sure he
wasn’t too much of a mess.

Which is why it’s a bit of a shock when Harry’s next words are, “Not as much. Like, after we-
after the breakup, I sort of lost touch with him, and I mean, since moving to London we’ve
reconnected a bit, but…”

Louis’ not sure what to make of it. God, he hopes Harry didn’t, like, cut himself off from the
people who cared about him, in the aftermath. Louis can see Nick being the pushy type, and he
can see Harry retreating from that, and, well. It’s a little bit heartbreaking. Just like so many things
about Harry are.

“Would you like it on his show?” Louis asks.

Harry frowns. “I don’t want- don’t want to rely on my connections. I don’t want my song to get
airtime because of who I’m friends with.”

Louis almost laughs at Harry’s martyr logic. “Mate, half the singles we put out there debut on his
show, it wouldn’t be some unearned privilege for it to happen to you. I just thought you might like
it, knowing who’s announcing it, who’s getting the feedback and all. It can be hard to trust people,
in your position.”

What Louis means is you shouldn’t trust people, but he doesn’t think he has the right to tell Harry
that. “Anyway, I was just wondering if you think you’d be more comfortable with that?”

Harry is quiet for a very long time, to the point that Louis thinks he’s gone back to listening to the
work going on around them. Then he says: “Nick is the only friend who was, like, properly
excited when I got signed. He called only like, a second after I texted him. He made a joke about
playing my music on his show.”

Harry has a thousand and one ways of saying yes, and that’s probably one of them. Louis smiles.

Louis gets a call at two o’clock in the morning on a Thursday- or, well, Friday now- from Liam,
and his instant first thought, weirdly enough, is that Liam’s in jail. Probably because of the CSI
Las Vegas marathon he only finished an hour ago.

Thinking more rationally doesn't soothe him any, thoughts of fires and comas and falling asleep at
the wheel, which is why instead of happiness or excitement he actually feels some level of
resentment, when Liam’s first words down the line are, “I think we finished the song.”

There’s no point in asking what he means by the song . Louis’ not the only one who has made
Harry a priority at work, Liam equally (well, maybe that’s a stretch) enamored.

“Do more than think it if you’re waking me up at 2am to tell me, Li,” Louis mutters, voice
gravelly enough to enhance his irritation.

Liam pauses. “Shit mate, sorry, I thought you’d be awake anyway,” he says, which, fair
argument.

“Just got to sleep,” Louis says, but it’s more tired than accusatory. “But seriously, do you more
than think it’s finished?”

“Yeah, yeah, sorta, except that we’re obviously going to have some listen throughs. Also, like,
staying this late was completely unplanned, and so was what we did, so Harry hasn’t actually
heard it, but he says he’ll come in early tomorrow to do so. I think it could be it, though, bro. It
sounds amazing.”

Louis thinks it feels sort of anticlimactic, that neither he nor Harry were there for the apparent
finishing touches.

It’s probably highly inappropriate for him to see himself as the second most entitled figure to that
song. He’s too tired to stop himself.

“I’ll probably come in early, too,” Louis says, more to himself than anything. “Shit, I’m excited
now.”

“Fuck, I know, nothing like a song coming together,” Liam says. “Don’t let the excitement get in
the way of you sleeping, though.”

Surprisingly, it doesn’t.

Louis doesn’t listen to it when Harry does, and he thinks probably that’s for the best. When he
does listen to it he’s able to distract himself with the excitement of everyone around him from the
unsettled, wanting feeling he gets whenever it's played.

It sounds amazing. Layered enough not to be boring, but not so built up that it takes focus from
Harry’s voice, his words. The backing vocals are limited and the instruments clever. It’s a hit,
Louis already knows it. He wonders if Harry did, too. Wants to tell him.

Everyone involved gathers at three o’clock to listen to the final song, Julian and John standing
sentry by the door. They listen through three times, and no one hears anything amiss. Everyone is
happy. Harry, bashful, squeezes Louis’ wrist. Louis’ blood runs hot.

As everyone clears out of the room, word rushes of a plan to go out that night to celebrate, the
usual place. Harry looks taken aback, honoured, at the idea that it’s for him, his music. Louis finds
it very hard not to touch.

Louis, and most others, he assumes, go home to change into more pub-appropriate clothing before
heading down. Harry’s hovering outside the door with Niall once he gets there, and when he spots
Louis he lights up, takes some steps forward like he needs there to be less space, like he needs
their hello to be sooner.

“Lou,” Harry says, once Louis is near enough. “I called mum, and she says Alice is fine. Or as
fine as anyone can be, at that age. The hospital trip was months ago, and she came out of it good
as ever.”

It’s a relief, and it’s so nice that Harry would call Anne, and it’s so nice he would tell Louis with
no hesitation or introduction.

Louis smiles. “I’m glad to hear it, H,” he says. “Thanks for telling me.”

Harry shrugs, like it’s obvious he’d share this, make it a priority, and then Liam’s jogging over
with Jade and Natasha, and they head in.
Louis’ smiling with everyone else, but, the thing is,

The thing is, it’s probably not a good idea.

The unspoken plan is to get incredibly drunk. Louis knows that from the countless other times
he’s gone out to celebrate the completion of a single. The fact that it’s a Friday night is only
further incentive.

Louis hasn’t gotten drunk with Harry in over four years. And sure, there’ll be, like, ten other
people out, but still. Still.

Really, he has nothing but fond memories of Harry when he was drunk. He’d act like an
exaggeration of his most whimsical characteristics; easily amused, easily distracted, easily curious.
Always a risk of him getting emotional, too. Louis remembers with a traitor smile how one of his
worst habits was proposing, slurred blissed out begging for Louis to marry him. Louis would tease
him, laugh, but inevitably he'd always say yes, if only to see the satisfied smile on Harry's face.
"Of course," he'd say, "what else would I do with my time?"

Louis’ not sure what he’d do with an uninhibited Harry now, what he’d let himself get away with.
He’s scared to find out.

Really, though, what’d be more worrying than being around a drunk Harry is being drunk around
Harry. He knows how he gets, impatiently honest and embarrassingly needy. Can’t imagine a
hangover tomorrow morning that isn’t accompanied by a healthy dose of shame. There’s no way
he wouldn’t make an absolute fool of himself.

So when Niall gets up to get the first round, Louis asks for a Dr. Pepper.

“Not drinking?” Niall asks, looking surprised. While all his colleagues waxed lyrical about getting
shitfaced, Louis himself had stayed silent about his planned sobriety. He didn’t want to draw
attention to it.

Harry turns to look at him, too, one curious eyebrow raised.

“Not in the mood,” Louis answers, and hopes Liam doesn’t make a joke about how he’s always in
the mood. It wouldn’t be true anyway, not really. Louis’d calmed down a lot in the past year.
Getting with Aiden had gotten him out of the habit of partying, and he’d never really gotten back
in.

Liam doesn’t say anything. Just pushes his side against Louis’, reassuring. The silent support is,
on a basic level, much appreciated, but it worries Louis that Liam can tell he needs it in the first
place. He hates the idea of the reasoning behind his abstention being obvious. Hates the idea of
people realising he can’t even trust himself to drink around Harry, lest he lose all semblance of
control.

Though they came in a large enough group, it has, relatively predictably, thinned out to Liam,
Niall, Louis, and Harry sharing a booth. They’ve made a friendship for themselves, the four of
them, a camaraderie Louis is hopelessly fond of. He doesn’t like to think of the practicality of it.

Doesn’t feel the need to, either, when Harry is smiling at him across the table, when Harry is
squishing in further to make room for Niall’s return, his feet shuffling along on the floor and
knocking into Louis’. Staying there.

Harry’s first drink is a cocktail he ordered because he liked the name of it, but he’s drinking
slowly, slowly. Keeps looking at Louis, and Louis’ soft drink, and Louis wonders if Harry
realises, if Harry thinks maybe sobriety is the way to go, too.

Throughout the night, Louis and Harry keep slipping closer together, sliding over the over-
stretched vinyl till they’re sharing the head of the table, leaving Liam and Niall on each side.

It’s nothing but natural. Phototropism, tectonic plates shifting. Louis doesn’t even notice it
happening, till Harry’s practically giggling into his shoulder.

“It’s a celebration,” he says, as he takes off his shoes under the table, getting Louis to join him.
“We’re here to let loose.”

Things take a turn for the worse an hour in. Despite Louis’ relative familiarity with the bar, he
hasn’t been there in a while and there seems to be a newly established institution: karaoke.

It’s no surprise at all, really, when everyone cajoles Harry into performing, and Harry doesn’t
seem surprised either. He doesn’t take much cajoling, never one to turn down a performance.

“C’mon,” Niall laughs, “give the people here a story- they saw Harry Styles perform before he
was famous.”

It makes Louis smile, but, shamefully, he also wishes he was the one to say that. Some of their
friends laugh good naturedly, as Harry traverses the room to reveal his shoeless state. They look
bemused, have questions only Louis has the answer to.

It’s embarrassing, the things that are important to Louis these days.

He looks away when Harry climbs onto the stage, graceless, and shakes hands with the MC who,
Louis suspects, is just an enthusiastic barman.

He looks away, but he still hears Harry choose Wouldn’t It Be Nice, and, fuck. It’s sort of difficult,
that.

Liam and Niall clap and hoot and laugh for the first twenty seconds or so, before discussing,
surprisingly in depth, a song choice for their planned duet. Karaoke is going to be a thing, then.
Louis’ sort of looking forward to watching his colleagues make fools of themselves. He should get
his phone out, just in case.

“What ‘bout you, Lou?” Niall asks, “you think you’ll get up there?”

Louis doesn’t reply for a moment, because he’s genuinely surprised. It hadn’t even occurred to
him as a possibility.

“Louis doesn’t sing,” Liam says helpfully. Niall’s eyebrows raise.

“Y’make it sound like I took an oath or something, Payno,” Louis laughs. “I’m just not that
interested in it, I guess.” It’s not a big deal, no matter how Niall’s face is reacting. He sings in the
shower, and along to his favourite songs, and sometimes when they’re working on lyrics, but he
doesn’t. He doesn’t perform. Doesn’t see the point. Gets sort of clammy and anxious just
imagining it.

Niall clears his throat, like what he’s about to say is a risk. “You used to, though- like. With
Harry.”
In his periphery, Louis notices Liam flinching. It’s sort of reassuring, a balm on the panic inside.
At least he always has Liam to rely on.

It’s just sort of weird, having an outsider bring the relationship up, and in such a public setting.
“Yeah,” Louis says, taking a sip from his glass. Harry’s got through the chorus, and people are
cheering. Louis doesn’t look, but he can imagine the expressions of surprise. No one expects real
talent in a place like this, on a night like this.

“You liked it then, right?” Niall continues, and Louis can’t tell if this is inexplicably important to
him or if he genuinely sees no reason to not talk about it.

And Louis doesn’t like to talk about it, but it’s probably better than listening to Harry.

Happy times together we’ve been spending, I wish that every kiss was neverending.

“Not like Harry did,” Louis says, and he’d always known that. His and Harry’s love for music
was easily evenly matched, but when it came to performing, it lit Harry’s veins more than Louis’.
“I did enjoy it when I was younger. I really liked the attention. Mostly I think the appeal was just
being up there with Harry, though, because being with Harry in general was fun. It never- never
got to me the way it did to him, having a stage.”

Maybe Niall snuck some alcohol into his drink, after all. He shouldn’t be so fucking honest.

Both Niall and Liam look taken aback by his forthcomingness, offering no reply. It creates a gap
in conversation for Louis’ thoughts to stagnate.

It’s still something he has to fight to not feel guilty about, the gradual loss of interest in performing.
It felt like such a secret, because Harry was so supportive of the modules Louis was taking. Fuck,
originally it had been his idea for one of them to do some music business classes in university, so
they could have an understanding of that side of the industry, so they wouldn’t head into it
clueless when they were making it big themselves.

Louis thought it was a great idea, but he didn’t expect to like the classes- he’d never enjoyed
business or economics in school. Much to his surprise he was hanging onto every word of his
lecturers, in a way he’s sure would make his secondary school teachers suspect the freezing of
hell.

Louis loved music so much; other than Harry and his family, it was the most important thing in his
life. He spent so long watching documentaries and reading reviews and articles on Pitchfork and
just listening. Going into university, he thought he knew everything about the albums and the
singers he listened to, but there was this whole machine behind the scenes, carefully ticking away
to give the world those songs, and make them look easy, and it just. It felt like a fucking privilege
to be allowed to see how it worked. Made Louis feel like a child, asking about everything, how
can birds fly and how can dogs hear so far away and why do I have dreams.

Songwriting never lost its appeal, and singing was just as enjoyable as ever, but it wasn’t his
priority, anymore. Louis tried to deny it, because Harry and he had a plan and this wasn’t part of
it, but it got to the point where he was more excited for fucking nine o’clock lectures than he was
for the gigs Harry managed to find them, and just. Fuck.

The day before they broke up, Louis told Harry he couldn’t do the gig that night- a spot that had
just opened up for them, no warning- because he needed to study for one of his exams. Harry had
done the gig on his own. Louis’ not exactly sure if Harry’d forgiven him for that.

The idea of performing, even at office Christmas parties, even at karaoke nights, feels wrong.
Feels disrespectful.

Louis doesn’t pretend to understand.

Niall and Liam have left the booth to sign up to be the next act. Louis expects there’ll be more
tonight than the place is used to, what with such a musical crowd in.

Shame to have started with Harry, probably. No one will be able to beat that.

Maybe Louis’ biased.

Maybe not, though, because when Harry (mercifully) finishes his song, it’s to a standing ovation.
Possibly slightly jokingly, but also genuine appreciation. So much fucking talent in that boy, Louis
thinks. Unfathomable amounts.

Harry’s smiling bashfully as he makes his way back to their booth, and he’s stopped so often on
the way that by the time he’s slipping into Louis’ space, Liam and Niall have already launched
into the first verse of Jefferson Airplane’s You’re My Best Friend. Louis holds back a laugh at the
song choice, thinks it’s probably more Niall’s influence than anything.

Harry’s looking at the stage too, smiling brightly and amusedly. “Liam’s got an amazing voice,”
he says, without looking back to Louis. “I’ve never heard him sing properly before.”

Louis nods. “He wanted to be a singer when he was younger. Even made it to, like, bootcamp, I
think, in the X Factor, when he was a teenager. Only got sent home cuz they thought he was too
young.”

That catches Harry’s attention, turning to Louis with a devilish grin. “Seriously?”

Louis nods, encouraged. “Yeah, the audition’s on YouTube, actually, his sister showed me.
Fucking hilarious, he’s got Bieber hair and a waistcoat.”

A laugh tumbles haphazardly out of Harry’s mouth. “You have to send me that. I bet he’s good
though, in spite of any fashion faux pas.”

“Yeah,” Louis nods, helplessly fond, “he was. Is.”

Harry clears his throat. “D’you have any song choices in mind?” he asks, and Louis pauses at the
phrasing, at the presumption.

“Oh, I’m not- I’m not gonna do... that,” he finishes lamely, gestures to where Liam and Niall are
theatrically crooning into a shared mic, poorly concealed smiles and cheesy eye contact.

Harry frowns. “You’re not gonna sing?”

Louis has no idea why this would be in any way surprising. “No. I don’t, really.”

“What?” Harry asks, sounding either confused or indignant, and God, does Louis have to do this
twice in one night?

“I don’t really sing, in public. In that sort of way. Not for a performance, I mean.”

“You sang when you were working with me,” Harry insists. “You sang the chorus of Something
Great. ”

Louis feels sort of lost at the last comment, can’t remember ever doing that. Must’ve been
subconscious. “Yeah but, like I said, I don’t do it for a performance. I’m not like, opposed to
subconscious. “Yeah but, like I said, I don’t do it for a performance. I’m not like, opposed to
humming, or whatever.”

Harry looks at him, wide eyed and mouth slightly agape. “I can’t- I can’t tell if you’re serious right
now,” he says.

Frankly, Louis can’t tell if Harry is serious. “Why… wouldn’t I be?”

“Because why would you do that, Louis? Christ, like, I get you wanted to fucking focus on- on
what you do now, and all, but have you really completely, like banned yourself from singing?
From performing? Why would you do that ?”

“It’s not a big deal for me!” Louis says, because it’s not, at least not in the way Harry’s taking it.
Harry’s acting as if he’s depriving himself from some- some luxury. “Why is it so hard for you to
get that doing that doesn’t mean to me what it does to you? It’s been fucking years and you still
don’t get that?” And, okay, fuck, so he just made this about their relationship. Probably shouldn’t
have done that.

“There’s a difference, though, fucking hell. I’ve- I’ve come to terms, right,” and his voice is
lowered now, rushed whispers across the bench, “I’ve come to terms with you taking a desk job
over- over what we- we had wanted, then, but you can’t act like this is something that’s some
harmless decision, for you not to sing, you can’t act like it’s not fucking weak- ”

“Oh, not a-fucking-gain,” Louis groans, disbelievingly. “Don’t pull this shit again.”

“What shit again?” Harry asks, and opens his mouth to continue but Louis doesn’t give him the
chance, sees fucking red-

“The whole bullshit idea that any job other than the ones you deem worthy,” and Louis’
exaggerating, being dramatic, but that doesn’t mean he’s not in the right, “are jobs for cowards, for
people too scared to embrace their fucking potential. I don’t sing because I’ve no interest, Harry,”
and that’s not entirely accurate, but it’s closer to the truth than Harry’s accusation. “Not because
I’m some lesser soul-”

“That’s not what I’m saying, and it’s never what I said-”

“Yes it was!” Louis insists, and some more honesty can’t hurt, can it? “You made me feel like I
was chickening out, or- or betraying a promise-”

“You were,” Harry blurts. Louis stops, shocked.

“No. I wasn’t.”

They hold eye contact for a strained moment, only broken by Niall and Liam’s return and, fuck,
did that all take place in the length of a song? It felt like hours.

Louis knows it’s childish, but he’s too fucking angry to care. He can’t. Can’t handle being in front
of people right now.

He climbs out of the booth, awkward on account of having to get past Harry to do so. Harry pulls
away as much as possible, but their legs still push up against one another’s.

He stumbles into the bathroom, and God, he left his shoes under that table. For some reason the
thought makes him want to cry. At least these bathrooms are hygienic, by a bar’s standards. And
seemingly empty.

Till only moments later. Louis isn’t surprised by Harry’s entrance. The way he’s leaning against
the sink feels like he was waiting for it.

He turns to his face Harry, and his voice sounds loud and pained when he says, “We don’t want
the same things, Harry. We don’t want the same fucking things.”

Louis sees the machinations of Harry’s jaw tensing. There’s only a momentary pause before
Harry’s walking forward, too quick for Louis to properly track.

For whatever reason, the kiss doesn’t shock Louis. It’s heavy and insistent and maybe sort of
cruel, the way they’re pressing against each other, but it’s also incredibly easy.

Neither of them are drunk. Being in this loud, sweaty bar, surrounded by actual drunk people
made Louis feel reckless by extension, but neither of them have had more than one glass of
alcohol.

They’ve no excuses. Right now, Louis isn’t looking for one.

He presses against Harry’s mouth, so sudden it dislodges Harry into taking a few steps back, his
hands swinging up to tightly hold Louis’ jaw. He angles Louis’ head to the right, nips at his
bottom lip, and it should take longer than this to get Louis unsettled. The impatience of Harry’s
movements has seeped into Louis’ blood, though, and he’s already building up heat in his
stomach, already feeling weak and centred in on Harry’s soft, warm lips.

He lets out a high noise that sounds vaguely like fuck, when Harry slides his tongue between
Louis’ lips, slicing them open. Harry gasps in a way that sounds vaguely like yeah.

Louis’ thighs are banging against the sink, and when Harry carelessly, thoughtlessly lifts him up
and places him on the ledge, he’s leaning so heavily into Louis that Louis’ head is against the
mirror, elbow against the tap. Their movements are constant yet unpredictable, a war of give and
take. Louis needs it so much he could cry. Only Harry, he thinks. Only Harry could do this to
him.

“More?” Harry asks, forehead to forehead, sharing breaths, hands clutching tightly at Louis’ waist.

“Yeah,” Louis says, nodding so that their noses rub against each other’s, the most tender thing so
far. “Stall?”

Harry pulls back with a nod, breathless in a way that reaches Louis’ bones. His hands grasp for
Louis’ like Louis needs help off the counter, like his feet aren’t less than a foot off the floor.

Louis follows as Harry walks backwards, small smile as he shoulders the door open behind him,
and fuck, that shouldn’t be hot, should it? Louis’ not in the right mind to judge.

Harry turns around and presses Louis against the wall, kicking the door shut but not locking it. No
build up, his thigh slots between Louis’, presses up, contact so sudden Louis has to resist going on
his tip toes. Fuck, he’s already practically rock hard, and he’s dizzy from it. Harry’s mouth finds
his neck, Louis bending to give him access, and should he care about their less than ideal
surroundings? Should that deter something within him?

It doesn’t, and when Harry’s tongue whips greedily against the turn of Louis’ neck and shoulder,
Louis releases a gasp that heightens into a whine and lengthens into a moan as Harry bites down.

Harry’s thigh rubs against Louis as if in apology when he pulls away. “Listen to yourself, Lou,
fucking beautiful. That’s what I mean. Not letting anyone hear your voice, God-”

Louis can’t take it, swallows Harry’s jarring words with his mouth, the kiss heavy and imploring.
Harry gives in immediately, and it sends another swell of arousal through Louis, the sudden
realisation that shit, he’s turning Harry on, too.

He pushes Harry the couple of feet it takes for him to be backed against the wall, and bites away
the smile that appears. Louis needs something, needs an answer to this all consuming demand, and
Harry provides.

“Wanna suck my cock?” he says, properly breathless, and Louis has an inane flashback to earlier
that evening: Niall asking him if he wanted to get Niall another drink, and Louis ranting about
how much he hates when people ask for favours that way, as if they’re the ones doing a favour by
suggesting it.

It doesn’t bother him now, because he knows Harry knows what he’s asking for isn’t really a
favour. That Louis' always liked having a cock in his mouth, more than he feels comfortable
admitting.

Fuck. Louis doesn’t answer, doesn’t think he can, just follows the push of Harry’s hands against
his head, and lowers himself to his knees. He glances to his side, then reaches out to- finally- lock
the door. It makes Harry laugh.

Harry’s belt is thick leather with a heavy metal buckle, and Louis wonders, for a moment, if he
has enough strength in his shaking hands to undo it. He does, though, with a satisfying clink, and
he’s even hastier in pulling Harry’s zip down.

He leans back on his ankles for a moment, just looking. Harry’s wearing briefs, and Louis’
overwhelmed by the outline of his cock alone, pressed against his right thigh with a wet spot at the
top already. It's so fucking big, unnecessarily, disrespectfully so.

“Don’t tease,” Harry mumbles, and Louis looks up with a small smile, meets Harry’s waiting dark
eyes. Louis might be on his knees, but he knows how much power he has, right now. Slowly, he
slots his fingers below Harry’s waistband, pulling it away from his skin and watching the muscles
of Harry’s stomach clench.

He doesn’t really have the discipline to tease right now anyway, as much as he may want to, so he
pulls the material down harshly enough to make Harry suck in a tight breath. His cock pops out,
red and slightly bent and pretty and so, so like Louis remembers it.

For some reason, that’s surprising to him. Louis loves this dick. He kisses the tip, and hopes Harry
doesn’t realise it’s kind of his way of saying hello again.

Doesn’t seem to, if the hand clenching in Louis’ hair is any indication.

Louis hasn’t given head in a dismayingly long time now, so it’s for practical reasons he takes it
slow. He licks stripes up either side, before tracing the prominent vein below. It’s not like dick
tastes nice, but the salt on his tongue is satisfying, encouraging. God, he wants more. He takes the
head into his mouth, sucking a few times before pulling off again.

“Faster,” Harry says, and maybe he’d like to think he sounds authoritative, but it only strikes
Louis as petulant.

“Can’t,” Louis breathes, biting at Harry’s pale thigh. The insides have always been hairless.
There’s a tattoo on the right one Louis doesn’t recognise. It’s obscured by his jeans and Louis
pulls them down to reveal the head of a tiger. He presses his thumb into it. Imagines it's forceful
enough to leave a bruise. “Need to get….reacclimated.”

Harry takes a few moments to reply. “Been a while?” he asks, voice slightly shot.
 Louis doesn’t reply, figures the time for warming up is over. He takes as much as he can into his
mouth and then a little more, moves his head up and down and revels in the just-controlled jump
of Harry’s hips, the low humming from above him. It’s easy to fall into a rhythm when the
appreciation is so present. Harry’s gasps are turning gravelly, and Louis hears his head hit lightly
against the wall with a plaintive, “Lou.”

It’s hardly the first time Louis’ had this cock in his mouth, but it’s the first time he’s felt so
possessive of the reactions. They never made Louis burn with pride the way they do now. Harry’s
got experience now. God knows how many offers he’s gotten from other men, and God knows
how many he’s accepted. But, fuck, it’s still Louis, it’s still Louis who can get his voice to break
like that, who can make him shake with it.

He can’t resist reaching down and squeezing his cock against the ever-building arousal, and it’s a
slight relief when Harry tugs at his hair, says close, fuck, too much.

Louis pulls away till he’s just sucking at the head, and runs his tongue below Harry’s ridge to
push him over the edge, humming to create some vibrations. It works, thick pulses of come
landing in Louis’ mouth, difficult to swallow.

As soon as he’s finished, Harry pulls Louis up, presses him against the opposite wall again.
“Fuck, your mouth’s as good as ever,” Harry says, and Louis could say the same to him, his dirty
talk just as affecting as Louis remembers.

When Harry reaches down Louis’ admittedly tight trousers and fingers at Louis’ head, he lets out
a slightly shocked whine he feels he’s been keeping in for a while. It’s longer than it probably
should be, but fuck, Louis’ always been loud.

“the walls aren’t that thick, Lou,” Harry says, squeezing Louis' cock, but it doesn’t sound like he’s
telling him to be quiet. “They’re gonna hear you, just like our neighbours used to. They’re gonna
know exactly what I’m doing.”

Louis bites at Harry’s shoulder, and comes.

When they walk back into the bar, Louis can’t work out if anyone does actually know what Harry
did to him. He can’t work out if he would want them to or not.

Chapter End Notes

Big news! Taking steps forward with the tumblr, and now have a tumblr post for this
fic if you wanna reblog it!! (thanks to K for making the edit!!!)

my blog is still mostly dead but I've got xkit (thank you to the person who told me
about this) and I'm following 20 blogs. which feels like a big deal i'm not sure.

as always, thanks for the comments, they encourage me a lot, and if you guys wanna
share any thoughts please do!!!!!
 Chapter 8
Chapter Notes

the national have a song called fireproof, and it's like. exactly harry's pov in this fic, i
don't know how i didn't notice before. anyway listening is definitely recommended,
or at least visit a lyric website and read them! (if you want)

sorry for the delay. it is, perhaps predictably, because of the other fic i'm working on.

(2265)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

They don’t talk about it, is the thing. Louis talks about everything, because he’s got an inability to
hold back and a need to know what other people are thinking, and he has no fucking clue what
Harry is thinking, but they still, just. Don’t talk about it.

Actions speak louder than words though, ha, and their actions don’t stop. Tumbling back into that
bar, that night, they didn’t dare interact or even look at each other in front of the others, but once
everyone was leaving, Louis touched a finger to the inside of Harry’s wrist. He used that contact
to guide him to a taxi. When most everyone else had left and no one was looking, they got in it
together, and went to Louis’ flat.

They rubbed off against each other in Louis’ bed, lazy and wordless, and asleep almost
immediately after. The next day was a Saturday, so they didn’t have work to use as an excuse to
get up and out early, but even with all that time between them, they didn’t talk about it. Harry just
blew Louis in the shower, and that dreamlike morning sets the precedent for the next few weeks.
Secret sex and no discussion.

But really, despite the constant questions in the back of his mind, the constant need to know how
close Harry is to being where Louis’ at, feelings-wise, Louis thinks maybe they don’t need to talk
about it. Because- because, nothing changes. If anything, it makes their friendship (Louis’ worked
up the guts to call it that, now) run smoother, no longer disrupted by bouts of pent up sexual
frustration.

And in keeping with not letting the sex change anything, they still run. It’s actually become a lot
more of a relaxing experience, now that Louis doesn’t have to fight against the welling up of
attraction he always experiences when Harry sweats or strips or pants. Now, Louis can look his
fill.

He can get away with that when they stay later than anyone else at work, too, or when Niall and
Liam are distracted with each other. He can always get away with it at the bakery, somewhere he
and Harry are swiftly becoming regulars, though limiting themselves to one visit a week. There’s
very rarely anyone there other than them at all, except the owner Louis now knows as Susan, and
she doesn’t seem the type to judge Louis for letting his gaze linger on Harry’s face a bit too long.
Amazingly, one bakery-morning, Louis isn’t looking at Harry; he’s looking at a rogue customer.
On the rare occasions other people come into the bakery that early Louis usually does his best to
ignore them, lest they ruin his impression that this is some secret haven nestled away from the real
world.

This customer, however, is on the phone- or, as Louis suspects, pretending to be. They’re relaying
an impressively long order of baked goods to Susan, and Louis guesses they might be
embarrassed by the brevity of it, and pretending to be taking instructions from the person on the
other end of the line to escape judgment. That might seem like an extreme theory, but- the way
they address their mystery conversationalist is so stilted, and overly loud, and the pauses between
questions way too short to really be for answers.

Harry kicks at Louis’ chair, and Louis turns back to him. “Haz,” he says, low, urgent, “that
person’s not really on the phone.”

Harry’s lips quirk. “What?” he asks.

Louis nods fervently. “They’re, like, pretending. They’ve practically ordered one of everything, I
think they don’t want to seem like it’s them doing it? Like, they wanna make sure Susan knows
it’s not just for them.”

“I’m sure she’d guess-” Harry says, but Louis can see him focusing in on the faux-phone call with
equal intensity.

Louis shrugs. “Some people get nervous about that stuff.” They stay silent, then, just not-so-subtly
observing. When the customer leaves, phone still tucked between neck and shoulder, five bags in
hand, Louis’ eyes follow them out. When he looks back, Harry is smiling softly.

"It's fascinating, the things that catch your interest," Harry says, his gaze weighing on Louis.

“It's easily caught," Louis says, because the blush running up his body is telling him this is
something he should deny. "Everything interests me."

"Nah," Harry shakes his head, instantly, "not anymore."

Louis looks up from the floral printed linoleum tabletop. "What d'you mean?" He asks, curious
despite the fact he doesn't think the answer will be good for his health.

Harry draws it out, silent for a few seconds. Logically Louis knows he’s probably just collecting
his thoughts, but he still can’t help but feel like Harry’s deliberately torturing him. "It's like, you
always had so much energy, just there, constantly available, and now it's like, you still do have
that energy? but it's an undercurrent that needs to be provoked before you'll actually use it, direct it
somewhere, so like, I have to, and just people in general have to work to get it directed at them in
a way they never did before, and..."

Louis is sort of fascinated. He's spent so much time thinking about how much Harry's changed, it's
embarrassing it never occurred to him that he himself must've changed too. That Harry could be
cataloging just as many unfamiliarities.

Louis’ just not sure if he completely agrees with Harry on this particular example. Okay, he’s not
as easily excited as he was five or six years ago, but Harry must realise he’s the exception to the
rule. Must know how easily, instantly, he always has Louis’ complete attention.

But then, how would Harry know? How would Harry know anything about Louis’ feelings for
him?
They should talk, Louis knows, if not about the sex than the argument that preceded it, the
burrowing doubt that Harry's not as accepting of their past as Louis originally thought. They
should talk about what they're feeling, thinking, because Louis knows this arrangement won't be
something he'll be happy with forever, knows he'll eventually need more, and he should make
some effort to work out whether Harry thinks that could ever be a possibility. Sometimes when he
opens his mouth, though, Harry kisses it shut, and Louis never knows how he should feel.

And they don’t talk about it, and everything’s the same, except that when Louis struggles a bit
opening the stiff bakery door, Harry leans in and bites the back of his neck. Not leading
anywhere. Just because he can.

He’s finishing a call with his mum when it happens.

It’s a normal call, about neighbours and sisters and work and the news, and Harry has been
around long enough that their conversations are no longer weighed down with his presence.

Then Liam walks in, and probably brings Harry's presence with him.

“Who was that?” he asks, too-casual, as Louis pockets the phone.

“Jay,” Louis says.

Liam’s smile is genuine, but he still looks sort of nervous, like he's building himself up to
something. “How is she?”

“Good. She's covering a good few extra shifts next week, so she's exhausted. I might go down
next weekend, to help with the girls, ‘n' all.” Since Lottie moved out, Louis’ big brother role has
felt more necessary than it had for the few years prior to that.

Liam’s quiet for a few moments. “Did you guys talk about Harry?”

Louis feels everything in him tense. “What?” he asks.

“I’m just wondering. If, you like. Told her about you being… friends with Harry.”

More than anything, the pause before friends irritates Louis. Like it’s a euphemism, or something,
like they’re not really friends. Like they don’t laugh and share and talk and care about each other,
the way friends are meant to. They have extra baggage, sure, but that doesn’t eradicate all the
good that’s between them too. “Why wouldn’t I?” Louis says. “Mum loves Harry. She’s happy
he’s back in my life.”

It’s maybe an exaggeration, because Louis hasn’t mentioned any of the murkier details of his and
Harry’s current state to her, but he doesn’t care. Liam mightn’t realise, but he’s trying to use
Louis’ own mother against him, trying to make Louis outnumbered in an argument he doesn’t
even want to have.

"I know you guys... did something, that night in the pub." It doesn’t sound like Liam meant to say
it.

Louis doesn't reply, jaw locking. He feels like a messy teenager, or something, incapable of acting
maturely even though he has such a clear picture of what that would be. But he’s already tired,
already ready to go home after a long day- week, and he can’t handle this.

"The fact that you didn't tell me," Liam starts, hesitantly, "makes me think you know it's a bad
idea."

Louis can't stay quiet. "Actually, I didn't tell you cuz I knew you'd think it was a bad idea. And I
didn't want to deal with you getting brave and warning me away from a boy."

Liam doesn't even look annoyed, he just looks sad. God, Louis feels shit. "I do have your best
interests at heart-"

"And you think I don't?"

The pause lasts longer than Louis would like. "Sometimes it's difficult to tell, Lou."

Usually, usually Louis loves Liam’s hyper-vigilance concerning the welfare of his loved ones.
This time, he just feels under attack. He doesn’t want anyone saying what he and Harry are doing
is a bad idea, not when it makes the small part of him that’s saying the same thing all that much
harder to ignore.

He still feels like slamming a door when he gets back to his flat after the exchange, but instead he
pulls out his phone. Come over? he sends.

In twenty, Harry replies.

Louis takes a shower.

They haven't had full on penetrative sex, yet, and Louis feels ridiculous, that it's some childish,
stubborn need to prove his friend wrong that makes him want to change that. Better than having it
for the first time in the aftermath of some emotional ordeal, though- safest to keep the sex as
meaningless as possible. At least for now. At least till Harry’s on the same wavelength as Louis.

Louis’ still adjusting to having him back in his life at all, still goes through moments when it
doesn’t feel real, and the idea of having Harry like that almost makes him shake. It’d always
seemed like too much, before now.

Now, Louis dries off methodically, climbs into soft, simple- easily removed- clothes, and waits.

Somehow, he’s still relatively calm when his buzzer goes off. He stands up to press the button and
unlock his front door, and only half a minute later Harry’s coming through it. He doesn’t speak,
just takes Louis’ face between his hands and kisses, hard and insistent like he’s got a point to
prove, like Louis’ not the one who asked him over.

It’s not new. Every kiss feels like Harry’s trying to tell Louis something. Louis doesn’t let himself
worry about what. “Was just about to call,” Harry says against Louis’ cheekbone. “Needed this,”
and then, “nothing like this.”

It’s rare, Harry saying anything that makes their arrangement seem like a big deal. Even as he tries
not to give them weight, Louis carefully collects these comments, remembers them- waiting for
you fucking hurts, and all I need, and can’t go without.

Louis has a goal, now, so he doesn’t let their kiss meander like he usually does. He pushes his
body soft against Harry’s, lets Harry bend back his head, pulls at Harry’s hair and bites at his lip,
lets out the small noises he usually makes Harry work for.

Louis’ not sure if Harry knows it’s deliberate, but he certainly notices the difference. He mumbles
a fuck into Louis’ mouth and pushes deeper. Louis doesn’t have to play up how affected he is, not
when Harry knows him this well. The heat that always seems to be waiting there for Harry makes
itself known again, pressing against Louis’ too thin skin, wanting to take control. Louis lets it, lets
himself burn and take as much as he can from Harry, biting and sucking and grabbing.

Louis doesn’t realise they’re moving till his legs hit the back of the couch, and it surprises him. If
they were going to move, he’d have guessed he’d be the one pushing Harry right now, rather than
the other way around. Maybe Harry’s just as desperate; maybe Harry wants it just as much.

Harry pulls away and presses his forehead against Louis’ shoulder, breathing so even it must be
controlled. When he straightens up, it’s the first good look Louis’ gotten of him. He looks
wrecked, and not just in a way Louis can take credit for- there are shadows under his eyes, and his
hair is messy from more than Louis’ hands, bordering on greasy. Louis knows the run up to the
release of a single can be exhausting, and must be even more so for a perfectionist, a neurotic, like
Harry. He also knows that the label are trying to capitalise on the small following Harry had from
his local gigs, and that they have him out performing again, dropping not-so-subtle mentions of the
upcoming song. Louis wouldn’t be surprised if he had a show last night, only to be expected in
meetings that morning.

Suddenly, Harry saying that he needed this, needed Louis, hits deeper, and Louis can’t delay any
longer. “Want you to fuck me,” he says, low because he doesn’t need to be loud, not when it’s
just them. And because his voice feels shaky enough as is, like the tremors in his body are
vibrating through it. “Need you- inside, and, and close-”

“Fuck,” Harry says- groans, maybe- and Louis loves it, loves reducing the master of dirty talk to
such a limited vocabulary.

Harry takes Louis’ hand- and Louis is unnecessarily affected by how Harry takes the time to
gently curl his fingers between Louis’, rather than just tugging at his wrist or something. The
gentleness isn’t mirrored anywhere else, with Harry practically dragging him to Louis’ bedroom,
Louis complying too easily for their to be any real force. Despite Harry having been in this room
countless times, by now- virtually all of their trysts occurring there- it’s the first time Louis’ felt
like it means something. He kisses Harry to shut his own thoughts up, to remind himself that
what’s happening isn’t a mystery, or uncontrollable. He knows Harry, knows the hands that are
trailing down his body, curving across his ass, knows the mouth moving against his own.

And the shot of adrenaline is welcome, when Harry lifts Louis up till Louis’ legs instinctively
wrap around his waist, Louis feeling safe and warm and like he’s part of something special as
Harry walks over to the bed. He seems reluctant to let Louis go, and he stands by the edge for a
while. Louis pulls away from the kiss, his lips wet and raw feeling, to look unabashedly at Harry’s
arms, straining slightly as they carry Louis’ weight. He runs his hands down them, feeling the
tenseness of the muscles and pinching at a tattoo he doesn’t know the story behind.

Harry laughs at the pinch, possibly interpreting it as Louis telling him to get a move on, and he
complies- deposits Louis on the bed and climbs after him, their bodies flattening into the covers,
no space between them they don’t want to conquer.

“No build up,” Louis says. “Please, just want- want you.” Harry nods against his throat, hair
ticklish but somehow comforting. Louis doesn’t even know why he needs comfort. Just feels
overwhelmed, like a fucking virgin, and it’s been long enough he might as well be. Is so
completely unprepared.

“Where?” Harry asks, because he doesn’t know, because they’ve never done anything needing
condoms or lube before, and God, that’s when it really kicks in. Louis’ going to have Harry,
completely, like this. They’re going to share this, they’re going to-
“There,” Louis says, gesturing vaguely at his bedside table, his voice and body and bones
shaking. It might sound like nerves but he knows it’s impatience. He just fucking wants , and he’s
almost forgotten what it feels like, all this emotion, this sensation, all at once. Forgotten how hard
it is to process it, to not let it run rampant inside him.

He tries not to show any disappointment when Harry straightens up, kneeing closer to the side of
the bed and reaching over for the supplies. He pulls out more than one condom in the first grab,
but Louis can’t work out if it’s carelessness or a promise.

They’re tossed like rose petals across the sheets, and Louis feels silly when he has to stifle a laugh.
Harry doesn’t notice, brow furrowed as he opens the lube.

“Harry,” Louis says, laugh still slightly present in his voice. It’s incongruous enough to make
Harry look up, indignant like Louis interrupted something. The laughter becomes slightly harder
to avoid. “We’re still fully clothed, love. First things first.”

Harry laughs then too, shakes his head self-deprecatingly and places the lube beside him. They
dispense of their clothes quickly, no art to it, and Louis’ glad they both seem to be following his
request to not tease. Really, the past however many weeks have been all the foreplay he needs.

Harry places his hands lightly on Louis’ thighs, but he doesn’t need to push for Louis to spread
them. He picks up the lube, again, and lowers himself slightly.

He usually- used to- use too much lube, dripping onto his wrist and the sheets and Louis’ thighs.
Now it’s methodical. Practiced. He's got it down to a science at this point- no, scratch that, he's got
it down to an art. Louis can’t look away.

The first finger doesn’t really get to Louis, and isn’t nearly as arousing as the look on Harry’s face
as he watches, anyway. Enraptured, almost pained. It’s only when he’s got to the third one- which
is sooner than probably advisable, but Harry knows what Louis likes- that Louis really starts to
feel it, eyes squeezing shut at the tightness. Harry doesn’t take long to find a rhythm, or Louis’
spot, for that matter, and it’s like- not like he’s used to it, exactly, but like he knows what he’s
doing. Because he does. Because he’s fingered Louis a countless amount of times, even if only
years ago. God, it’s been years , and Louis can’t help but think finally, now that he’s gotten it
back.

”Fuck, fuck, it's been so long," Louis grits out, and it makes Harry's head flinch up, eyes dark and
questioning. His fingers don't slow, though. Louis thinks it'd take a lot to distract him from that.
One other thing he's stubborn about.

"Since me or since anyone?" he asks. Truthfully, Louis had meant Harry, but it's a bit awkward to
actually acknowledge that.

"Both," he says, and that in itself true. He hasn't had anyone since Aiden moved, and even then
the last couple of times Louis had topped.

"How long’s it been since someone else?" Harry’s gaze is still fixed on Louis’ face, brow
furrowed and lip bit, and Louis wonders what it is he’s seeing. What it is he wants to see.

"Forget."

"No you don't." Louis doesn't, but he doesn’t want to talk about it. Not least because he’s scared
Harry might reciprocate and tell Louis about the last person he was with. Louis doesn’t want to
hear about that, doesn’t want to feel like there are nameless bodies he’s competing with. All he
wants is Harry.
"You think I can remember anyone else when I've got you like this?" He puts on an overly syrupy
sweet voice so it’s obvious he’s at least half joking, but it still makes Harry’s grip tighten where
his other hand is clasping at Louis’ waist.

"I'll make you forget," he promises. Louis doesn’t doubt it, but also doesn’t read into it.

He can’t help but whimper once Harry pulls out his fingers, and Harry hums almost in sympathy
as he rolls a condom down his- rock hard, when did that happen- cock. “Be in you soon,” he
murmurs. “You’re gonna be so fucking full.”

Louis doesn’t have enough free space in his brain to wonder how Harry knew what he wanted to
hear, and all thoughts completely fade away at the first press of Harry’s dick against his hole. He
pushes the first inch or so in, and when he pauses Louis knows it’s partly to let him adjust, but he
wonders if maybe it’s for Harry’s sake, too. On either side of Louis, his arms are shaking. His
eyes, for probably the first time that night, are closed.

Louis can’t muster up sympathy, squeezes at Harry’s hips before he’s practically forced to push in
further, hissing out a pained non-word. Once he’s fully in, they sort of pause- settle. Look at each
other.

If Louis was more aware, he’d be surprised that Harry was the first to break eye contact, head
dropping against Louis’ shoulder as he begins to thrust. God, Louis hasn’t felt anything like it in
so long, too long, but then, there’s nothing like it to feel. Getting fucked by Harry Styles is an
entirely unique experience, one Louis never thought he’d have the chance of again. It’s like his
body maybe thinks he never will again, going into hyperdrive, trying to feel everything at once-
Harry’s cock and hips and hands, where his hair is tracing against Louis’ chest, where his breath
hits Louis skin, where his thighs press against Louis’.

Completely, entirely unique. But not exactly enough, not like Louis knows it can be. Every inch
of Harry is pulled tight with tension, and Louis knows he hasn't quite let go, yet.

"Biggest dick I ever had," Louis says, and it's true, but it’s also a calculated move to fuck Harry
up.

"First you ever had," he grits out, petulant, one thrust slightly harder than the others.

"Best I ever had." Again, it's true, but it feels sort of embarrassing to admit. It's worth it, though,
for how Harry reacts. He tightens his grip around Louis’ waist again and hauls him closer, closer,
till Louis is so pushed up against his body he can’t see it. He accidentally gets some of Harry’s
hair in his mouth, has to spit it out in a decidedly unsexy way, and that breaks tension Louis didn’t
even realise there was, Harry smiling into his shoulder.

He soon pulls away to press his mouth into Louis', a kiss that's tongues and teeth and perfect, even
though they're still smiling. That's part of what's getting to Louis, though. They're still smiling.

They come almost simultaneously, and the smiles only fade when sleep takes over.

Waking up next to Harry is becoming familiar, though Louis knows it shouldn’t be. The option of
Harry leaving rather than staying, though, has never even come up. It’s some weird assumption,
that they can mess around and then sleep next to each other.

But they did more than mess around last night, and Louis can feel it as he sits up. Just like the first
time they woke up together, it’s a Saturday, which means there’s no work Louis has to rush off to.
He feels bad for wishing there was, but he also suddenly feels the vulnerability he didn’t have the
concentration to muster up last night.

Their words always verge towards the hyperbolic when they get worked up like that, but he still
can’t believe he told Harry his dick was the best he ever had. Not exactly romantic, or anything,
but still. Christ.

The shower he takes is probably longer than he needs it to be, even with dried come on his
stomach.

Stepping out and back into his room, he’s not entirely sure what he’s hoping for, but he can’t say
he’s exactly disappointed by the empty bed and smell of breakfast. He gets dressed- actual clothes
rather than pyjamas or loungewear, because it for some reason makes him feel less exposed- and
heads into the kitchen, smile helplessly fond as he sees Harry hunched slightly at the cooker.

Knocks against the doorframe like the cliche he’s beginning to think he is, and smiles soft when
Harry turns around. “Hey, Lou,” he says. “You miraculously had the supplies for pancakes, so.”
He shrugs, like that’s reason enough to make them.

Louis gives a small clap as he begins to sit down, wincing slightly with the movement. Harry of
course notices, and his face doesn’t seem to know whether to settle on satisfaction or concern.

“You okay?” he asks, half smile.

“Can’t go acting like you think I’m delicate now, Styles,” Louis says, “not after last night.”

He thinks a casual mention of the fact that they actually properly fucked is probably the way to go,
although more for his own sake than Harry’s. He doubts Harry cares how it's mentioned. He
doubts Harry sees it as a big deal- at least, he’s given no indication that he would.

“Well in that case,” Harry says, “get the plates and cutlery, please. I’m not your slave.”

With a theatrical grimace Louis gets up to do just that, the same time as Harry's phone vibrates.

Louis can't help but look, hating whoever it is that interrupted this. Harry, too, doesn't seem to like
what he sees on the screen, grimacing, and touching Louis on the inside of his elbow. “Actually,
I’ve- I can’t stay, I just remembered, so no plate for me, sorry. I’ve got brunch with- with some
friends.”

The hesitation is weird, and Louis can’t work out if Harry stopped himself from saying the names
of his friends because he genuinely doesn’t want Louis to know, or because he realised it’d be
meaningless to Louis anyway. Because Louis doesn’t know his friends, save those from work.

“Shit,” Harry says, looking at the time on the oven. “I’ll need to leave soon, I completely forgot
about that. More pancakes for you, I guess,” and Louis hates how apologetic he sounds, “that
okay?”

It’s probably good, the reminder of the outside world, of their separate lives. Probably something
Louis needs. Probably. “Sure,” he says, smiles.

Louis doesn’t walk Harry to the door, or anything lame like that, but he delays sitting down for the
pancakes longer than he maybe usually would. Harry seems hesitant to go, though, biting his lip
for a moment before saying- “I did- I’ve had this brunch arranged for a while now, I’m not like- I
dunno. I don’t want you think- I don’t want it to feel like-”

Despite the fact that he’s literally said nothing of substance, Louis knows what he means. Laughs.
“Haz, I promise not to feel abandoned. You made me breakfast. Your duty is done.”
Harry’s frown only deepens. “Not a duty,” he says, mulishly.

Louis doesn’t know he feels about Harry acting like he thinks Louis needs some fucking
reassurance, or something. Harry’s standing close, his obnoxiously unbuttoned shirt and the smell
of Louis’ cologne he must’ve borrowed- never asks, the bastard-, and Louis does the only thing
that can be expected of him.

He pinches Harry’s nipples, because it’d feel ridiculous to just not, when the opportunity is so
blatantly there. Harry grins even as he pulls away. He’s not fooling anyone. Louis knows he likes
it. “Didn’t your mother teach you manners?” Harry asks, faux indignant.

“Same time your mother taught you how to use buttons,” Louis says, and it’s fine, they’re fine,
Louis’ fine.

Well. He’s the same as he was before, at least.

When Harry leaves, Louis doesn’t want to just stay around his flat. He wants to do something,
make it feel like he’s not just someone Harry fucks-then-leaves, even though he knows he has no
reason to feel that in the first place. It’s too late notice to make plans with anyone, though, so he
decides to do some shopping. His pay’s increased, and if he does go ahead with visiting
Doncaster, he’d like to be able to do it equipped with some small presents for his sisters.

He heads for Carnaby Street, but before he can get any actual shopping done he spots a familiar
face in the crowd. It almost takes a while to identify Niall, as weird as it feels to see him out of a
work setting. Louis curses, his mouth still numb from the breakfast Harry made him. Christ,
London has the population of a small country, how does he run into someone he knows? His
instinctual plan is ducking into a nearby shop.

He doesn’t, of course, but he still feels guilty. It’s not a personal reaction- he loves Niall, finds
conversation with him easy and enjoyable. It’s just- he’s still very much Harry’s friend. He’s
never interacted with Niall one to one outside of work.

If Niall has any of the same hesitations he doesn’t demonstrate them openly, practically bounding
over to Louis when he sees him, like a dog returning their stick to an owner and just about as cute.

“Heya,” Niall says, and Louis thinks Niall must have an unshakable centre of gravity,
metaphorically speaking, because he doesn’t sound surprised, sounds like this is somewhere he
and Louis arranged to meet.

“Hey, Ni,” Louis says. “How’re you feeling?”

“Great,” Niall says, nodding. He’s wearing chilled out, soft looking clothes and a relaxed, well
rested face. He looks completely different to him at work, and looks like someone Louis could do
with spending time around. “You?”

Like your best friend just fucked me. Oh, Jesus. “Bit tired, but fine,” he shrugs.

Niall laughs unexpectedly. “Christ, I feel like you say that every time I ask.” It’s not mean, just
amused.

Louis laughs back. “Well that’s depressing to hear. Can’t exactly argue, though. My sleeping
habits are probably not the best.” Even if in general terms that's true, Louis still feels like he's
being secretive considering how well he slept last night. Fucking Harry feels like the elephant in
the room that only he can see, and every sentence where he doesn't expose it feels dishonest.
There’s something inherently disgusting about the idea of lying to Niall.

“What brings you to town, then, this early?” Niall asks, and it’s completely endearing, that Niall
considers twelve o’clock early. Clearly he hasn’t completely become accustomed to their nine
o’clock starts at Direction.

“I’m thinking I might head up to the family next weekend? Wanted to get my sisters some
presents, because I know they’re gonna be annoyed at how long I’ve waited to visit,” he shrugs.

Niall practically coos, and does actually tilt his head to the side. “You’re such a good brother,” he
says, and it doesn’t seem even slightly joking.

Louis laughs anyway. “Thanks Niall,” he says, and he tries to sound sort of ironic, “means a lot.”

Niall just shrugs. “Would you say no to company? My nephew’s birthday is coming up, I should
get him something. Plus, I’m like, the best person I know at buying presents.”

“Oh, you bringing a bit of a competitive edge to today?” Louis asks, nudging at Niall, who looks
delighted.

“Just speaking the truth, my presents are always everyone’s favourite.” Niall frowns, then.
“Although,” and he sounds genuinely concerned, “Harry’s really good too, and he’ll probably be
getting my nephew a present as well. Knowing him he probably got him a present for, like, the
first time he stayed up past nine o’clock.”

“That’s Harry,” Louis says before he can stop himself, because Niall does just make him feel like
he can say anything, “he’s always been soft for kids.”

“I can imagine,” Niall laughs, then shoots Louis a fond look. “It’s really nice that you talk about
him like that, now. I mean, it’s nice that you guys are comfortable around each other. I pick up on
tension and stress really easily and let me tell you, being in a room with ye two a while ago was a
fucking nightmare.” Louis huffs out a laugh, shoves at Niall again. They’ve taken to walking
down the thrumming street, no discussion on where they actually want to go.

“Mostly it’s just nice to see Harry that happy,” Niall finishes, after a moment. The approval makes
Louis feel warmer than he has any right to, but he wonders if Niall would be this positive if he
knew the extent of Louis and Harry’s relationship. He thinks about Liam’s worry over the idea of
them sleeping together, and hates himself for imaging Niall having the same reaction. Niall
thinking that Louis wasn’t good for Harry, was hurting him, even. Just the thought makes him feel
sick.

It’s so, so childish, how much he wants Niall to like him. It’s unfair, too, that some of that desire is
because he’s Harry’s friend, and not because he’s just an all-round great guy in general. He just
wants Niall’s approval, fuck, he wants to talk to Niall like film characters talk to the dads of their
prom dates.

But, no. They shouldn’t talk about Harry today. He’s taken over enough of Louis’ mind as is, he
can’t also slip into every conversation.

“So tell me about your nephew’s personality,” Louis says, knowing Niall’s not the type to call
someone out for a subject change. “What’s his star sign? What are his ambitions? His greatest
fears?”

Niall laughs, loud and prolonged enough that a passing couple glance at him with wide eyes.
“Well, his favourite power ranger is the red one, and he really likes space.”
Louis sighs. “Feels like I know him already,” he says.

Two hours later and Louis has a stitch in his side from laughing, as well as about five times more
presents for his sisters than he had ever planned. It’s not really his fault- Niall actually was telling
the truth, when he said he was good at picking presents, but he failed to mention that he was as
much a believer in quantity as in quality. He emotionally blackmailed Louis into buying toys so
earnestly that Louis felt like his sisters were there themselves. Tell them I chose some of them,
Niall says, like they have any fucking clue who he is. Louis doesn’t say that, obviously. Niall
would probably get genuinely upset over the idea that there are people out there who don't at least
know about him.

They’d taken a coffee break about halfway through, because present-buying is a taxing business,
or at least it is when done with Niall Horan. Conversation came as easy as it always has between
them, and Louis should be able to let go, to enjoy it, but every now and then Niall will casually
mention Harry in an anecdote, or Louis will have to restrain himself from doing the same, and just.

Louis wonders what Harry would think, is all, if he knew Niall and Louis were spending a
Saturday afternoon together. Wonders if he’d feel possessive of his best friend. Wonders if he’d be
suspicious of Louis’ motives.

Once Niall himself has finally settled on a present for his nephew Louis thinks that’s it, is ready to
go home and collapse in a pile of overthinking, but out on the street Niall touches his elbow and
points to a sign above a cinema. “I want to see that,” Niall says. Louis doesn’t recognise the name,
but wagers it’s a comedy. “D’you?”

“I dunno what it is,” Louis says. He’s not very good at keeping up with pop culture, and he
loathes to think of it as a sign of aging.

“Even better,” Niall says. “Shall we go in?”

Louis doesn’t know how to say no, and saying no would only add guilt to the wobbling pile of
emotions inside him already. “Uh,” he says, “yeah. Sure.”

Louis feels like how he does when he lets his sisters away with something they all know their
mother wouldn’t approve of. Niall lights up, practically drags Louis into the people-and-popcorn
smelling seen-better-days building, no queue or crowd for them to dodge. No chance for Louis to
think.

The film is pretty funny, although what’s funnier is how much Niall seems to love it. Louis almost
struggles to hear the dialogue over his laughter, sometimes.

He doesn’t think he’s exactly in the right frame of mind for a comedy anyway. It’s just, he started
his interaction with Niall feeling like he was keeping something from him by having slept with
Harry; he ended it feeling like he was keeping something from Harry for having spent time with
Niall. He’s just terrified Harry will see Louis spending time with his best friend as Louis trying to,
like, insinuate himself into Harry’s life.

It’s only then he realises that somewhere along the way, he’s come to the conclusion that Harry
doesn’t really want Louis to be part of his life. He thinks about how he doesn’t know the name of
any of Harry’s friends, and how Harry didn’t want him at his sister’s engagement party, and how
when they mess around it’s never at Harry’s place, always Louis’.
Thinks he’s probably justified in his doubts.

Sometimes, though, sometimes Harry does things that make Louis feel so fucking special. Like
he’s somehow got a place of importance in Harry’s life after all.

Wednesday morning is the first time Something Great will be played, after a snippet on Radio
One two nights previously. It’ll be on Nick’s show, and Louis’ just finding the online live
broadcast of it when there’s a knock on his office door. Harry walks in without waiting for an
answer, though, smiles hesitantly at Louis. His hands are pulling at the sleeves of his hoodie.

“Y’alright, Haz?” Louis asks.

Harry shrugs a shoulder. “Today’s the day they’re playing my song. And then- then I’m being put
on the line, and Nick’s going to talk to me. Only for a minute, but-”

Louis gives a small smile. “I know, I’m getting Nick’s show up right now, actually.”

Of all things, it makes Harry blush. Louis lives for it. “You were gonna listen?”

Louis nods, still smiling slightly.

“Oh. Yeah, I mean, you did a lot of work on it, so. But- d’you mind if I stay here? Like, for the
show? I- I don’t want to listen alone.”

Harry not wanting to listen to it alone doesn’t immediately lead to him having to listen to it with
Louis. There are countless other options, but apparently Louis’ the top one.

Fuck, it feels good.

“Sam got me the show’s itinerary, did you see that?” Louis asks. Harry shakes his head. “Oh.
Well, Sam’s proper resourceful, probably got it through Satan himself, or something. But,
anyway, Something Great is set to be played at 10:23am exactly.”

“That’s ages away,” Harry pouts, probably only half-joking.

Louis smiles. “We’ll manage to entertain ourselves, right?”

It could’ve probably passed as a double entendre, but what they actually end up doing is playing
one of the lyric games they’d come up with during their runs.

“All I needed was sex and question marks."

Harry scrunches his mouth to the side. "Turn my stupid question marks into simple candy canes."

"You were simple, you were light, when we thought like little kids," Louis replies, hoping Harry
doesn't notice the tweak.

Harry clears his throat. "I win," he says.

Louis raises his eyebrows, surprised he was caught out. "How?"

"The lyric is you were simpler, you were lighter. Not simple and light. So."
Louis wonders what it means when he knows neither of them had listened to The Antlers when
they were together. That they both must've found and consumed that album independently since
then. Harry must've listened to it quite a bit, if he was able to correct a relatively small mistake in
lyrics. Maybe as much as Louis did. Louis wonders how much their music tastes have aligned
over the years.

"Didn't think you'd catch that," he smiles.

Harry gasps. "You said it wrong on purpose? You cheated ?"

Louis cackles. "You can't be surprised."

"'m not," Harry says, biting his smiling lip.

Louis’ always been good at distracting Harry, he knows that, but he’s trying extra hard this
morning. By the time Nick’s leading up to the debut, he hardly looks nervous at all, though he
does grab at Louis’ wrist when the first note plays out.

“I know it doesn’t actually sound different to when I’ve listened to it before,” Harry says after a
few moments. “But it sounds like it does.”

Louis snorts out a soft laugh, but doesn’t reply. Soon, Harry’s talking again.

“They’re giving me so much media training. I know I won’t have to use most of it, cuz the
interview’s gonna be like, five seconds long, but I’m still. I dunno. I don’t know how to act.”

“Acting like yourself has got you this far,” Louis says. “Doubt it’ll fail you now.”

Harry smiles, knocks his shoulder against Louis’.

But. When the time comes, it doesn’t really feel like Harry takes that advice.

Louis knows Harry, and he even sort of knows Harry-around-Nick, and this is neither of those
things.

His answers are fine, gratefulness for the label and excitement for things to come, but working in
this industry they’re answers Louis’ heard a thousand times before. He’s not sure why he feels so
viciously disappointed, but he does.

Nick’s a great DJ, and he clearly tries to capitalise on the fact that he has some rapport with Harry,
some past, to make Harry stand out from the crowds of newcomers. Harry swerves each attempt,
though, like he wants it to be impersonal.

"And do we have a story behind the song?" Nick asks at one point, and Harry says, with an ironic
laugh in his voice,

"It's whatever you want it to be, isn't that the thing about art," which is charming and stylish and
endearing, but still very much a non-answer, still worlds away from the Harry who could spend
five minutes describing the interior of the fucking café he first had the idea for the song in, if
someone showed the slightest interest.

What’s worst is that when it’s over, Harry looks- satisfied. Looks like he thinks it went well. And
it didn’t not go well, Louis supposes, Harry even had some moments of genuine wit, but. But…
It wasn’t Harry, Louis doesn’t think, and he knows he’s not the expert he once was, but the Harry
he just listened to was ambiguous and vague and closed off, and the only other time Louis’ seen
Harry so distant was in the way he treated Louis himself when he first got signed, when he had
plenty of reason to be. Even this new him wouldn’t act like that with no reason, and the old him
would probably never do it even if he had all the reason in the world. It’s. It’s too drastic a change
to handle.

And he can’t not talk about it. “What- what was that?” Louis asks, and God, it already sounds
confrontational.

Harry turns to him with a small frown. “What do you mean?”

Louis shrugs. “I dunno, I mean the way you talked to Nick there, I guess.”

“What about it?” Harry asks, and it’s defensive enough that Louis realises Harry knows exactly
what he’s getting at.

Might as well come out with it, then. “You were so closed off, Harry. Like- that wasn’t you.”

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up. “Uh, you’re definitely not the person who gets to decide what is and
isn’t me.”

“Fuck, I know, that’s not what I mean,” Louis says, and this is something he remembers well,
Harry’s ability to flip an argument around, put Louis on the defensive when it’s meant to be Harry
getting called out. “I just mean that, that. Well, I guess I think of you as more forthcoming than
you were on that?”

Harry just shrugs, but Louis can’t let it go, now. He doesn’t know why, he just refuses to believe
that he’s this off in his opinion of Harry, that Harry’s changed that much in the past almost five
years.

“No, Harry, I’m not gonna let you- that’s your first interview, are you really gonna be like that for
your whole career? You’re not gonna, like- your openness is one of the best things about you,
your earnestness and, and lack of self-doubt, and I can’t see you give that up. It’d be fucking
awful-”

Harry snaps. "Fuck you, Louis,” he says, voice instantly louder than either of them have been
previously.

“What?” Louis asks, genuinely taken aback.

“You don't get to judge me for this,” Harry says, and he’s not talking slowly, which is what makes
Louis realise that shit, he’s properly pissed off right now. “This is how I cope, okay, because it
might have taken me too long but I know now that- I couldn't survive being the Harry you knew, I
couldn't be happy and open and trusting and fucking naïve, okay, even if you do think that’s like,
the best thing about me. You can't say shit, because you're the one who taught me that.” Even
through the shock, Louis feels a massive weight of guilt settle in. Harry doesn’t slow down for a
second, and Louis wonders if this is something he’s been waiting to say. “You fucked me up,
Louis, no one else, you. And you don’t get a say in how I deal with that. You don’t get to fucking
judge me for how I cope."

Technically, there’s enough time between Harry stopping talking and Harry leaving the room for
Louis to reply, but it doesn’t feel like it. He doesn’t say anything. He lets the door slam shut and
wonders if he’ll ever stop being blindsided by Harry Styles.
Chapter End Notes

Hey! Once again, here is the tumblr post which i'd be massively grateful if you'd
want to reblog! it also obviously doubles as a link to my tumblr, if any of you guys
wanna talk :)

as always, cannot thank you enough for all your kind words! they mean so much to
me and are such great encouragement in my writing.

So, this is my final week off before school starts, and as I've previously mentioned the
deadline for another fic I've decided to do is looming. I still hope to stick to the
chapter a week rule, but am self aware enough to realise that's probably wishful
thinking. Still though, one can dream etc..

Also this is slightly unorthodox, but desperate times call for desperate measures and
all: I need help identifying a fic I read ages ago! I don't think it was particularly
widely read, and it could be like, 3/4 years old, and I don't think the author wrote
anything other than the 2 fics in that series. Pretty sure it said it was a howl's moving
castle au? featured louis as a temperamental powerful witch/magician/idk living in a
magical house with niall and/or zayn and/or liam, and harry as an equally
temperamental prince who he was having an affair with. they fought a lot but loved
each other a lot and it was great. i don't wanna give too much away, but i'm
wondering if it rings any bells with anyone? Thank you!
 Chapter 9
Chapter Notes

a person capable of rational thought, who just wants the best for me: don't you think
you should cut down on some of the dialogue?
me, someone with no foresight or self control: no :)

anyway! this chapter is dedicates to ao3 users polishsausages and gmindgutterg, for
telling me that the series i was talking about last chapter is: a call to arms by
truefrooms. the characterisations are sort of eccentric, but i'd still recommend reading
if any of you are interested! although i would warn for a few occasions of casual
sexism. also, it's from 2012, so a period typical depiction of a food-obsessed niall.

once again, because i can't stress it enough, this isn't supposed to be an accurate
representation of the music industry. in this fic music publishers don't even exist,
apparently. a suspension of disbelief is appreciated.

anyway, hope you guys enjoy this :)

(3092)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Harry asked him out in the aftermath of one of their biggest fights. Said, do you wanna be my
boyfriend? while Louis’ chest was still heaving, trying to catch his breath from his rant, and it had
felt completely natural. Louis doesn’t remember what he said, exactly, but he doesn’t suppose it
matters. They were boyfriends, then.

They were sixteen, and the fight had started when Louis asked Harry if he wanted more friends, if
he wanted to branch out. It started off by Louis feeling insecure over the ridiculous amount of time
they spent alone together, and how even when they weren’t alone together, it sometimes still felt
like just them. Louis said, this just isn’t how friends are supposed to be, and Harry said, then
maybe we’re not supposed to be just friends.

The point is, fighting with Harry never goes where Louis would expect. Sometimes- like sixteen-
year-old Harry asking him out- that’s a good thing, and sometimes- twenty-one-year-old Harry
going to Berlin for three days- that’s a bad thing.

When Harry shows up at Louis’ flat at 2am the night of their fight, Louis’ not sure which it’s
going to be. Louis’ nervous, and being uncaffeinated, sleep deprived, and in nothing but a t-shirt
and boxers makes him feel vulnerable.

Harry looks vulnerable too, weak from lack of sleep, and that’s some consolation. “Can I come
in?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe and looking pained.

Louis pauses longer than he should. “‘Course,” he says eventually, nods and steps back. Harry
follows him silently into the kitchen, where, almost instinctively, Louis puts the kettle on.

“Tea?” he asks. “Think I’ve got some herbal stuff somewhere.” It’s left over from when Aiden
was around, but Louis doesn’t say that.
“Black’s fine,” Harry says, from where he’s sitting by the island. Louis refuses to act surprised. So
the fuck what if Harry’s got a different taste in tea. So what if Louis’ own one hasn’t changed
even slightly.

He pulls out the teabags, and then two cups. The kettle’s not ready yet. Louis takes a deep breath,
and turns around.

“Hey,” he says, soft.

Harry looks up from where he’s been staring at his lap, folded hands on folded legs. “Hey,” he
says. Closes his eyes for a moment, and speaks: “I wanted to, like, apologise. I freaked out this
morning, and I just-”

“You don’t have to say sorry,” Louis interrupts, and is so glad he’s so neatly been handed the
chance to give the apology he’s been practicing for hours. “And I’m not just saying that. You
were completely in the right when you got angry, I- I can’t act like I know you, or know how you
should act, or whatever it was I was doing this morning. You’ve changed, and I-”

“I know I’ve changed, but I can’t blame it on you. You’re not the only person who’s-” Harry
takes a deep breath, and Louis stays quiet, scared to interrupt. He’s not sure what’s coming.

“It’s been four years, Lou. I can’t keep blaming my problems on you, I’ve got to take ownership.
If I find it more difficult to trust, and to be open- it’s my own fault.”

“Harry-” The honesty is beautiful, but the look on Harry’s face- scared, cut open- makes Louis
want to tell him you don't have to.

“No, seriously. I put myself through shit, and shitty relationships, and I knew I was doing it. I
didn’t- I liked the people I was with, maybe loved them, but I think I knew I was picking assholes.
I think, like, maybe a part of me didn’t want it to last, but I didn’t want it to be my fault. Like, no
one could blame me for breaking up with them, given that they were fuckwits, and so no one
could say I wasn’t trying. But, fuck. I thought- I thought I was in control, y’know, I thought the
fact that, like, I knew when they were fucking up would stop it hurting, which is so goddamned
stupid, but just...”

Given that he’s one of them, it’s entirely unjustified for Louis to feel this urge to hurt all of Harry’s
exes who’ve ever hurt him. He’s not completely sure why Harry’s telling him, but it feels like a
good thing. Harry telling him anything feels like a good thing, given how often Louis feels left in
the dark.

The kettle dings. As Louis turns around to make the tea, he says: “It’s not stupid. If they-” we- “-
hurt you, that’s- you shouldn’t blame yourself.”

“I shouldn’t blame you, either, though, fuck.” Louis can’t see Harry, but he imagines him shaking
his head, frustrated. “What- what I’m trying to say is, I’ve had this whole life, since you, and I’ve
had all these different experiences and I’ve met all these different people, and my life’s been good,
it has, but there’ve been shit bits too, and I can’t keep linking things I do back to you. It’s not fair.
Especially- I always, God, I was so self-absorbed, about the breakup, I kept thinking about how
much you hurt me, and I guess I never really let that go, but when you said…”

Louis walks to the other side of the kitchen island, and places the cup of tea beside Harry. It’s the
closest they’ve been all night, and for a moment they just look at each other.

Then Louis takes the neighbouring stool, facing away, and Harry clears his throat. “What you told
me about- about your dad, and about him trying to get back in contact, and how you didn’t even
feel like you could fucking talk to me about it, it’s like. God, it makes me feel sick knowing you
went through that alone. I know it must’ve been hard for you, too. I know that. I can’t blame you
for everything.”

Louis shakes his head. Harry’s words are too sweet not to argue against. “Even if it’s not my fault
that you’re more reserved, it’s not something I should judge you for, either. Saying your openness
is one of the best things about you is uncalled for... who you are now is great, is enough, and I
don’t want you to doubt that. Especially- you were on a fucking radio show, you didn’t owe the
listeners anything, you didn’t have to be open, I dunno why I reacted the way I did-”

“I get it. It’s scary,” Harry says. Louis looks up at him, questioning. “Not- not feeling like I know
you. It’s sort of scary. I’m not used to it. I get why it threw you off, me not being the way I used to
be.”

Louis sighs. It's true, as little as he wants to admit it. His discomfort with Harry's conduct was less
to do with any worry for the guy, and more just a selfish hatred of seeing how much he's changed.
It throws him off, how easily Harry can translate that.

He didn’t expect any of this, didn’t expect Harry showing up, didn’t expect him apologising, and
certainly didn’t expect him to be this willing to talk about his feelings, his past. It’s unexplored
territory, and Louis’ entirely overwhelmed.

But it’s a good overwhelmed. It feels like progress, the kind Louis had secretly hoped for since
their fight that morning, which felt more honest than any previous exchange between them.

“Not knowing you isn’t something I hate, though,” Louis says, turning to look at Harry. “I didn't
think that I’d ever have the chance to get to know you again.”

Harry holds eye contact silently for a few moments, leaning slightly closer. “I’m not sure I ever
really believed we were out of each other’s lives for good.”

Louis wants to reply, because it’s not the sort of comment he can ignore, but Harry kisses him.
Kisses him soft and imploring, as always like he’s trying to prove something. Louis hopes his own
kiss tastes like comfort, like reassurance, that Harry can read the we’re fine off his lips.

He brings his hand up to cradle Harry’s jaw, pulls away to press kisses across his face, cheek and
nose and chin and forehead. Harry doesn’t let it last long, pushing back into Louis’ lips pretty
promptly. It’s not innocent- though Louis’ not sure it ever is-, Harry coaxing his tongue into
Louis’ mouth, deep and dirty.

Louis doesn’t know where it’s coming from; the heat feels incongruous and unexpected, after the
quiet of confessions and honesty, and he hates to think it’s calculated. Hates to think Harry’s
trying to cancel out the sincerity with sex.

Soon he can hardly think at all, because intentional or not, Harry’s good at this, hands clasping at
Louis’ hips, sliding round to the small of his back, making Louis feel jumpy and needy and out of
control. He’s hot, all of a sudden, from Harry’s mouth and fingers, his thigh pressing into the
inside of Louis’, spreading it out.

“God,” Louis says, almost unintentionally, “y’could make me do fucking anything, couldn’t
you?”

Harry’s laugh is hoarse and unreadable. “Nothing you don’t want,” he murmurs, biting at Louis’
ear.

“Easy to say when you know I want everything,” Louis replies, relying on residual honesty from
earlier. Harry kisses him again, deep and demanding, and stands up off the barstool. He pushes
hard enough that Louis’ forced to follow, his back cutting into the edge of the island.

Harry’s hand starts teasing at the waistband of Louis’ boxers, because yeah, that’s all he’s wearing
on his lower half, the rising goosebumps on his legs obvious. Suddenly the rush of vulnerability
from when he first saw Harry that night returns, and though sex is usually a circumstance under
which he’s okay with giving up control, right now he desperately needs it back. Needs to know
his body, his mind, isn’t just incessantly bending to Harry’s every whim. Even if it feels fucking
amazing when it does.

Harry’s pulled away from Louis’ mouth to suck at his neck, and Louis uses that opportunity to
say, “have you looked at the response to the single?”

Harry pauses, then laughs. “Took me longer than it should to work out what you meant by that.”

That’s all the answer he gives, though, going back to kissing at Louis, any skin he can get, and it’s
deliberate, Louis can feel it, and the heat’s making him shake, but he doesn't give in yet. “D’you
know how it’s doing, though?”

Harry pulls back, presses his forehead to Louis’ shoulder for a second before standing up straight.
His hands stay on Louis’ hips. “Don’t know what to do with you turning down sex, Lou. Can’t
say I’m used to it.”

Louis blushes, even as he shrugs. “I’m not the one night stand type. I’ve gotten good at going
without, when I need to.” Before Harry can make any more comments, he adds, smiling: “ so ...
about that single?”

Harry laughs, as if admitting defeat. “I haven’t actually checked anything. I wouldn’t really know
where to start, and anyway, I was sort of- distracted.”

Louis thinks about how tired Harry looks. Wonders how much time he spent working over the
apology, going over the fight.

But this, he can do. Talking to Harry about how the industry works is safe, and gives him the
control he needs. “There’s not really any way for you to know for certain, but we have people for
that, to work out the statistics and play time and all, and I bet any money Niall’s already talked to
them.” Despite jokes about poaching Ed from his management, Louis’ pretty sure Niall doesn’t
have any other clients, and thus has the time to act as lawyer, agent, PR representative, label
liaison, and probably mother to Harry- on top of all his managerial/best friend duties.

“He did leave, like, a fifteen minute voicemail a few hours ago.”

Louis laughs. “Liam’s sent me a lot of texts saying the response is good- he’s following it on
twitter, and there’ve been quite a few requests.”

Harry positively beams, and he may still be standing between Louis’ thighs, their chest may
almost be flush against each other’s, and Louis’ cock may still be slightly hard, but it feels like the
sex isn’t going to happen. And Louis fucking loves sex with Harry, craves it, most of the time, so
he doesn’t know why that feels like a relief.

“There’ll probably be a meeting at some point tomorrow to give you the rundown, and they’ll
have the real figures.”

“Will you be there?” Harry asks.

Louis gives a small laugh. “Nah, probably not. Just a lowly songwriter, me.”
Harry frowns. “You’re a great songwriter,” he says, and Louis feels warm, feels like he’s about to
sweat through his thin clothes in a relatively cool kitchen.

“Regardless of my talent, there’s no need for me at a meeting when the song’s already written.”

Harry nods, looking- disappointed, maybe. Another burst of warmth goes off in Louis’ chest, and
he wonders how many more he can take. “You won’t need me there,” he says. “Niall’ll be there,
he’ll protect you. You nervous?”

Harry takes a deep breath. “Not when I’m not thinking about it,” he says- and maybe that’s why
he wanted to get off, Louis thinks. Maybe it was just to take his mind off the pressure of a newly
released single. Maybe Louis’ just being paranoid, thinking the sudden sexual turn was some
tactic to put an end to communication.

“I’m only gonna let you be nervous if you’re proud of yourself, too,” Louis says, and he doesn’t
let himself think about how sappy he might sound.

Harry smiles, buries it in Louis’ chest, and there’s that warmth again. Fucking inescapable.
“Serious,” Louis continues, “Public reception and radio play and all aren’t exactly my area of
expertise, but I still- I was with you on this, y’know? I saw how much work you put into that
song, and I saw how amazingly that song grew under your care, and that’s more than enough
reason for you to be happy.”

Harry kisses him, again. Louis sighs, and when he kisses back it definitely feels like giving in.

In the aftermath of that night, Louis keeps an eye out for any change in his and Harry’s
relationship. Their conversation felt like a breakthrough, and surely that must be reflected in how
they treat each other. Surely they can’t stay the same, after being so open, so willing to share.

And it’s not like any changes exactly jump out, but Louis’ willing to give it time- maybe the
changes are subtle. Besides, there’s not very much material for him to evaluate: Harry’s been
meeting with PR and media training and music lawyers, keeping him out of Direction. Their
interactions are less frequent than ever before, including when they wanted to avoid each other.

It’s not something Louis can resent- if anything, it’s something he celebrates. A busy musician is a
successful musician, and Harry’s success has been fucking stratospheric. Louis’ not involved in
that side of the business, evaluating single sales or social media mentions or radio play, but he
doesn’t need to be a professional to know when a song’s a hit. He’s heard it five times in public,
now, and he’s pretty sure the kid beside him on the tube yesterday was trying to hum it. Even if he
doesn’t admit it aloud, doesn’t feel like he has a right to, Louis is proud.

So, yeah, while he misses Harry, it’s an absence he can handle.

Maybe a small part of him still feels reawakened when he sees Harry outside his office the next
Tuesday morning, though.

“Harry,” he says, like it’s synonymous for great to see you, and isn’t too proud to rush his final
steps closer to the bench on which Harry’s a regular guest. “Hey, you alright?”

Harry nods, standing up, and Louis’ smile widens when he sees Harry’s do the same. “Yeah, just-
free schedule this morning, thought we could catch up.” He sounds sort of nervous, and the hand
running through his hair confirms it. “You could tell me about any major life events that’ve
happened in the past few days, y’know? If you’ve been heartless and gone running without me.”
Even if the mention was only tangential and humorous, the fact that Harry’s noticed their time
apart is a massive reassurance.

Louis thinks it would draw in real money, if a betting pool was made about which of them was
most likely to stop smiling first. Hard to tell. “Never,” he says, and he’s sort of joking but also not,
because running without Harry sounds like a ridiculous concept, even if Harry’s been too tired for
Louis to let him take part the last few days.

“Just thought I’d check,” Harry shrugs, but there's a secreted smile there, Louis’ sure. “Anyway,
like, I know it’s short notice, but if you are free for, like, just talking, or something-”

“I’m not due anywhere till half twelve,” Louis says. He’s only come in this early to work on some
songs in his own time. Harry might have a hectic schedule, but Louis’ busy too- Little Mix have
just come back from their tour, and work on the fourth album’s finally beginning.

But Harry doesn’t need to know about that. Louis’ already made good progress; he can put off
writing for a while.

They make their way into Louis’ (and Liam’s) office, sitting on either side of the couch. “So
what’s new with you, popstar?” Louis asks, and revels in the smile it elicits. “How’s the life of the
rich and famous?”

“Not so sure about the first one, have yet to get my first pay check. And, uh, yeah, may need to
get back to you on the second one, too.” It’s said with a half-smile, and God, Louis’ powerless.

“No mad fan encounters yet?” he probes, because he has been sort of curious, has been mildly
resentful of being cut off from Harry’s life as it enters this entirely new chapter. “No one throwing
knickers or breaking into your flat?”

Harry laughs, shakes his head. “You say it like it’s inevitable,” he says, “but no. That’s actually-
it’s sort of scary, I… Like, before I got signed, I did have a bit of a following. Like, really small,
just some groups of people who’d come to my gigs and stuff. But even though they’d, like, buy
me drinks and compliment my music, or whatever, I never really- I didn’t think of them as fans.
There’s something sort of hierarchical, about the concept of having fans? Like, I’m the one
supplying them with something, therefore I’m the one with the power, but the people who used to
talk to me after shows just felt like- equals, kind of. Like the fact that they liked my music is sort of
incidental.”

Louis nods. “That makes sense,” he says, because it does, even if Harry looks sort of frustrated at
his own attempts at communication.

“Yeah? Well, so they’ve been training me, on how to do- pretty much everything, actually, are
probably gonna tell me I have to learn to be left handed, or something, but- yesterday they were
talking to me about how I have to behave if someone, like, comes up to me on the street, and fuck-
Lou, that could happen. That could really happen, any day now. My photo is out there, and stuff,
like- people know who I am, and it’s just- it’s just-”

His words are speeding up and his body’s getting tenser, and both of these things are only
happening to a minor degree, but they instantly remind Louis of the build up to the attacks Harry
used to get, before a test or a performance or if he felt like people didn’t like him.

“That make you nervous?” Louis asks, going for soothing, hoping to talk Harry down from it
before it gets worse.
Harry inhales deeply. “Fuck, yeah, I just- just don’t know what I should do. It’s not like I’ve ever
done an... autograph before.”

Louis lets himself give a small laugh, makes sure it doesn’t sound mocking. “Pretty sure that’s not
true, Curls,” he says. “Pretty sure I remember you practising quite a few different signatures in
your school copies. And on newspapers. And in your journal.”

Harry laughs, and that’s good, that’s progress. “Yeah, but I’ve never- never given someone my
autograph. I’ve never done it because someone asked.”

Louis’ pause is minute. “Give me one, then,” he says.

“What?” Harry’s already smiling, though, clearly gets what Louis means. His breathing seems
normal, now.

“C’mon, sign me something. Let me be your first autograph.” Makes sense, given that I was your
first fan, Louis somehow resists saying.

“Serious?” Harry asks, and yes, Louis is serious, but God, why? Why does he do shit like this,
why does he make his feelings so obvious? Does he have no self-preservation at all?

Not the problem at hand. “I never joke about my autograph hunting,” Louis says, rummaging
through his suitcase. “So please, Mr. Styles, would you sign this for me?”

He brandishes an unfolded, empty cigarette pack, the inside of which is the only unmarked piece
of paper he has.

Harry grins, even as his eyebrows raise. “Why do you have that?”

Louis bursts out laughing at the slight indignation in Harry’s voice. “You're like a prison guard,
Haz, chill out, I haven't had a smoke in 103 days, now-” according to the app Harry made him
download that Louis’ grown to hate, but doesn't have the heart to delete- “just never clean out this
bag. Could have a twenty third birthday card in it still, probably.”

“What did you do for your twenty third birthday?” Harry blurts almost instantly, so obviously
unplanned he looks vaguely shocked.

Louis clears his throat, gives a small laugh. “Liam threw me a surprise party.”

Harry's eyebrows rise. “Seriously?”

Louis nods, groaning. “Yeah, I know. The best present I got that year was Liam promising to
never do it again.”

Harry laughs, big and happy and rewarding, and no further explanation is needed; of course Harry
knows why Louis would hate that, of course he doesn't have to ask.

Louis waves the deconstructed cardboard in the air. “Anyway,” he says, “stop trying to distract
me. I'm gonna get that autograph if it's the last thing I do.” He's being over the top, he knows, but
he can't restrain his need to just make Harry feel good, feel warm and appreciated and happy.
How Louis always wants him.

Harry's faint blush is enough, as he reaches over to Louis’ nearby desk and grabs a pen. They
both laugh, for some reason slightly nervously, when he touches it to the proffered paper only to
find it doesn't work. He takes another pen from the desk, and mercifully, when he brings it to the
paper, words form beneath the nib.
To Lou, thanks for all your support, love Harry Styles. A pause, and then an added x.

The paper's support is only Louis’ thigh, and Louis wonders if that's the reason the lettering comes
out slightly shaky.

“Brilliant,” Louis nods. “Prized possession, this. Don't know whether to frame it or sell it on
eBay.” Probably it'll end up somewhere even more embarrassing, under his pillow or in a
scrapbook he steals from one of his sisters.

He only looks away from the letters to look at Harry’s face. His expression is too awed, too open,
and Louis doesn’t know if he’s trying to encourage it or distract it when he says, “how ‘bout a
selfie as well, for good measure? Reckon you'll need plenty of practice for them. Deciding on
your signature look, and all.”

Harry agrees, and in the last moment before Louis takes the picture, he turns his head and kisses
Louis on the cheek.

(That evening, Louis spends ten minutes staring at the image, and hates himself for having too
much pride to transfer it to his laptop. His phone screen is definitely too small to do it justice.)

They spend another half hour talking lazily, Harry telling him about all his new experiences and
Louis catching him up on any new staff room gossip, before it devolves into more abstract topics
any outsider would probably struggle to follow. They only stop when Harry’s phone beeps, which
he says signals a half hour to his next meeting.

“You set alarms for your meetings, H?” Louis asks, laughing. “You're a good little popstar, aren't
you?”

“Fuck off,” Harry grins. “Not usually, just- just thought I might end up forgetting about it this
time. Thought I might be distracted.”

Louis bites the inside of his cheek to stop his smile getting too smug, and waves Harry off,
satisfied.

He slumps back down against the couch once the door closes, feeling like he needs a Harry
recovery period before he gets into the writing he'd already assigned himself for this morning.

Encounters like that are good, and sweet and uplifting, but Louis’ not looking for good and sweet
and uplifting, or at least, that’s not all he’s looking for. It’s hard to appreciate the better times when
he doesn’t know what motivation lies beneath them. What was Harry thinking when he kissed
Louis’ cheek, when he played along like that, when he set an alarm because he finds Louis
distracting? What was he thinking when he waited outside Louis’ office in the first place? It
wasn’t sexual, but it was too intimate to be purely friendly. Louis wonders if Harry put thought
into that encounter, if it’s part of what he wants in the long term. He wonders if Harry walked
away from the office cursing himself, regretting encouraging a relationship that, last time Louis
checked, he thought was dangerous to rekindle. Wonders, and in a strange way this hurts most of
all, if Harry didn’t actually think anything of that exchange, if it had no deep cutting or long
lasting impression at all.

He can’t tell if he’s grateful or not when his thoughts are cut short by a knock on the door, Sam
sticking his head through once Louis grants permission to enter.

“Hey, Lou, I just wanted to tell you that Julian’s requested a meeting for Thursday?“ Louis sits up
straight, indicating for Sam to continue, though it takes some self discipline. He's not particularly
up for it. “I accepted on your behalf because it seemed important, and it’s in your calendar already
so you’ll get the notification, but I thought I should let you know.”

Louis nods, sighing at the reminder of work. He’s not sure he’s in the right head space. “Sure.
D’you know what it’s about? Which artist?”

Sam shakes his head. “He didn’t say. But- it will just be the two of you. He said that.”

Louis’ grateful for his impressive poker face, doesn’t think his expression changes as he thanks
Sam and lets him get back to his job. As soon as the door closes, he runs his hands through his
hair, messing it up, an outlet for the sudden burst of energy.

A one on one meeting. Oh God.

He’s probably not in trouble, or he’s sure he’d have heard from Julian directly, and immediately.
Although- Julian’s always been a planner, and Thursday’s only four days away. Seems soon to be
setting the meeting.

Then again, it’s possible the meeting time was established quite a while ago, and this is just the
first Louis’ heard of it. Sam has long since learnt the only way to properly communicate with
Louis is face to face, and Louis’ hasn’t really been showing his face ‘round these parts recently.

Specifically, his and Liam’s office. It’s just been sort of awkward, since their maybe-confrontation
over Harry. Louis knows Liam means well, and he also knows Liam would be more than willing
to completely ignore Harry’s presence (and his doubts surrounding it) in all future conversations.
The problem is that Louis doesn’t think he’d be able for that. Being around Liam only makes him
think of what Liam said, and how maybe he's right, how maybe Louis' being reckless.

Anyway. Anyway, he’s got a meeting with Julian, and that could maybe possibly be about a
promotion. Louis’ pretty much known it’s coming for a while, now, but it’s never felt so real.
Fuck, if he was the sort of person to have champagne in his office, he’d probably risk a glass.

If nothing else, it’s a welcome distraction, especially given that he probably won’t be seeing Harry
for at least another few days.

He sees Harry that evening. He’s in the lift, going down, and when it gets to the third floor the
doors open and Harry walks through. They smile at each other, both seemingly too tired for
proper greetings. Harry steps behind Louis, presumably leaning against the mirrored wall.

Louis sort of hates his brain for knowing Harry’s preferred lift stance.

Then, as soon as the doors close: "do you have toys?" Harry asks.

His voice sounds playful, but Louis’ not sure what he’s getting at. "What?"

"Well, you said you weren't sleeping around all that often,” Harry says, the slowness of his voice
sounding lethal, “but I know you'd still be getting yourself off.”

There’s almost instant arousal centring in Louis’ cock, his tummy, drawing strength from the rest
of his body till he feels slightly unsteady. The curiosity in Harry’s voice is so obviously feigned,
the words so obviously deliberate. Harry wants a reaction out of Louis, wants to know what he
can do to Louis, and Louis thrives off the attention.

“And you've got high standards,” Harry’s saying, his voice getting closer, till Louis imagines he
can feel the heat off him. “You're not easy. Wanking wouldn't be enough, so I was thinking, like,
you must have toys?"

The meeting in the lift is obviously chance, but Harry’s words aren’t incidental. Louis wonders if
Harry was going to seek him out, if, despite his obvious tiredness, he might show up to Louis’ flat
again. Or maybe- if it is just dirty talk- he’d call Louis from his own bed, if they’d get off like that.

“What, are you shy all of a sudden?” Harry laughs, and Louis realises he’s expected to take part in
this, that it’s not one sided. He knows Harry’s handing him a prime opportunity to tease, to keep
Harry guessing, and he knows that that’s probably what Harry wants.

Something makes him hesitate, and when the doors slide open on the ground floor, Niall’s in the
lobby.

“Heya, Ni,” Louis says- shouts, nearly, God-, his voice fucking manic.

Maybe Harry thinks that diverting the conversation by getting an innocent third party involved is
Louis’ form of teasing, because he just laughs. “Fucking hell, Louis,” he says. “Really?”

Louis can’t help but laugh as well, feeling lighter when he turns to see the vaguely disgruntled
smile on Harry’s face. He doesn’t know how he forgot that, that there’s never any pressure with
Harry, that he doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to.

Louis spends the rest of the evening trying to figure out why he didn’t want to. Why there was
some small drop of fear mixed in with the arousal, and excitement, and endearment.

Sex with Harry isn’t something Louis wants to stop. Sex with Harry isn’t dangerous at all. Harry’s
always respectful, and loving, and never makes Louis feel weird or used or unsure, the way he did
the few times he did try out one night stands. Harry makes jokes during sex, and laughs at Louis’,
and plays with Louis’ hair and cuddles him and brings him wet cloths from the ensuite. Harry
stays over and makes fucking breakfast.

But Harry also- two times, now- tried to initiate sex pretty much out of nowhere in the aftermath
of an emotionally open exchange with Louis.

Louis likes fucking Harry, yes, but he doesn’t like it when it’s a means to distract from the
feelings. And he knows that that theory’s a bit of a stretch; given how little time they’ve been
spending together, this is actually the longest they’ve gone without having sex since they started
sleeping with each other. It’s not like it’s suspicious for Harry to want to once he has the chance,
it’s just-

Well. Louis doesn’t know what Harry wants, does he? Because they don’t talk- not about that and
not about anything, and when they do broach something marginally meaningful, it’s full of bitten
tongues and half-formed thoughts, leaving Louis with more questions than answers. In the
absence of any real understanding, Louis can’t stop himself from entertaining every doubt.

He doesn’t see Harry for another four days, though they do text, and Louis feels- feels unsatisfied,
like there’s one clue still unanswered from yesterday’s crossword, or he didn’t get to see the end
of a film. He’s waiting for something.

It comes unexpectedly, and starts with Tracy from A&R. Tracy had started the same time as Louis
at Direction, so despite their different departments they’d always shared some sense of
camaraderie.

He hasn’t talked to her in quite a while, and when he hears a “hey, Lou!” from behind him when
he’s getting water from the cooler, he turns around with a genuine smile.

“Hey Trace,” he says. “How’ve you been?”

She pulls a so-so face. “Busy,” she says, before gaining a grin. “Heard from Natasha you’re in for
that promotion, finally.”

Louis bites back his smile. “That what the A&R folk are gossiping about now?”

She laughs. “Don’t appreciate the patronizing tone. You’ll be one of us, soon enough.”

Any chances of holding back his pleased smile evaporates. “You- is that just, rumour, or…?”

Tracy frowns. “You have that meeting with Julian, right?”

Louis nods. “Today, actually. He didn’t tell me why, though. I don’t want to read into it.” He’s
struggling to think of anything other than the promotion that the meeting could be about, but he
knows that’s just because of his own preoccupation with the idea. He’s sure there are plenty of
other just-as-likely scenarios.

“You don’t have to. His assistant has a notoriously loose tongue, which you’ll hear all about once
you’re on our side. Anyway, Lee- his assistant- says you’re gonna be a recruiter, after this
meeting.”

“Fuck,” Louis says, leaning against the wall, and Tracy laughs.

“You really didn’t know, did you?” she asks.

Louis shakes his head. “Like- it’s not like it’s out of the blue, or anything, but just- I dunno. I feel
like I’ve built it up so much in my head I don’t know how to handle it.”

“Babe, it’s not like you’re moving to a foreign country. You know us all, anyway-”

“Knowing you is different to working with you, though,” Louis says, because yeah, that is one of
his newer insecurities. He’s formed a comforting rapport with all the people he works with now,
and it’s not like he’s never gonna see them again, but it’s not gonna be as intense or frequent as it
has been the past three years. There’s a whole new set of people to acclimatise himself with, and
he’s always been a bit too stubborn to be adaptable.

“Is that your way of telling me you’re a nightmare to work with?”

“Exactly,” Louis nods, “I’ll steal all your paperclips for my own personal use.”

Tracy laughs again, and Louis knows she’s a giggly person in general, but it doesn’t stop it from
being gratifying.

With all his Harry related neuroses, his weird guilt over “stealing” Niall from Harry, and the
tension between him and Liam, as well as his gradual loss of contact with any non-work related
friends, it’s people like Tracy he’s grateful for. Nice, neutral, friendly faces, not pulling at any of
the ever-tangling strings of his personal life. Talking to her is easy, and ease is something Louis is
in short supply of, recently.
“Well,” she says, “before we have all that bad blood between us, me and a few of the guys from
A&R are going out tomorrow? You could definitely come. You know most of them anyway, it’s
Andy and Sara and Charlie, a few others too, probably. We’re gonna have a kickabout in the
park, then go for some drinks?”

Louis knows Andy and Charlie from the local soccer team he used to play with, so the idea’s not
surprising.

Before he can accept, though, a nearby figure catches his eye. “Harry!” he says, and it’s not
anything other than instinct.

Harry looks sort of awkward as they make eye contact across the corridor, like he’s not sure he
should approach. Louis waves him over, and again, it’s not something he actually thinks about.
Just does.

Tracy looks sort of surprised, but Louis doesn’t worry. “Trace, this is Harry,” he says, once
Harry’s nearby. Harry smiles, and Louis suspects the awkwardness of it isn’t something Tracy
could pick up on.

“Yeah, I’ve heard about you,” she says, grinning, and that better not be flirting, Louis thinks.

Harry just shrugs, though, doesn’t encourage it the way he’s prone to do, and that’s more of a
relief than it should be.

“So what are you doing ‘round here, Haz? Thought you’d been exiled from these parts?” Louis
hasn’t seen Harry near a recording studio in ages, too preoccupied with promo for the single.

“Meeting with Liam,” Harry says, but offers no further explanation. He looks wary, almost.

Tracy steps away, then, clearing her throat. “I should get back, now, Lou. Lock up my paperclips.
You get back to me about tomorrow, though, yeah?”

Louis nods, smiles, says, “sure.” Once she’s walking away he turns to Harry, who’s got his
Thinking Frown on.

“What was that about?” Harry asks.

“Nothing,” Louis says, waving his hand to prove the previous exchange’s insignificance. “Her
and a few others are going out tomorrow, gonna play some footie and get some drinks.”

Harry doesn’t reply, and that’s often a surefire way of keeping Louis talking. “I- I think you’re
working with Sara, right? She’s going. You could come if you like.”

Louis can’t help it, if he doesn’t sound genuine. Going out with Harry is something he loves, but
this particular instance-

It’s something they used to do, playing soccer.

1. They had their first kiss in Louis’ back garden, after Harry- finally- managed to score a
goal.
2. First time they'd told each other they loved each other, too- Harry had tackled him, dirty,
and when Louis complained he'd said, "all's fair in love and war." "Which one's this,
then?" Louis had asked.
3. Harry’d always volunteer as waterboy, to get to go to the school team’s away games with
Louis.
4. When Louis kept playing in university, if the team ever went far enough away for a game,
 they’d stay in cheap B&B’s overnight as treats for themselves, and they’d recreate the best
moves of the match in the garden.

Louis can't imagine this Harry playing football. This Harry is cool and collected and charming,
can take control of any situation. He can be a bit weird, sometimes, but he can pull it off.

He won't be able to pull soccer off, Louis knows. Harry may have changed but physically, he’s
just as awkward as ever. Last time he stayed at Louis’ he broke two plates in the space of five
minutes. Seeing this Harry, the enigmatic charmer Louis struggles to get a read on, play clumsily
and enthusiastically, seeing him accuse everyone of cheating, seeing him toebogging shots and
cheering for himself, seeing him do all the things Louis used to see his Harry do…

Louis’ not sure he’d be able to handle it, so he mightn’t sound particularly natural extending the
invitation.

He can see the moment Harry catches on, his entire expression closing off. “Don’t worry about
it,” he says, a laugh Louis doesn’t really know what to make of.

Shit. “No, I’m serious, like- if you want to come, you should-”

Harry shakes his head, cutting Louis off. “Don’t ask me to come if, if- you don’t even-”

“I do want you there,” Louis says, and maybe he should tell Harry why he was hesitant. After all,
he’s the one always thinking about how much they could benefit from upfront communication.
“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you’re embarrassed,” Harry says- rushes, and it’s quiet, and they’re in the middle of a
hallway by a water cooler, and Louis’ heart has stopped beating.

“What?” he asks. Harry doesn’t answer, but Louis’ not letting that happen, this time. “No,
seriously. Why the f- why d’you think I’d be embarrassed? What am I embarrassed about?”

Harry chews his lip, and Louis remembers him crying because he was scared by the blood in his
mouth after he bit through his gum when he was seven, and Anne not really comforting him
because didn’t she tell him not to do that. “Me,” he says, “it’s always been- people’ve always
thought.” He cuts himself off again, frustrated.

“Always thought what?” Louis asks. He’s so at a loss, has no idea what it is Harry’s trying to say,
but Louis' going to make him say it.

“That you could do better,” Harry says, and what? What?

“Are you serious?” Louis asks, fighting to keep his voice down. The hallway’s empty, but he’s
still conscious of the possibility of being overheard. “What d’you mean- Harry, people loved you!
If anyone, I was the one people thought was punching above my weight- God, how many times
did some teacher or something say I was a bad influence on you?” And that’d always been a bit of
a sore point, for Louis. Not something he ever talked about, the doubt that went hand in hand with
being Harry’s best friend, boyfriend. He never blamed Harry, God no, he loved how much
everyone loved him, but it was still taxing.

Harry gives a hollow laugh. “Yeah, maybe when we were kids, Lou, and people’s opinions of us
was based on the fact that I was more likely to do my homework, but not-” he scrunches his eyes
shut, takes a deep breath. “When we were teens, and in university, I was the flighty one. I was the
unreliable one, and you were the- the one they felt bad for. ‘cause you had to take care of me.”

“That’s not true-”

“Are you still friends with our friends?” he asks, then. “Like, back home?” There’s something
persistent in his tone, like he’s been waiting a while to say all this. Louis wonders if it’s been
years.

“I- yeah, most of ‘em,” Louis says. He knows Harry’s not, knows he lost touch, but that’s not
because their friends didn’t like Harry. They don’t talk about him now, almost five years later, but
from what Louis remembers it was Harry who stopped seeming bothered.

Harry smiles. “Not surprised. They always needed you. Our leader.”

“They needed you too, Haz-” Louis says, but is interrupted by a scoff. He doesn’t know why,
doesn’t know where it’s coming from, because what he’s saying is true. Granted, Harry probably
wouldn’t have ended up friends with that particular group if it weren’t for Louis, and if it weren’t
for Louis maybe that group wouldn’t have wanted to be friends with Harry either, as artsy as he
was- but that doesn’t mean they didn’t love him, once they got to know him.

“Did they? They never tried to keep in contact with me-”

“That’s because they thought-” Louis’ not sure why he’s disagreeing so strongly. He just hates the
idea of this being true. Hates the fact that, regardless, it’s an insecurity Harry’s been harbouring
since- since, fuck, maybe since they were sixteen. Nearly a decade, Jesus, it’s going to break
Louis’ heart.

“I know exactly what they thought. They thought I was some flighty arsehole who thought he was
too good for a small town. They all made jokes about it, you know? Before we left, about me
forgetting about them, and stuff.”

Louis remembers them, now, when the group had that last night together, before they all left for
their respective universities: don’t forget about the small folk once you’re making a name for
yourself, and he can’t believe those comments upset Harry and he didn’t even notice. That he
might’ve laughed along, Christ. “Yeah, but they were just jokes-”

“Did they ever say them to you?”

“I-”

“’course not. You were never- they could always count on you. And they knew I could, too, but
they never thought you could count on me.”

“I’m sure that’s not true, they loved you, they wouldn’t think-” Louis doesn’t even really believe
his words, at this point, but the look on Harry’s face is too painful to just accept.

“Come on, Lou,” Harry says, and Louis can see he’s getting into it, now, that he’s finding some
satisfaction in airing these grievances. “How many times did my mum tell you she was proud of
you?”

“What?” he repeats, because Christ, this couldn’t extend to Harry’s family, could it?

“You- you got a sensible degree, instead of dropping out, and you got a proper, respectable job,
rather than some gigs as a bartender to fund some childhood dream. I bet she sent you some email,
or a card or something, when you got this job.”

It’s true, and Louis feels sort of sick. “She’s supportive of you too.”

“I’m her son, Louis, she’s going to be nice- but she didn’t- no one back home took me seriously.
Not like they did with you.”

Louis can’t argue anymore, not against this. Not with every crease and colour on Harry’s face dry
and bright under the fluorescent lighting. He feels so much anger, all of a sudden, about those
people for ever making Harry doubt himself, but mostly at himself, for not seeing it, for not
stopping it, when it was his job to do so. And he feels overwhelmed, because there’s so much
information, and so much emotion on Harry’s face, and it’s a problem he wants so badly to solve,
but he doesn’t know how, and-

And Louis wants to say something like, well then, I guess you can go back to Holmes Chapel
with this record deal and with this single and with your album, and you can tell ‘em you told ‘em
so- but his tongue feels thick, and all he can manage is:

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Even though he shouldn’t have had to be told, he should’ve just
known.

Harry falters, then seems to give in. "I was scared you would realise they were right," he says.

Everything in Louis stops. Harry’s not looking at him, and he doesn’t know what to do.

Then- there’s a buzz against his thigh, and he doesn’t need to pull it out to know it’s his calendar
reminding him of an event today.

“I- I… have that meeting,” he says, and it feels like autopilot. He thinks he might be in shock.

"Louis," Harry says, and Louis can’t work out if it's a statement or a question, or hell, maybe it's
begging, but in any case he dismisses it with a shake of his head.

“I’m sorry, Harry-”

“No, I’m sorry,” Harry says, and Louis needs him to stop apologising for his honesty.

“Don’t be,” he says, “but I really need to go, and just. Fuck, Harry, I need to go.”

Harry nods and Louis walks away, bad taste in his mouth of things left unsaid.

Julian opens the meeting by saying, “I’m guessing you know why you’re here,” and there’s
something in his words or the way he says them that completely diffuse the tension.

Louis allows himself a smile, shrugs. “I may have some theories,” he says.

Julian nods. “I’d like to go ahead with the change we’ve been talking about, Louis. I think you’d
be a great addition to my department.”

Louis’ not sure if he’s still in shock from his exchange with Harry, but the words don’t feel real.

“I- from when?” he asks.

“Pretty much immediately,” Julian shrugs. “I know you still have some producing commitments,
so you can finish them up, no problem. We’ll start you off slow, anyway, give you one artist as a
sort of- test run. Working with others, of course, at first.”

“I- yeah, that sounds amazing,” Louis nods. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Julian smiles. “Wouldn’t be offering if I didn’t think it’d be great for the company.
How would you feel about working with Harry Styles?”

“Uh- I mean- fine?” Louis’ not sure how he’d feel, mostly because he’d only want to do it if
Harry was comfortable, but this is definitely a situation in which beggars cannot be choosers.

Julian nods. “You guys seem to have a good professional relationship, and given that he’s so new
there’s not as much risk involved than if we started you with one of our more- veteran acts. We’ll
be doing a video, for his single, and you could take the reigns on that.”

It’s not the first time Louis’ picked up Julian’s strange habit of almost permanently speaking in the
conditional tense, but it’s never before seemed so laughable. He says Louis could do it like he
could also say no. Like it’s not the realisation of all his professional dreams. And it’s not like it’s
out of nowhere- Julian’s been hinting at the promotion for months now, so it doesn’t make sense
how difficult it is to wrap his head around it. He focuses on what he can understand, and asks,
“so, we’re keeping Harry on?”

Julian asks. “We’ve agreed on a three album contract,” he says, which, wow. Louis knows there’ll
definitely be a loophole to get them out of the contract if Harry’s career doesn’t go as planned, but
the fact that the assumption is three albums makes Louis think they’ve got a lot of faith in that
career succeeding.

Julian must notice Louis’ surprise, because he elaborates. “I’ve only heard good things about the
guy, and he lived up to all of them when we met. The single’s the best debut we’ve had from an
artist in four years, I think. There was some grumblings from the PR team his manager’s found
him, but-”

Louis’ eyebrows shoot up. “About what?”

“Firstly, his refusal to be actively closeted, though he hasn’t actually said he wants to come out-”
and Louis hadn’t even thought about that element of the situation, God, there’s so much on
Harry’s plate- “and secondly, the fact that he did that interview with Grimmy unsupervised.”

“He- what?”

Julian sighs, leans back in his chair- or, rather, further back. He’s always had a pretty lax posture.
“Apparently, PR told him he was supposed to be in their office for his first interview, so they
could- guide him through it, so to speak. But he didn’t show up, said he just did it on his own.
They couldn’t be too mad, because it’s not like he said anything particularly dramatic on air, but I
guess the working relationship isn’t really off to a good start. Why they think it’s my business that
they’re not able to control a newcomer, I don’t know, but it’s not gonna make me cut off one of
the best singers we’ve gotten in years."

It feels like every evening Louis comes home, these days, he’s got a thousand more things to think
about, fuel for countless sleepless nights.

The one thought that rises above the rest is, predictably, that Harry didn’t feel good enough for
him- that some outsiders who knew jackshit about their relationship didn’t think he was good
enough for Louis.

Worse are the people who did know about their relationship- their group of friends, some of the
very few people they were out to in that village- not treating it the way it deserved. To find out the
people Louis had trusted- the people Harry had trusted- with their relationship didn't even really
believe in it is hard to swallow, even after all these years.
 Harry seemed to think so too. He hadn’t acted removed from that doubt, but more like he still,
maybe, somehow felt it- still felt like there was something he had to live up to, with Louis. All of a
sudden Louis’ thinking about that uncertainty Harry displayed in the early days around Liam, and
God- could that’ve been more than just petty leftover jealousy? Could that’ve been real insecurity
over being judged on his worthiness to be with Louis?

Louis can’t just sit there. He can’t just let these thoughts stew. He pulls out his phone, goes into
contacts, and Hannah answers pretty quickly. “Louis!” she says, sounding happily surprised.
They’d probably only get around to talking once every few months, recently. “What’s up?”

Louis doesn’t feel sane enough for small talk, just dives right in. “Did you think I could do better
than Harry? Like, when I was still with him?”

There’s some silence. “What? Harry Styles, your ex?”

Hannah acts like that’s all he was, like he wasn’t the guy who drove her home from all those
parties, who helped her with English work, like he’d never made her laugh so hard she teared up.
It’s so irrational for Louis to be bitter about it, because that was years ago. Hannah has a family
now. Louis should ask how they are. “Yeah. Like, when we were going out, did you think-”

“A bit, yeah, why?”

“What?” Louis asks, because what? Why was she being so casual about it?

“Well just,” he can hear the shrug, and it shouldn’t bother him. Four years ago, he reminds
himself. It’s something he should be able to shrug about. “He was always flirting with everyone,
and he had all those friends, and he was always going on about making it big. We were a bit
scared he’d leave you behind, if I’m honest.”

It’s the “we” that gets to Louis the most, the idea that it was something all the group talked about.
“I talked about making it big, too. It was my dream too,” is what he says, and then, “and he flirted
with everyone because everyone flirted with him. He was just- he was too nice for his own good.
Didn’t mean he didn’t care about me.”

“I know that, he was my friend, obviously, I just- why are you asking this, Louis?”

Louis’ reply is interrupted by crying in the background, because yeah, Hannah has a kid now.
That bump underneath her wedding dress he remembers but never got to meet, and he's still here
talking about his teenage ex.

He sighs, letting his head drop against the headboard. “Doesn’t matter, I- I better go. Say hi to
Alex from me, yeah?”

He hangs up before she can reply, presses the phone against his chest. He's not sure what he's
feeling but he knows he's sick of feeling it, needs to put it all behind him. After he takes a few
deep breaths, he makes another call.

“Hey, Haz,” he says. “Would you wanna come over?”

Chapter End Notes

thanks so much for reading, and a special thank you for everyone who has left kind
words. they mean so much to me, it's honestly such a lovely experience receiving
them.

my tumblr and my tumblr post for this fic. if you'd wanna reblog that'd be great :)
(and thanks to everyone who has!)

also, question: i was wondering if you guys would like me to do a short recap at the
beginning of chapters, about what happened previously? just if any of you guys are
having difficulty remembering where exactly you're picking up from when you read
the newer chapter? a few WIPs i follow have done this where i really appreciated it,
and it'd be no harm for me to do it too.
 Chapter 10
Chapter Summary

Previously: Louis got the promotion he's been wanting, and his first job is working
with Harry. He's sort of been avoiding Liam because of Liam's doubts about his and
Harry's relationship, mostly because Louis' scared of how maybe he's doubting it too
(which has also stopped him from having sex with Harry, recently). Harry (who
Louis wants to be more open) told him about years of insecurity over feeling like
people didn't think he was good enough for Louis when they were together, and after
a call to an old school friend, Louis found out it was true. So he's decided to stop
doubting Harry.

Chapter Notes

Okay so there was no real consensus over whether recaps were the way to go or not,
but I figure there's no harm in having one for the people who do like them. so sorry
for the massive delay, but i hope you guys enjoy this :)

Triggers for: anxiety, anxiety attacks.

(4050)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

When Louis opens the door to Harry, Harry falls so heavily into his arms that he has to take a few
steps back just to steady himself. It makes him grin, though, the weight and the heat, Harry’s own
corresponding smile pressed into his shoulder.

“Tired?” Louis asks, partly because that’s Harry’s default state, these days, and partly because the
glimpse he got of Harry’s face was slightly worrying. Beautiful, obviously, but still worrying-
puffy and pale.

Harry nods helplessly into Louis’ shoulder. “D’you’ve beer?” he asks, and if it wasn’t for the
request for alcohol he’d sound all of four years old.

“I do,” Louis says.

“Shitty telly?”

Louis laughs. “I do,” he repeats. He leans his head against Harry’s when another smile moves
against his shoulder.

“A place for me on your couch?”

Louis runs a hand up Harry’s back, through his hair. Slightly concerned. “Always,” he says, and
then he takes Harry’s hand and leads him there. He lets Harry drape himself over Louis, taking up
most of the couch- and most of the blanket that Louis drapes over them. Louis tries to stand up for
the requested beer, but Harry pouts and refuses to budge, holding Louis there. Louis feels warm,
feels needed, one hand thumbing at Harry’s forehead and one rubbing at his back, Harry
collapsing into the touch with a small smile and no tension.

It’s only five minutes into a Friends repeat that he’s letting out little snores, and Louis has to laugh
at himself. The whole point of inviting Harry over was to get over all of his doubts, all of his
questions, and actually sleep with the guy after putting it off for so long. Opening the door,
Louis’d already been half hard in his pants. But apparently the first time in a long time that Louis’
up for it is also the first time in a long time that Harry isn’t.

No worries. Having Harry like this is special, too. Tomorrow, Louis thinks. Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, Harry’s got a crick in his neck from the awkward sleeping arrangement and a pout on
his mouth there’s no time for Louis to fuck away. He kisses it into a smile, instead, doesn’t worry
that they both slept in more than they should, that they’ll have to rush for work, because Harry got
nine and a half hour’s sleep and that’s got to be more than the prior two nights combined.

There’s no time for Harry to make breakfast, either, which- “what’s the point in having you over if
you don’t make me food?”- but it’s a blessing in disguise, really, because it leads to the suggestion
of heading to the bakery for breakfast, the one they haven’t been to in at least a month.

Susan gives them pastries on the house and says, “Oh I’m so glad you two showed your faces, I
was worrying you’d had a falling out.” It sparks something in Louis, reminds him of how
heartbroken his family and friends back home had been when they heard about his and Harry’s
breakup, and suddenly he’s feeling guilty for getting this sweet woman involved, invested in
something so precarious.

“So,” Harry says, once he’s finished his pain au chocolat. His hand drops by his side and brushes
against Louis’. Given the fact that they’ve been fucking for quite some time now, it shouldn’t feel
illicit.

They’re on their way to work, decided to walk because if they’re going to be late they might as
well be leisurely about it. Harry doesn’t finish his thought, just picks a corner off Louis’ own pain
au chocolat. Louis doesn’t know why he pretends to be a health freak when in reality he’s got a
sweet tooth as bad as Louis’ sisters, and the poor self-control to match.

“So?” Louis prompts.

“So, I’ve got two questions,” Harry says, lifting up the corresponding fingers in case Louis’ got
difficulty grasping the concept.

“Hit me,” Louis says with his mouth full, making a face at Harry when he grimaces.

“I was wondering if maybe- you’d like to work on the album? I know you said once we had the
single finished with, if the response was good, there’d be other writers, but I feel like… I work
well with you, and I like working with you, and you really helped with Something Great, so.”

Louis has to contain a laugh, because in all the messy feelings he’d been going through, he’d
forgotten, somehow, about finally getting that promotion. “Haz,” Louis says. “Julian’s just gone
and made me a part of A&R, and he’s asked me to supervise your album. The music video for
Something Great, too.”

Harry stops in the street, pulls Louis to a stop, too. “Lou,” he says, big smile big eyes big hands,
“fuck, that’s so amazing, I’m so happy for you. You deserve it more than anyone, I- why didn’t
you tell me? Wait, no, I should’ve asked, you had that meeting with Julian, I did want to ask, it
just slipped my mind-”

Louis' smile hurts as it widens, and he wonders what it means that it’s now that the promotion
actually feels real, stops feeling like something he made up. That Harry’s praise is what snaps him
out of the shock. “Don’t worry, love, you've a lot on your plate. I’m just surprised you had
enough space in there to remember where I lived.” The comment’s accompanied by a cheesy poke
to Harry’s temple, but it makes Harry smile just as big as Louis guessed it would.

“Still, though. Congratulations.”

Louis can’t handle it, for some reason, has to turn away because he feels too much- Harry acting
happy for Louis advancing in the career path he used to denounce, it’s… Louis’ scared to call it
progress. “What’s question two?” he asks instead, holding up two fingers that Harry grips in his
own hand, seemingly without thought. Squeezes before dropping them.

“Uh, well,” Harry pauses. “They’ve scheduled- in two weeks, I’m gonna be going on this show,
and performing Something Great, for the first time. And, like, there’s this list, of people I can
take? And I was wondering- you were- were with me, through this, and I was wondering if you’d
like to be on it?”

Louis smirks, because it’s the only reaction he thinks he can handle. “You asking me to join your
entourage, Styles?”

Harry huffs out a laugh, shoving into Louis. “Fuck off,” he says, “just. I’d like it if you were
there-”

“I’d like to be there too,” Louis says, because apparently his need to comfort a nervous-sounding
Harry trumps his desire to play it cool. He can’t regret it, either, not when it pulls that smile out of
Harry.

Any warmth on their walk to work swiftly evaporates once Louis enters his office.

Liam’s there, and it’s just. Still sort of awkward.

Liam looks surprised to see him, which would annoy Louis, given that it’s his office too, but he
reckons he’s looking pretty deer-in-the-headlights as well right now, so.

“Hey,” Louis says.

“Hey,” Liam nods, hands folded too tight to not be nervous. He takes a deep breath. “Listen,
Louis, can we just put it behind us? I don’t want to-” he pauses, struggles. “Man, I love you, I
don’t want us to-”

“I know,” Louis interrupts, putting his friend out of his misery, “I won’t force you to say it.” He’s
not sure if he can put it behind them, not sure he can ever see Liam without seeing all the doubts
he has, but that’s his burden to bear. He's always sort of known that, but his head's been too busy
to actually put it into action. He will from now on, though. Just like he's not going to take out his
neurosis, his paranoia on Harry, he won't subject Liam to it either.

“Fucking great,” Liam says, audible relief. “And I heard- Louis, you got your promotion, that’s so
fucking sick.”

Louis smiles big, walks further into the office. As much as it had thrilled him to hear Harry’s
congratulations, it’s a different kind of special coming from his best friend, from the guy who was
with him every step of building this career. “I know, right? Shit, like it’s been coming for a while,
but I was still shocked, somehow.”

Liam laughs, nods. “Nah, I get that, it’s so big, like. It’d take awhile to sink in. Just last night,
right?”

“Right. And, like, I was gonna tell you-”

Liam shakes his head. “No worries, mate. This is hardly about me. Although, I’m sorta sad this is
the end of our partnership-”

“Fuck no, mate,” Louis shakes his head, because okay, yeah, officially they won’t be collaborating
as often as they used to be, but they’re Louis and Liam, they’re not just abandoning each other.
“Not when we’ve just got our rhythm going. Like, I’m gonna blackmail you into working for each
of my projects, and if you ever get writer’s block it’s still me you come to, yeah? You can’t cheat
on me with some other writer. And I’m not leaving quite yet, anyway, got to tie up all the loose
ends.”

Liam’s smile has grown more relaxed, and there’s something sweet about it. Louis’ loved
watching his friend’s confidence grow, but there’s still that underlying insecurity, that fear of
getting left behind, and it reminds Louis starkly of the guy he first met in university. With his mind
as messy as it currently is, Louis’ not sure how he managed to go without Liam’s steady, constant
presence. “Right,” Liam says. “Of course.”

Harry comes over that night, too. Louis’ surprised, and he’s not sure how he feels about that. He’s
still struggling to get used to how unpredictable this thing with Harry is, even in the minor details.
The only real relationship he has to compare this to (other than his and Harry’s first go, which he
refuses to contrast with their current arrangement) is what he had with Aiden, and there’d been
nothing surprising about that at all. They had the utmost respect for each other’s comfort zones,
and really, Louis could say that that was the main purpose of their companionship: preserving a
peace. Aiden had respected Louis’ privacy, never asked about the past he knew Louis had. He
was just so fucking reliable, never caught Louis unaware, never did anything that they hadn’t
agreed to.

There’s no clear set of rules, in this thing with Harry. No dos and don’ts. Louis never has any
fucking clue where it’s going, and it’s just- Harry shows up, and Louis adapts. He thinks he’d feel
more confident giving up control if he knew what he was giving it up for, but-

But, no. He’s got to let that go, can’t be so questioning. Harry just needs time. Louis might not
know what’s going on in Harry’s head, but he knows Harry, and he knows that this is going
somewhere. That it has to be.

He trusts Harry, and when Harry shows up, no text or call or throwaway comment to let Louis
know, Louis still lets him in. Louis lets him kiss him, lets him fuck him. Because why wouldn’t
he? It’s good, fucking mind-blowing, still no past experience Louis can compare it to. Harry gives
him exactly what he wants, knows exactly what he needs, and it’s reciprocal. Harry matches
Louis’ enthusiasm, ragged breath for ragged breath, broken curse for broken curse, and Louis
knows that he’s doing good for Harry, doing amazing. So he has faith in the situation; if Harry
didn’t have feelings for him, he wouldn’t fall to his knees so quickly.

✺
He wakes up at 3am, because with them not running as usual his sleep has gotten just as bad as
before. Harry’s awake too; Louis can’t see him, but he can see the light creeping under his door,
and he can hear movements.

He’s tired, but he knows from experience he won’t be able to fall asleep for awhile, so he lets his
curiosity take the wheel and he gets up from bed. Pulls on a hoodie ‘cause he feels a little lost and
needs the armour, and walks to his kitchen.

There’s food out on the counters, but Harry’s not making it. He’s staring at Louis’ fridge; the
photos on it.

“Not tired?” Louis asks. His voice is hoarse, and he wonders if it’s from being asleep or the
activities that preceded it.

Harry turns around, gives a small smile- distracted. “I am tired,” he says, “just more hungry.”

Louis frowns. It’s one factor he didn’t think about, with Harry’s busy days. “How often d’you get
to feed yourself?” he asks.

Harry shrugs. “It’s erratic,” is all he offers. He turns so he’s facing Louis, not quite straight on but
more so than before. “That’s a new photo,” he says.

He doesn’t point, but he doesn’t have to, because Louis’ only added one photo recently. Him and
Liam and Aiah, someone from their course who started out with them in Direction, before moving
to America. Aiah had visited home a fortnight ago, stopped by London. Louis hadn’t seen him in
years, and may easily go another few before seeing him again. He likes the photo; likes photos in
general, doesn’t want things to slip by. He thinks maybe losing Harry had made him value
memories, and the preservation of them. Not that he'd ever say that.

“Yeah,” he says. “That’s an old friend we knew from university, lives in America now. Came
home for a visit.” He’s not sure that Harry was asking for a background story. He’s not sure what
Harry was asking for at all. He thinks about his call to Hannah, still painfully fresh in his mind,
and Harry not feeling good enough. Suddenly wants to tell Harry how that night out doesn't
compare to anything the two of them do, that he'd pick shit tv and good food on his sofa with
Harry any day. Wants to tell Harry about that awkward moment towards the end of the night,
Liam luckily up at the bar paying his tab, when Aiah had asked Louis how long he and Harry'd
been together, just based on all the anecdotes Louis didn't realise he was telling. How, even when
Louis had cleared that up, Aiah had just shrugged and said, he sounds like he'd be good for you.

When Harry does give his pseudo-explanation, though, it appears that's not what he's worried
about. “I’ve been really busy, lately,” he says. “I don’t want- I’m sorry if I’m, like. Missing things.
I don’t want to.”

Louis doesn’t think Harry means just general things. Thinks, warm, he means things to do with
Louis. “You’re not- it’s fine. Nothing important has happened.”

Harry snorts. “Except for your promotion.”

Louis frowns, gives a small laugh. “Which you heard about the next morning.” He moves closer
to Harry, puts a hand on his jaw, runs a finger under his eyes. The skin is hot with fatigue, puffy
and soft. “Apart from that, really, nothing important has happened. Nothing’s changed.”

“If something did?” Harry asks, almost immediately, turning into Louis’ touch. Eye contact is
impossible to avoid, though Louis’ not sure why he kind of wants to. “Would I know?”

“Sure,” Louis says, “if it’s like… important, sure.”

Harry sighs, leans his head against the fridge. They’re silent for a while, and Louis shifts
awkwardly on his feet. “Do you wanna go back to bed?” he offers. “I can make you some food,
bring it in.”

“I keep thinking about your dad,” Harry says. He’s not looking at Louis. “Your biological one. I-
I keep thinking about- he tried to get in contact with you while we were still together and you
didn’t tell me, and I keep thinking about that… it makes me fucking sick, I- we’re not together,
anymore, obviously, but I still don’t want you to feel like you have to keep things from me. I
know I’m busy, but I still want… you know you can tell me anything, right?”

Louis’ not sure where this is coming from all of a sudden- if he still feels guilty for forgetting
about Louis' meeting with Julian or if it was just spurred on by the photo or if there’s something
else entirely going on. Mostly he doesn’t give a fuck. His insides melt at the attention, the
affection. The care.

“I know,” he says, whispers, because he does. Regardless of background noise, his trust for Harry
comes from his core. “Go to bed, I’ll bring you a toastie.”

Harry closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, nods. Walks out.

It’s Louis’ turn to collapse against the counter. “Shit,” he says, under his breath. His hands are
shaking and he doesn’t know why. He’ll have to wait a while to make the toastie, because he’s
not sure he’s capable of using his grill quite yet. It's the first time he's wanted a cigarette in a long
time.

Louis’ not used to guessing games. His best friend is Liam, for Christ’s sake, and Liam couldn’t
keep a secret if he wanted to. Louis’ family have always prioritised honesty- often to an extent
some people might consider out of line. And when Louis and Harry actually were in a
relationship, sure sometimes Harry clammed up a bit, but Louis was still able to read him. And the
only other relationship he’s had…

Once again, strange given how long he would usually go without it, he finds himself thinking
about Aiden. He wouldn't say he misses him, really, not anymore and certainly not as anything
more than a friend, but Louis misses what the guy was able to offer him- peace of mind, maybe.

It's not like Aiden himself had been an open book, and Louis had suspected a heartbreak
somewhere in his past. Looking back on it, Aiden had been just as much an unknown variable as
Harry is now; it's only that during their relationship, Louis never felt a pull to unravel Aiden's
mysteries, to know everything there was to know. He doesn’t think there’s a question in the world
he hasn’t wanted to ask Harry, at some point.

He just has to trust that eventually, Harry'll give up the answers.

The chat show turns out to be the fucking Graham Norton show, and Harry's modesty in not
naming it surprises Louis. He thinks maybe it was a method of downplaying it to even himself,
make it sound like no big deal so it doesn’t scare him. Louis definitely thinks this is something he
could freak out over.

He finds out about it in Julian’s office, getting more details about Louis’ new responsibilities now
that they’ve established the basics. It’ll be a while till he’s on his own two feet yet, but Louis
wants to take on as much as he can.

His first job is choosing the backing singer and guitarist for Harry’s performance on the show, and
fuck. Louis knew the song was a big deal, knew it was getting a lot of attention, but having one’s
first ever public performance of their single in such a popular forum-

It doesn’t feel like there’s a limit, on how proud he can be of Harry.

Nervous, too. Mostly because he imagines Harry must be.

Harry doesn’t talk about it, in that way of his where he doesn’t want to bother people with his
problems but then gets even more irritable for having to keep it to himself. Louis can see it, but he
imagines everyone else can too: it’s obvious in the bit lip and pulled hair, the wringing hands and
seemingly perpetual frown. Louis’ almost as busy as Harry now, though, Julian wanting him to
finish on his writing commitments as quickly as possible, so he doesn’t get a chance to smooth the
worries out of Harry till a half hour before the show starts, when he arrives at the BBC studios.

It’s easy to talk his way into Harry’s dressing room, even though really he should be looking after
the guitarist he’d chosen, a tv virgin and possible risk. Then again, there are like, ten different
people here from the label and management. Any one of them can deal with a nervous guitarist.
Only Louis knows how to deal with a nervous Harry.

Being realistic, he thinks the chances of Harry not having had an anxiety attack already, in the past
few days, are slim to none. He chooses to focus on rationality rather than the burn in his chest that
lights up, though. His current concern is what the chances are of Harry potentially having one in
the immediate future.

When Louis walks in, Harry’s on the couch, curled up the way he does when he wants to make
himself small, wants to escape attention, and it’s a punch to the gut knowing he does that when
he’s on his own, too. Louis knows Harry must hear him enter, but he gets no reaction. His frame
is shaking, head bowed, and Louis realises, swiftly, that there’s nothing potential about it. That it’s
a reality. His first reaction is a burst of anger, because why the fuck is Harry left alone, when he’s
going through this? Was everyone else really that blind to it?

Louis knows the annoyance is neither appropriate nor helpful right now, so he pushes it down as
he walks over, kneels on the ground, about a foot away from where Harry’s sitting. Reaching out,
Louis gently rests a hand over the one Harry has tightly curled around the couch’s arm. He can tell
Harry’s too deep into this to be talked down, knows that at this point all he can do is wait, so that’s
what he does. He murmurs out random assurances, not sure which one of them they’re really for
(his own heartbeat has increased with worry), but remembering a teenage Harry saying they
helped.

Louis thinks that’s maybe what he's saying again, when after maybe ten minutes he flips his hand
under Louis’ and squeezes. The responsiveness is a good sign, proof that Harry’s becoming more
aware of his surroundings, and it’s only another few minutes before his breathing improves, still
shaky and shallow but regulated. Louis allows a few minutes of silence as Harry visibly gathers
himself.

“How’re you doing?” Louis eventually asks, quiet and hopefully soothing. Harry takes a deep
breath and looks up. His eyes are wide and wet, breaking Louis’ heart a little. Harry opens his
mouth as if to say something, but after a few moments snaps it shut, shaking his head.

“You must be nervous, yeah?” Louis says, because that used to help, articulating the thoughts
Harry himself struggled to. Harry nods, again. “Worried about all the people out there?” Another
nod, this one accompanied by clenched shut eyes.
“But don’t you know that everyone loves you?” Louis asks, because he must have seen the
figures. “And don’t you know you deserve that?”

“These people aren’t here for me,” Harry says, and probably that’s true. Given the usual calibre of
this show’s guests, Harry will be far from the most famous on that red couch. Honestly, the couch
is more famous than Harry, and most people in tonight’s audience would probably choose the
chance to sit on it over the chance to shake Harry’s hand.

Louis doesn’t say that, obviously. “I am,” he says. “Only reason I’m here is for you, to see you
sing that song I know you put so much work into. And I know you’re going to be amazing,
honestly. You can’t not be, because you put your fucking life into that song- fuck, for months it
was your life, so it wouldn’t even matter if you sung the whole thing out of tune.”

Harry laughs, but shakes his head in denial.

“I know you’re going to be amazing,” Louis repeats. “You already are, for just doing this. I can’t
wait to see you.” And it’s a risk, he knows, but he adds: “don’t you remember how much I loved
it when you performed? When you performed for me?”

Harry swallows, nods. He pulls at Louis’ hand- which Louis had forgotten he was holding- till
Louis gets up and sits beside him on the couch. “You never used to get nervous during them,”
Louis says. “In the kitchen, the bedroom, in a fucking taxi home. You used to love it, showing off
for me.”

Harry gives a small laugh, and under the stage makeup Louis is just realising he’s wearing, a blush
blooms. He shoves at Louis. “That’s what I want you to do,” Louis says, realising he’s finally
found the right route to take with this, “I want you to show off to me. Just try and impress me, like
you used to. My opinion’s all that matters, and all. Can you do that?”

Harry nods, leaning into Louis. “Just like old times,” he says.

Louis nods resolutely. “Yeah,” he says, and allows himself a smile, “though I don’t remember all
the makeup from old times.”

Harry sits up straight at that, hand flying to his face as he barks out a laugh. “It’s noticeable?” he
asks.

Louis hesitates, unsure as to whether he should say it. Figures he might as well, because if Harry
doesn’t notice himself someone will have to tell him. “Well, it’s actually a tad smudged, some of
it, now.”

He says it delicately- doesn’t talk about the pinkish tinge to Harry’s chin from what must be
lipstick, or the faded tracks of black below his eyes- but Harry’s still off the couch in an instant,
rushing to look at himself in the mirror. “Shit,” he says, “shit, and Kathy put so much work into
it.” Louis figures Kathy must be the show’s makeup artist, unsurprised by Harry acting like he’s
known her for years.

“Fuck, she’s gonna be so annoyed- disappointed,” Harry continues, and he’s only just gotten over
his attack but his face is getting that chased look again, “I’m gonna have to get it redone-”

Louis looks to the vanity table, spies makeup sprawled across the surface. Enough to work with.
“I can do it,” he says.

Harry looks up at him. “Yeah?” he asks.

Louis shrugs, pushing Harry gently into the chair in front of the mirror. “Sat through enough of
Lottie’s rants to come up with something decent.” Louis’ relatively proud of his ability with
makeup, actually.

“So,” he asks, once Harry’s nodded his permission. “What did Kathy do? Mascara, lipstick,
foundation? Concealer? Anything else?”

Harry pouts in thought, then shakes his head. His curls move with it, and Louis suspects that the
work of the hair stylist (who Harry also probably knows the name of) has similarly gone to waste,
given Harry’s awful habit of pulling at and roughing his hair up, when he gets stressed. Oh well.
The tussled style looks good.

“Right then,” Louis says, clapping his hands. “Let’s get to work.”

While Harry’s calmed immensely since Louis entered, he can still sense the unsteadiness of the
man. He’s delicate, when he cups Harry’s jaw and uses a- soft- tissue to wipe away the ruined
makeup. He prompts Harry to go through the plan for the night, how he’s been trained to act on
stage, because maybe focusing on the emotionless mechanics will calm him down further. No
choreography, Harry says, with a humorous lilt to his voice, a reference to a long-established pact
that had existed between the two of them; that even if they did find success, they’d never, ever
dance.

It becomes clear that whoever it is in charge of Harry appreciates how naturally performing comes
to him, how intuitively, because it seems like he has a lot of leeway in terms of how he can act
tonight. Maybe that’s part of why he’s so nervous, Louis thinks. As much as Harry appreciates
freedom, structure can be good for him. Being told what to do. It stops him from overthinking.

Despite the limited amount of guidance he’s received, Harry still recites it all for Louis, formulaic,
as Louis brushes makeup across his skin. Louis can see it calm him down, Harry finding comfort
and rhythm in rehashing which markings he’s not allowed to move past, when he can take the
microphone from the stand, which cameras he can look to and for how long. He has to stop
talking when Louis picks up the lipstick, and Louis has to restrain a laugh for the willingness of
Harry’s instant pout. He can’t hold it back when, once he’s finished, Harry smacks his lips with an
exaggerated sound.

“It’ll make ‘em pop on camera,” Harry defends, in a random pan-American accent, and it makes
Louis laugh harder. Really, the natural shade of Harry’s lips is poppy enough. Impossibly red.

Ha. Louis should get into the lipstick naming business.

The last ten minutes before Harry’s summoned away is in silence, Louis brushing Harry’s
hairspray-stiffened hair. There’s no purpose to it- Harry’s hair always looks good- Louis just
knows it’s one of the most steadfast ways of relaxing him. Harry reacts as predicted, kittenish and
luxuriant, pushing his head back into Louis’ tummy. Louis' essentially coming as close to a scalp
massage as he can get away with, and using Harry's closed eyes as an excuse to soak him in,
staring unapologetically.

With his hair pushed back like this, there's a string of spots scattered along his hairline that Louis
had never noticed before, but which he finds somehow endearing. Despite being covered by
makeup and not nearly as angry or numerous as they had been in his adolescence, they're still
certainly a call back to that time. Louis remembers when Harry had expressed insecurity about
them one day, the two of them lying side by side in Louis’ bed. Louis had begun to place a kiss on
all of them, on his chin and neck, theatrically, till Harry was pushing him away, laughing, calling
him gross.
Louis wonders how Harry would react to that sort of thing now, but he doesn’t try to find out.

When the knock finally comes- and Louis’ being waiting for it, inmate on deathrow style- Harry
jolts, accidentally headbutting Louis’ stomach.

“Shit, sorry,” he laughs, and then louder, “yeah, you can come in!” He’s looking nervous again,
though, looking like he’s approaching that edge Louis only just managed to get him off.

“No worries,” Louis says, and squeezes his shoulder just as the door opens. A woman Louis
vaguely recognises, bluetooth in ear and clipboard in hand, leans through it, not even bothering to
actually come in as she gestures- wordlessly- for Harry to come with her. The brusqueness makes
Louis’ fists clench. He can’t imagine treating Harry with anything but the utmost tenderness,
especially not at a time like this.

Harry gets up to leave, but before he can Louis stops him with a hand on his elbow. “Just perform
for me, yeah?” he reiterates, low. “Not anyone else.”

Harry nods. “Just you,” he says.

Harry gone, whisked away to God knows where to do God knows what, Louis feels sort of at a
loss. The audience have already been seated, but he realises he’s been so wrapped up in Harry that
he didn’t work out what was expected of himself. Does he watch from backstage? Is there an
assigned area? Is there someone he can ask? Shit, is there someone’s who’s looking for him?

The answer comes, randomly, in the form of Nick Grimshaw, walking the corridors with a bit
more purpose than Louis can claim for himself. Then again, Grimmy is an actual BBC employee.

It’s not like they haven’t seen each other since university- they run in vaguely similar crowds, or at
least are occasionally expected at the same parties. In fact, it’s probably fair to say that Louis’ had
more run ins with the guy in the last three years or so than he ever had when he only knew Nick
as one of Harry's friends.

Still, though. Louis wouldn’t exactly say he feels comfortable around him. He’s not sure if it’s a
good or bad thing that the awkwardness is clearly reciprocated.

“Louis!” he greets, and that’s always seemed funny, because almost everyone else Louis’ seen
Nick interact with has instantly gotten a nickname, wanted or not. Then again, Louis shivers at the
thought of calling him Grimmy to his face, so perhaps it’s not something he can judge.

“Nick,” Louis replies, managing a smile. “You on that list of Harry’s, then?”

Nick gives a laugh that may or may not be genuine. Louis finds it difficult to tell, with him. “I
am,” he says, “Used my BBC insider knowledge to get backstage, though. Wanted to wish him
luck, see how he was doing.”

“You just missed him,” Louis says, getting a bit too much pleasure out of it, even as he’s endeared
by Nick’s concern. Nick always did seem to genuinely care about Harry, moreso than a lot of
other people in that crowd.

Nick gives Louis a look, then, one that Louis can’t read and doesn’t particularly want to. “Pity,”
Nick says. “And you? Business or pleasure?”

Louis shrugs. “Mixing them, I guess. Though the business part of the evening is over.”
“Ah, okay. I’m guessing you’re another name on Harry’s list as well, then?”

Louis can’t help a laugh at the way Nick says it, even though it’s terminology he too is using for
the guests Harry was allowed tonight. “Yeah, a coveted position, I’d bet. I think I’m being tricked
into joining his entourage. Expecting a badge in the post any day, now.”

He’s making more effort with Nick than he ever has before. Hates that it’s probably because he’s
sort of with Harry, now, and wants to be in his friends’ good graces.

Nick snorts out a laugh, and this time Louis would put money on it being genuine. “God, I’d hate
to think what sort of badge that boy would come up with.”

Louis’ not sure how he feels about that comment, even if Nick says it with clear affection. “I feel
like you might be making fun of him for being a hipster,” he says, but makes sure it sounds more
amused than sharp, “but I can’t believe you could be that un-self-aware.”

“I think that’s the subtlest way I’ve ever been called a hipster,” Nick says, sounding almost
impressed.

“Subtlest one you’ve picked up on, at least,” Louis says, and okay, this might be getting more
mean than teasing. He doesn’t want that. “Anyway, would you be able to help me back to like,
where I’m supposed to be?” He shrugs in what he hopes is a humble manner. “Unchartered
territory, and all.”

Nick grins, turns on his heel. “Follow me, traveller,” he says, beginning to lead Louis through the
labyrinth of bustling halls.

It’s only a few minutes before they’re walking out a black side door, leading into the studio. The
guests haven’t been seated yet but Norton is warming up the audience, and Nick and Louis
manage to sneak in and sit down unnoticed. It’s front row and to the side, directly before the stage
Harry will later be performing on, and Louis’ grateful for that. He left Harry quite calm, but
there’s at least an hour for him to get through before he actually has to perform, and who knows
what thoughts will have time to take over his head before then.

Being front row has its downfalls, and Louis doesn’t feel confident enough to slip out his phone
and text Harry good luck, not without being spotted and coming across as rude, or maybe even
asked to leave. There’s a pretty strict no phones rule, in most places like this.

He goes to the bathroom during the first break, and texts Harry, you’ll be amazing, don’t overthink
it. Hopes it’s enough.

Louis doesn’t pay attention to the show, which he’s slightly annoyed at himself for, because it’s
not like getting to be part of the audience is an everyday thing. There are big names and funny
stories, laughter and applause sounding around him at seemingly random intervals, and even Nick
is participating- at one point he nudges Louis and flicks his wrist in order to get him to clap along,
too.

Then- and it feels like hours, but also like Louis hasn’t had time to prepare at all- the audience are
asked to welcome their musical guest.

And Harry walks out.

Louis’ not sure how he didn’t take note of the clothes Harry was wearing when he saw him
earlier, but they can’t escape attention now. The half unbuttoned half sheer black shirt and
physics-defyingly probably-responsible-for-creating-a-black-hole skinny jeans are hardly unusual,
but they look different under stage lights, with cameras centred on him. Harry looks different, and
it’s not just because of the gold boots Louis’ never seen before. He looks bigger than himself,
more than human. Overwhelming.

The music starts, and Louis only has a moment to be grateful that he didn’t fuck up choosing this
guitarist, that he suits the aesthetic of the stage set up and doesn’t look all that nervous, before
Harry’s voice is joining in.

Louis can see the moment Harry spots him in the audience, and he doesn’t think it’s a
coincidence. He thinks Harry was looking for him.

He doesn’t look away.

Louis breaks eye contact, can’t handle it, focuses on everything, anything else. Harry's hair, the
faces of the people around him, the expression of the backing singer that Louis' always thought
could verge on too theatrical. Harry's hands. When they're not running through his hair, they're
clenched tightly around the mic. Louis can't see from this far away, but he knows if he could
Harry's skin would be whitened from the pressure.

Louis realises, starkly, that this is the first time he's seen Harry properly perform in nearly half a
decade. He never forgot how strongly Harry could master the stage, but there's a difference
between remembering something and experiencing it, and anyway, somehow, in a way Louis
from years ago would've thought impossible, Harry seems to have gotten better. It's less playful,
perhaps. His earnestness, passion, isn't something even the bluntest person could ignore.

He knows he told Harry to pretend he was just singing for Louis, but he didn't think it through. He
can't handle this, the unwavering focus that definitely breaks some of the few rules Harry was
given for how he should act on stage.

And, and maybe it would be fine if Harry was just looking, but he’s not. He’s singing to Louis,
and doing it like there’s some meaning, like there’s something Louis’ supposed to figure out. But
Louis can’t figure out why Harry’s acting like this, and doesn’t know why he himself is reacting
like this, gets goosebumps when Harry says he wants to rip it all to shreds and start again.

It feels like he’s hearing it for the first time. In fact, it feels more intense than the actual first time
Louis heard the song, or any of the times after that. He has always tried to remain impartial when
he listened to this song, these words. With those eyes on him it's literally impossible.

He knows it's a new song, and consequently, he’d always assumed it was about some lover he’d
never know.

Right now, with Harry’s brows creased and the tendons in his neck tight, with his body angled in
towards the mic and his hand wrapped around it, Louis’ mind is betraying him, telling him there’s
no one else Harry’d write about, not like this.

Towards the end of the song the desperate tinge in his voice has faded into something... softer.
More wistful. Harry's body is less taut. Despite all the emotions in him, overcoming him, Louis
can't help but quietly sing along to the last lines, managing to meet the stare Harry hasn't broken
during the four minutes of the song. "You're all I want," he mouths, "so much it's hurting."

Harry's voice slips through a smile then, open and surprised and- relieved, maybe?
Louis forces himself to smile back. He doesn’t realise how straight he was sitting up till he
collapses back against his seat, motionless as the crowd around him erupts with applause.

He has no fucking idea what it is they're doing.

And neither, it seems, does Nick, who stares at Louis with raised eyebrows as Harry is led to the
red couch- manages to get there without tripping, as well.

“So,” Nick says, “you and Harry?”

“For that to be a complete sentence,” Louis says, not indulging in eye contact, “you’re gonna at
least need a verb.”

Nick snorts beside him. “But there are so many to choose from.”

Louis swallows, focuses intently on the interview unfolding in front of him, rather than the one it
suddenly feels like he’s being subjected to. That is what Nick does for a living, after all. “Take
your time,” Louis says.

Nick never actually settles on one, and not much more is spoken between them before the show’s
ending and Louis is rushing backstage again, needing to be one of the first to congratulate Harry.
In the five minutes or so after the performance ended, Louis was able to talk himself down, tell
himself he was just overreacting, reading into Harry’s behaviour when all he was doing was
focusing on a familiar face to keep the stage fright at bay.

And he did keep it at bay, and he answered all the questions sent his way, slow but articulate and
charming, and he got a laugh out of the audience, and- he did fucking amazing. Again, Louis
thinks the pride he feels for his boy is unlimited.

And he means to say that, or something along those lines, but when he enters Harry’s dressing
room, and Harry- miraculously- is there on his own, words fall away, and Louis just- he takes the
five step forwards necessary, puts his hands on either side of Harry’s face, and kisses him.

Harry kisses back, and it’s something Louis’ noticed before- that he can never really catch Harry
off guard, that no matter where or when Louis kisses him, Harry’s always ready, not a moment’s
hesitation.

Harry’s quicker than ever tonight, moves with purpose, hands sliding up the back of Louis’ shirt
and walking him backwards. Louis’ heart rabbits when he’s pushed against the wall, but he’s glad
for the support, because his knees are liable to give out any second. Although, Christ, feeling
Harry up against him, his smell and his mouth, his taste, Louis doesn’t think falling to his knees
sounds like all that bad an idea.

Not yet, though. Louis' not ready to give up his mouth so soon, wants to take everything from it
he can, with Harry kissing him like this. Like he’s been waiting. Louis’ going with it, happy to,
fucking needing to, till Harry takes a hand away and reaches over to lock the door.

Which would indicate that this is going further than kissing, and though Louis’ cock twitches at
the click of the lock, he has to pull away. “Haz, we’re in the BBC studios.”

Harry hums in acknowledgement, smiling slightly as he leans in to kiss at Louis’ jaw.

“Gonna be people looking for you.”

“They can wait.”

It’s a simple sentence, mumbled into Louis’ neck, but it shoots to the core of him. “We wouldn’t
have much time,” Louis murmurs.

“I don’t care, I-” Harry laughs, shakes his head. “Just got a lot of energy, I guess.”

Louis laughs back, even as he catches Harry’s lips. “And you want to work that out on me?”

Harry nods, brow furrowed. “Let me make you come. Let me do that for you, please.”

Louis’ close to fully hard with those words alone, and God, it’s always like that with Harry. Even
as a fumbling, clueless teen, he was able to burn Louis up with a turn of phrase. “Yeah,” Louis
nods, shaking. “Yeah, please. How?”

Harry grins, pleased, cat who got the cream, spoiled prince who got his way. He steps away to
spin Louis around so Louis’ back is against his chest, and begins to walk them to the other side of
the room. Louis follows thoughtlessly, no qualms with not getting an answer to his question, the
sure, hot line of Harry’s body against his reassurance enough.

Harry stops when they’re in front of the mirror, the same one Louis did his makeup at only hours
earlier. He’s almost hesitant to look in, scared of what he’ll see.

He sees a mess- both of them; matching flushes and scruffy hair, red, wet lips and wide eyes.
Harry’s so big, tall and wide, long fingers curled around Louis’ shoulders, hunching slightly over
him. Louis feels jittery, but when he tries to turn around, Harry holds him in place.

“Let me,” he says, almost a whisper, and his hands fall down Louis’ body to his waistband. “Can
I?”

“Anything,” Louis says, because somehow they’ve both already past the line of judgment. Fuck,
but he’d forgotten about this, and he doesn’t know how: the way Harry could get after
performing, restless and needy, needing to channel all that leftover energy into something. Into
Louis.

Some of the most memorable fucks they’ve ever had happened in the aftermath of performances.
Louis’ beginning to think this one could make the list.

Harry reaches around Louis, pressing his chest even firmer against Louis’ back, and undoes his
fly. Louis thrusts forward helplessly, but as soon as Harry was there he’s gone again, looping his
fingers through belt hoops and pulling down.

Louis feels at Harry’s mercy, not being able to see anything that’s happening. He inhales deeply
when he feels Harry’s face against his ass, only the thin cotton of his boxers between them. Harry
breathes against it, and Louis knows what Harry wants to do.

What Louis hasn’t had done to him in years.

“Please,” he says, broken but sure. Insistent. Harry takes it for the permission that it is, and gently
pulls down the boxers, leaving them just below Louis’ ass so his thighs are constricted. It makes
them shake.

Harry’s hands reach up and grab Louis’ cheeks, squeezing gracelessly, unapologetically, before
parting them. “Want to- been wanting-”

He doesn’t finish, and Louis still hasn’t worked out if that habit’s deliberate or not, but right now
he doesn’t care. Amazingly, he doesn’t care about Harry’s words, doesn’t want to hear what
Harry thinks. He’s sweating, and his arms- bracing himself on the vanity desk- are shaking, and he
can’t be left like this. He needs Harry to do something.

Harry’s hesitant in a way Louis’ not particularly used to, at least at first. His licks are exploratory
and almost apologetic, like if he does it too firmly, too deeply, Louis will realise what’s happening
and tell him to fuck off.

Louis’ not above pushing his ass back into Harry’s face, and that’s what he does. Harry squeezes
his thigh, either in reprimand or acknowledgement, and gets to work. The first time his tongue
actually brushes over Louis’ clenching hole, Louis has to bite down on the inside of his arm to
stop the shout. There are people outside that door, he thinks, and pretends it doesn’t make his dick
harder.

“I haven’t- haven’t had this since you,” Louis says, breathing deeply as Harry does the same
behind him, on his knees, having pulled away momentarily. “Almost forgot…”

Harry bites at his left cheek, then kisses over it. “Couldn’t forget.”

“Fucking obsessed,” Louis says, and he’s not sure which one of them he’s talking about.

“Yeah,” Harry says, then gets back to work. Only five seconds later, Louis’ arms give out, and he
bends himself fully over the table. It’s good, because he can’t handle looking at his own face in
the mirror any longer, not if he wants some of his dignity to remain intact.

Harry pulls away to say, “touch yourself,” and Louis’ about to ask why Harry doesn’t do it
himself, but with the new position he can see between his legs, can see where Harry’s got his free
hand pulling at his own cock, which Louis has no idea when he pulled out. It makes him whine,
makes him squeeze the base of his dick harshly without thinking. Harry’s loving this, Harry had a
fucking list of people he brought today, Harry pretty much has an entourage, but it’s Louis, it’s
Louis in his dressing room with the door locked, it’s Louis who did his makeup, and it’s Louis
who’s going to make Harry come.

Not before Harry makes him come, and it happens sooner than he’d like. He can’t help it, his ass
has always been embarrassingly sensitive, and it might have only been ten minutes before he’s
clenching up on Harry’s tongue, shaking and hot, biting his lip against sounds he has no control
over, and coming, spilling over his cock, watching it drip to his hand and the floor and on the edge
of the table, and not caring, feeling fucking blissful. He practically collapses, Harry’s hand at his
hip the main support holding him up. That disappears pretty quickly as Harry comes too, shaking
through it silently, mouth pressed up against Louis’ thigh but not moving.

Louis breathes, quiet, trying to recapture his self-control, and what he hears in the silence is not
what he was expecting: laughter.

“What?” he asks, immediately, vulnerable enough to be paranoid, twisting his head around to look
at Harry.

“‘M sorry,” Harry says, but he’s still laughing. “I just- I forgot I was wearing makeup.”

“Oh my God-”

“It’s all over you, Lou,” Harry says, laughing again. Louis barely resists kicking at him. “It looks
great.”

“Fuck off.”
“I’m serious. D’you wanna see?”

“How would I- but no, anyway. I don’t want to see my lipstick covered arse, thanks.”

A pause, like maybe they can move on, and then: “can I take a picture anyway?”

Louis tries to turn around, again, but Harry’s hands on his hips hold him in place. “Why?” Louis
asks. He hates how easy he is for it, hates how receptive he is to any part of Harry’s attention.
Even weird shit like this.

“Think it’s one of the prettiest ways I’ve left my mark,” Harry says, smiling but serious.

Louis swallows. “Sure,” he says, and closes his eyes like he can pretend he doesn’t know what
Harry’s doing.

Only knows Harry’s finished, satisfied, when he begins to gently pull Louis’ boxers up, and then
his jeans. Harry stands up with the movement, reaches around to pull up Louis’ zip.

It’s only then Harry asks, “what did you think of it?” and he sounds vulnerable enough that he
might as well have asked what Louis thought of him.

Louis decides to answer that, anyway, turning around. “You were fucking amazing, Haz,
honestly. Couldn’t take my eyes off you, and I doubt anyone else could either. It’s a great song.”

Harry looks- well. Not as happy as Louis has become accustomed to him looking, after praise.
“Anything else?” Harry asks.

Louis laughs, unsure whether it’s a joke or not. “Christ, d’you really think your ego needs that
much more fuel?”

Harry looks at him for two, three seconds. “Right,” he says. His face is still a mess, and Louis
would wager his is too. Just like before the show, there’s a knock on the door.

And that’s that.

Louis forgets about the picture (or pictures, knowing Harry) until the next Monday. There’s a
meeting, first discussion of Harry’s music video, and the interesting part ended a good half hour
ago. Now it’s all about finance and promo and stuff Louis doesn’t care about- stuff he knows
Harry doesn’t care about, either.

So it’s not particularly surprising when his phone- on silent- lights up with a text from him, sitting
across the table and not looking at Louis at all.

What’s surprising- and makes Louis grateful he already had his phone stealthily placed below the
table at an angle only he can see- is the picture.

It takes Louis longer than it should to place. Then again, it’s not like Louis’ all that familiar with
what his ass looks like.

He knows Harry has quite a shit phone, and it was hardly ideal lighting in that room, but he can
still- he can see the wetness, and pink streaks and smudges of lipstick, and redder, angrier lines of
where Harry’s fingers dug in, and-

Louis clears his throat, locks his phone. Of course Harry thinks an effective method of sexting is
sending Louis pictures of Louis’ own ass. He waits for his fingers to stop shaking before he
replies, "don't know how you think this works, styles, but generally I don't get off to pics of my
own arse."

The reply is almost instantaneous: "shame, you're missing out xx "

Louis’ glad Harry’s not looking his way, so he doesn’t see the endeared smile that belies the string
of unimpressed emojis he sends back. He's surprised Harry's able to work out what he means,
because most people don't get just how expressive they are ("you can't text me a turtle to tell me
you're in traffic," "but they're slow, Liam. ")

Louis’ not asked for clarification here, but gets: "seriously, lou, eighth wonder of the world.
Seemed unfair you never got to see it from that angle."

And then, "it's one of my favourite angles."

And then, "I missed it."

And oh. They don't talk about that. It’s not like anyone can get particularly sentimental about
eating arse (although Louis doesn't want to test Harry), but the reminder of all the years they went
without each other, the possibility of them having been unhappy with that, even the smallest hint
that it wasn’t easy, wasn’t a completely ideal situation- they don't talk about that.

Which doesn’t explain why louis’ reply is a simple, “really? ”

He knows it could only backfire, pursuing that train of thought, but he can’t help it. He’ll pursue
anything, right now, desperate for any information Harry will give. He’s sick of those tidbits,
those throwaway comments hinting about what’s going on below the surface. He wants Harry’s
answers, all of them, as much as he tries to stop himself.

But he doesn’t get a reply.

He lingers outside the boardroom door once the meeting is over, knowing Harry is always one of
the last out and hoping that-

He’s not sure what he’s hoping for. Maybe something to satisfy, even momentarily, the need for
clarity he’s been desperately trying to repress. Julian is on the other side of the hall, talking to
someone Louis knows he’s supposed to know the name of, and he’s gesturing for Louis to join
them. As politely as possible, Louis signals for him to wait.

And when Harry does come out, he stops at Louis. Looks at him.

It’s a familiar look: fox-caught rabbit, deer in the headlights.

“Yeah?” Louis says, trying for soothing but knowing it won’t be enough to get rid of whatever is
going on in Harry’s head.

“I- I- just because I miss something doesn’t mean I think it’s a good idea to have it back.” He
blurts it out, fast, and Louis feels it like a punch to the gut- even though he knows he shouldn’t.
He doesn’t know how to respond, and he’s glad he’s got Julian waiting on him, because it’s not
completely suspicious when he just says, “I know,” and walks away.

He comes into work the next day incapable of anything, feeling empty and unfocused and useless
and exactly like you’d expect someone who got no sleep at all to feel. He hadn’t eaten properly
and thus didn’t have the stomach for coffee, and all he wants right now is the typical sympathy
Liam is always willing to dole out, and maybe some hugs.

What he gets is Harry, sitting on that bench Louis is suddenly considering having removed.

The thing is, Louis knows he shouldn’t be angry. It’s not news, Harry thinking rekindling their
relationship would be a bad idea. And as far as Harry knows, it’s something Louis agrees with.
Having Harry say it so abruptly was slightly out of the blue, sure, but it’s not something Louis can
blame him for.

And yet.

Fuck. Louis’ not sure the whole not-needing-answers is going to work for him. He just needs
progress, good or bad, needs some fucking hint as to which way is up and down in this
Godforsaken place he’s found himself in.

Mostly because he’s tired enough to doubt his ability to stand, he sits beside Harry. “Hey,” he
says, and his voice is weak enough he expects Harry to ask after him. To offer to go buy fucking
Lemsip, probably.

“Nick asked if you were single,” Harry says instead.

Probably wrongly, Louis’ first reaction is to laugh. “What?” he asks, because that combination of
words seems unnatural, at least directed at him.

“He wanted to know,” Harry says slowly, “if you were seeing someone.”

Based on their- barely civil- conversation, Louis would be genuinely shocked if Nick had asked
out of any desire to date Louis. Probably it was either just harmless curiosity, or- and this is the
current favourite theory- a roundabout way of trying to get Harry to talk about what he himself has
got going on with Louis. Fuck, knowing Nick, maybe he just did it to wind Harry up. Based on
his knowledge of Harry, Louis also suspects that Nick didn’t just flat out randomly ask it, the way
Harry seems to suggest, and that it’s something that came up in conversation relatively organically.

But. Harry’s never met a molehill he couldn’t make a mountain of, and all.

“I didn’t know what to say,” Harry says, sounding frustrated. “Are you?”

Louis can’t tell what Harry’s asking: if he’s wondering whether Louis considers himself still single
despite his arrangement with Harry, or if Louis might be seeing someone else besides Harry.

The latter theory is fucking ridiculous, because when would Louis even have the time, but he still
doesn’t know what to say. He stays silent, and suddenly that feels like the worst answer of all.

Harry moves further down the bench, away from Louis. “You’ve got to be,” he says, and it's too
early for Louis to identify the exact cadence of his voice, but it doesn't sound good. “You have to
be single.”

And that- that hits Louis somewhere deep and soft. It’s heavy with implications, because Harry
sounds insistent, like he hates the idea that Louis would be with someone else. But also, Harry
thinks that Louis not being with someone else would make him single, that what he has with
Harry wouldn’t be enough to warrant the revocation of that title on its own.

And Louis’ thinking, unbidden, of the countless times he’s seen Harry flirt in that way of his, and
the countless parties Harry’s mentioned attending, and the countless beautiful, classy people he’ll
undoubtedly be meeting in his near future.
 And he’s thinking about how he’s filled with unbridled disgust at the thought of Harry with
someone else, past present or future. But he’s also thinking about how overwhelmed he’s been
recently, and how confused he is about his situation with Harry. What it means, what it entails.
What Harry wants from it. How Harry doesn’t think it’s a good idea to have a relationship like
they did in the past. How maybe, exclusivity would just make the whole mess more confusing and
overwhelming and difficult to untangle himself from. How the option of other people might get
them both to take a few healing steps back.

He thinks about this, and he thinks about Harry saying, earnest and hopeful, you know you can tell
me anything, but what he says is, “if this thing between us isn’t built to last, then we should see
other people. There’s no point in being exclusive.”

He doesn’t know why he’s letting these ugly words leave his mouth, beyond a childish need to
hear Harry dismiss them, tell him they’re not true, tell him it’s only them, always only the two of
them. But Harry doesn’t say that. He looks at Louis with raised eyebrows and a tense jaw, and
says, “that makes sense.”

In that second, Louis feels angry, and scared, and sad, and still so fucking tired, but mostly alone.
It feels like losing Harry, or, even harsher, realising he never had him.

But it’s not- it’s an answer, maybe. Which is what he wanted. He brought it on himself.

He’ll just have to get through it himself, too.

He can't bring himself to speak, so he just nods.

Chapter End Notes

I had planned the graham norton as debut-performance-of-debut-single prior to Niall

even announcing getting signed, but I'm living for the this town parallels. Thanks to
everyone who's left feedback, I know I haven't gotten round to replying to everyone,
but I've seen your lovely comments and they mean a lot. I'll try my best to reply soon!

Here's my tumblr, and the post for this fic. Do with that what you will :)
 Chapter 11
Chapter Summary

previously: louis tries (and mostly fails) to accept what harry's willing to give him
without asking questions or working out what harry's thinking. he's not sure how
comfortable he himself feels about being honest with harry, despite harry telling him
he can be. his move to A&R is in the works, and he and harry have a game of
emotional chicken that results in louis sort-of-accidentally saying they shouldn't be
exclusive. harry agrees.

Chapter Notes

emotions and dialogue

(i've already said harry's pov in this is fireproof by the national, but louis' is definitely
same mistakes by the echo friendly, which is what i listened to on repeat while
writing this, and if you're into that sort of thing you should too!)

tw for the most incapable-of-dealing-with-emotions boys i've written yet. like,

seriously, be ready for some high level dumbness. i'm so sorry

(4586)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Apart from the heart-rotting jealousy, paranoia, and overwhelming feeling of losing control, Louis
thinks maybe the whole non-exclusivity thing is working pretty well. Certainly, it seems like
Harry thinks so. Louis doesn’t think it’s a coincidence that so soon after that instantly-regretted
agreement, Harry’s treatment of Louis became- warmer, maybe.

Not that it was cold before, or anything, but it was definitely tentative. Now Harry seems more
sure of himself around Louis, like knowing that they can see other people gives him confidence
that they aren’t taking what they have too seriously. The change in his attitude definitely lends
credence to Louis’ theory that Harry didn’t want anything like a real relationship.

Which is his right, Louis knows. Given their past- given their present, even, and how they haven’t
really talked about anything they need to talk about- probably the most reasonable stance to have
is that they shouldn’t be anything more than friends.

And, fuck- even if it is the option to sleep around that got him there, Louis’ still going to be
grateful for Harry’s change of heart.

1. They start running again, and it evens out Louis’ sleep into something manageable. It’s their
own private world, the one Louis had thought they’d lost for a while, and it’s more
comforting than ever.
 2. Louis ends a phone call to his mother one night while Harry’s over, and Harry asks,
seemingly without thinking, how is she? Louis gulps down some of his beer as an excuse to
delay answering; he’s not sure he’d be able to manage anything other than a squeal.
3. Louis moves office, and Harry brings presents.

The last one is bittersweet. On a practical level, and even on an egotistical level, Louis appreciates
his new situation; the office is actually in the A&R department, so he’s working among his
colleagues in a way that makes sense, and it’s also somewhat nicer than the one he had with Liam.
It’s actually meant to be an office, anyway, not just a refurbished storage room. It even has a
window- albeit slightly grotty on the outside and seemingly impossible to fully close.

On a sentimental level, though, Louis misses the one he had with Liam, poor lighting and lumpy
couch included. He misses Sam, who it would be impossible to keep on as both his and Liam’s
assistant, given that they’re now working on opposite sides of the buildings. He’s got a new one,
anyway, and she’s helpful and efficient and presumably knows a lot more about A&R than Sam
would, but still. Louis’ not good with change.

It’s why he’s so grateful that when Harry knocks on his open door and walks through, the first
thing he says is, “used to it yet?” rather than any of the variations of congratulations Louis’ been
hearing all morning.

Regardless of where they stand, Harry will always know Louis better than anyone. No one can
argue with that.

“Hardly,” Louis snorts, “although at least this chair can spin without making demon noises.” He
demonstrates from where he’s sitting behind the desk, and Harry laughs.

“God, yeah,” he says. “A lot less reason to fear for your life.”

He sort of stands there, then, and there’s a shiny gift bag in his hand, and Louis’ not sure what to
say. He doesn’t even really know how Harry knows where his office is. It shouldn’t make him so
happy, to think of Harry asking for directions, but it does.

“Uh,” Harry begins, after the silence stretches too long even by his standards. “Well, I figured
you’d sort of hate this place-” and Louis thinks he might be kind of teasing, because he used to.
Used to make fond, cheeky, comments about Louis’ inability to adapt, are you okay taking this
taxi, or do you not know the driver well enough? “-so I got you some stuff to help you settle in.
Officewarming gifts, if that’s a thing.”

It’s very definitely not a thing, but Louis’ hardly going to turn him away. “You didn’t-”

“I know,” Harry shrugs, finally fully stepping in and closing the door behind him. “But it can
double as a congratulations-on-the-new-job gift.”

“Also not really a thing,” Louis says, small smile, because if he doesn’t joke he’ll have to be
serious, and how can he be serious about this? I’m pretty sure you’re the love of my life and I
accidentally made you think I don’t want to be exclusive and it hurts me to see you do things like
this as much as it pleases me, because even though it’s evidence that you do care about me, it just
makes me think about how you don’t care enough.

“One more joke and you don’t get them,” Harry says, fake-huffy, even as he walks over to place
the bag ( pink with white polka dots, like that one shirt of his, and Louis wonders if he can get
away with keeping the bag as well ) on the desk.

Louis mimes zipping his lips and then makes grabby hands at the bag till Harry nudges it closer, a
smile Louis wants to interpret as fond.

Louis reaches in to retrieve a pottery bowl, full of soil and with five or six small cacti growing out
of it. It’s… cute. Very Harry.

“I couldn’t find any nice fake plants,” Harry supplies, “but cacti are, like, incredibly low
maintenance. Almost as hard to kill as leprechauns.”

It takes Louis a second, before the memory kicks in-

“and I’m prettier than that dead plant you’ve got out there.”

“You flatter yourself,” Louis said drily. “Anyway, don’t judge me for that. Liam insisted we get a
real one rather than a plastic one. He had way too much faith in our ability to care for another
life.”

- and he remembers that he was bringing up Liam a lot, then, to try and get Harry over that
reluctance-

“You guys put that there yourselves?”

Louis laughed. “Mate, our office was a storage room before we managed to argue a case for
converting it. We didn’t exactly get an interior decorator.”

- and he doesn’t know how to define that feeling, how to quantify his appreciation for Harry
remembering shit like that, paying attention like that, to an early morning conversation from
months ago.

He doesn’t know what to say, so he just raises his eyebrows.

Harry shrugs. “I was watching this documentary on ‘em last night. Couldn't sleep.”

“Cacti or leprechauns?” Louis asks.

Harry laughs. “Leprechauns.”

“I don’t know if that counts as a documentary,” Louis says, because he thinks Harry must tell him
these things when he wants to be teased. “Are you sure it wasn’t a kid’s film? Like, you know
they’re not real, right? That’s sort of what makes them hardest to kill.”

“What makes them hardest to kill is that they’re, like, the personification of luck, Lou,” Harry
corrects. “How do you kill something with luck on its side?”

Louis laughs. “Oh, is that why you couldn’t sleep? Were you too scared by the leprechaun
documentary? That’s what they want, y’know, it’s just fear tactics-”

“Told you if you make any more jokes you don’t get the presents-” Harry reaches out to grab the
pot, but Louis wraps his arm around it, pulling it to his chest, mindful of the spikes.

“No, mine now, you can’t have it back. I’m gonna name ‘em after Take That, ‘n’ all.”

Harry sinks into the chair in front of the desk, and this time Louis’ absolutely certain the smile is
fond. “There’s something else in the bag, too,” he says, voice verging on bashful.

Louis somehow softens even further. “Harry-”

“Again, I know I didn’t have to,” Harry shrugs. They hold eye contact for a few moments, before
Louis sighs through a smile. He reaches into the bag again, hands touching hard wood.

“This one’s actually more Liam than me,” Harry says. “He’s just letting me take the credit.”

Warms Louis to the bones, that, because Harry asking Liam for help getting Louis a present is just
proof of how far they’ve come. Even if only in some respects.

He pulls out a picture frame, split into six sections, a different photo in each. He understands what
Harry means about Liam, then, because he must have gotten his help; most of these photos are
ones that Liam had taken. Friends, colleagues, shots from parties. The one in the bottom right
corner gives Louis pause; it’s from last Christmas, when both sets of twins had come and stayed
with him for two nights. He and Liam had taken them ice skating, and it’s a picture of Louis with
his siblings, smiling, bundled up and huddled by the side of the rinc.

He understands why Liam would suggest Harry using this picture; it’s definitely one he’ll love
having in his office. It’s just- Harry hasn’t seen Louis’ siblings in five years. Daisy and Phoebe
were ten, when Harry and Louis broke up, and Doris and Ernest not even born.

Louis just- thinking about Harry putting that picture in the frame, he just wonders about Harry’s
reaction. How it made him feel.

“I know you like photos,” Harry says. “Or well- I’m guessing based on your flat. I don’t think you
used to, but. I dunno, I thought it might be nice? Just because, like.”

He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t need to. Louis smiles at him, big, and Harry smiles back.

And maybe, Louis lets himself think, this will be okay. He knows this isn’t deliberate of Harry,
knows this unfathomable thoughtfulness is essentially Harry’s trademark, but that’s part of why he
loves him. Harry can’t help but be kind, can’t help but want to make people happy. He doesn’t
worry about the implications.

And it’s sort of a simple thing, getting Louis presents to make him feel more comfortable in a new
environment, but it reminds Louis of what it is he’s hoping for. Why he and Harry are so good.
Just because he and Harry said they have the option to see other people, it doesn’t mean they will.
Maybe things will only get better.

Louis thought he’d gotten out of the habit of getting his hopes up ages ago, around about the third
time his father didn’t show up to their planned reunion. If he hadn’t learned that lesson then,
though, he certainly knows it now.

Two days later, Niall’s friend shows up. Well, Niall’s been talking about it for at least two weeks,
but Louis still thinks about it as showing up, uninvited, because probably, probably, his friend is
very nice, but Harry makes him laugh twice in the first five minutes of conversation, so.

It’s ridiculous. Louis has always known he’s possessive, jealous, but it’s never taken him over like
this. He can’t just dismiss it as irrational the way he could when they were in a committed
relationship. That night in the bar, the usual four but with Niall’s friend, too, Louis isn’t being
unreasonable when he wonders if it’ll all lead to- to something more. It can, now. When Harry
asks Niall’s friend questions, there’s no reason to think of it as innocent.

He handles it. He makes more jokes and pets at Harry’s hair and raises his voice, and Harry
laughs and leans in and looks at him, and that’s all he needs.

Till Louis comes back from the men’s room and Harry’s looking at the friend with that look. To
be fair, Louis’ seen him fix the waitresses taking his order with that look, but it still burns. Then all
he needs is a drink, and hopefully a distraction.

Gets both, from the bartender. He’s new, a nametag saying he’s Andrew but he still introduces
himself to Louis with an outstretched hand.

It takes longer than it should for Louis to realise Andrew’s flirting, but by then, he’s already
started flirting back.

Not anything real. Just small things. Just trying to keep his mind empty.

It doesn’t work, because as soon as he catches on to what’s happening, he panics. It makes him
feel weird, and it’s just not enjoyable anyway. Louis knows if he walks away now, it’ll only be a
few minutes before he has trouble remembering what Andrew’s face looks like- so he does, drink
in hand.

Harry’s looking at him all the way back to the table, and Louis’ almost nervous to slip into the seat
beside him, even though sitting anywhere else would just draw attention, given that there aren’t
really any other open spaces.

“D’you know them?” Harry’s not even trying to be casual. He breaks off conversation with
Niall’s Friend to ask it.

Louis’ seen it too many times to mistake it for anything else: jealousy. It should be satisfying, but
it’s just saddening, really. The idea of them both being less than happy with the non-exclusivity
makes the fact that they’ve agreed to it even more exhausting, more like a regression from all the
progress Louis had been determined to think they were making. Through all of his possessiveness,
he’d somehow forgotten how strongly it’s mirrored back in Harry, too, and Christ. Why are they
pretending this is a good idea? If all it’ll lead to is jealousy, never waning?

Except, well. That’s not completely true- they didn’t always have the strength for jealousy, and
God, Louis hates to think they’ll soon grown tired of it again. It’s too hollow and all-consuming a
memory for a night out with friends (and, never forgotten, Niall’s Friend), but Louis can’t stop
himself from thinking about the times possessiveness had turned into resignation. Remembers that
evening, the beginning of everything going wrong.

(“My friends think you’re cheating on me,” Harry had said, quiet, like a comment on the weather.
There was no sound in the background to distract from it, because they always muted the TV
during adverts. Louis had frozen. He wasn’t, obviously, God, but-

But he was cancelling on him, and he was meeting with lecturers and tutors and study groups that
he didn’t want to tell Harry about, and God- it felt like cheating, this secret life, reneging on a
promise he had made to Harry almost as important as the one of faithfulness. That they’d be big
together. That they’d rule stages together.

Louis had known, then, he needed to tell Harry about his change of heart, and he had, a week
later. The forty eight hours after it were the first time it occurred to him that maybe, what he and
Harry had wasn’t built to last. And it occurred to him more than once.)

He’s not exactly sure why it comes back to him then, only that it takes another bite at his long-
diminishing strength to handle it all.

“Nope,” Louis says, and he wonders what he’s supposed to feel when he sees it settle Harry.

He wants to get out of his head, because he’s never liked being self-pitying, that’s never been his
thing. So he drinks.
In a way, it’s counterproductive, because even as drinking makes it easier to not focus on his
feelings for Harry, his drunkenness makes Harry concerned, till he’s sneaking an arm around
Louis’ back and asking Niall to get a glass of water from the bar.

It’s ridiculous. Louis’ not that bad at all, but this is how Harry’s always been; he could hardly risk
a glass of mulled wine without waking up to two panadols on his bedside table, Harry stroking his
hair.

That’s not his place now, though, and a half hour later, when Louis says he wants to stay at the
pub despite Harry’s offer of a shared taxi home, Harry doesn’t say anything.

Louis lets his head fall to the tabletop. It’s stickier than he anticipated, but he doesn’t have the
heart to sit up straight. He’s committed to this position, now.

Beside him, Liam runs a hand over his back before gently lifting his head and placing a coaster
beneath his forehead.

Louis laughs. “You’re a good friend,” he says.

“Good enough you wanna tell me what’s going on?”

Louis groans, too drunk to keep it internal. He doesn’t want to tell Liam about the mess he’s
gotten himself into, because frankly, it’s embarrassing. Liam and Sophia had agreed to not see
anyone else over semi-fancy pasta on one of their Friday night dates, after Liam asking Louis,
only-slightly-nervously, whether it was the right time. That’s how adults are supposed to navigate
relationships. Louis feels like he’s sixteen again, falling in love with his best friend and not
knowing what to do with it, swinging from despairing doubt to manic hope every ten minutes,
incapable of controlling his emotions or actions. And really, only sixteen year olds can get away
with bullshit like accidentally agreeing to see other people in hopes of getting the other person to
say they don’t want to.

Even drunk, with a coaster stuck to his forehead, Louis has too much dignity to tell his best friend
about the mess he’s gotten himself into.

“Good enough I trust you to get me home?” he replies, and Liam doesn’t push. Just sighs, and
pats his back again.

Somehow, amazingly, it gets worse. It’s Niall’s fault, if only because all of a sudden Louis doesn’t
really believe in the whole don’t-shoot-the-messenger thing.

He has agreed to go for drinks with Niall and Liam on Friday night, and he hates that it’s this that
fucks everything up. He hadn’t even wanted to go, was scared of getting overly emotional again,
but Liam had jostled him into it.

And maybe it’s both Liam and Niall’s fault, actually, because it’s also Liam who asks, “is Harry
not coming?”

And even before the reply, Louis has tensed up. Doesn’t quite know why.

“Nah,” Niall says, small smile, “our boy’s got himself a date.”
Louis’ got a good poker face, but Liam doesn’t, and his gaze instantly swings to Louis. Fucking
hell.

Louis clears his throat, tries for friendly interest, or pretty much anything other than my heart is
literally destroying itself in my chest and getting my words past it is almost impossible . “With
your friend?” he asks, thinking back to that night, wondering if he was right, after all, to feel that
paranoid.

Niall’s eyebrows shoot up, and he laughs. “Who, Bressie?” Ridiculous name, Louis thinks,
pretending he didn’t spend a good portion of his life being almost exclusively referred to as
Tommo. “Christ, you really were somewhere else that night. Did you miss all the times he talked
about his wedding plans, or?”

Oh. Well. Even Liam’s looking at him slightly weird for that one.

“Nah, it’s a friend of a friend,” Niall goes on to explain, schoolyard-excited with the gossip. Louis
feels like throwing up, and Liam looks like he’s considering bringing a bin over for Louis to do it
in.

“Well, I guess we’ll have to make do just the three of us, then,” he says, and Louis is grateful for
what he knows is a deliberate redirect in the conversation.

Niall grins with a nod, but it fades soon, despite his attempts at conversation. It only takes a few
minutes to realise Liam and Louis aren’t up for it. Louis wonders if he has any idea why.

Niall shuts the door behind him, but that doesn’t mean Louis gets any peace.

“Our boy,” Liam says, “is a fucking prick, is what’s happening.”

Louis stays silent, doesn’t even feel that almost constant need to defend Harry against everything.
He’s too-

He doesn’t understand how this blindsided him, when the possibility is all he could think about for
days.

“Seriously,” Liam’s saying, “what the fuck, you guys are sleeping together, why would he think
he can-”

“Because I told him he could,” Louis says, eyes closed, head back against the couch. He can hear
when Liam stops pacing, and imagines he feels the weight of his stare. ”Fuck, I pretty much told
him he should. ”

“What?”

“It’s not his fault,” Louis says, because he’s too tired to properly explain but he’s also too tired to
keep secrets. “I said- I suggested it’d be for the best if we see other people.”

Dip in the couch and a warmth by his side. Louis opens his eyes to see Liam beside him, and for
his friend’s sake, Louis hopes that look isn’t pitying. “Louis. Like. What the fuck?”

Louis shrugs. “I dunno, he was- he was asking if I was dating anyone else, like he thought I
could, and then I was thinking about how maybe he’s doing it, or maybe he wants to and this was
his weird way of getting permission, and I know it was stupid but I just wanted him to say he
wouldn’t, I wanted to know he didn’t want to, but-”

Louis cuts off when Liam hugs him, and he only resists for a few seconds before relaxing into his
best friend’s grip. “I don’t want to be rude,” Liam says, “but that’s some fucking high school
logic.”

Louis gives a choked laugh. “He makes me feel like a teenager,” he says.

“Usually that phrase is more loving than bitter,” Liam comments, and Louis appreciates the
humour. Makes him feel less like he’s about to fall apart.

“Only by people who forget how fucking awful being a teenager was,” Louis says.

Eventually Liam clears out, and then there’s nothing in the office but Louis, and the suffocating
fact that Harry’s found someone to go on a date with tomorrow evening. And maybe that
someone will turn into the someone, maybe-

Louis throws himself into work as a means of distraction, but it’s not that effective when his main
task is choosing directors and writers for Harry’s music video. He feels sort of ashamed at how
well he wants to do it, and not just because it’s his first duty in his new job, and not just because
he wants Harry’s career to go as well as it possibly can, but because-

It’s ridiculous, he knows, but somehow he wants it to mean something to Harry. He’s not sure
what he’s expecting, for Harry to turn to him and say, wow, Louis, your ability to hire music video
directors and cameramen has made me realised how much I need you in my life.

At least Louis’ still able to laugh at himself. He’s never lost that. It has to count for something.

Louis doesn’t see Harry any of Thursday or Friday, and the thing is, Louis’ not avoiding him- has
too much pride for that. Which makes him wonder if Harry’s avoiding him, which would be quite
un-Harry, but then again, there was a time going on dates with people-who-aren’t-Louis was quite
un-Harry, too.

They’re both characteristically busy with work, and there was never any plan to meet up. Louis
tells himself he’s overreacting.

And keeps telling himself that even as he drinks an entire bottle of wine, on his own, with shaking
hands. At least the latter make him incapable of doing anything ridiculous, like texting Harry.
Instead he imagines what Harry’s doing on his date. Where it’s even happening.

Way back when, Harry’s idea of a date involved pizza or burgers or, at its fanciest, a home
cooked meal.

Louis’ feels sick at the thought that Harry has a homecooked meal for this evening, and
embarrassed when he realises he can’t wrap his head around Harry ever doing that for someone
other than him.

Saturday morning, after a night of something that can hardly count as sleep, Louis gets a text. He’s
surprised the words don’t make him throw up: really sorry Lou, but won’t be able for a run this
morning. Hope all’s good, see you sometime soon xxxxxxxxxxx

If excessive kisses don’t smack of guilt, Louis doesn’t know what does.
He knows he’s reading into it. Even if Harry had- if the date had gone well, so to speak, Harry
wouldn’t know to feel guilty, wouldn’t know that it hurt Louis. Louis doesn’t necessarily want
him to.

And anyway, there are reasons beyond that for Harry cancelling, probably: maybe he only got
home late last night- though that doesn’t make Louis feel all that much better-, or maybe he’s
hungover from drinking too much. Louis likes that one.

Maybe he got food poisoning. Ha.

But, probably predictably, it’s the first theory Louis’ brain insists on returning to, over and over,
forcing him out of bed and following him into the shower. What if the date had stayed over? What
if Harry didn’t want to run with Louis because there were other things he’d rather be doing this
morning?

Harry’s not something he can lose, Louis knows that. What they have isn't experimental, the way
Harry seems to think. Testing the waters comes with the very clear implication that one can retreat
to dry, safe land at any time, but Louis’ past the point of no return.

He can’t just let this happen. Being the one to believe in them both feels like a burden, but Louis’
willing to take it on. He remembers how infatuated Harry had been with the idea that they were
soulmates, with the idea of forever and faith and finding the right person. Louis hates to think he’s
the one who took that optimism away from him, but it makes him all the more dedicated to
carrying it himself, till Harry gets it back.

He’s not going to just let this happen.

He gets dressed, fills a water bottle, puts in his earphones. Walks to Harry’s.

He waits for a few minutes outside, just like he usually would on the mornings Harry’s slightly
late. Then he goes up to the door, leans his forehead momentarily against the peeling red paint,
and presses the buzzer.

Presses it again a minute later. Harry finally picks up with a “h’lo?” that holds a gruffness Louis
doubts the low quality feed can claim full responsibility for.

“Uh, hey, Harry,” Louis says, playing clueless and carrying it off pretty well, he hopes. “You
okay?”

“Lou?” The confusion clears quickly: “did you not get my text?”

Louis pauses, for effect. “What text?” he asks, and cringes at himself. Lying to Harry is not
something he should ever really do. He feels gross, and out of line, and not at all what he wants to
be for Harry. To Harry.

“Oh man, it was saying that- well, I’m not really up for a run, this morning?”

“Oh, fuck,” Louis says, and sort of hates himself for the guilt pouring from Harry’s mouth. “Shit,
my bad, my phone’s dead, I left my charger at work yesterday.” And he’s happy he’s able to think
of that on his feet, because even with the fifteen minutes it takes to get to Harry’s flat, he’s come
up with no plan on how to handle this. Actually, the mere fact that he showed up at Harry’s flat
probably shows that he’s not handling this.
“Damn,” Harry says, sounding genuinely sympathetic, “sorry, I did only send it last minute, as
well.”

Louis wouldn't say he feels guilty, his blood too loud and his mind too manic for that, but he
certainly feels like he should feel guilty. He has no idea what he’s doing, but that's a common
recurrence he's getting better at controlling, the more time he spends with Harry.

The static through the buzzer is suspended long enough to jack up Louis’ pulse even quicker, but
then Harry’s saying, “hey, you came all this way, wanna come up for breakfast? I’m still not up
for running, but…”

Louis’ eyebrows shoot up. He’s never been to Harry’s flat, before. These are not exactly the
circumstances under which he saw that changing. “Are you sure?” he asks. “I don’t want to…”

“No, seriously, it’s fine. This morning was mostly just gonna be, like, coffee and self pity, so
company would probably do me good.”

Self pity. Interesting. Louis wonders what he’ll be walking into. “Well then. Yeah, okay. That
sounds good.” Does it? Even with his complete lack of game plan, Louis assumes he came here
because he wanted to somehow gain access. Now that it’s going to happen, he just feels. Sort of
terrified.

He knows Harry’s on the fourth floor, and he also knows that there’s no lift, so he’s surprised by
how quickly the door opens to him. ( Gives Louis enough time to pull out his phone and turn it
off, just in case. Jesus Christ, he’s a disaster.)

Louis’ not sure why it hurts more than usual, how gorgeous Harry is. Even in a stained hoodie
with tangled hair and dry lips.

Louis’ pretty sure that the hair isn’t sex-tangled, and that’s some consolation.

“Heya,” he says, somewhat lamely. He wonders what Harry reads off his face.

Has no way to tell, because Harry just gives a slightly pathetic smile and gestures behind him,
rather than actually saying anything.

Sore throat, maybe. He gets them a lot. Inconclusive.

They climb up the flights of stairs, and shit, Harry’s getting a pre-run workout every morning with
these. Louis considers making that joke, but refrains. He doesn’t completely know what their
dynamic is right now.

Harry opens the door to his flat, and- Louis’ not completely sure what he’s expecting. It’s a small,
unimpressive space, even though by now, with the single, Louis’ sure he could upgrade. What’s
throwing Louis off is how neat it is. Looking like one of the showhouses he and Harry used to go
to. He knows that’s just how Harry is, organized, but he can’t help but see it as yet another way
Harry’s refusing to give any hints as to what goes on beneath the surface. Louis instantly wants to
fuck it up, wants to empty wardrobes and stain rugs and push every neatly arranged knickknack
off that shining mantelpiece. More than that, he wants to get Harry to do it. Wants to break him
down enough that he’d make a mess for Louis.

The fervor calms, slightly, when his eyes slide to an open door to what must be Harry’s room. A
tangled, abandoned bed clearly visible.

“Nice place,” Louis says, feeling fucking foolish. Jesus, he was checking up on Harry. Like
some- some-

Not like anyone he wants to be, anyway.

Harry gives a small laugh, and it relaxes Louis. Kind of. “Affordable, is what you mean, ” Harry
says, but it’s not really. Harry could make anywhere a nice place to live. “Uh, I put on the kettle
before going down to you, and I’m assuming you want some tea?”

“Oh, yeah, please,” Louis says, and despite having essentially forced himself into this flat, he’s
still grateful when Harry disappears into the kitchen. He needs to recalibrate.

Obviously, Harry not wanting to go running hadn’t anything to do with, like, entertaining
company, but does that make Louis feel any better? His heart’s still beating too fast, his palms are
still sweaty. He still wants to bite marks into Harry, or better yet, have Harry do it to him, show
him he doesn’t want anyone else.

Okay. Maybe Harry’s fucking mysterious date isn’t here, but the memories of him still are, and
maybe the reason he’s not here is because he’s a third date kinda guy, and they like each other
enough to take it slow, and they’ve already scheduled their second, and fuck-

Louis just needs to make Harry forget about the date. He needs to know that he can, same way he
used to kiss Harry in a stranger’s bathroom and make him forget that there’s even a party outside.

Louis takes a deep breath, and lowers himself onto the couch. He hates himself for hesitating, for
wondering if it's okay for him to just sit down without Harry, like, giving permission.

At his flat, Harry has a side of the bed.

“Sorry for cancelling,” Harry says, again. “Was just out late last night.”

Louis tastes bile, and that’s part of the reason why he doesn’t ask Harry where he was, whether he
was at some work party like usual. Mostly, though, it’s because he’s scared of what Harry’s
answer would be- if he’d actually admit he was on a date, say it aloud and painless and shameless,
or if he wouldn’t, if he’d lie, like he knows how incapable Louis would be of hearing it.

Louis’ not sure which would hurt worse, and he doesn’t try and find out. Says, “oh no, did I
wake you?”

Harry sighs, and there’s a weight to it that makes Louis feel heavy, too. “No, actually,” he says. “I
couldn’t- didn’t-” the tenseness in Harry, that’s been there since he opened the door, bites at
Louis. Makes him wonder. Makes him worry. “I slept shit.”

Louis can’t work out if nervousness in his words is because he’s lying, because the date did come
back to his and they- they- did things. Or maybe, Louis thinks, vindictively, maybe Harry couldn’t
sleep because he’d just been out with someone that wasn’t Louis and he felt awful, felt wrong, the
same way Louis did last night.

Wishful thinking, he knows. He forces himself to hum sympathetically, all the while feeling out of
control. Some of the concern is genuine, though. Harry’s the sort of person who gives absolutely
everything he can, and he’s suddenly working in an industry that asks for everything, and Louis
knows Harry was born for this life, but that doesn’t stop him from worrying. “Tired?” he asks, and
feels like that question has become more commonplace than him asking Harry how are you, or
any news?

Harry nods, so Louis reaches up and grabs his sleeve. Rubs his thumb along Harry’s wrist as he
tugs at the fabric, till Harry sits down. “Poor baby,” he says, and makes it sound at least slightly
teasing. Harry just nods, though, pouting, and Louis pulls him against his chest. Lifts his hand and
runs it through Harry’s hair, scratching at the spot behind his ear that makes him weak. The spot
behind his ear the date doesn’t know about.

And he tells the sort of over the top stories he knows Harry loves, and he plays with his hair, and
he compliments him, which he feels sort of- slimy for, but the thing is it’s all genuine, he does
think Harry’s beautiful and precious and lovely, he just apparently needs a push to say it. And it’s
only ten minutes or so before he’s completely certain there’s absolutely no chance Harry’s
thinking about anything other than him.

He feels calm for the first time in three days, possibly longer. He’s got everything under control.
Everything’s going to be fine.

Louis wonders if him thinking everything is working out being swiftly followed by things getting
significantly worse is going to be a pattern. It’s only three hours after he gets home that Harry’s
knocking at his door.

When the door’s opened, Harry stays silent for a few moments, but Louis still feels panic bubbling
up inside of him. He doesn’t need words to know Harry’s angry. His jaw is clenched, and if Louis
let himself break eye contact, he wouldn’t be surprised if his fists were too.

Which is-

Harry doesn't really do angry. He gets stubborn and indignant and moody and frustrated , at most,
but not angry.

"You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

"What on purpose?" Louis asks, but he feels caught out .

"Fuck off, Louis, the- everything, all of it, I don't get how I didn't see it, Jesus." Harry’s frowning,
and then Louis realises that maybe he’s directing some of the anger at himself, and that makes the
pain in his stomach tighten.

He still manages to shrug. "I genuinely don't know what you mean, mate."

"Fuck you, fuck, you don’t get to do that, don't get to- fucking flirt, and play with my hair, and
then call me mate." In an unprecedented move, Harry is the first to break eye contact.

"I'm sorry?" Louis asks, genuinely taken aback. He can feel his pulse. He imagines he can see
Harry's, in his neck. It's not that much of a stretch.

Harry takes some deep breaths, eyes closed. “Can I- can I come in?”

It’s very much, Louis thinks, like university parties and we’ll talk about this later, let’s not make a
scene. Except that now Harry’s actively seeking privacy for a discussion, rather than using the
lack of it as an excuse for a delay.

Louis steps away from the door, tries not to tense as Harry walks past him. Close.

The door slotting shut is the last sound for a few moments. Then, in an overly controlled voice:
“Niall said- you knew where, where I was last night.”

And definitely, probably, Louis is in the wrong right now, but that doesn’t stop the phrasing from
annoying him. “And where’s that, then?”

Harry looks close to rolling his eyes, which generally is Louis’ thing. “Oh, come off it.”

Louis shrugs. “No, I’m serious. If you’re gonna fucking do this you’re gonna need to be able to
say the words.”

Harry’s jaw clenches, but he nods. “I was on a date,” he says, and Louis’- it’s not a series of
words he’s really equipped, to hear from this person. It doesn’t seem like a series of words Harry
is much up to saying, if the pained look on his face is anything to go by.

He perseveres, anyway. “My friend set me up with her friend, because she thought we’d get on,
and I said yes, after fucking months of saying no, because you- you told me you thought it’d be a
good idea if we saw other people. You said that that would be best. ”

Louis stays silent. He knows he’d fucked up, and even if he hadn’t had any time to spare thinking
about the consequences of getting found out, he’s still surprised it’s this. He was expecting
humiliation, not- he’s not exactly sure why this, of all things, is provoking such a strong reaction.

Given his terrible track record with getting to the point, Harry seems surprisingly dedicated to
clarifying things for Louis, right now. “And that’s what I don’t get- like, you, you were the one
who said we should do this, so- so why would you-” Harry breaking in and out of sentences
seems like a result of overpiling thoughts, rather than any hesitancy. “You were fucking checking
up on me.”

He sort of sounds betrayed, and it’s like- Harry’s sounded like that once before, when Louis told
him the true extent of his passion for the course he was in, and it’s just as heartbreaking now.
Moreso, even, because it’s so justified. Louis no longer has any self-righteousness to cling to in
defence.

“What were you even expecting to find?” Harry asks, and Louis genuinely can’t tell if it’s
rhetorical or not. “Like, did you think they’d be there, in my flat? And you’d do that whole
fucking routine, with my hair and the jokes and-”

“Not a routine,” Louis says. It’s the afternoon on a weekend, but he’s tired. He sits on his couch,
and almost immediately regrets it for how he has to look up at Harry.

“It was though, wasn’t it?”Harry snorts. “I mean, I thought you were just- just missing me, or
something, or just taking care because I hadn’t slept, or you were just in a fucking good mood, but
apparently it’s because. Fuck, because you wanted to make sure I wasn’t with someone, or that if I
was, you wanted to make sure that I couldn’t actually, y’know, feel anything for anyone else.”

Louis thinks back to Harry’s officewarming gift, and how much he’d appreciated how well Harry
knew him, and how funny it is that less than a week later he suddenly loathes it.

Harry takes a deep breath, turns away from Louis, turns back. Sits on the coffee table. Their knees
are close. “D’you wanna know why I cancelled the run?”

He really doesn’t. “Harry…”

“No, seriously. Like, it’s obviously why you came ‘round, so I might as well tell you. It’s 'cause I
couldn’t fucking handle being near you, on your own, after last night- I was trying to move on, I
was trying to like this person, I couldn’t go from them to you so quickly. They’d fucking pale,
they’d- I’d just forget about them. Straight away.”

Louis thinks that maybe, later, when he’s not so wracked with guilt, those words might even make
him happy.

“Because-” Harry gulps, and for the first time, he looks more scared than angry. “Because that’s
what happened last time. You were- you were fucking everywhere. You were everything. Did
you know I'm bi?"

It sounds almost accusatorial, and Louis- did not know. "You are?"

"Yeah, I only realised, like, a year after you. Before, when it was us, I thought I could only want
boys, but that's not true. It's that I could only want you, could only fucking look at you. I forgot
everything else existed, and that might sound romantic, and sometimes I thought it was, but it’s
not. It’s fucking dangerous."

“That’s not-”

“But how would you know?” Harry asks. “You had so much other great shit in your life, Lou.
You had these sisters that needed you, and our friends needed you too, and then- then when we
got to university, when we fucking got out of that town- it was supposed to be our dream, it was
supposed to be just you and me, but you had that fucking course. You had fucking study groups,
that you chose over me.”

“I didn’t choose them over you,” Louis spits. “What the fuck? And it’s not like, not like you didn’t
have your own friends.”

“Not at the start I didn’t,” Harry laughs. “Not until I realised there was no point staying in that flat
waiting for you.”

It stops Louis, because he never really- he hadn’t thought about which came first. Harry’s friends
and parties and plans were always just something he associated with university. They weren’t
something that happened in response to anything. To him. “But still, I- you can’t act like I didn’t
love you. That I wouldn’t have done anything...” The past tense burns his tongue.

“That’s not the point. You don’t know what it’s like, Louis,” Harry says. “You had university,
and your degree, and after university you got this job, the dream job, with your- your best friend
who you fucking love, and you had everything. You even- you even got yourself a boyfriend, for
longer than I was able to be with anyone, and. And he got a fucking record deal, in fucking LA,
and I know that’s a stupid thing to focus on but, I just-”

Louis doesn’t know how Harry knows about Aiden, at all, and it just feels so weird, hearing that
reference come from his mouth. To hear the man that means more to Louis than anything else talk
about something that insignificant. It’s like if a world leader wrote a speech about shittily
maintained bike lanes.

“I was some fucking hopeful naïve struggling musician people pitied, or at best were endeared by.
I was just some charmer who didn’t have a real job besides some random goes as a barman, who
was- was hoping for something that never seemed to happen. You left my life and my life was
fucking directionless. Yours stayed going. And then- then when my life does get back on track,
when I finally have this opportunity I feel like I’ve been waiting for my whole life, you’re the one
who gave it to me. Okay? You- you walk back into my life and you want to give me everything,
but I don’t want that from you. I don’t want it to always have to be you who gives me that, I want-
I want to do it myself. Just once.”

“You- you got this job yourself. You wouldn’t have got this if it wasn’t for your talent.” Louis
knows it’s not the point, but he can’t think of anything else to say. There’s more being said here
than the response to him showing up at Harry’s under false pretences. This is tangles of emotions
Harry must have been cultivating for years, but Louis himself has had no time to prepare.

“But that’s not the point- the point, the point is, that when I called mum after my first day of work
here, we talked more about you than we did about the fact that my lifelong dreams were finally
being realised. And I can’t- I don’t know what you want from me, but I can’t just do whatever the
fuck I feel like, like you can. You already have everything sorted out, I- I want to make something
of my life! I want to see things and do things, and take over the fucking world- but every night all
I can think about is going for a fucking run !"

"That's not my fault,” Louis says, and he can’t explain why he’s getting angry. He knows this is
something that should make him sympathetic. Fucking hell, he didn’t- he’s spent hours, over the
past few months, trying to work out what Harry was thinking, feeling, and nothing came close to
this. But that just makes him feel fucking angry, because Christ, he’s supposed to know Harry.

He’s supposed to be what’s good for Harry.

"I'm not blaming you, I'm just- being around you doesn't exactly help." Harry’s losing steam, just
as Louis’ getting started.

"Well then stop," Louis says, voice breaking, and he's fucking terrified it'll backfire, feels
uncomfortably similar to the challenge that started this whole shit show. "Stop being around me.
Stop spending time with me and start taking over the world!" He can't help the venomous sarcasm
he inserts into the last phrase. It makes Harry deflate, his shoulders slacking and his face
scrunching up. "But you can't, can you Harry? You need it just as much as I do."

“It’s not that fucking simple, though,” Harry says. “And you know that, Louis. Stop making me
play the bad guy, you know what we have is a fucking timebomb. You were the one who made
that fucking suggestion, so you should just- just let me…”

“You want to move on? Want to find someone else?” Louis asks. There’s a pause, and then he
says: “well then. How did that date go?”

He already has a feeling, and it’s reinforced by Harry’s flinch. “Louis…”

“My guess,” he says, and he’s never before realised what a thin line there is between confidence
and desperation, “is that it went fucking shit. My guess is that you were awkward and sweating
and you might’ve even made an excuse to leave early. My guess is that you drank more than you
should’ve, on a first date and that-” he clears his throat. “And that you couldn’t stop thinking
about me.”

Harry looks pained, and Louis knows it’s selfish, to ignore everything he’s said about why he
can’t give more. But he can’t stop. “And why didn’t you even want to tell me you were on a date?
Why would you feel the need to not tell me?”

Harry shakes his head. “How was I supposed to tell you that? I couldn’t just come out and say it,
and- and I told you I went out last night, I expected you to just- ask me where.”

It’s too rational an answer for it to be what Louis wants. “But then why didn’t you want whoever
it was you were out with? If your friend set it up, I bet the date’s a nice guy. Fit. So why couldn’t
you want him if you want to move on?”

Harry shrugs, and he’s reached that calmness he uses as a defence mechanism, Louis recognises.
“We didn’t click.”

“Bullshit! Fucking bullshit, Harry, it’s because you want me .”

 “Of course I fucking do!” Harry says, and despite it all, it’s the first time either of them have raised
their voices. It shocks them both, Louis thinks, because another silence falls. Harry sighs, runs a
hand through his still-messy hair.

“Of course I want you,” he says, “but I’m scared that it’ll make me forget about everything else.
I’m scared it’s gonna be all I want, if I let it. I just need to know that- I can’t fall into you again.”

Louis doesn’t know what Harry wants him to say. Doesn’t know how he can expect him to say
anything, when he can hardly fucking process all that’s just been said.

He thinks it’s unfair for Harry to tell him this now, when Louis’d already let himself fall weeks
ago.

Chapter End Notes

this was..........exhausting to write so i hope it pays off and you guys like (? bad
word?) it. i kill for comments, and thanks to everyone who's already left some!

once again, here's a link to my tumblr , and here's a link to the the fic post . see ya
next time xx
 Chapter 12
Chapter Summary

prev.: louis and harry (disastrously) agree to non-exclusivity, louis continues feeling
clueless about what's going on in harry's head, harry has a date, louis reacts........less-
than-ideally, harry confronts him and talks about how he feels it's too easy to lose
himself in louis and not prioritise anything else in his life and how he doesn't want it
to happen again.

Chapter Notes

one of my first ideas for what this fic would be called was some version of the
national lyric, "i've got two sets of headphones and i miss you like hell."

happy MITAM anniversary, and enjoy.

(5025)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Louis thinks he and Harry breaking up would’ve been easier, and come about sooner, if it wasn’t
for all the good times they kept having, right up until the end. Even during the darkest periods,
there were respites of friendship, of happiness and enjoyment and affection.

It’s the same now.

They don’t see each other as much. It’s not something they talked about, because they didn’t need
to; it was obvious. After everything Harry said, well. They couldn’t go back from that.

And it’s a good thing, too, Louis knows. Harry’s given him what he wanted for who knows how
long: some insight. The truth of it hurts, but still, Louis is grateful for Harry having told him.
Understanding isn’t pleasant, but it’s better than how lost he had felt for so long.

Just like in their last months together, they can’t completely pull apart: they fit too well,
complications aside. Louis’ not sure there’s any logic in the world, no matter how sound, that
could make them abandon each other again. Even if it’s rarely just the two of them, Louis hardly
goes a day without exchanging some sort of joke with Harry, or gossiping about the people they
work with, or complaining about the stress they’re both under. They don’t fuck, but it’s not a big
deal; no situation presents itself where it seems like the thing to do. Sure, Louis concedes, there
was a time they’d manufacture those situations themselves, but still. The moderate friendship is
good.

The first time they spend an extended period of time alone, it’s for work. Louis’ fitting nicely into
his new job, has some intuitive understanding of its mechanics, but there are some things that are
foreign to him. Namely, the fact that he’s sort of in a position of authority over Harry. And when
he has something to say to Harry, work-related, he doesn’t like his options; doesn’t want to call
Harry to his office, or just talk to Niall about him, like Harry needs to be spoken for rather than
spoken to, not deserving of insight or input into the process of his career.

So he finds out which studio Harry’s working in from Liam, and goes there during lunchtime,
when he knows everyone-but-Harry will have cleared out for food.

Sure enough, when he walks in it’s to Harry alone, leaning over that fucking journal Louis sort of
wants to steal, still, brow furrowed and pen flying across paper. Louis hates to interrupt.

He knocks lightly on the door, after the staring has arrived at the line between fond and creepy.
“Hey, Haz.”

“Heya,” he says, looking up and only sounding slightly surprised. “What brings you ‘round these
parts?”

“You,” Louis says, before he can think about it, and clears his throat. “Like, I’ve some news, on
the video front.”

Harry perks up. “Yeah?”

“Uhuh, yeah, we’ve found a location,” Louis says, and he knows he’s drawing it out, but he can’t
help it. Harry’s smile is growing.

“Where?”

“LA,” Louis says, after a small, teasing pause.

Harry’s eyes widen. “No shit, seriously? Really?”

Louis laughs, delighted. It’s not a win he can totally take credit for: his idea, sure, but his more
experienced colleagues are the ones with the connections who actually made it happen. Still,
though. It’s impossible not to feel proud, with Harry looking at him like that. “Yeah, and, uh- you
didn’t hear it from me, but. It’s not a sure thing, not yet, but they’re looking into getting you a
performance at the VMAs.”

“What?” Louis doesn’t know how to read Harry’s face, then. He moves further into the room,
takes a seat on the couch closest to Harry. There are pages scattered along it, and Louis hates, in
that moment, the writers who are working with Harry. Even if probably some of them are his
friends. They get to spend their day witnessing something so beautiful, and he knows they don't
appreciate it as much as they should.

“Yeah,” Louis says. “Probably Something Great, but it’d be great to debut your second single, if it
was ready by then.”

“Fuck,” Harry says, and oh- maybe it’s fear.

“We know what you’re capable of,” Louis says, lowly. “I know it. We wouldn’t ask for anything
more.”

Harry takes a deep breath. “You think I’m able for that?”

“More than. They love you over there, you know that,” Louis says. “You’re the newest recruit of
the British invasion, yeah? Adele ‘n’ Ed Sheeran ‘n’ now you.” All the while he’s thinking, this
isn’t my place. He’s not supposed to be offering Harry comfort, not anymore, not when it’ll just
risk fucking Harry up like he said he was scared of. But Louis doesn’t know how to stop. It’s like
it’s his default.

Harry clears his throat, manages a smile. “Thanks, Lou,” he says.

“Yeah,” Louis nods, standing up. “Anyway, some of the details are still up in the air. I’ll try
keeping you updated, though.”

Harry nods, and Louis knows he should go then, but it’s the first time they’ve been alone in so
long, without the buffer of Niall or Liam, and he can’t let it go to waste. The thing is, he never
really got to respond to everything Harry told him, that afternoon.

And for the most part there’s nothing to say. He may have been defensive at first, but once he’d
come out of the shock and genuinely thought about where Harry was coming from, he realised
he’d have to force himself to accept it. Except for one thing:

“Listen, Harry,” he begins. Harry instantly looks up, wary. “I wanted to talk about…about what
you said-”

“We don’t have to do this-”

“I know,” Louis says. “I know, and I’m not trying to invalidate what you told me. I’ve thought
about it, and I get where you’re coming from, I do. I just wanted to say… Sometimes, the things
you were saying, it was like you thought the breakup was easy for me. I dunno if you did I just- I
just don’t want you to think that I didn’t care, I- I was a mess after it, fuck, for the first few months
I-” he breaks off. He doesn’t want to make Harry feel guilty, he just doesn’t want him to think
Louis didn’t care at all. “I want you to know that it wasn’t easy for me. Losing you.”

Harry’s biting his lip, and Louis knows it’s a small thing, but he’s always hated how Harry takes
out his frustration on his own body, even if only to small degrees. Wringing hands and pulled hair.
“I know,” he says, quietly, and Louis breathes a sigh of relief. “I’m sorry if it seemed like I didn’t,
because I do.”

Louis nods, not sure what to do with the acceptance. “Right,” he says, and finally turns to leave.

Is stopped by Harry calling his name, Lou, voice still quiet.

“Yeah?”

“Uh. You have free time?”

Louis turns around, surprised. Doesn’t answer.

“Just,” Harry continues, “if you’d wanna help me with this song? It’s gettin’ sorta tricky, and I
know you said you missed writing, with the new job.”

“Oh,” Louis says. Harry stays silent. It’s so fucking tempting, but… risky. “Harry, I- I don’t think
that’s a good idea.”

He feels foolish turning away a possibility that others must covet. Harry's attention, complete and
constant and more than surface deep, is a privilege, and Louis feels like he should treat it as such.
Harry leaves a party and Louis assumes there are at least five people fantasizing about him. Even
with people who properly know Harry, even his closest friends, Louis can’t believe they wouldn’t
want him to be theirs, at least a little. The way Louis gets to have him, sometimes. The way Louis
always has him when they write together.

Harry almost visibly deflates, and Louis’ hit with a pang of self-hate. “I’m sorry, it’s just-”
“No,” Harry interrupts, nodding. “I get it, you’re right-”

“Only because-” because writing with you is probably the most intimate thing we can do, maybe
even more so than sex, and that’s not what you want. You don’t want to be with me.

“I know. Seriously, Louis. I get it.”

Louis pauses. “Right.” He moves to leave, and once it’s clear Harry’s not going to say anything
else, says, “good luck with the song, though.”

Harry smiles with seemingly genuine gratitude, and that’ll have to be enough, for now.

They’re still friends, even if only to a lesser degree. They still have roles in each other’s lives.

And maybe that’s a bad thing, maybe having Harry smile at him in the morning and not pretend to
have forgotten all their inside jokes is unwise, but Louis can’t bring himself to care. It’s a small
balm on his loneliness, one he's not willing to sacrifice.

The running stops, again, and that’s the one thing Louis truly regrets about the distance. That
tradition- if you could call it that, what with how lazily they maintained it- was never tainted by
their anxieties. It always seemed pure, always seemed like a reminder of what he was in this mess
for; a reminder of how good Harry could be for him.

His loneliness, one night, brings him to the local corner shop to buy his first pack of fags in
however many days (a week earlier he’d disabled notifications from that Godawful app, so he’s
no longer keeping track). He doesn’t smoke it, but holding it solidly in his hand makes him feel
like maybe Harry doesn’t have complete control over his life.

(Which is ridiculous, considering the main reason he stops himself from opening the pack is not a
concern for his health, or some sense of pride in how long he’s gone without, but a fear of
somehow disappointing Harry.)

One morning, perhaps in some other vain attempt to prove to himself he doesn’t need Harry, he
goes on the run on his own. He’s not sure if the lapse in exercise is to blame for how bad the stitch
he gets feels, or the burning in his lungs, or if it’s just that this time he doesn’t have Harry there to
distract him from the intensity of it.

He’s not really sure if it’s a good idea to go to the bakery, but he doesn’t care. Without Harry, the
morning doesn’t feel like it could have consequences, doesn’t feel real. Feels even less so when he
walks in and Susan isn’t there. He dawdles at the display in the inexplicable hope that she’ll
emerge from the back; she doesn’t. And the middle aged woman in front of the cash register
doesn’t disappear as some mirage, either. She does send Louis a few looks, though, so eventually
he feigns making his mind up, like he hasn’t come enough times to have a regular.

As she rings him up, he manages a (hopefully) casual, “Susan not about this morning?”

“You know her?” she asks, surprised. Louis thinks maybe working in customer service isn’t her
usual job, and it’s confirmed when she says, “But no. Usually I just work on the delivery, but
Sue’s in Wales for the week. Visiting her son.”
“Oh, that’s lovely,” Louis says, because it is. Susan takes (almost) as much pride in her family as
she does her baked goods.

When this woman asks if Louis wants the food for here or take away, he says the latter. He just.

His throwaway comment about Susan reminding him of Alice Dipper hadn’t been all that
throwaway, and just like Alice had given the both of them her complete approval, Susan was his
and Harry’s most unbiased supporter, right now. Only person in the world who didn’t doubt them-
if only because she didn’t really know them.

It continues like that, a tentative peace, a slightly risky friendship, for a month. And then there’s
America:

It happens in a rush. Louis fucking loves working on this new side of the building, where things
happen so fast in comparison with the relaxed pace of the studios. Every second of his time is
spent recruiting people for the music video, overseeing the plan for it, working over the locations.
By the end of it, he’s pretty sure he could give a guided tour of the music industry in LA,
blindfolded.

Liam’s locked up busy too, and given that his main priority is Harry’s album, Louis imagines
Harry’s similarly hard at work. The label wants an early release for the album, in case his next
single doesn’t do as well and they need to rely on the momentum of Something Great, though
Louis hopes no one has explained that reasoning to Harry.

And then the calendar on the back of his office door that his assistant diligently keeps stocked is
telling him, nestled between some out of proportion drawings of stars, that the flight to LA is in a
week.

They’ve logged some time with their sister studios over there, so Liam’s coming too. It’s all four
of them (as well, of course, as an entire host of other people, but it makes Louis uncomfortable to
acknowledge how many people need something from Harry, how many are telling him what to
do), and Louis likes that, because it makes him think this trip will just be like what their lives were
like in England, only they’ll have to wear sunglasses.

Harry doesn’t seem to see it that way, and he’s bloomed into an obnoxious tourist days in
advance. Louis doesn’t need to spend all that much time with him to see that: there are fun facts
about the city peppered into even the shortest conversations, now. Louis can’t find it annoying; he
thinks about his first real conversation with Harry after he was signed, and how Harry said he had
planned to try his luck in LA, if he didn’t get any offer by New Year.

Louis thinks about how fucking thankful he is it’s not under those circumstances Harry had gone
to LA.

On the airplane, he and Harry are sitting beside each other. They’re not alone, obviously, but
they’re sharing an armrest, knees touching, and the person beside them is a stranger who pops
sleeping pills as soon as the plane starts rolling.

(The first time they’d been on a plane together was the day after they’d gotten their A-levels back,
a trip to Milan they’d been saving for since Christmas. They’d both done well enough for the
courses of their choice, and there was no weight on their shoulders. No fear. Neither of them,
Louis thought, realised anything could possibly go wrong. Not after years of everything going
right.

It’s the only time they’d been on a plane together, too. Harry started taking trips with his friends to
fun, cultured, too-sophisticated-for-Louis (or so Louis’ late night, paranoid brain told him)
European cities, once their relationship really started to deteriorate. The first few times, Harry
asked Louis if he wanted to go, but- and maybe he was wrong- Louis always got the impression
that it was more out of obligation than anything else. He said no, begged out for financial reasons.

He knows Harry would’ve been more than willing to put money towards his ticket, and normally
he wouldn’t mind Harry spending money on him- they were always equals in their relationship,
and they trusted each other too much for there to be any feeling of debt between them. But Louis
detested the idea of Harry spending money on him just so Louis could join him and his friends on
their adventures. There was definitely something in that idea that made him feel like a burden.

The weekends alone, in that flat- never had the guts to go back to Cheshire without Harry by his
side, didn’t want their mums asking questions- almost drove him mad. Or at least, the first couple
of times did.

The last time he started hanging out with Liam. When Harry called he deliberately didn't answer;
texted "sorry, busy! :) ". When Harry got back Louis told him he missed him, but he didn't let it
actually show. It was as fucked up that Harry was clearly annoyed by this as it was that Louis got
off on that annoyance. He brought up Liam, a few times, just small stories. It was nearing the end,
by then, so it wasn’t really breaking anything that wasn't already broken.)

Somewhere along the way, since Harry’s re-arrival in his life, the memories have stopped filling
him with resentment; now it’s more of a detached sadness for what they let each other ruin,
without any real attempts at saving it.

In either case, it’s a distinctly Bad Idea to reminisce about that particular period when he’s got the
current Harry pressed beside him in a plane seat. He’s chewing gum and offers Louis one, to stop
his ears from popping. It’s an absolutely mundane thing, and Louis’ ashamed at how much love it
wells up in him.

“Nah,” he says, “I’ll probably try to copy this genius-” he nods to the passenger beside him- “and
cop some sleep. Sitting still for more than eleven hours is not something I’m gonna even attempt.”

Harry, against all rational predictions, pouts. “Not gonna entertain me, then?” he asks.

Louis would gladly spend the rest of his life entertaining Harry, but he also has to at least pretend
he’d rather they keep to themselves. “Why’s the onus always on me?” he asks, small laugh. Like
he doesn’t fucking love how their dynamic generally plays out with him as the jester, Harry as the
audience.

Harry laughs, and falters, and Louis realises in that moment that Harry is equally as clueless as
him. Is equally unsure how to handle himself when it’s just the two of them. “I’ve got music,” he
says, eventually.

Louis can’t help but smile. A safe zone. “Great,” he says, “‘cause I forgot my own earphones.”

Harry laughs. “I thought you might, I know you always-” he breaks off. “I brought a spare pair,
anyway, and I got that double jack.”

Just like with the chewing gum, it’s a relatively small gesture. Louis’ still left reeling. Harry thinks
about him, Harry cares about him, and it’s not like this is shocking. He still remembers Harry’s
voice when he said, of course I want you, and he knows that it’s not a lack of affection that’s
getting in their way. Still.

He stays silent as Harry plugs the separator into his iPod, puts in both sets of earphones and gives
one to Louis. Just smiles when Harry asks him what he wants to hear.

“You choose,” he says.

None of it is music they’ve listened to together before, and Louis’ not sure whether this counts as
making new memories or moving on. Maybe a bit of both. In either case, it’s soothing. Their time
apart means they don’t always discover artists simultaneously the way they used to, and Louis
feels something special, having Harry share music with him like this. Likes watching Harry’s
mouth as he sings along to himself, almost unconsciously.

Louis’ original plan to sleep soon takes over, though, through no effort of his own. When he
wakes up they’ve been airborne for six hours, and the earphones are hanging around his neck,
presumably dislodged from when- shit, when he leaned his head on Harry’s shoulder, apparently.

He sits up straight, rubbing at the back of his neck where he can feel the roots of a pain lodging in.
“Sorry,” he says quietly to Harry, and he’s expecting a routine smile-and-dismissal, but what he
gets is this:

Harry’s hands are clenched on the arm rest, and there are tears pearling at the end of his lashes,
eyes closed.

"Harry," Louis says, slowly, softly. He’s no idea what’s going on. Harry’s not been harbouring a
fear of flying this whole time, has he?

“Don’t,” Harry says, shaking his head.

“Don’t what?” Louis asks. “What’s wrong?”

Harry lets out a small, pained laugh, and Louis’ more grateful than ever for the person beside them
that’s still sleeping, granting them some illusion of privacy. “It’s embarrassing,” Harry says, and
Louis thinks he’s heard that before- that night on the roof, feeling like a fucking age ago, Harry
talking about his friends and his frustrations. How initially, he hadn’t wanted to open up to Louis.

Louis would’ve thought they were past that, by now.

Unless. Unless what it is that has Harry upset is something to do with Louis. “Hey, no,” he still
says. “You can tell me.”

Harry turns to him, then. “I just wanted to be, like, supportive. And I was curious.”

Louis’ beginning to dread what’s coming next, but tells himself he shouldn’t. He’s talking to
himself like pilots talk to passengers during turbulence. Everything’s under control. Everything’s
going to be okay. Nothing out of the ordinary.

“So I downloaded- last week, I downloaded albums by some artists I knew you’d worked with,”
Harry says, and he does look embarrassed, saying this. “I just wanted to know about what you’d
been writing, y’know?”

And Louis does know; it’s an urge he can completely understand, what with how curious he is
about that damned journal. He’s just still not sure where this is going.

“And I was listening to some of it, then, after you fell asleep. But you have- you- at first I thought
it was just a coincidence, but, like…” Harry breaks off.

There’s genuine fear mixing in with Louis’ heartbeats. “What, Haz?” he asks.

Harry’s mouth opens for a moment, but after a few seconds he seems to give up on speech. He
instead brandishes his iPod, presses the play button to get the screen to light up.

And, shit. The track playing is called Strong, and it’s not something Louis’ felt guilty for in a long
time. Two years, to be precise.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says. “I’m sorry, I know you don’t owe me anything, or us anything, but I still
just- I can’t believe you sold this. I really can’t.”

“Harry,” Louis whispers. “We’d been broken up for years.”

He nods. “I know, I know. But just- you’d written it for me. ”

And something in Louis wants to correct him, wants to say that just because it’s about Harry
doesn’t mean it’s for Harry, but he can’t. It’s not true in this case, anyway. Harry had cried, the
first time he heard it, teared up like he’s doing now, and the song had been his ever since.

From the very time he’d given the song away Louis had felt like it was wrong, but. But the artist
had needed a love song and he’d been feeling uninspired, and he’d been trying his hardest to
convince himself he was over Harry, and he hadn’t thought he’d see Harry ever again, not really.

He hadn’t sang Strong in something like three years, at that point. He didn’t want it to go to waste.

And sure, he’d had to leave the album launch, hearing the lyrics through someone else’s lips, but it
still counted as an effort. “I did it because I wanted to move on,” he says, and what he’s thinking
is: it had hurt him, giving it away, but why is it hurting Harry, when all he wants is for them to
break off from their past?

Harry’s hands tighten around the grey plastic of the arm rests. “And I fucking hate that,” he says.
Louis can tell he said it without thinking, and he also knows that usually, usually Harry is so
careful, too aware and worried about other people to ever be impulsive. It doesn’t make this less
annoying.

“You’re the one saying you have to move on,” he says, slightly defensive. “You can’t move on
and then get angry at me for doing the same.”

Then Louis thinks about the last time he visited Harry in the studio, how overcome with jealousy
he had been to even think of the people who still got to write with him. And how, when Harry
had extended the offer to help him with a song, Louis had still said no.

Thinks sometimes moving on involves crippling fear of being replaced.

Harry’s eyes are still shining. “I know,” he says. “And I’m not angry, I’m not.” He swallows. “I
don’t want to ask anything from you, Louis, I know that goes against- against everything I’ve
been saying. But I can’t help feeling this way.”

“I’m not saying I have moved on,” Louis says, because he most certainly hasn’t, “but don’t you
want me to?”
Harry’s breath shudders. “I should,” he acknowledges. “Lou, I know I should but it just-”

“You don’t want me to write about anyone else,” Louis says, not letting it be a question, and
Harry’s lack of reply is a victory. “Harry,” it’s a risk, he knows it is, “do you think you’d ever- I
know you can’t get into anything now, I understand that, but… is not now the same thing as not
ever?”

Louis doesn’t trust himself to have an accurate sense of time, especially in a fucking plane, but it
must be at least a minute before Harry replies. “I can’t ask you to wait for me,” he says.

Louis weighs the words in his mouth, measures their worth. “I would,” he finally gets out. “If you
asked me.”

Another prolonged silence. “I know,” Harry whispers.

They’re silent the rest of the flight. Somehow, Louis manages to fall asleep again, and he doesn’t
have time to think about whether it’s because of how safe he feels beside Harry, no matter what
state they’re in.

Louis had counted on the fact that they were landing late to stop himself from needing to dress for
warm weather: he wasn’t particularly practical himself, but he’d been raised by a practical woman,
and some of her tricks were second nature to him, now. He always wore the bulkiest clothes while
travelling, so as to create more room in his bags.

Despite the relatively late hour, though, the clothes seem to stick to his skin as soon as he steps out
of the plane.

It’s his first time in America, and he’s greeted by a wall of warmth. “Fucking hell,” he laughs,
because it’s his first ever work trip, and he’s with his friends, and he’s sort of tired and almost
immediately having difficulty dealing with the timezone change, and he’s got a posh-enough hotel
room waiting for him that’s all expenses paid, including room service.

Liam claps him on the back. “I know,” he says, and they fall into excited chatter as they follow the
stream of weary passengers into the airport. Louis doesn’t know if it’s by accident or design that
Harry and Niall are a few metres up ahead, having a very separate conversation.

Airport wifi tells him he’s got a message, and he genuinely stops in his tracks for a second when
he sees it’s from Aiden- “hey Lou, just saw on facebook youre in my neck of the woods?”- and
shit, yeah, Aiden’s in LA, Louis’ surprised how completely that slipped his mind. “Was
wondering if we could get coffee, catch up? It’s been too long, mate, pity we didn’t keep in
touch.”

It’s the mate that makes Louis say yes, because Aiden’s always been very traditional in his flirting,
and very obvious too, and if he wanted something more than coffee there wouldn’t be a mate, and
there probably would be a winky face.

He and Liam have a very limited understanding of privacy, so he’s not exactly surprised that when
he’s finished replying in the affirmative, Liam gives him a sceptical look. “Really?” he asks.

Louis shrugs. He knows it’s just going to be a coffee, doesn’t have to be a big deal. It’ll be weird
seeing Aiden when he’s sort of in the middle of something with Harry, but that doesn’t mean he
can’t enjoy it, on a more basic level. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it,” he says, and Liam
doesn’t take much more than that to go back to talking about his surfing plans for the Saturday off.

The hotel is an amazing place to have as a homebase, and while Louis’ not sure how much he can
handle the seemingly constantly smiling Americans, the first five days there are definitely
enjoyable.

Work keeps them away from each other, and it would no matter what terms they were on. Louis
had seen Harry’s itinerary, and it was a terrifying thing: he’ll probably have to hire someone to
brush his teeth, at this point, he’s getting such little free time. Louis’ not sure how it happened.
He’s never seen an artist worked like this, and it makes him think maybe some of it is because of
Harry’s personality. That maybe they’ve realised how infrequently he says no, and thus have
given him even more things to say yes to.

It captures his sympathy, and it always has, but after the conversation on the plane he thinks
maybe it’s good they have time to themselves- or, well, that Louis has time to himself. Harry
probably hasn’t been in an empty room since the airport toilets.

He’s so preoccupied with the final plans for Harry’s music video, filmed primarily on a beach
they’ve only managed to rent for a two hour period, as well as the difficulties of liaising with
London about the rest of his jobs, that he doesn’t actually manage to put aside any time to think
about their relationship, and whether it was changed at all by their exchange on the plane.

He’s hoping yes, but with no further interaction with Harry, it’s impossible to tell.

He’s finished his duties earlier than expected, one evening, and he needs a change of scene from
the conference hall they’ve rented or his or Niall’s or Liam’s hotel room. Too lazy to go out, he
settles on the hotel lobby, a tragically unexplored area for him; risky, too, given that he turned
down Niall’s offer of Yet Another Movie Night by saying he still had too much work. Really,
though, he’s just getting restless. Prior to their arrival they’d imagined countless nights out,
discovering the clubs and bars and people of the city. They’ve always been too tired, though, and
instead, Louis’ watched the second Iron Man film twice in the past week.

There’s an added layer of stress tonight: Niall had said he’d invited Harry, too, and when he’d
explained that Harry was busy, he’d seemed genuinely worried. Whether it was as his manager or
his friend or both, it had sent a spike of dread through Louis. Niall’s so realistic, so grounded, that
Louis can’t believe his worry would be irrational. He must mean it.

Being in the lobby is comforting, in a way, though there’s less people watching opportunities than
he had hoped for. There’s an older man, introduced as Ryan, that’s playing piano, and he’s what’s
getting most of Louis’ attention. He toys with the idea of offering to sign him, just because he
wants to do something, but he knows it’s ridiculous. Settles for having a drink sent over to Ryan.
The man seems pretty content with his playing, acting like it’s just a practice session in his living
room, but Louis’ heard enough stories about how difficult it can be for a musician to be ignored.
There are only three other guests in the lobby, so he places even more onus on himself.

Ryan asks him if he has any requests, in thanks for the drink, and Louis asks for something he
hasn’t played in a while.

He’s already decided he’s not going to go out, but in the abstract it sounds nice. Louis feels
restless, and he’s not sure if it’s homesickness or something else, but he needs a distraction.
Ryan’s playing is great, but it’s too relaxed to completely take Louis’ mind off things.

“Hey, Lou,” he hears above the light music, and it startles him- identifying the voice as Harry’s
even more so.

“Hey, Haz,” Louis says once he’s turned ‘round, and then, wow, has to lean away because Harry
looks too beautiful. He must be going out somewhere, and it’s shocking to see Harry as the
Finished Product close up. Not a hair out of place, what must be some mascara and lipgloss, skin
looking so fucking soft and not even slightly strained though Louis knows Harry must be getting
even less sleep than him. His clothes are ridiculous, tight jeans and see-through shirt and
everything just looking like a dare. He’s always been the fucking personification of temptation.
Louis’ considering breathing through his mouth, just to avoid the smell of that aftershave.

He looks so completely stunning, but part of Louis prefers the Harry with old t-shirts, tangled hair,
and slightly chapped lips. Possibly because it’s a Harry he can stake a claim in.

Louis clears his throat. “You goin’ out?” He can’t remember what it is Harry has tonight, having
only had momentary access to his itinerary.

“Uh, yeah, there’s a club opening and like,” Harry looks almost embarrassed, like he has to justify
why he’s going, “there’s some people there, I dunno, I’m supposed to talk to them.”

“Sounds great,” Louis says, and hopes it’s believable. Must be, because:

“You could come? If you want?” Harry shrugs. “I mean, I’ve got a few plus ones and it’s not like-
well, there are some things I’d need to do there, so you could just, y’know. Do your own thing.”

“I dunno,” Louis says, even though it sounds like exactly what he needs. “I’m pretty tired.”

“I know,” Harry nods, earnestly. “I can tell, you’re all stressed and- and this has been a good way
for you to release that before?” Louis hesitates, and Harry adds: “c’mon, Lou, have you been out
at all so far?”

Louis groans, shaking his head. “No, I’ve been too busy working on the video. I haven’t even
gotten to go to the beach the video’s filmed at, fucking hell.”

Harry laughs, but manages, somehow, to do it sympathetically. “All the more reason to come with
me,” he says, sing-song.

Again, Louis thinks: personification of temptation. “I should change first, though,” he says.

“No,” Harry shakes his head, slightly-too-quickly. “You look fine, and we’re- we don’t want to
be late.”

The drive to the club is quick enough and Louis’ glad for it, because it’s also awkward. Harry’s
nervous, that much is obvious, and Louis wants to reach out and still his shaking leg, or better yet,
ask him what’s wrong, but he can’t. There are two or three other people in the car, who Louis got
introductions to but didn’t try all that hard to remember. He hates how they make him feel like an
outsider, and is first out of the car once it’s parked.

The club isn’t like one Louis’ ever been to before, but whether that’s because it’s in a different
country or because its target market is clearly just The Rich, he can’t be sure. A swell of pleasure
runs through him when he, Harry, and the few other people from the car are let under the rope
ahead of the queue.

“Friends in high places?” Louis asks teasingly, low against Harry’s ear, because if he can’t ask
him how he is, he can at least try to crack a few jokes to relax him. Even as he says it, though, he
realises maybe Harry doesn’t need those kinds of friends. Harry’s already in a high place himself.

Not wanting to be the one who’s left, as soon as they breach the crowd Louis gives Harry a half-
hug in gratitude and breaks off from the group. He’s not going to drink because he already feels
out of control, but he can definitely get drunk on the atmosphere. The floor he’s on, it’s just
mindless dancing, very little talking, and that appeals to him a lot. There’s a week of stress buried
between his shoulders, and his mission for the night is to dig it out.

He does. It’s exactly the sort of night he needed, making quick friends and dancing and trying to
sing along with songs he’s never heard before and laughing and just. Not caring.

And then he turns to the bar, and he’s hit with a wall of caring : Harry’s sitting- alone,
miraculously- and he looks lost.

Louis doesn’t think before he approaches. Adrenaline has replaced common sense, and he swings
an arm around Harry’s shoulders to announce his presence.

Harry tenses at first, but once he turns to Louis he relaxes with a laugh. “Drunk?”

“Nope!”

Harry raises an eyebrow, prompting a laugh from Louis. “Seriously, H. Not a drop of alcohol
passed these virgin lips. I’m just, y’know.”

Harry looks him up and down, a quick flicker of his gaze. “Yeah,” he says.

Louis clears his throat. “How did your night go, then?” Tries for casual.

Harry shrugs. “I don’t really even know,” he says with a small laugh. “People in this business are
really hard to read. I never know whether I’ve impressed them or not.”

“I’d bet on the former,” Louis says, before he can stop himself. Is glad he didn’t, then, because of
the blush it pulls onto Harry’s cheeks.

Louis’ not drunk, but he is somewhat less clever than usual, and when he climbs onto the stool
beside Harry, he doesn’t put much room between them. “Haz, you told me I had to go out at least
once, but ‘s’the same for you, y’know.”

Harry frowns. “I am out.”

“You’re here because you had to meet some people, or whatever, and now you’re worrying about
how that went. I mean properly, like- have some fun.”

“Aah,” Harry says, theatrically. “I remember fun.”

It’s clearly a joke, but it’s still the closest thing to a confession that his schedule’s getting a bit
much. “Fondly?” Louis asks.

“Very.”

“Then let’s try ‘n’ have some tonight, yeah?”

“Then let’s try ‘n’ have some tonight, yeah?”

Harry looks at him, holds him in the uncomfortable barstool with his gaze, and then smiles.
“Yeah,” he says, hopping up. “Let’s go.”

“Where are the other- people?” Louis asks, eyes steadily fixed on the hand Harry now has on his
knee. He wishes he’d worn ripped jeans, is craving even the smallest amount of skin on skin.

Harry huffs out a laugh. “Don’t worry about ‘em,” he says, “they make a living out of nights like
this, they won’t miss us.”

Well. Louis didn’t think those people would miss him for a second.

Fuck it, though. They can manage missing Harry for a night. He stands up, follows Harry through
the labyrinth of club goers, and they both laugh when they break out into the slightly-cooler night
air. “Where are we going?” Louis finally thinks to ask, but Harry just shrugs. Louis doesn’t push,
because for all the superficial differences that made people-who-didn't-know-them label them
unlikely, he can't forget how in sync they are, how neatly their interests and priorities line up.
They’ve always known how to have fun together, anyway, and he doesn’t think Harry will lead
him wrong now.

Where Harry leads him is to the beach, the beach, the one the video was filmed at, and Louis
doesn’t realise until the car’s pulling in and Harry’s asking the driver, extra politely, if she could
find some place that sells towels at this time of night, rather than waiting outside.

“Towels?” Louis asks, as he climbs out. “You’re expecting me to swim?”

“I’m expecting you to thrash around complaining about how cold it is before diving under and
grabbing at my legs,” Harry corrects, “but that will also eventually lead to towels being used.”

“Just for that,” Louis says, already beginning to pull his top off, not caring about the temperature
or the time or the fact that this is private property, “I’m gonna grab your balls instead.”

He’s running before Harry has the time to reply, pulling off his jeans as he goes, and he doesn’t let
himself flinch as he hits the cold water. Turns when he hears a strangled war cry from behind him,
and laughs to see Harry running toward the water, arms flailing, chest and legs bare.

He crashes into Louis, sending them both under, and it’s so good. The water is freezing but it’s a
break from the neverending heat of the past few days, and besides, Louis’ with Harry, and they’re
not worrying about anything, and they’re in a foreign country, for Christ’s sakes.

It’s freedom, Louis thinks, as he watches Harry float on his back, staring at the stars. That’s what
this feeling is: freedom.

Harry catches him looking, and Louis grins. “Think I made a promise about some ball grabbing,”
he says, before ducking under.

Louis doesn’t know how long they spend out there, fighting and floating, but if it wasn’t for the
chattering of their teeth, he wagers they would’ve stayed a while more. Instead they pull
themselves out, rush up to the bench at the top where the driver- Louis hopes she’s paid well- has
left two towels.

“Bags the Finding Nemo one,” Louis says, grabbing it before Harry can. Harry sticks out his
tongue, but settles on the plain blue alternative.

They dry in silence then, other than their shuddering breaths, and once only a vague dampness
lingers, they start to track down the clothes they discarded and pulling them over themselves.

As they sit into the car, Louis finally turns to Harry. “Thanks,” he says. “For bringing me there.
Exactly what I needed.”

Harry smiles, eyes closed and head leaned back. “Me too,” he says.

It’s only a twenty five minute journey, but Louis falls asleep. It’s incredibly reminiscent of the
plane ride, waking with his head on Harry’s shoulder.

This time he doesn’t apologise, and he’s not sure why. He knows the only reason his head was a
mess today was because of Harry, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that being around
Harry is what clears it up.

He looks up, and they make eye contact, and they’re stuck there till the driver clears her throat.
Harry gives a small deprecating laugh, and undoes his seatbelt. Louis follows him out, and into the
hotel, and they stop in front of the lift.

They’re on different floors. Louis knows that. Harry seems to, too. He looks at Louis and says,
“do you want to come up to mine? I’m not tired, yet.”

Louis doesn’t know where he got that confidence from, but he’s so, so grateful for it. “Me
neither,” he says. “Yes, please.”

They don’t touch, on their way up to Harry’s room, but there’s never more than an inch of space
between them. Louis’ not sure what’s happening. If they do end up fucking, he knows it’ll be just
that: a fuck. A momentary reprieve when they’re away from home, stressed out and in an
unfamiliar setting. Craving something they know.

Louis feels shaky, stepping into the room- nicer, even, than Louis’ own- but he doesn’t let it stop
him. He leans in and presses a soft, closed-lipped kiss to Harry’s mouth, the most he can handle
without falling apart. Harry seems to feel the same, because it stays that soft for a while. Just the
two of them, gentle gentle gentle, but still so fucking strong. Harry’s hands hover over his arms in
a shakingly light grip. Louis moves his own to rest at Harry’s waist.

And it’s like, this, this, this is what calms Louis down, this is what centres him. That club was a
distraction, and the sea was fun, but this is the most real he’s felt all week. And fuck, but that’s got
to count for something.

Harry steps away and lowers his hands to his own belt. Doesn’t do anything but look at Louis in
question.

Louis answers by pushing the hands away and replacing them with his own, unbuckling the
heavy belt and pulling down his fly. Black boxers are revealed beneath, and Louis scratches
lightly at the fabric, loving the way he can see Harry’s stomach muscles tense. He pulls the jeans
down to Harry’s knees, locking him there, before doing the same with his boxers. There’s already
a light film of sweat painted across Harry’s thighs, and his cock is half hard. Louis considers
taking it into his mouth so he can feel it fill up like that, so he doesn’t miss a single drop of
precome, but he gets distracted.

There’s a track of crude red indents low on Harry’s waist from the too tight jeans that Louis wants
to smooth out with his tongue- so he does, dropping to his knees and mouthing over the reddened
marks on Harry’s right hip.

“Fuck,” he hears hissed from above him, and it makes him bite down, only for a moment.

Harry whines out a "sensitive," and Louis laughs slightly against the skin, inhaling the smell of the
fancy cologne Harry had started wearing. He misses the old cotton-and-soap Harry, but the new
fragrance is definitely growing on him.

"The things you do for fashion, babe," Louis murmurs as he nears the centre between Harry's
hips, where curls of hair tickle at his chin. Harry’s almost fully hard, now, and it’s a lot harder to
resist the temptation to take him into his mouth, but he does. Continues sucking at the red marks,
wanting to be the only one with the privilege to do that to Harry’s skin.

"I look good, though," Harry murmurs under his breath, and it sounds so much like a question
Louis' heart breaks.

"So good, love, Harry, always look so beautiful," he says, before licking a kiss into the swirl of
Harry's hair just above the base of his cock. Harry flinches forward imperceptibly, but it's enough
to make Louis pull away. Arousal aside, given how clumsy Harry is, leaving the jeans caught
around his knees is probably a safety hazard more than anything.

"Gotta get these monstrosities off your poor legs," he mumbles, pulling them down. He feels so
focused, like he doesn’t have to worry anymore. Or at least not about anything other than Harry’s
comfort, which is so easy for him to take care of.

And it's all obviously for Harry, but Louis can't deny the blood heavy weight between his own
thighs. Harry's legs are so beautiful, though, the perfect definition of strong and delicate, and
Louis loves it all, the way the top half of his thighs are practically hairless, the small white scar at
the bottom of his right knee, the thigh tattoo he is, by now, intimately familiar with, the slight in
turn of his calves. They never took their time like this when they were younger, either, it was
always rushed, desperate, clumsy heat, and Louis doesn't know if he regrets that, but he'd certainly
regret turning away the chance to do it differently now.

Harry's standing in the middle of the room, so there's plenty of space for Louis to crawl on his
knees behind him. The marks are higher here than they were on his front, from the jeans rucking
up slightly over his ass. Louis steadies himself by placing his hands at the top of Harry's thighs,
just below the meat of his ass, and sucks a belt of hickeys out to replace the previous red. He can
taste the sweat, and there’s force against his hands as Harry constantly tries to buck away,
seemingly unconsciously. He doesn’t say anything, though, or try to rush Louis, and they’re
taking it slow in a way Louis can’t really remember them doing before, not really. He moves
around to focus on Harry's left hip, then, nipping slightly at the love handles that Harry never lost.
It makes Harry give a short, quiet laugh, and fuck, Louis forgot he was ticklish. He presses his
own smile into Harry’s skin.

Once he’s gotten rid of the marks left by those jeans, chosen for Harry by some stranger, he stands
up, Harry’s hands fall to his waist, and shit- Louis had forgotten he’s still fully clothed. He breaks
away from Harry in order to strip, and Harry follows his lead, pulls off his thin white shirt. They
press back up against each other as soon as they’re both naked, and they kiss. It’s tongue and teeth
and sucking, but it’s still as gentle as the closed-mouthed ones of earlier. Louis’ so fucking turned
on, feels so hot and good and ready, but it’s not frantic, and God, it’s exactly what he needs.

Harry begins walking them toward the wall, slow, and Louis releases a hitched breath when his
back hits it. His legs spread naturally, letting Harry get as close to him as possible. He reaches
down with one of his big, clever hands and catches both their cocks in his grip. He has to lower
himself awkwardly for their heights to align, and Louis strokes at his back, loving him something
intense. Harry’s grip moves slowly, relishingly, and Louis wonders if this is what a last time feels
like. They never really got an official one the first time ‘round.

He empties the thought from his mind, and it’s easy because there’s so much else going on:
Harry’s face is so slack, mouth soft and easy and red, and Louis has to lift a finger to trace over his
lips. He thinks about how so often, when he gets his fingers to Harry’s mouth he can’t resist the
temptation of pushing in, pushing down, making Harry gag like that, get him wet like that. No
urge now, though, their foreheads knocking together and scents mixing. Harry’s free hand is
cradling the back of Louis’ head, rubbing at his hair- needily, almost, if that’s possible. Louis’
lightheaded with it, and he wants to tell Harry how fucking beautiful he is, how much he wants
him, always, how good for each other they are and how there’ll never be anything, anyone else
like this, but he can’t let out any noise beyond these quiet little gasps that Harry swallows up
diligently, and then he’s coming.

It’s surprisingly hard, given how soft they’ve been with each other all evening, splattering up their
chests and pulling a tight whine from Louis’ lips, making him tense up for a few prolonged,
perfect moments. He slips his hand down to join Harry’s, and they don’t even drop his worn cock
from their grip, just continue tugging at the both of them till Harry follows him there, tensing with
his orgasm, dropping his head heavily onto Louis’ shoulder with short breaths.

They stand there, then, come covered and exhausted and tentatively happy, just looking at each
other.

Harry's the one to break it, smile still intact as he excuses himself to the ensuite for a wet cloth. His
absence is the first thing to make Louis uncomfortable; this room is distinctly not his, and he's not
sure to what extent he's allowed to be there.

He makes himself useful upon Harry's return, taking the cloth from his hand and moving him till
he's lying across his bed. Louis loves the way his eyes flutter as he wipes their come off his chest,
loves the way he's treating it like a first class massage, so he takes his time. By the time he begins
to scrub, much less gently, at his own skin, Harry's eyes have given up on their half-hearted
attempts at staying open.

His words are mumbled, tired, but Louis’ become an expert in interpretation: “We still need each
other to calm down,” Harry says. “That scares me sometimes, Lou.”

Louis wishes he didn’t know what he meant.

Harry’s asleep before he can work out whether he’s allowed to join him in this bed. Usually-
usually they do sleep beside each other, after nights like these, but this feels significantly different.

Tonight Louis’ not sure he even wants to, and suddenly he’s lost the calm he spent all evening
chasing. After all of this, Harry looks a lot more vulnerable than he had when Louis first saw him
today, made up and pretty. There are shadows under his eyes Louis doesn’t know how he missed,
and he’s curled into himself under the blanket, arm at a seemingly awkward angle. And it’s there,
again, that sharp near-constant urge to protect, but this time it’s accompanied by the just as sharp
knowledge that it’s not his place. Not really.

It’s 2am, but Louis knows he won’t be able to sleep. He just hopes Niall hasn’t been able to yet,
either. There are lights coming from beneath his door, once Louis finds the room, so he feels less
guilty for the loud knocks to it.
Niall opens the door relatively quickly, and the nerves in Louis spike when he sees Liam on the
bed. “Hey, Lou,” Niall says, which makes Liam look up. There’s sound blaring in the
background, either from a movie or a video game, and there are three empty beer bottles visible on
the bed.

“Hey guys,” Louis says, “sorry for interrupting-”

Niall shrugs. “No worries,” he says. “What’s up?”

Louis sighs, glancing at Liam again. “Can we talk, Ni?”

Niall only hesitates slightly before nodding, closing the door behind him as he joins Louis in the
hall. “What’s up?”

“I want to talk about Harry,” Louis says.

Niall looks surprised. “What about him? Is he okay?”

“Yes- well no, actually, not really, I don’t think.” Louis takes a breath. “He’s being worked too
hard, and you must know that too.”

Niall’s face betrays nothing, his silence forcing Louis into speech. “It’s just there’s so much being
asked of him and you know how shit he is at saying no, and sometimes I think maybe he needs
people to say it for him.”

“What’s your point?” Niall’s not as receptive to this as Louis thought he would be, and it makes
him even more nervous what he’s going to suggest.

“I think you need to like. You’re doing so much for him, yeah, and you guys are used to it being
the two of you, and I get that, but this is a different landscape, it really is. Most artists, most
managers, they have different people helping them. They’re not on their own, they have
companies behind them, and-”

“I can do my job,” Niall says, eyebrows raised, and shit. Louis knows he can, he does, it’s just. All
of this shouldn’t be Niall’s job. They need more help.

“Listen,” he says, and he’s scared his attempt at sounding rational will come across as patronizing.
“When a business owner’s business gets bigger, the business owner delegates. Obviously, like,
Harry’s not a business, but he’s got more- duties, now, and more needs, and you can’t handle that
on your own.”

Niall’s a lot smarter than he’s mostly given credit for, but he doesn’t have any real experience, and
Harry’s two steps from superstardom, Louis’ sure of it. He needs someone who can keep up.

“I’m not saying you’re not good at your job,” Louis says, “I’m saying what’s expected of you
isn’t your job. You- we all expected Harry to have a more alternative following, yeah? And that’s
different to what’s going on now, it comes with different obligations. Come with a thousand less
interview slots. You can’t-”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Niall interrupts. “It’s not your job.”

“I know, ” Louis grits, voice only slightly breaking. “I know it’s not my fucking job, that’s why I
need you to step up. If I’m not the one taking care of him, I need to know you will.”

Niall’s eyebrows shoot up. “What about him?” he asks. “Why can’t he take care of himself, why
does it have to be one of us?”
 “It doesn’t-”

“You know he’s trying to be his own person, now, Louis, but it’s no wonder he’s finding it so
difficult when he’s gone so long having you coddle him.”

Louis doesn’t know where this turn came from. “How can you say that? I wasn’t even in his life
for four years.”

Niall shrugs. “That’s not the point,” he says. “Those four years he didn’t do anything but miss
you, really, because you made him dependent. And you’re doing it again.”

“What do you-”

“Liam told me about Something Great, ” Niall says, sounding like he’s not supposed to. “He told
me you said it was your choice, to change the single last minute, to save Harry from getting in
trouble. From having to face the consequences. You’ve got to let him fuck up, Lou.”

Louis swallows. He’s hit with the sudden realisation that he doesn’t know how much Niall
knows, at all. Sure, earlier on, Niall said Harry didn’t like talking about Louis to him, but best
friends don’t always need best friends to talk about things in order to understand. And it’s
completely possible Harry’s opened up since, much like how Louis has with Liam.

“He’s my ex, and my friend,” Louis says, “and okay, in those respects I need to let him fuck up.
But he’s also an artist I got signed to this label, he’s also an artist who my entire fucking career
revolves around, right now, and in that respect I do not have to let him do anything. You’re his
manager, Niall, and you’re my friend and I love you, but you’re his manager. ”

“And I’ve got everything under control,” Niall says. “If Harry wants to accept every invitation that
gets sent his way, it’s not my job to tell him not to.”

It might’ve been naive, but Louis wasn’t expecting this resistance. He wanted Niall to say yes, of
course, he wanted to sleep well, for just one night, knowing that Harry was going to be okay.

“Listen, Lou,” Niall says, voice softening. “I know what you mean, and the more Harry gets on
his plate the more I will outsource, yeah? But I know what I’m doing and you- you might see this
as you wanting someone else to take care of him because you can’t, but mate, that’s not how it
looks to me. Looks to me like you not trusting anyone else to take care of him, including himself,
because you think only you can do it.”

Louis doesn’t have the strength to even begin to process that, which Niall seems to realise. “You
must be exhausted, Lou. Why don’t you try to get some sleep?”

Louis sighs. It’s a simple suggestion, but to him it just sounds like wishful thinking.

Chapter End Notes

okay okay okay it may not feel like it right now but PROGRESS is being MADE,
and there's a lil bit more of doom n gloom but it's pretty much only up from here!! so
stay tuned

as always, thank you so so much for all your comments! i got such great responses to
the last chapter it means so much to me :) hope you guys like this one too, and if you
did feel free to tell me why !!

as always part two, here is my tumblr and here is the fic post if you guys would like
to reblog it or talk to me about it :)
 Chapter 13
Chapter Summary

previously: louis, harry, LA. (and liam and niall, i guess). their relationship is at some
sort of amicable stand still. harry inferred he doesn't like the idea of louis moving on,
but flat out stated that he wouldn't ask louis to wait for him to be in a position where
he felt comfortable having a relationship. louis wants a relationship but is given a
reality check by good ole niall who warns him off coddling harry/not realising that
harry can take care of himself. louis and aiden have also arranged to meet. some other
emotional confusion as well, probably. it's hard to keep track

Chapter Notes

so 5 different unrelated big things happened leading to this unprecedented delay. 8, i

guess, if you include my irresponsibility, tendency to procrastinate, and inability to
deal with time constraints. i'm sorry! thanks to everyone who stayed patient, and to
everyone who asked (so politely!) if i was still going to finish. your support is so
appreciated.

...having said that, there are a LOT of comments i haven't gotten around to replying
to. i've read them, and i love them, and i will hopefully reply in the next few days.

here's the chapter, hope you enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Looking back, it's not surprising that Louis is the one who did the breaking up. Not that he loved
Harry any less than Harry loved him, God no- he'd just always been the one to face problems
head on. Harry hated confrontation, especially with Louis, and generally tried to wait his problems
out. Louis knew that almost never worked, and maybe that’s why he took the initiative. End it
before it got worse- because all it was doing was getting worse, no matter how wishful Harry's
thinking was.

Louis had always been the realist between them. So yeah, it was fitting that he was the one who
broke up with Harry.

And he never regretted it, truly. Even during his most desperate days, he never strayed from the
conviction that he’d done the right thing. It was his only comfort, really- that yeah, he’s not alright
right now , but he had more chance of getting there than he did in a relationship that was falling
apart while they pretended not to notice.

Louis has come a long way since university; he knows that. Despite all the time he spends
cataloguing every change in Harry, he’s just as aware of those in himself.

Not as self-destructive, for one, and not fuelled by a need to prove himself, battling out with
constant thoughts of worthlessness. He’d gotten over that, gotten over the insecurities that are
seemingly part and parcel of being the gay boy with daddy issues in a small town. He’s always
been realistic, mature in the ways it mattered- younger siblings and a single parent will do that to a
kid-, but since this job he’s become realistic in another way. He knows, now, that it can be okay to
be selfish, to take the things he wants and to give up on the things he doesn’t. That his instant
response to any problem shouldn’t always be worrying about other people. He likes to think he’s
more easy going, too. For all the jokes that still get made about his stubborn, control-freak nature,
he knows it’s not as bad as it was five, four, three years ago.

They’re good changes. Apart from the heartache, Louis likes his current self, a lot more than he
did in university. So he can’t understand why that insecure, clueless kid he used to be had more
strength than he does now, when he’s finally beginning to see himself as a well-adjusted adult.
How did that Louis, the Louis with the constant fear of loneliness and need for validation, have
the guts to break it off with Harry, the best thing that had ever happened to him? This Louis
doesn’t, this Louis with the dream job and the nice flat and the great friends.

But he knows he needs to. Or, knows he needs to make some kind of decision. Harry came into
his life six months ago, and it’s felt like limbo ever since. They’ve just been fighting and fucking
at the same fork in the road, neither of them willing to make a decision.

After talking to Niall, he goes back to his hotel room and sits at the window seat. It’s night, but it’s
not even dark out- too many street lights and neon signs and passing cars for that. He focuses on
the flickering bulb above the door of the building across the street, and thinks about everything
that’s happened: how he and Harry had originally tried to act like strangers, but it had hurt too
much; how their next plan was a casual friendship, but they weren’t able for that, either, fell into
each other’s beds (or, well, maybe just Louis’) too easily. Louis thinks about the times he’s
thought he fucked it up- giving Niall Liam’s name, challenging Harry over the interview he did
with Grimmy, suggesting they see other people-, and the times he’s honestly believed, to his heart,
that they were making process- writing together for the first time, opening up to Harry about his
dad and the times Harry has opened up in return, giving voice to his insecurities.

And Louis thinks about those insecurities, most of all. Thinks about how Harry said he had let
Louis take over his life, when they were younger- thinks about Harry choosing subjects in school
to be in the same class as him, rather than the ones he actually had an interest in studying, and
about how for a while, at the beginning, their friend group was really more Louis’ friend group.
And he knows it didn’t define their relationship, that there was so much good as well, but he sees
where Harry’s coming from. Thinks about being in university, and Harry throwing himself into all
these different hobbies, and all those different friends, and Harry travelling to all those places
Louis had never been. It makes more sense, now, with the added context. Makes sense for Harry
to react that way to Louis, all of a sudden, having priorities other than their relationship and their
music. Especially when Louis didn’t have the guts to give an explanation.

Is knowing what their mistakes were enough to stop them from repeating them? Louis would like
to think so.

Maybe, he thinks, the difference between who he was in university and who he is now, is that the
person he is now has hope.

The day after he and Harry went to the beach is the first Louis has off since arriving. It’s also the
day he has plans to meet with Aiden.

It’s only when he’s leaving his room that he identifies the stirrings in his stomach as guilt rather
than nerves. He doesn’t want to run into Harry, he realises, and he knows why. Fuck, it feels like
he’s cheating, somehow. It’s ridiculous for a number of reasons, least of which being that he has
no form of feelings for Aiden, not now. Not ever, possibly- what he felt for Aiden was too
calculated to be a crush, too much about himself, his needs. It was borne of practicality, a need to
not be alone, rather than any emotion. Sure, Aiden was- is, probably- attractive, and sure Louis
had genuine affection for him, but it was nothing real. Louis knows, in the simplest most callous
terms, he was using Aiden. Only doesn’t feel guilty about it because he knows Aiden was using
him right back, had some kind of heartache he needed to block out with a warm body, too.

But Louis remembers how Harry had talked about him that day in his flat, not even saying his
name but still inflecting a fair amount of bitterness. And Harry- Harry doesn’t know just how
much Aiden pales in comparison to him. Fuck, Louis doesn’t even know how Harry knows about
Aiden, full stop.

The point is, Louis thinks, the point is that feeling guilty over meeting with an ex, worrying about
hurting Harry with that- it’s got to count for something, right? If there was nothing between him
and Harry, there’d be nothing to feel guilty about.

He spends most of the taxi drive to the cafe thinking about this, about Harry. Probably that’s why
his lunch with Aiden turns into him talking about Harry, rather than the two of them catching up,
as was the plan.

Oh, well. Hearing about Harry is probably the most direct way to catch up on what’s going on in
Louis’ life.

It starts with Aiden asking Louis about any new artists, and then asking if he’s worked with that
Harry Styles, and Louis sort of- freezing.

And Aiden says, after a few moments, “oh. Oh, that’s your Harry, is it?”

“I have more fun with him than I do with anyone else,” Louis finds himself saying ten minutes
later. It’s the first time he’s actually verbalised his feelings. “I know that having a history with
someone isn’t a good enough reason to build your future with them, but it’s still so nice how well
he knows me, you know? Other than my mum, maybe, he knows more about what I’ve been
through than anyone else. And it’s not just my past, either- he knows what I want from life, he
knows my dreams, he knows…”

Louis breaks off. He doesn’t know how he feels comfortable sharing this, especially in a public
setting, but. Aiden’s always been a good listener. “I can talk to him about anything, and not just in
the big, meaningful way. Like, the small things too. I could spend ten minutes talking about my
toaster breaking, and he'd listen. And he'd have something to add to it, as well, fucking somehow.
Christ, y’know, he’d have some fun fact about the toaster industry, or some shit.” Louis breaks off
with a laugh, and Aiden smiles too. “Like, I fuck up a lot, with him, but overall I do feel like when
I’m with him is when I’m my best self. Because he does- he has so much to offer me.”

Aiden stirs an obscene amount of sugar into his tea, looking Louis straight in the eyes. It’s the one
trait of his that was ever reminiscent of Harry. “And does he offer it?” he asks, the first thing he’s
said pretty much since Louis started talking.

Louis slumps in his chair. “He… He doesn’t mean to. I don’t think he can help but be good for
me, y’know? And I like to think I’m good for him, but right now he doesn’t think we’re good for
each other. We fucked each other up, y’know, really bad. And I think I had more of a support
system to cope with that than he did. I guess I’m sort of expecting him to be at the same speed as
me, to be making the same progress, but he- there are still a lot of hurts that haven’t healed,
y’know. And he thinks being with me has more chance of widening the wounds than soothing
them, yeah?”

Aiden stays quiet, nodding. It cajoles Louis into continuing. “I can’t fault him for it, y’know. Not
everyone’s gonna move at the same pace. But I just. I don’t give a fuck if I have to wait- I’ve
already waited five years, I don’t- if there are things he needs to do, things he needs to become,
before he feels safe being with me, that makes sense. I’d wait, honest to God, I would. But I
just… I need to know there’s something to wait for.”

Aiden gives a sad smile. “Think the only way to find that out is to ask, Lou,” he says.

Louis pushes out a laugh. “Easier said than done ‘n’ all,” he says. “I did sort of- I asked… I asked
him if he’d ever want to be with me, even in the future, y’know?”

Aiden’s eyebrows shoot up. “And what did he say?”

Louis feels all of sixteen years old, discussing the boy he likes. “He said he couldn’t ask me to
wait. He’s such a fucking martyr all the time.” Somehow, despite it all, it still sounds fond.

Aiden nods, and there’s a few moments of silence. Louis gives an awkward laugh. “C’mon, give
me something else to talk about, then.”

Aiden, as always, obliges. He’s a good story teller, Louis remembers that well, and since his rise
to relative fame, he’s got a lot of new stories to tell.

Louis wouldn’t go so far as saying they take his mind off things, but it’s certainly a noble effort.

They’re finishing up, and when a waiter approaches with the bill, Aiden brushes Louis away,
says, “I’ll get this.”

Louis’ first reaction is to smile, and his second is to panic. When the waiter leaves, he says, “you
know- fuck, I know I sound so conceited, right now, but you know this isn’t a date, right?”

Aiden looks at him for one drawn out second, before bursting out laughing. “‘M sorry,” he says,
probably in response to the blush Louis’ pretty sure he’s growing. “You talked mostly about your
ex, Lou. If I didn’t know it wasn’t a date when I arrived, I definitely would by now.”

Louis kicks at Aiden under the table, but smiles. Aiden sighs, gestures in the direction the waiter
had walked off. “That was just- gratitude, I guess? You’re sort of the only reason I got this deal-”
he must see the way Louis moves to interrupt, because he adds- “other than my raw, natural talent,
of course- so I wanted to say thank you.”

Louis nods, running a hand through his hair, still slightly embarrassed. “That makes sense,” he
says, smiling.

Aiden nods, clears his throat. “I’m actually- I’m seeing someone, actually,” he says, and Louis can
tell from the sweet smile that it’s not casual. There’s a moment of feeling shitty, because they’ve
spent the last two hours together and Louis didn’t even think to ask Aiden about that.

Recovering quickly, he asks, “shit, really?” , genuinely happy, genuinely curious. Aiden always
deserved better than what they had, and Louis hopes to God he’s found it. “Is it- is it the guy,
y’know, from before?”

He doesn’t know how to phrase it. Doesn’t have a name or any details to refer to when talking
about the phantom, taboo ex of Aiden’s past.
Aiden looks vaguely thrown by the question, but he shakes his head. “I- no. It’s a girl I met out
here, only, like, a week after I moved? She’s great. You’d love her, I think, she’s got your same
sense of humour.” Aiden pauses, gives a half smirk. “Although, I don’t actually know if that’d
make you like someone.”

Louis grins, almost surprised to remember that Aiden does, in fact, know him, even the ugly parts-
the not wanting to be outshone by someone else’s humour when he spent so long thinking he
wasn’t anything other than the funny friend parts.

“I didn’t even know you knew about Michael,” Aiden says, and Louis thinks that must be his ex.
Wonders what it means that Aiden didn’t say that name for six months to the person he was
closest to, and is now doing so casually and carelessly, in a brightly lit coffee shop on the other
side of the world.

Louis shrugs. “I didn’t, really. Just figured there must’ve been… someone.”

Aiden nods, and his smile looks sort of regretful, but also light. It’s not weighed down by
anything. Nothing about Aiden, today, is weighed down by anything. “Yeah, I was a bit of a mess
back then, wasn’t I? But I’m passed that now, completely. I’ve moved on. And you helped me
with that, too. That’s another thing I’m grateful for, Lou.”

Starkly, Louis doesn’t think Aiden helped at all in his efforts of getting over Harry. Not on a more
than superficial level. “Any time,” Louis jokes, and Aiden shakes his head.

“Nope,” he says, grinning and standing up. “That’s not something I’ll need help with ever again.
I’m set, now.”

Louis must leave replying for too long, because Aiden sighs. “And you will be, too, Lou.
Someday, I genuinely believe that. With or without Harry.”

When Louis gets back to the hotel, first thing he sees is Harry- or that’s what it feels like, at least,
everything blurring but that one figure, leaning up against the same piano Louis watched Ryan
play last night, talking to the man himself.

Liam’s using his day off for surfing, and Niall doesn’t have a day off, has a schedule almost as
busy as Harry’s, meetings upon meetings building up to- hopefully- breaking the American
market. Louis hasn’t really made friends with anyone else in Harry’s team. Despite knowing that,
as individuals, they’re probably quite lovely people, he still sees them as the bad guys. The ones
directly responsible for every second of stress in Harry’s life.

Point is, Louis doesn’t really have anything to do with his day, no one really to talk to. And even
though it feels slightly off, going straight from Aiden to Harry, he can’t completely help himself.

“Hey,” he says, as he walks up, and Harry turns immediately. Says, “Louis,” like that’s an
acceptable greeting in these parts.

Louis doesn’t know what his expression is. Urgent? Curious? Oh, God- did he take offence at
Louis leaving him last night? Surely not. Louis refuses to think they’re on such far removed pages.
They can’t spend a night together, not under the current circumstances. In this in between, this
liminal space.

“How’re you?” Louis asks, and Harry doesn’t reply for long enough that Ryan-the-piano-player
decides to fill the gaps:
“He’s picking my brain about wedding music.”

Louis raises an eyebrow, and it flusters Harry into talking. “Gemma’s wedding,” he shrugs. He
still looks sort of- tense. Poised to run. His eyes flick up and down Louis like he’s looking for
something.

“You’re helping with the planning?” Louis asks. He’d forgotten about her engagement, and
figures it must be getting near to the date of arrival.

Harry gives one of those small, playful smiles that makes Louis’ heart tighten. “Her planner’s suit
was really awful. I don’t trust him.”

Louis laughs, can’t help it, affection bubbling above the nerves. He wants to talk to Harry,
properly, but he’s not sure about what, especially when they’re not even on their own.

Harry solves that problem for them, stepping away from the piano and placing his hand,
momentarily, on Louis’ arm. “I’m gonna get a coffee,” he says. “Wanna come?”

Louis’ caught unaware, and he makes up for his delayed response by nodding extra
enthusiastically. “Yeah, yeah, okay.”

They don’t end up getting the coffee in the hotel, because there are too many of their co-workers
around and Louis can tell Harry’s not up for that. He wonders what that means, especially
considering that Harry appears to have really strong working relationships with all the people
around him. The shadows under his eyes that Louis is scared of getting used to are still there,
though, and maybe that’s explanation enough.

“So, how are-” Louis begins, as they slide into comfy armchairs at a nearby cafe, trying to not
make it sound pitying.

“Liam said.” Harry stops as abruptly as he’d started. “You met up with… with your ex, today.
Right.”

There’s something tense and insistent and urgent in Harry’s voice, something that makes Louis
bluster. “It wasn’t- he’s not- he’s got a girlfriend.” It sounds ridiculous, and Harry turns away. His
jaw is tight, and Louis wants nothing more than to trace the line it pulls against his skin.

“But like- even if he didn’t,” Louis continues, because it can’t be as damaging as silence would
be.

Harry releases a breath, overly controlled. Turns to Louis. “Yeah?” he asks.

“‘Course not,” Louis says, laughing slightly disbelievingly. “C’mon.” Harry’s got to know that.
They may both be swimming murky waters, but there’s nothing uncertain, unclarified, about
Louis’ feelings for Harry.

Harry looks away, again, but there’s a small smile. “Right.”

Louis clears his throat. “How d’you- how d’you know who Aiden is, anyway?”

Harry gives a laugh, and Louis’ not sure if he’s reading the embarrassment into it. “I- he’s. Like, I
didn’t keep tabs on you, or whatever- seriously, like I’m not that masochistic. It’s just that. I stayed
friends with Jay, online I mean, just because-”
“I get it,” Louis says.

Harry smiles. “Good. Well, y’know. I saw-- when you guys. When-”

“Oh,” Louis says. Harry nods. When Aiden met his family.

That hadn't been purposeful, God, Louis had felt so awkward when it happened. But Louis forgot
to tell Aiden his family were coming, and Aiden showed up without asking, and Louis had told
Jay about Aiden and couldn't send him away without making her suspect their relationship was
less conventional than Louis suggested. And it's not like Aiden, despite being good with kids and
easy to get along with, had wanted to meet Louis' family, but he wouldn't make an awkward
situation worse, so he stayed.

“I was sorta surprised,” Harry says. “I know I shouldn’t have been, but just. I never- I hadn’t ever
found someone I would’ve wanted to meet my family. I shouldn’t have thought you were in the
same position as me, but-”

“I was,” Louis interrupts. “That wasn’t- it wasn’t arranged, me and Aiden were always sort of-
casual,” it’s not completely the right word, implies a carefree element that was never there with
Aiden, but it’s the best he can do right now. “My family came up, and he didn’t know they were
there, and we couldn’t exactly…” Louis sighs, doesn’t see any harm in brutal honesty. “I spent so
much time convincing my mum I was better, you know, I didn’t want to undo it all by not letting
her meet him.”

Harry is silent for a few moments, processing, before he laughs. “It’s so- I spent so long, like,
properly hating him. Like, I never met him but I just fucking hated the idea that he got to- got to-”
he cuts himself off, shaking his head. “And it’s so funny, because right now it just feels like it
doesn’t matter. It feels so irrelevant. Like, when Liam told me, I think I felt like I had to be
annoyed, because, God-”

Louis’ thoughts are multiplying by the second, but he doesn’t want to voice them, doesn’t want to
disrupt whatever it is that’s got Harry this talkative. “Before, before when I thought of you with
anyone else… I just wanted them to know that whatever- whatever they were doing for you, I
could’ve- I could’ve done it better. That- that I did do it better, before.”

Louis’ breath is caught. “Harry,” he says, quiet, unsure. He knows, is deeply convinced, that
Harry still- or again- has feelings for him. But statements like that still burn through him like
shock, and he’s happy to add it to the reasons why they’re perfect together.

Harry shakes his head again. “The point is, I feel like I should be feeling all of that all over again,
and I- I was sort of, worried, I guess, but it’s just. Mostly I just don’t care. It just doesn’t phase me,
and I can’t work out why.”

Because you know I’m yours, Louis thinks. Completely, absolutely. You know you don’t have to
worry.

Harry rubs a hand down his face, and Louis wonders how much of his honesty comes from a lack
of sleep, a lack of control. “Remember when you were really sick so you had to miss the football’s
weekend trip to the away game? And you were so pissed because the day after they left, like the
day of the match, you were completely better?”

Louis nods.

“And remember how I decided to drive you there in my car even though I had plans, but halfway
there the weather got really really bad and my car was a piece of shit and you knew I was a
nervous driver, so you made me pull over? And the weather never got better so in the end we
stayed in this bed and breakfast for the night… Remember how hard I fucked you so you’d forget
about the match?” There’s minimal inflection in Harry’s voice to indicate the subject matter.

Louis has to suppress a full body shiver. He remembers viscerally, with clarity he didn’t know his
brain was capable of. Harry was so strong, and he’d never exactly been gentle with Louis, but
then he didn’t hold back at all. Bruises on Louis’ hips, on the inside of his thighs. Couldn’t sleep
with a shirt because his nipples were so raw, so he had to suffice with the heat Harry provided,
wrapped around him. No talking, partly because he was in shock, brain fuzzy and useless, and
partly because of how sore his throat was from screaming. Harry hadn’t let him come till he said I
love you, and even though he felt it with every inch of his body, it had taken at least five minutes
for him to be capable of finding the words.

And there was only one reason for it- to take Louis’ control freak mind off a missed match.
They’d been so viciously in love.

“The game had been cancelled anyway, because of the bad weather,” is all Louis says. He’d
found out the next morning, and it had made him laugh.

“Yeah,” Harry says, eyes on Louis. “And I made a joke that you’d made the match up because
you knew I’d fuck you like that, and you said- you said you didn’t know anyone could fuck
anyone like that.”

Louis hadn’t, still doesn’t. He thinks that’s what Harry’s going for, if Louis’ ever had anything
like that since. What he says is: “you spent all your time on the drive home talking on the phone to
one of your friends, so we missed the turnoff to that weird little shop we spotted on the way up
and wanted to explore.” Louis hadn’t said anything, because he was scared Harry would tell him
to not interrupt. He’s not sure how he would’ve handled that. It had already hurt, a lot, because the
whole experience had made Louis forget about the rest of the world. Harry hadn’t, obviously.

Harry sighs. “And when we got home I was practicing guitar but you told me to leave, to go
somewhere else, because it was distracting you from study. Even though it was one of the nights
we were supposed to be practicing together.” There’s nothing accusatory in Harry’s tone, as there
hadn’t been in Louis’. Just facts.

“Are you still a nervous driver?” Louis asks, on a more hopeful note.

“No,” Harry says, and Louis smiles. That’s good. “Would you still freak out over the idea of
missing one match?”

Louis doesn’t play soccer anymore, but he knows what Harry means. “No,” he says, and that’s
good too.

Harry laughs, then mutters “fuck,” under his breath. “I don’t know what to do, Louis,” he says. “I
don’t.”

Louis sighs. He hates himself for not having an answer, some cure-all solution. He stands up,
takes a few notes out from his wallet, puts them on the table. “Just- just take care of yourself,” he
says.

Harry nods, and Louis walks away, even as he wonders if that’s something Harry’s ever learnt to
do.

If Louis was the sort to consult people on his love life, he’s sure the most frequent feedback he’d
get is to give Harry some space, to take some time apart to figure this thing out.

Easier said than done, though, when they work together and Harry’s debuting his second single at
the award show the night after their coffee.

Louis doesn’t have a professional reason for going, not really. But Liam’s going, and Louis did
have a part in organizing it, and.

Fuck, he doesn’t need an excuse, does he? Harry’s the love of his life, Louis wants to support
him.

Part of supporting him includes talking to Niall, with whom things are still sort of tense. Louis
doesn’t think Niall’s the type to hold grudges, but he’s also got more pride than his easy-going
demeanor would indicate. Louis knows he insulted him, however far removed that was from his
intentions, and he knows he has to make it right. He can’t deal with an upset Niall, not on top of
everything else.

Niall’s using his hotel room as a homebase to do his work from, and Louis’ pretty confident he’ll
be able to find him there.

Luckily, when the door is opened to Louis’ knocks, he’s also the only person Louis finds there, no
errant aide to overhear them. Niall sighs when he sees him.

“I literally do not have the time to schedule in your apology,” he says, and it’s close to a joke, at
least.

Louis smiles. “Can we skip to the forgiveness part, in that case?”

Niall’s jaw clenches, but it more looks like he’s holding back a smile than anything else. “I can do
my job,” he says.

Louis nods, says, “I know.” He does think his concerns were somewhat justified, but maybe
bringing them up wasn’t. It’s not really his place to have an opinion.

“But,” Niall continues, “maybe I’ve been. Um. Overestimating the remit the job has.” He sighs.
“Like, in so many ways having my best friend as a client is so ideal. I’ve heard some fuckin’
horror stories about diva clients, and I know I can count on Harry not ever being like that. But,
just- at the same time, I don’t- I don’t have as much objectivity, I guess?”

Louis’ not sure even the most consummate professional could be objective about Harry. He just
gets under people’s skin. “Yeah,” he says, anyway.

Niall leans a bit against the door. “You know one of the main reasons me and Harry became
friends?” he asks.

Louis wonders if this is maybe a conversation they should have somewhere more private than a
hotel hallway, but he just shakes his head.

“Cuz I’m good at not asking questions,” Niall says. “Like, obviously that’s not all of it, we got on
great and all, but Harry- when I met him he was a mess, to be honest. I saw him get better, too, but
before that…” Niall sighs. “That kind of heartbreak doesn’t go away by talking, you know? So I
didn’t see the point in bringing it up if it wouldn’t do anything. It was something he had to deal
with on his own, y’know, and I think maybe I was one of the few people in his life that realised
that.”

Louis, for some reason, feels slightly defensive. He doesn’t want to hear about a vulnerable Harry,
not knowing it was his fault. “What’s your point?” he asks.

Niall hmms, for a moment, like he’s trying to figure out how to put it into words. “I guess it’s like-
I’m used to letting Harry solve things himself? Seeing what this job is doing to Harry, seeing him
stressed and on edge and sleepless and going out of his way to please people- it reminds me so
fucking much of how he was when I first met him-”

Louis looks away, pain striking through him.

“- and maybe I’m falling into the role I had back then, y’know? Of not asking questions, of letting
him deal with it himself. But I don’t think that’s how I should handle it, right now. Because this
time, y’know, I can help. I’m his manager. I can help.”

Louis thinks if he read too much into it, as is his habit, he could see some similarity between his
and Niall’s situations. Trying to find a balance between letting Harry take care of himself and
abandoning him to the storm, trying to overcome their old habits in dealing with him.

“You can help,” Louis agrees, because beyond all that he’s just filled with relief. “But only if he
lets himself be helped, you know? He has to do some of it himself.”

Niall nods. “Yeah,” he says. “You’re right.”

“So…” Louis fishes, “forgiven?”

Niall laughs, rolling his eyes. “Well,” he says, “so long as you comply...”

Compliance, it turns out, means letting other people decide what he wears, where he sits, and who
he talks to at the award show. The first item is the only thing that takes preparation, and it’s not too
bad. Louis’ not a main priority, so beyond a shocking amount of hairspray and some concealer
he’s not sure completely matches his skin tone, he’s mostly left to his own devices. He’s happy
with the suggested skinny jeans, the blazer and the Joy Division shirt.

"Love will tear us apart," he reads, thumbing over the print. He laughs a bit, and under his breath
he finishes the lyric- "again."

Once he’s suited and sprayed, as he describes it in his text to a terrified Liam who’s up next, he
just sits back, observes. It’s a side to the business he rarely gets to see, and it’s only a few minutes
before he realises he’s intensely grateful for that. He likes fashion, enjoys shopping, but that’s
actually where most of his discomfort comes from. It seems like such a basically, instinctually
individual thing, that seeing a team of people all with the aim of dressing one person just makes
him more sympathetic to what Harry’s dealing with. How’s he supposed to become his own
person with so many expectations?

Louis has to take some solace from his conversation with Niall, has to hope that there’s someone
on Harry’s side, to lessen the load. But the comfort only goes so far, when there’s a rack of twelve
different potential outfits five feet from where he’s sitting.

The worry follows him to the award show, and intensifies with every flash of light. He’s never
been to an award show before, but he’s been to enough industry events populated by pretty much
the same people that he figured it wouldn’t feel completely foreign.

And he probably would’ve been right, if he wasn’t inhabiting his current mindset. Everything he
sees just feels like another challenge Harry will have to face, and Louis’ worked in this world for
years, now, so why does it suddenly feel so hostile?

He and Liam are sticking together, but he knows he’s being shit company. There’s nothing
interesting enough, no one famous enough, to take his mind off his worries.

It’s funny, actually, that the only thing able to distract him is Harry himself.

Or maybe not. Maybe by this point, Louis should’ve seen that coming. All he knows is that,
moments before seating, when Harry fleetingly places a hand at the small of Louis’ back, breathes
out a quiet hey like they’re in a private bedroom rather than a buzzing, blaring hall, he feels calm.

“Hey,” he says back, “how are you faring?”

Harry smiles, and Louis turns to look at him. It’s not a shock, how beautiful he is, but there’s
something that steals Louis’ breath. He’s not that much a fan of the makeup, but the obviousness
of it somehow serves to make Harry more human.

“Think I’m getting a hang of it,” Harry hums, half smile, and Louis could collapse with relief.

“Not surprised,” he still says. “It’s the world you were made for, right?”

Harry shrugs, and Louis pushes his luck. “Or one of them,” he says, “at least.”

Harry ducks his head when he laughs, and Louis wishes a hair would fall out of place, just so he
could reach up and fix it. “Something like that,” Harry says. “Louis, I-”

But then someone Louis doesn’t recognise- and immediately decides to forget- is tapping Harry’s
shoulder, telling him he’s needed, and Harry’s moving away.

“Good luck,” Louis says, and doesn’t stick on the customary, not that you’ll need it, because
maybe this time Harry will.

Harry smiles big, and Louis hopes it’s enough to keep him sane for the rest of the night.

It’s not. He’s been given an entirely precise schedule for the show, but it may as well be blank but
for the one item he sees: 22:27- Harry Styles, “What a Feeling.”

He has no idea what the song could be, never worked up the courage to ask Liam about his work
with Harry since Louis’ promotion, but despite that, or possibly because of that, he’s terrified. His
hands are sweating, and just- what if there’s something in the words he recognises, something he
can relate back to them? Worse, what if there’s not?

Louis doesn’t pay attention. He hasn’t been surprised by the results at things like this in years, and
given that everyone’s supposed to be focused on the stage, it’s not exactly the time to network.
His gaze flickers between his phone, discreetly lit up on his lap, half obscured by the draping table
cloth, and the schedule, still lying pristine on the table, taunting.

It’s 22:25, and Louis’ not sure he knows how to breathe.

Now that the weird dreams and the cravings and the slight weight gain have subsided, Louis’
certain that the worst side effect of giving up smoking is not having a reason to excuse himself
from public spaces. He uses a random (to him, at least) eruption of noise as a reason to not offer
any excuse at all, merely stands up from the table with a squeeze to Liam’s shoulder, and wanders
till he finds a side door.

The alleyway, for lack of a better word, seems to serve no purpose other than a fire escape route,
and Louis doubts there’ll be any cause for other people to join him.

He’s not going to skip out on the whole evening. It’s his first time in America, and he’s not going
to let this shit with Harry get in the way of his career. But in order to follow through on that, he
needs a few moments. Partly so he doesn’t hear the song Harry must be performing by now, God,
and partly to compartmentalise.

He’ll talk to Harry this evening, when they’re back. None of the subtleties, none of the hesitations.
It’ll just be cards on the table, and whatever way it will go, it’s not something Louis needs to
worry about now. Now, he can focus on doing his job.

His time outside stretches long enough he’s expecting a curious text from Liam at any moment.
Fuck, he just needs his hands to stop shaking. It must be fifteen minutes before he turns to re-enter
the fray, but as he does so, the door opens.

Louis’ first thought at seeing Harry is, what are the chances, but he’s not sure if it’s an applicable
statement. If anyone was able to find him…

“You sneak out here?” Louis asks.

Harry shrugs, smiles. “I just strategically shook hands in the direction of the exit.”

Louis laughs, and then there’s silence, for a moment.

“You missed it,” Harry asks, and there’s a vulnerability in his voice that makes it a question.

Louis sighs. “I’m sorry,” he says, and then doesn’t see the point in not being honest, in pretending
like Harry can’t read him anyway: “it’s difficult, you know.”

“I know,” Harry says. “I don’t mean to make you feel bad, you don’t have to apologise. I know
it’s hard.” He pauses. “What I’m about to say is incredibly cheesy.”

Louis gives a small smirk. “He’s become self-aware.”

Harry elbows him, and it’s only then Louis realises he’s close enough to do so. “Niall and I were
back stage, watching the whole show. Niall was giving this whole commentary, to take my mind
off my nerves, and he asked me if I’d ever, like, written an acceptance speech. Just in my head, an
exercise in ego, I guess.”

“Have you?” Louis asks, though as soon as he says it he remembers that Harry has, remembers
that the hairbrush-as-microphone technique in their early teens wasn’t exclusive to song recitals.

“Not in a long while,” Harry says. “D’you remember my ones from when we were kids?”

“Uhuh.”

“I remember yours, too,” Harry says. “I was always the first person you thanked, and you were
always the first person I thanked. And when Niall, y’know, asked me that, I realised- you still
would be? If I win any awards.”

Louis bites his tongue against the, when, not if. Not the time for interruptions, even as his
temperature rises uncomfortably.
“Because- all of this has been hard for you, all of the process that got me here, and it’s because of
you I got this offer in the first place, and you- you put so much into it, and you’d be the first
person I’d thank.”

Louis doesn’t know what to say. Tries looking at Harry, at his set jaw and wide eyes, but only
lasts a second.

"You’ve- you’ve always been there. It was you who came to see me, that first night. But you said
you were Liam."

Louis doesn’t reply, feels his cheeks heat. He's been behaving like a fucking idiot from the
moment it became a possibility that Harry might come back into his life, and now he's being called
out.

"Niall told me," Harry says, like that's what Louis needs to know before he'll break his silence. It's
not, and he doesn't say anything.

"Did you like it? My performance?" Harry asks, undeterred. It's pretty rare he'll stick to a subject
matter like this, especially if no one's giving back.

"I didn't stay for that one, either," Louis says, and he's oddly relieved it doesn't sound cold.

Harry makes a momentary, barely-there hurt expression. Just a tightening of the lips.

"Would you have?" Louis asks quietly in response; the only defence he can think of. It's meant to
be rhetorical, but Harry either doesn't pick up on that or ignores it.

"To get to hear you sing again?" he asks, voice matching Louis' in volume. "Yes. Always."

He talks in circles so damn often that when he pulls this, being simple and up front and painfully
honest, it's not something anyone could ignore. Definitely not Louis. And maybe he should be sort
of annoyed, Harry saying these things when there’s no follow through, but he supposes it doesn’t
matter. Whether Harry gives voice to them or not, the feelings are still right there, between them.
Louis can see them in Harry’s face just as clearly as he hears them in his words.

Fuck it.

“ Fuck ,” he says, pushing himself off the wall and turning to face Harry. “Harry, we should be
together. Really, this time. I’m, I’m fucking tired of biting my tongue. I think that we could work.”

Harry’s face is unreadable- or Louis’ too overcome to read it. “You don't know that-"

“I know we only sleep well on the nights we’re together.”

Harry hangs his head. “And what about the nights I can’t get home till 3am?”

Louis pauses. Takes a brave step forward. “We’re not picking up from where we left off, Harry-
we’re not the same as we were. You wondered- wondered why you weren’t that jealous when I
met up with Aiden, and it’s because that’s not you anymore. You’re not- you don’t need every
inch of me, and you don’t need constant reassurance.

“And we’re trying to fit ourselves into our old roles, y’know, where you’re a sixteen year old and
I think I need to protect you from the world. But that’s not who we are, it’s just what we know.
We can take care of each other, now.” Harry does something that Louis hopes isn’t shaking his
head. “Because that’s part of why- when we were falling apart, it’s because I kept thinking I knew
what was best for you. I didn’t tell you about my dad, and I didn’t tell you about my doubts,
 because I didn’t think you’d be able to handle it. But you’d grown up, and I hadn’t noticed, but I
notice now.” Louis’ voice has gotten fast in the way it usually only gets when he’s angry, but he
guesses that before Harry came back, anger was really the only strong emotion he ever felt.
“You’re not a nervous driver, and you helped me quit cigarettes and brought a spare pair of
earphones for me on the plane, and you’re planning your sister’s wedding, and you built a fanbase
for yourself. And I love taking care of you, I do, but I don’t need to. You’ve learned to take care
of yourself.”

Harry takes a shuddering breath. “That’s the thing,” he says. “I’m not sure that I have.”

“Harry, I-”

“Louis,” Harry says. “Louis, sometimes I look at menus and catch myself wondering what kind of
food I like. And this job is amazing, isn’t even something I can think of as a job, but it’s also
twenty different people with twenty different expectations of me each, and job titles no one
bothered to explain to me-”

“Then ask,” Louis exclaims, unintentionally. “Christ, what is it that makes you blind to how much
you’ve grown? You’re not- you’re so fucking strong, Harry, but you don’t use it, you don’t- you
just keep letting things happen to you, like you think you’re helpless, when. When you’re a
fucking force to be reckoned with, really.”

Harry takes a deep breath. He looks pained, and Louis hates any role he could’ve played in that.
He knows he’s being harsh, but after six months of silence, his words have grown too big to be
gentle.

Harry’s voice is surprisingly calm. “You have to- I know you know how I feel about you.”

“I do.”

“But I’m not ready for that. You have to see that.” Harry shakes his head. “I know you think I’m
fucking up, but I need to sort that out myself." He takes a deep breath. "I’m in love with you, but I
don’t know how to be anything else. I can’t have that taking over my life when I’m trying to sort
out what exactly my life is .”

“I’m not asking for now," Louis says, over the heavy beat of his heart. In love.

“And I’m not gonna ask you to wait.” Harry says, and it’s essentially the same as what he said on
the flight, but somehow completely different.

Louis thinks, knows, there’s something to wait for. “You don’t need to,” he says. Harry’s head
whips up, and God- there couldn’t be anything more worth it, than waiting for this guy to be
ready.

Louis only needs to take two steps to be near enough to kiss him on the cheek. “You’re my best
friend, Harry,” he says. “You don’t need to ask me.”

He goes back through to the main room. Glances back to that door enough to know it takes ten
minutes for Harry to do the same.

Chapter End Notes

the post for it :)
and my tumblr!

i have an essay due on monday, and it turns out that the only way to stop me
procrastinating this piece of writing is to create a situation in which completing this
piece of writing counts as me procrastinating another piece of writing i want to do
much less.

i'm hoping to have the update up around the 3rd-5th of Feb :)

i really appreciate all the interest in and feedback for this work, so much! thanks to
everyone who's sent me a message on tumblr or left a comment or even just liked the
post. if you belong to either of the first two categories you probably know how
terrible i am for timely replies, but that doesn't mean your words don't have a big
impact on me. thank you!
 Chapter 14
Chapter Summary

previously: actual communication, resulting in harry repeating that he isn't in the right
place for a relationship, and louis vowing (although not as dramatically as that word
would imply) to wait for harry.

Chapter Notes

this is when the tag for offscreen natural minor character death comes into effect,
guys. it's very non-explicit and i've tried to make it as, like, un-tragic as possible, but
stay safe.

I’m a fake fan for not realising this sooner, but ready to run is the happy
ending/closing scenes/fade-to-credits song for this fic. 100%. I listened to it on repeat
while writing this, and also, like, in general.

this is short enough, and a bit of an interlude. enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Coming back to London- coming home- felt anticlimactic, somehow. The city hadn’t held its
breath, Louis could tell as soon as he got off the plane. It hadn’t waited for word from the weary
travellers, to hear about any progress, any change.

Nothing here knows about LA, about to get to hear you sing again, and I know you know how I
feel about you, and-

I’m in love with you.

Louis’ going to get a taxi back to his flat, and he’s going to go up those stairs and open his door
and fall face first on the bed probably without taking his shoes off, and nothing will have changed-
there’s nothing here that’s different. Not in the way Louis feels like it should be.

Except when Louis’ getting in that taxi, further down the pavement Harry’s getting in a car of his
own. He smiles at Louis, and Louis smiles back.

Given how relatively new he is at his job, he doesn’t have the guts to ask to be moved off Harry’s
account, though he thinks it would be best for both of them. His mind is working so hard against
him, he should be allowed to use his job as a distraction. Instead, it’s a reminder of his obsession.

But he can’t complain- in a way, it’s also an anchor: the link that keeps him tethered to Harry,
even with their distance. Having input into which producers and guitarists and directors Harry gets
to work with makes him feel like he’s still part of Harry’s life.
✺

Harry’s still part of his. Beyond so much of Louis’ work centering around his album, there is also
the fact that his two best friends spend most of their time with Harry, and have few anecdotes that
don’t involve him.

It doesn’t drive him crazy like he thought it would. He teaches himself to take comfort-- from what
he can tell, from the glimpses Liam and Niall provide, Harry’s doing well.

Telling Liam about recent events is easy, comes with the simplicity that defines their friendship.

“If you two manage to do it right,” he says, “you’ll do it better than most.”

Louis is very close to making a joke along the lines of save it for the best man speech, but he starts
blushing guiltily over just thinking that, and laughing nervously when he realises that he can think
it, that the theory has a place in reality, maybe, possibly, in the future.

He’s not sure how he’s so sure of Harry. He’s never been a particularly confident person, and is
rarely trusting enough to put that much faith in something. It took him about a month of working
at Direction before he stopped thinking that his hiring was some prolonged practical joke.

Harry's always been the exception to a lot of his rules.

Louis doesn’t know what Niall knows, and he also doesn’t know where he stands with him. He's
had some doubt since LA. He can’t handle it, has grown dependent on Niall’s friendship in the
last six months. Soon after they arrive back, he stops Niall in the hallway.

“Yeah?” Niall turns around, raised eyebrows. He doesn’t move toward Louis, so Louis takes a
few steps closer.

“I just wanted to clear the air,” Louis says. “Make sure everything’s good between us?”

Bless his heart, Niall looks surprised. “This about LA?” he asks. “We already sorted that.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, scrunching his mouth for a moment. “But Harry told me- he said you told
him that it was me who went to see him perform, that first night, and not Liam? And, like, it’s
been months. I’m just curious why you’d do that now.”

Louis doesn’t want to think of that as Niall being spiteful, but it’s sort of hard not to.

Niall’s eyebrows shoot up. “Louis, I-” he breaks off. “I told Harry that as soon as I found out.
Like, no offence, but you were just a random suit I only knew of as the guy who fucked Harry up
for a while. I wasn’t going to keep that from him.”

Louis- stays silent. He’s a mix of humiliated and endeared, fuck. Harry must’ve known how
embarrassed he was by that, must’ve kept it quiet so as to not make it worse. He's lucky Niall's not
the type to call someone out for blushing.

“Oh,” he says. “Shit, sorry, I thought-”

Niall shrugs. “It’s grand, no worries,” he says.

“Right.” Louis nods, and it’s not a new thing, being hit by how much he adores Harry.
“Right.” Louis nods, and it’s not a new thing, being hit by how much he adores Harry.

Niall says, then, “it only took me a week to realise you’d be good for him, though,” and it sort of
feels like he’s giving Louis his blessing.

Maybe Harry's talked to him after all.

Even if it wasn’t for all that, his friends and his job, Harry would still take up space in his life.
What a Feeling isn’t quite as successful as Something Great, but it’s still getting decent air time-
more than many Direction artists would.

It’s not hard anymore. Louis hears that song, and it’s sort of bittersweet, sure, but- it also just
makes him feel proud. He walked out to avoid hearing Harry perform in LA, but now he’s
thinking if he had stayed it wouldn’t have been too bad. If he had stayed he would’ve been able to
handle it. Maybe.

It’s playing in a coffee shop when he gets a tea to go, and the barista gives him a funny look for
how hard he’s smiling.

He’s obsessed; he can’t remember a time when he thought about Harry in the manner he does
right now. There’s no shame in his wonder, like there was when he was 15, 16, and Harry was
just-a-friend he shouldn’t be thinking about that way. But there’s nothing to soothe his curiosity,
either, not like when they finally got together and he had Harry by his side to satisfy the burning
need.

It does burn. He finds it hard to focus, has to sit down a few times. Nights are difficult, fantasizing
about having Harry with him, his arms and his breath and his hair and his warmth. Missing him.
He knows they’ll end up together, knows one day Harry will show up, say yes, but he’s not sure
how long it is he’ll have to wait. He can’t help the yearning. He’s turned into every cliche there is,
songs and jokes and fucking lampshades reminding him of Harry, or something Harry said.

He’s more impatient than he is lazy, so while he generally prefers filling his free time with shitty tv
and napping, he decides to try and keep himself busy. He needs to avoid completely succumbing
to this lovesickness. He gets so desperate for distraction he even agrees to go to the gym with
Liam one day- the arrangement doesn’t last long, given Louis’ habit of making fun of the faces
Liam makes while lifting weights, rather than actually participating.

He’s getting exercise, though: he still runs, in the mornings. And it’s not as fun, as exhilarating, as
it was with Harry, but it’s nice. He learns to interpret the pain in his side as satisfying, learns to use
that time to calm his mind down.

Fizzy comes up one weekend and when she learns he’s looking for hobbies, he lets her take him
to the nearest library and set him up with a card. He seriously doubts he’ll ever use it, but there
was a flier for language classes on the noticeboard by the door, and he takes down the number. He
liked French, when he was in school, and if it wasn’t for his asshole teacher he thinks he would’ve
made a real effort with it. Fizzy bumps his shoulder, smiling wide.

She doesn’t ask about Harry at all that weekend, but Louis remembers how much she had idolised
him when she was a kid.

He wonders how they’d get on now. They go for some ice cream, despite the too cold weather,
and he wants to call Harry, ask him to join.

There’s no contact at all, and Louis has to resist re-reading old text conversations, can’t be too
pathetic. No contact, until two weeks in, there’s this:

Harry calls, and Louis’ heartbeat is almost louder than the phone’s vibrations when he reaches for
it.

“Hey,” he says, and he’s been sitting at his desk for the past twenty minutes, has no excuse for
breathlessness.

“Hey,” Harry asks, and it’s silent for a few moments. Louis thinks if this was in person they
would both be staring. “I, uh- I wanted to ask for some advice.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “I looked it up, but I feel like maybe Yahoo’s answers isn’t the best source
for worker’s rights.”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “Don’t think I am either, H.”

“Step up from Yahoo, anyway,” Harry replies. “But I think you’d be the best bet when it comes to
like, the rights of… y’know. Musicians.”

Louis clears his throat, sits straight. There’s a tightening of nerves at his spine. “What is it,
specifically, you’re asking about?”

“I want to take a break,” Harry blurts. “Not like a break break, but, y’know, a week or two? And
most people, like- I’ve been working here for over six months. Like, back when I worked at a bar,
I could take a week off for every three months I worked? But I don’t know if… like. We’re
making an album. But I feel like most of my input has already happened, like I’ve written and
recorded most of it, and I know they want to do promo, but I just- I don’t know what applies?
What would happen if I wanted some time off?”

Louis wants to say why didn’t you ask Niall, but he also doesn’t want to put Harry on the spot. It
could be just that while Niall knows how the music industry works in general, Louis has more
experience with Direction records specifically. (Or it could be that he wants to tell me he’s
considering taking time off, wants me to know he’s taking steps, Louis thinks, and then: could be
that he just misses me).

“I’ve been spending more of my time at the studios than I have in my flat-” and Louis wonders,
ridiculously, if Harry is in the studios making this call, is in the same building as Louis, two floors
down. “And I just- I could do with a break, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, “of course.” He’s not sure if it’s reasonable to feel annoyed with the people
around Harry, for having let him go so long without any time off.

He was one of the people around Harry, though. He didn’t notice.

“Harry, you can definitely take some time off. You did that magazine interview that’s being
released next week, right?”

“Right,” Harry says, sounding slightly surprised, probably at the idea that Louis is keeping track.
“That should cover you for the week, then. And even if it doesn’t, fuck ‘em. You need some time
off, take it.”

“That simple,” Harry says.

Louis can’t tell if it’s a question, but he answers it anyway, just in case. “As simple as you make
it.”

Harry laughs. “Okay.” He takes a breath, deep enough Louis can hear it through the line. “Yeah,
okay, I’ll talk to Niall tomorrow.”

“Hey, um,” Louis says. He wants to say I’m proud of you, but he thinks it’s probably too heavy
given the current state of their relationship. He’ll say it when they’re more solid, he decides. Say it
every day. “It’s good that you’re doing this.”

A pause. “Yeah,” Harry says.

Louis closes his eyes, rests his head against the back of his chair. He doesn’t want to hang up.
“You know what you’ll do, on your break?” he asks.

“Sleep, mostly,” Harry says, and Louis can picture the small smile so fucking clearly. “I don’t
actually think I’ll do anything, in seriousness.”

“That’s good, though. I think when your life gets busy enough, doing nothing counts as a hobby,”
Louis says.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “My passion is eating shitty food in sweatpants and watching American
football. I subscribe to a craft magazine about it.”

Louis laughs, something warm bubbling in his tummy. “Sounds lifted straight from your CV,
that.”

“Under skills and interests,” Harry says, and sighs. “Think I might go to Holmes Chapel, for a bit,
if I get the chance. Haven’t been home in a while. Mum keeps making jokes about the fame
changing me.”

Louis can picture that so well, and he wonders if it’s wrong to feel like he knows Anne, when he
hasn’t seen her in years. “That’ll be nice,” he says. “Holmes Chapel’s a great place to relax.
You’ll be able to get away from it all.”

Harry hums in agreement. “Have you ever been back?” he asks. “Since your family moved?”

Louis shakes his head before he remembers Harry can’t see him. “No,” he says. “I- no.” For
some reason he feels sort of embarrassed. His reasons for not returning were always so tangled up
in Harry, in fear of seeing him again, in fear of not.

Silence, for a few moments, and when Harry does speak it’s so quiet it doesn’t sound that
different. “You should. Sometime.”

“You’ll give me the tour?” Louis asks, and maybe it’s pushing it. “Show me everything that’s
changed?”

“Not much has,” Harry says. “But yeah. Yeah, sure I will.”

“Good,” Louis says, and he doesn’t have to be embarrassed about how big his smile is, not over
the phone.
Harry clears his throat. “I should go,” he says. “I’ve still some work to do. Thanks, though. Louis.
I really appreciate it.”

Louis’ grip on his mobile is deathly tight, and he doesn’t know when it happened. “Yeah,” he
says. “Any time.”

Neither of them hang up, for a while. Then Louis sighs. “Take care, then, Haz.”

“You too.”

He feels less restless than he has in a while.

Louis has a day off, and he doesn’t know what to do with it. He remembers the days off he used
to have with Harry, the show houses they’d go to. Always thinking of the future.

Now, he’s thinking of the past a lot. It feels unhealthy, but he can’t stop himself.

Can’t stop himself from getting in his car and driving, two hours.

It’s something he saw online last week- the flat he and Harry shared in uni is being let again.

He didn’t make an appointment- this wasn’t exactly planned- but the landlord lets him up. It’s a
different owner than who was here when it was him and Harry, and that’s some relief. He
appreciates the anonymity.

It’s so different, but he hates the parts he can’t remember the most- is that a new couch, or was
theirs really that colour?

He tries to find marks of them, but he can’t. There’s no physical evidence of the countless
memories. He wants to scrape off the wallpaper till he can see the one they had. He doesn’t,
obviously. The current one is a nicer print anyway. They made the right decision. Harry would
approve, definitely. Louis barely resists sending him a photo.

The place just seems inconsequential, unimportant. Undeserving of such a rich history. He’s not
sure what he was expecting from the experience, but he doesn’t feel much different leaving.
There’s a cafe they used to go to still open across the street, but he doesn’t have the guts to go in.
Feels sort of sick at the idea, though he doesn’t know why.

The streets seem too small, and the flat did, too. He can’t believe they managed to fit themselves,
their music, their love, into such a confined space.

He’s glad to leave. The place felt unnatural, and neither the things that changed nor the things that
stayed the same were comforting.

Louis goes to Liam’s for dinner, that weekend. It’s funny, but prior to his promotion he’d only
been to Liam’s flat maybe three or four times, and most of those occasions incredibly drunk,
needing a place to stay after a night out. They saw each other so much at work there was rarely
call for socialising outside of it. What with the promotion, he’s been to Liam’s about five times in
the past month or so, and vice versa.

His girlfriend’s gone on business, as she so often is, and Louis’ not completely sure where their
relationship is standing. He’s sure if they were going through problems Liam would share, but
he’s also wondering if maybe Liam’s so much in denial he doesn’t realise there are any problems
to share in the first place.

He’ll wait it out, though. Right now, Liam has a song he’s stuck on and a promise that it’ll still be
Louis he asks to help when that happens. It’s fun, Louis hasn’t had any proper opportunity for
writing since the new job, and he falls back into it easy. The song is about heartbreak, and Louis
sits a little straighter when he realises it doesn’t hurt, the way songs about heartbreak used to.

Conversation turns to Harry after dinner and three beers, and Louis’ okay with it.

“So…” Liam says, like he’s trying to work out a math equation. “You’re just waiting?”

Louis shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, he wants to be with me, he loves me, y’know? He just
needs to sort a few things out.” He’s blushing, as he says it, feels weird speaking so openly, but.
It’s the truth, Harry told him he loved him. He’s allowed to say it.

“And you don’t?” Liam asks, pure curiosity.

Louis- pauses. He doesn’t feel like he does, but no one’s got everything in order. Everyone’s got
something to sort out. And now that he thinks about it- he’s been so wrapped up in the idea of
being with Harry, he hasn’t really considered the day-to-day practicalities of what that would
entail. What would a real relationship be like? Is he prepared, is there something he needs to do to
get prepared? How do his expectations differ from Harry’s? What are Harry’s needs? What are
his?

Their last relationship, the only real one Louis’ ever had, they purely relied on their love for each
other to carry them through, and that didn’t work. So yes, Louis loves Harry- but what else can he
offer him?

Liam must be able to read something off his face, says, “shit, don’t worry or anything. I’m really
excited- you guys are gonna be great.”

Louis sucks in a breath. He hates that one harmless question from a friend is enough to deflate his
sense of hope. “Are we?” he asks. “What do you do to make something last?”

Liam’s a serial monogamist, lives for long term relationships. He’s got to know, got to have reams
of relationship advice.

Liam lets out a breath, shrugs. “I dunno, man- I feel like I’m improvising, most of the time.”

“Comforting,” Louis says.

Liam gives a small laugh. “Shit, but- I dunno if it’s, like. There’s not a science to it, not really. I
just… I just try my hardest, y’know? I just try to keep it going.”

“Right,” Louis nods. Right.

“It doesn’t always work, though,” Liam adds, like he thinks Louis needs to be told. Louis’
comforted him through two heartbreaks before, and both of them felt like the end of the world.

“I think…” Liam pauses, frowning. “I think the worst thing you can do is see it as inevitable.
Being with someone is a choice you have to make, y’know? And you have to make it every day,
if you want it to last.”

The thing is, Louis’ sort of scared of trying too hard- of being too scared of it ending, always
preoccupied with the possibility. He’s built it up so much, and spent so much time analysing why
things fell apart the first time, he’s terrified he’ll spend too much time trying to prevent it from
happening again, and not just embrace the chance to have it at all.

Liam’s right, Louis thinks, you can’t see it as inevitable. But you have to have some faith, too.

“Do you think there’s such a thing as trying too hard?” Louis asks. He’s terrified he won’t know
how to be moderate, when it comes to Harry.

Liam stays silent for too long. Louis sighs, picks up a pen, suggests going back to writing.

There’s a memory, from moving in together. That night was one of the happiest in Louis’ life, like
his whole future had arrived at once, like countless opportunities cracked open at his feet: him and
Harry, living together, on their own, in their flat- with their bed, their shower, their dishwasher,
their couch. It was terrifying, felt so big he didn’t know how he could live up to it, make the most
of it. They were tired, from the drive up and the unpacking, so they ordered pizza and watched
repeats of comedy panel shows on the newly hooked up tv.

And it was enjoyable, of course, because it was with Harry and evenings like that was how Louis
defined home, but he also felt like he was letting their relationship down, failing to fulfil its
potential. He was fidgety, bad enough that during an ad break Harry stilled his hands by wrapping
one of his own around Louis’ wrists.

“You okay?” he asked, serene smile like he assumed Louis was, because how could he not be,
right now? With their years of teen-dreaming finally being realised?

Louis softened just looking at his boy; sometimes he was surprised by how in love he was, by
how much he had grown to depend on one single human being.

“Yes,” he said, drawing it out to make Harry smile more. “But is this really how you want to start
our time together? Don’t you think we should do something- special?”

Harry frowned, and Louis could tell he was instantly giving it genuine thought. He always took
Louis’ ideas seriously, no matter what. “Like what?” he asked.

Louis had shrugged, unsure. Getting to be Harry’s boyfriend had always felt so big, and especially
now that they were living together. He didn’t want to let it go to waste.

Harry looked at him, probing in a way over a decade on Louis still wasn’t used to. “We could be
doing anything right now,” he says, slow, “and we’re choosing to do this- to just be together. That
makes it special.”

The words had made so much sense, had sat so comfortably in Louis’ mind. He can’t remember
now, how he reacted, but he remembers later, the first time they’d gotten into that bed, their bed,
and how lucky he felt. Just being there.

He hears on Monday that Harry’s taking time off, and it’s a weight from his shoulders. He hopes
Harry is back in Holmes Chapel, or anywhere else that can offer him some tranquility, some time
to himself, for himself.

People at work mention it to him, and he thinks about how they don’t know Harry called him to
talk about it, how he was the one Harry went to. He thinks that some time in the future, those
same people won’t be telling him things about Harry but asking. That he and Harry will be
partners, again, and that everyone here will know.

He thinks that the reason he keeps reminding himself of these things is because he still hasn’t
completely managed to wrap his head around it. He’s spent so long dreaming about it it'll be hard
to process as reality.

It becomes reality two days later, with a letter in the post. The envelope is cream and thick, the
kind he tries to open gently because he’d feel guilty about ripping paper that nice.

Paper quality becomes less of a priority once he realises what’s enclosed: an invitation, for
Gemma’s wedding. Full names and a date and calligraphy, R.S.V.P. embossed at the bottom.

The first thing he remembers is the anxiety on Harry’s face when he asked Louis not to go to the
engagement party. Things have changed between them since then, changed five times over,
probably, but Louis still doesn’t know what Harry would think about this. He’s sort of surprised
Gemma reached out, and he wonders what she thought about him not going to the engagement
party- if Harry explained why, or if she just thought Louis was a no show.

He’d feel too awkward asking Harry how he felt about this, would hate to make Harry feel
pressured into saying he’s okay with Louis going. But the thing is, it feels like a real possibility
that Harry wouldn’t be okay with it. Louis loves Gemma, and he loves this effort to include him in
her life, and his chest hurts at the idea of not getting to see this, but he figures it’s better safe than
sorry- he can’t risk it, not when he and Harry are in this in-between.

He’ll tell Gemma, hopefully come up with an excuse that’s actually convincing. He sighs, and
picks up the envelope to throw out. He doesn’t want this to linger in his living room, doesn’t want
the chance to change his mind.

As he does so, though, he feels something else within the envelope- another note. When he
reaches in, the paper is thinner, folded up and obviously ripped out from some copy. It’s lined in
blue, with a purple margin.

He recognises it at the same time as he recognises the scrawl- Harry’s writing, and a page from
Harry’s song-writing journal: ‘If you’re up for it- H.’

He crumbles it in his hand without meaning to- fuck. His mind is fogged up with endearment and
excitement, and through that he knows this changes things. Harry wants him there. He wonders-
wonders if Harry wants him there with him. If they’d go together.

It’s a date in February, in two months. Is that it? Is that the date Louis can mark down, for when
he and Harry will finally be back in each other’s lives, the way they’re supposed to be?

His hand itches for his phone, to call Harry and demand an explanation. To thank him, to tell him
how much he loves him, though he’s sure Harry already knows.

But Harry’s taking time off, and Harry needs time, and Louis can wait. Till February, he thinks.

Life isn’t that neat. You can’t confine it to a calendar.

He gets a call from Lottie the next day, and it’s bad news. She has to say it twice for it to sink in:
Alice Dipper died.
She learned from one of her friends back in Cheshire, and she’s the only one of Louis’ siblings
who’d be old enough to remember her. The only one who understands the lengthy silence Louis
leaves before he can work up a reply. “How?” he asks. He hopes it wasn’t painful. She lived a
good life, and a long one, and he won’t be too heartbroken so long as death wasn’t cruel to her,
either.

“Stomach cancer,” Lottie says. “She was diagnosed like half a year ago, apparently, but she didn’t
tell anyone.”

“Christ,” he says, even though it shouldn’t be surprising. It fits her character, or what he
remembers of it. “When was it?”

“Last night. She didn’t do chemo, and she had pain meds. It was peaceful enough, apparently.”

Louis nods. If she didn’t seek treatment she was probably accepting enough of the possibility of
passing away. He’s so glad of that, but it’s hard to take that much comfort. She’s gone, and he
doesn’t know why he’s so surprised-

-He remembers months ago, him and Harry in the bakery, and how when she’d come up in
conversation Harry had mentioned how she’d been in hospital recently, but not for anything
serious (he realises now that that was probably not as true as Harry had believed). He remembers
being shocked at the possibility of Alice having even the most minor of health problems. She was
so strong, and it hadn’t seemed temporary. Not at all.

He hates it, that most of his memories of Alice are fogged by time. He’s lost so many details, and
he’ll never get the chance to refresh them, now.

He doesn’t need details to know how great she was, though. He remembers how good she was at
whistling, and how much she loved him singing when he was helping ‘round her house, and how
kind and patient she was with them as kids, and how accepting and loving she was when she
found out about him and Harry.

“Lou? You there?” Lottie asks.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. How’re you doing? How’s mum?” His voice has cracked a bit, but he thinks
it’ll be a few minutes before he actually cries. It usually takes a while to sink in.

“Not back from work yet, so I haven’t told her. I’m- fine, mostly. I’m not sure it’s completely sunk
in, but…”

“Yeah,” Louis says. “Is there a date set for the funeral?”

“This Sunday,” Lottie says. “Are you gonna come down?”

“I’ll try, definitely. You?”

“Yeah, same,” she says. She sounds sort of lost, and he wants so much to be there to comfort her.
“Listen, mum should be back soon, so I’m gonna call her-”

“Yeah, of course,” Louis nods. He’s not quite up for talking about it yet, hasn’t ordered his
thoughts.

Besides. He needs to tell Harry.

✺
It turns out harder than he thought it would- Harry is virtually uncontactable, emails unanswered,
calls sent to voicemail.

Louis has to ask Niall where he is, and Niall’s reluctant to give it up. Eventually, though, he
supplies Louis with the address for a holiday cottage in the countryside of Reading, which, Jesus,
Louis has to restrain laughter. Harry’s taking the break thing seriously. He wouldn’t be surprised
to find out that Harry had taken up temporary work as a sheepherder, or something. He jokes with
Niall about Harry going full nature-man, chopping wood in his back garden, but then feels
embarrassed that that image is more arousing than amusing to him.

Driving up to the cottage that evening is the first time Louis’ actually seen evidence of Harry’s
success manifesting in his choices- calling a house as big and fancy as the one he’s seeing a
cottage is falling into five different patronizing rich people stereotypes at least. Louis supposes
once you earn a certain amount of money you can call anything rustic, so long as there’s ivy
growing on it.

But it’s nice- not scarily big. Louis can imagine it being a good place to seek refuge. Big
windows, lovely, haphazard garden filled with diverse plants, old looking oak front door. Louis
can picture Harry feeling at home, here.

He focuses on the architecture as he walks up the driveway, so as to distract from the nerves. He’s
not sure if Harry’s seen him, if the old-fashioned property is deceptively up to date and has some
sort of alert system for uninvited guests.

If Harry sees him, he sees the few moments Louis takes standing on the front step, before working
up the courage to knock.

It’s a few moments till Harry answers, and he looks taken aback.

And beautiful- and different- Louis hasn’t seen him since LA, which isn’t too long in the grand
scheme of things, but in the interim Harry has cut his hair. Short like it was when he was sixteen,
holy fuck. Louis wants to touch, badly. The ends of the curls- and they’re proper curls now, no
longer weighed down by their length- are wet, dripping onto a warm looking grey hoodie.

It's silly, but Louis' first thought is: why didn't anyone tell me?

“Lou?” Harry says, and Louis wonders if it’s disuse that has made Harry’s voice sound like that.
“What are you…?” Harry doesn’t finish the sentence, and Louis would wager it’s because he
doesn’t want to sound rude.

“Your hair’s gone,” Louis says, and clenches his hands in his sleeve. The curls look so soft, so
boyish.

As boyish as Harry’s bashful grin. “Yeah,” he says. “Wanted a change. Plus, there was a charity
thing I wanted to do.”

Louis takes that to mean he donated his locks, which honestly, of course. He’s not surprised. “It’s
lovely,” he says.

Harry opens his mouth, closes it. His cheeks have flushed, slightly. “You’re the first to see it,” he
says.

Louis’ eyes widen. It’s a stupid thing to view as a big deal, but everything feels meaningful with
Harry. That’s how it’s always been. "Y'mean to say you haven't bonded with your neighbours
yet? Become an upstanding member of the community?"
“Only been here three days,” Harry says, smiling big. It doesn’t feel weird that they’re still in the
doorway; Harry makes even that seem homely.

“You work fast,” Louis shrugs.

Harry laughs a bit, then shakes his head. Louis wonders if he’s gotten used to how short his hair
is, yet. He’d been growing it for years. “Can I ask what you’re doing here?”

Louis sighs, sobers up. “Yeah, Haz, I-” he takes a breath, once more resists reaching out. “I’m
sorry for disturbing you, I’ve actually got some bad news.”

Harry straightens up instantly with a worried frown. “What? Did something happen? Niall made
me turn off my phone.”

“I- Alice passed away,” Louis says, figures it’s not really something he can soften. “It wasn’t
painful, and she knew it was coming, it sounds like she’d accepted it.”

Harry’s face has reverted to one of shock, but it’s a lot heavier than the expression with which
he’d opened the door. He reaches out, wraps his hand around Louis’ elbow. It doesn’t seem like
he realises he’s doing it. “When was this?”

“Two nights ago, now,” Louis tells him. “Apparently she had stomach cancer, but didn’t tell
anyone.”

“Fuck,” Harry says. “How old would she have been, even?”

Louis gives a small laugh. “Shit, I don’t even know. I was so, like, unaware of her age, y’know?”

“Yeah, completely,” Harry says. “And the-?”

“This week,” Louis tells him. “Sunday.”

Harry sighs, leans his head against the doorframe with his eyes closed. “D’you know if mum and
Gem know?” he asks.

Louis shakes his head. “No, but I assume so. That sort of thing travels fast.”

Harry nods. “Yeah. Okay. I might- I’m gonna go home tomorrow, then. I was gonna be visiting
soon anyway, but- God. I wonder how her kids are.”

Louis nods. He knows they were close to her, and the grandkids too. It’s too sad to think about,
really. Alice was a character the way only people in small villages could be, had so many people
whose lives she improved. So many people who loved her. “I know,” Louis says. “The funeral’s
gonna be brutal.”

Harry grimaces slightly. “Yeah. You’re gonna go?”

“Definitely, yeah,” Louis says. He gives a small, humorless laugh. “I’d wanted to go back to
Holmes Chapel, but I can’t believe it’s happening like this. She would’ve been one of the first
people I visited.”

Harry’s looking at him sympathetically, and it’s mostly that that makes Louis’ eyes burn, slightly.
He’d already had a good cry about it last night, but he’d be naive to think that was the tears over
with.

“Lou, you should stay tonight, I don’t want you driving back to London. We can go up tomorrow,
 if you want?”

Louis is genuinely taken aback. “Are you sure? I didn’t want to intrude, I just knew you would
want to know, and I couldn’t get through to your phone-”

“No, of course, I’m so glad you came all the way out here to tell me, it means so much, but
seriously- it’s getting late, and I just-” Harry clears his throat. “It’d be nice to have you here.”

And, oh. Yeah, with this kind of news, Harry probably wouldn’t want to be on his own. “Of
course, Haz,” Louis nods. “That sounds good.”

He doesn’t know what this will entail- where he’ll sleep or what he’ll do about work tomorrow or,
if he does go back to Holmes Chapel with Harry, where he’ll stay once he's there. But he can
worry about that later.

For now, he just follows Harry as he turns around and walks back into the house.

Chapter End Notes

this is very incredibly embarrassing but i honestly thought until writing this chapter
that the phrase was 'clean the air' not 'clear the air' im a fraud. also i can't remember if
this has come up in past fics but louis speaking french is, like, the most important
thing in the world to me.

Again, I know this is short, but the next one will most definitely not be. it's all about
build up here in chapter 14.

Here's my tumblr, and here's the post for this fic! all reblogs/kind words in the tags
have been very much appreciated. As are all the comments!!
 Chapter 15
Chapter Summary

prev: louis and harry took time off each other, harry took time off work. bad news in
the form of alice dying, so louis shows up at harry's hideaway to tell him.

Chapter Notes

this is the last chapter!!!!!!!!aside from a lil epilogue. it was originally planned as two
chapters, but there was no neat cut off point so i just lumped 'em together. that's why
it's pretty long. i really hope you guys enjoy, thanks so much for sticking with this :)

suuuuuch a massive thank you to beta extraordinaire god of syntax kate (five9 on
tumblr!!!) who stepped in and helped me with this chapter when i got really neurotic
about it. the feedback was invaluable, especially considering she's never actually read
any of the other chapters

also harry put sweetest devotion on his playlist, and that's literally on my playlist for
this fic, so if you're looking for something to listen to you've found it! also ready to
run is very very very good for it.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Louis sleeps in the spare room. He makes sure of it- after cocoa in front of the fire (Harry’s taking
his cabin in the wilderness aesthetic seriously), his first question is, “which room’s mine, then?”

There are two rooms between him and Harry, and Louis is grateful for that. If they were next door
to each other, Louis is sure he would strain himself just to hear Harry’s breathing, the rustle of his
sheets, something.

The evening had been difficult to handle casually, after so long apart. There’d been leftover pasta
with a homemade sauce, and the heating didn’t work but Harry had a few blankets that they
wrapped themselves in, and Louis made a comment about being able to see the stars for the first
time in so long, so they sat on the back porch for a while, before it got too cold.

It would’ve been quite perfect, if it hadn’t been for the shadow of grief. Harry never dealt well
with death- Louis remembers him crying at seventeen after finding out their postman had passed
away, even though neither of them had ever even talked to him, really. Harry’s vulnerable, and
Louis thinks not everyone gets that- that he seems too charming, too talented, to be anything but
untouchable.

Comforting Harry was familiar, though, and so was having Harry comfort him. He forced himself
to be honest when Harry asked him how he was feeling, forced himself to not put up a pretence of
strength. The house was so quiet, and they were too, and everything felt raw: Louis was short of
breath sometimes, just from being alone with Harry like that. He still wanted desperately to
smooth his hands through Harry’s new hair. He wanted to lean into him, the air between them
feeling unnatural, like an interloper. But it wasn’t the right time- Harry could say no. Harry could
say yes, but then regret it in the morning, having merely agreed out of his emotional state.

So it’s a relief to retire to bed. Louis’ heart is pounding, and he’s glad the house isn’t really
Harry’s, that this room- this bed- doesn’t carry his scent, or any signs of his style.

It’s an alien room, but Louis feels settled, feels the restlessness of the past weeks- years, possibly-
tire out.

The thin curtains are ineffective against the strong light of a full moon, but sleep still finds him
quickly.

He wakes to the smell of breakfast, and buries a smile in his pillow. He hates that it was something
tragic that made this possible. The house is a haven, and the two of them fit well here. Of course,
he would probably think so even if Harry had been hiding out in a dilapidated bedsit.

After making his way to the kitchen, he finds himself standing in the doorway, staring at Harry’s
hands as he uses a spatula to shovel food from a frying pan onto two plates. It’s only when he
turns to get some cutlery that he sees Louis.

“Hey,” he says, voice broke by the early hour, “just in time. I was gonna bring it up.”

Louis nods, and walks across to the table. After Harry places one of the plates in front of him, he
says- “I can’t remember if Alice was a good cook or not.” He knows he should thank Harry, but
suddenly this feels more important.

Harry frowns, slowing his movements as he sits down opposite Louis. He grinds salt generously
onto his plate, before he answers. “She baked. She was a good baker, made good scones.”

Louis had forgotten that, him and Harry snacking on them after Louis finished working in Alice’s
garden. “Oh, yeah,” Louis nods. “Did you ever see much of her, after we broke up?”

Harry sighs. “I stopped visiting home all that regularly, when I moved to London. But before that,
yeah, I did.” He gives a small smile. “I actually- if I was short of cash, I’d help her ‘round her
house. The way you used to.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Harry smiles. He stays quiet for a while, then adds- “she’d ask after you. I wouldn’t
really- I didn’t have any idea what you were doing, so I couldn’t say much, but in a way it was
nice. Like, everyone else- you sort of became taboo. No offence. Just, like, my family and friends
didn’t want to bring you up ‘round me, which to some extent I was grateful for, but it also just felt,
like- weird. So I guess in some masochistic way, I was sort of grateful for how forward Alice was.
How often you featured in her anecdotes.”

Harry rarely talks about the details of their time apart, how it affected him, and every time he does
it hits somewhere deep and tender in Louis. “I’m really sorry you had to go through that,” he says,
eventually. Knowing Harry was hurt by the breakup is much easier to handle when it’s presented
as an abstract fact, rather than a lived experience.

Harry shrugs. “That’s the thing, though, right? I did have to. We both did, I think.”

Louis nods, after a moment. Harry’s right, he supposes. The breakup informed a large part of who
he is, and not all of it in a bad way. He’s a relatively well-adjusted, emotionally mature adult right
now, and a lot of that is a direct result of losing Harry. They had to go through that to get where
they are today, and where they are today isn’t a bad place to be.

“So, are you heading up to Cheshire today?” Louis asks, instead of all the other questions on his
mind. They’ve been pushed together by external circumstances, and Louis doesn’t want to take
advantage of that by demanding answers about the state of their relationship.

(He finds himself more impatient for them than predicted- there’s something in him, possibly
triggered by the news of Alice’s death, that rejects the idea of waiting. That doesn’t see the point
in the future if the present itself is empty.)

“Yeah,” Harry says. “I’ve a rented car out back, I was thinking I’d leave ‘round lunch time. I
called mum this morning.”

“How is she?”

“Shocked, a bit. I think that’s how everyone feels about it. She was seventy-seven, by the way. I
know you were wondering.”

Louis’ eyebrows shoot up. He’d known Alice was old, but it was sort of a distant knowledge. She
had so much energy when he’d known her, and she was sharp as anything. It’s weird to fix that
number to her.

“Actually,” Harry continues, as he spreads some honey on his toast. “I was thinking you could
come up with me.”

Louis stops with a fork halfway to his mouth, like a damn sitcom character. “To Cheshire? To
Holmes Chapel?”

Harry gives a small smile. “Nah, figured I’d drop you off in Birmingham. I know you’ve always
wanted to go.”

Louis has been to Birmingham, now, to stay at Liam’s family home one New Years. There are
still years missing from his and Harry’s knowledge of each other. “Yup,” he plays along. It would
feel mean to tell Harry that. “That exotic utopia’s been number one on my bucket list ever since I
was a boy.”

Harry laughs, and then nudges Louis’ foot under the table. “But seriously,” he says, a full
statement.

“But seriously,” Louis agrees.

“You’re going for the funeral anyway, right?”

“The funeral’s not for days.” The funeral’s also not the issue. Not why Louis’ stomach feels tight
and empty all at once.

“Yeah, but. You said you wanted to go back, to visit, yeah? Seems like a good time.”

Harry sounds disappointed , chastised , and now there’s guilt mixing in with the mess of emotions
burrowing through Louis’ bones. “Well, yes, but,” there’s no proper way of saying not with you .
“Where would I even stay?” he asks, even though what he should be saying is just no, thanks .

Harry clearly thinks the question is useless too, eyebrows furrowing. “Like, a B&B? One of the
hotels or guesthouses? It hasn’t changed all that much.” He takes a bite from his toast, chews
slowly. Speaks to his lap: “or you could stay with me. Us.”
Louis takes a breath. “Harry… It would be hard for me. To do that with you, when- when I don’t
really know what’s happening. With us.” That’s not even fully accurate- in fact he feels sort of
guilty for the way his phrasing has placed the blame on Harry, even indirectly. The truth is that
Louis’ not sure he could handle that time with Harry- spending however many days with him in
the village they grew up in, without asking for something more.

Harry deflates inwards, but the insecure body language is belied by how his eyes stay trained on
Louis. He stays silent for a few moments, and Louis can almost see him laying the words out
neatly in his head before he speaks: “you can trust me. I think it could be for good for us.”

It’s vague, but the certainty in Harry’s voice is overwhelming. Louis wants to do what’s right for
them, but maybe that’s not just one set thing. Maybe there are a lot of paths they could take, to end
up where they need to be. (He just wants to choose the shortest one). “C’mon, Lou. You should
come home.”

The sentence jolts through Louis. He hasn’t used that word for Cheshire in years, hasn’t let
himself. He doesn’t know what to say, but it’s Harry, and with Harry a nod is enough.

Harry smiles, the first proper one since Louis’ arrival. Agreeing is already worth it.

Harry drives. It’s been seven months, and they’re still having firsts: Louis hasn’t been in a car with
him since university, excluding taxis. Most obvious difference is that his ride is fancy enough
Louis knows nothing about it, sleek and clean and leather and with more buttons than Louis
realised a car could have functions. It smells significantly nicer than their shitty Kia did, too.

There are more subtle differences, that Louis notices about ten minutes in: mostly, that Harry’s
relaxed. Way back when, it would be two tensed hands on the steering wheel at all times, and little
to no conversation. Harry had learned to drive quite late, and hadn’t really needed to that often
given that Louis got an early license and Dan’s old car. Harry’s nerves, back then, had been
somehow endearing, but nothing in comparison to watching Harry drive now. Louis doesn’t think
there’s a limit on things he can be proud of in this guy, and he almost wants to congratulate Harry
as he fiddles with the radio, comments on passing scenery, glances at Louis when Louis replies.
Louis doesn’t, but Harry knows him better than anyone, and maybe he’s able to read it in Louis’
smile anyway.

The drive is long, but not long enough to warrant stopping for food. They still do:

A bakery, squeezed between a supermarket and a hair salon, making itself known with bright pink
awning and a yellow sign. It looks like a cake in itself, and Louis can’t say no when Harry asks,
up for some lunch?

It’s not really lunch, just some scones and tea, but they manage to make their stay drag for a half
hour. The inside is more dull than the facade would have passersby believe, but there’s something
pleasant about it. Something familiar, and yet also comforting in the fact that it’s entirely new.
They don’t really talk. The table is small enough that their feet are pressed up against each other’s,
calves touching.

Louis needs a suit for the funeral. There’s a small little one-off shop by the bakery, and Louis
hasn’t worn a cheap suit in years- it’ll feel weird, and probably be one of the realest reminders of
living in Cheshire. He picks up a pair of jeans and a plain shirt, as well, because he doesn’t know
how long this trip will last. Harry doesn’t ask about them.

✺
The sky is already dark, sun weighed down by the coming winter, when Louis begins to
recognise scenery. His hands clench on the side of his seat. “Does anyone know I’m coming?” he
asks.

“I texted mum earlier,” Harry says. “She says it’s completely fine.”

Louis relaxes minutely, so grateful to Harry for that. He spent fucking years in Harry’s house, the
idea of going back shouldn’t feel so unnatural.

Unless, Christ-

“Are you in the same house?” Louis asks, wishing his voice didn’t make it sound so urgent. “Did
you guys move or anything?”

Harry glances at him. “No,” he says. “Lou, it’s just going to be mum and Gemma. You’ve already
caught up with Gemma, and it wasn’t awkward, remember? And mum’ll probably feel like it’s the
same for her, anyway, given how much I talk about you.”

Louis stays silent, looking at Harry as Harry watches the road. There’s no hesitancy in his words.
It doesn’t sound like he had to build up to them, and it doesn’t sound like he’s holding any back.
It’s- unprecedented, really, and Louis loves it, but doesn’t exactly know how to react.

It’s just gone six, by the time they reach Harry’s. Harry opens his door, but doesn’t get out of the
door once he realises Louis hasn’t even undone his seatbelt. Harry reaches over the stick, places
his hand on Louis’.

“You’re not an intruder. You can- can feel at home, here. They love you, you know.” The lack of
a lie in his voice warms Louis deeply. Over the past six or seven months, Harry had never even
wanted Louis in his London flat.

Louis nods, unstraps himself. He has virtually no luggage, what with how unplanned this trip was.
There’s nothing to stop his hands from fidgeting then, nothing until Harry reaches out and stills his
wrists. Just momentarily. He knocks on the door.

Anne answers almost immediately, like she’d been waiting, and from what Louis remembers of
her, that isn’t unlikely. He shouldn't be surprised to see evidence of her having aged, but he is. Her
smile's the same as ever, though.

Louis is sidelined at first, as her eyes widen at Harry’s new hair. “What did you do to yourself?”
she gasps, hands reaching out to touch the short strands.

Harry laughs, steps away. “Felt like a change,” he says.

Anne looks slightly exasperated, but is still smiling as she turns to Louis. Her arms open wide, and
he only hesitates momentarily before stepping in. She’s always given good hugs.

“So lovely to see you, Louis,” she says. “It’s been so long, I can’t wait to catch up. Your mum’s
kept me up to date somewhat, as has Harry- but it’ll be great to hear it all from you, directly.”

“Same for you,” he nods, smiling. He’s not sure if he’s to treat her like an old friend, or like the
just-introduced parent of a new- something. “It’ll be great to hear all the news from ‘round here.”

Anne squeezes his shoulder as she smiles and turns back to her son, pulls him in for a quick hug.
“Gem’s in the kitchen, making tea,” she tells the both of them, before sighing. “Such a pity we
can’t all catch up under happier circumstances.”
Louis immediately sobers up. He’s been hit harder than he would’ve expected, by Alice’s passing.
He feels almost guilty for the depth of his grief, because the truth is he didn’t really know her.
Hadn’t talked to her in over five years, and only saw her once a week or so prior to that.

But something about the news has lodged in him, refused to be swallowed down. He thinks it’s
just how blindsided he was by it. He’s no optimist, worst case scenarios are his home away from
home, but somehow this has shocked him to his core. “Yeah, shit. I’m really sorry, I know you
and Alice were close.”

Anne hums as she moves toward the kitchen, Harry and Louis following. “I’ve known her all my
life, you know. Her and my aunty grew up together, and my aunt had all sorts of stories. There
were rumours she was a witch, when I was in school.”

Louis can’t help laugh. “Seriously?”

Anne nods, small smile. “Yeah. Honestly, I think she started them herself.”

Harry reaches out and puts an arm around Anne’s shoulders. Drops it quick enough when they
reach the kitchen, and he moves to hug his sister. The hug lasts a good minute, as Anne watches
on fondly. Nerves within Louis resurface. He can’t help but feel like an outsider. It’s been years,
it’ll take time to re-acclimate to this family.

They have tea, and talk some more about Alice- Gemma, being older than them, has clearer
memories of when Alice looked after them after school. The reminiscing is nice, but Louis- it’s
self-absorbed, given the circumstances, but he doesn’t understand why more attention isn’t being
drawn to his presence. Everyone’s acting like it’s normal, and he knows he should appreciate it,
that they’re doing it with good intentions, but the thing is it’s not normal. Hasn’t been for years.
They’re all talking about the past, but Louis wants them to at least acknowledge the present.

Anne says that they’ve delayed having dinner, waiting for the two of them, and Louis uses it as
his opportunity:

“Oh, there’s no need to have anything for me. I’d need to head into the village now, look for
somewhere to stay.”

It’s not rude, Louis tells himself. He never told Harry he would stay here, and Harry himself
suggested booking a bed in a local guesthouse. Anne’s look of surprise isn’t on him.

“Oh nonsense, you’ll take the guest bedroom-”

“Mum,” Harry says, a small warning in his voice. Anne looks at him, and sighs. Louis’ so grateful
for the intervention, for Harry’s understanding.

“Seriously, Anne, I wouldn’t want to put you out like that. My family’s coming up on Sunday
morning, I should find a place to stay.”

She nods, and they hug again, and only Harry follows him to the hallway. They stop at the door,
Louis leaning against it.

“You want me to drive you in?” Harry offers.

Louis smiles. “To the village? Harry, it’s like a two minute walk. Thank you, though.”

Harry sighs, nods. “Y’know. You can stay here if you want. None of us- I wouldn’t mind.”

Louis’ shaking his head before Harry’s finished talking. “Nah,” he says. “You should catch up
with your family. And I think it’s best if we- y’know. Have some space.” It’s not the nerves that
keep him from staying, it’s the fear they’ll disappear during the night. He’s not ready to get used to
this house, not before he knows.

Harry nods. Louis turns to leave, but before doing so, offers: “text me in the morning, yeah?”

Harry gives a small smile, nods again. “Yeah, um. We could meet up. Have a wander.”

Louis nods. Hopefully by then his mind will have mellowed. “Yeah, sounds great,” he says, and
takes a breath. “Night, Haz.”

“Night, Lou.”

It’s easy to find a place to stay, the village not exactly bustling with tourists. He hadn’t recognised
anyone on his walk to the guesthouse, but he’d recognised the scenery. Same shop the guesthouse
is above, same post office across from it. Seeing it for the first time in the dark made it feel even
more unreal, more like a set design than anything.

He’s handed a key and led to a decent enough room, considering the price. He pulls the curtains
when he’s in there, because otherwise he’s liable to spend the whole night staring out the window.
He’s tired, but it’s not actually that late at all- around half eight. There’s a TV, but it seems
unappealing. There’s a gas fireplace, and he thinks, what if that explodes? Jesus. The news has
got him fucking morbid. He pulls out his phone and arranges a taxi back to London for the day
after the funeral, and then replies to a text from Liam asking after him. He would wager Harry has
a corresponding one from Niall.

Twenty minutes later, after a shower, he’s sitting cross-legged on his bed, the notepad and pen
from the bedside table on his lap. He hasn’t written in a while, not on his own and not in a true
sense. It’s all been stop-and-start, putting a few thoughts down on the tube, or when he can’t
sleep. But it seems writing has missed him as much as he it, and the words meet him halfway.

Harry texts at 7:30 am the next morning. Louis wonders at the earliness, if it’s a residual effect of
Harry’s busy schedule. If he’s broken the habit of lie ins. The text says, where’d you settle on?

Louis sends him the address, and doesn’t think to check before getting dressed and waiting down
at the entrance for Harry. He only has to wait three minutes.

“I hope you come with an itinerary,” Louis greets.

Harry smiles. “Yeah, I do, actually- her family’s holding a fundraiser in the community centre, this
afternoon. For cancer research, you know. I thought we could head down to that, if you want?”

“Yeah, of course,” Louis nods. He’s got his card with him, thankfully, will be able to take out
some money.

Harry nods. “Cool, great. That’s only at two, though, so. Have you eaten?”

Louis allows himself a smile. “Just some tea.”

“Want to grab some breakfast?”

✺
They spend five hours that morning revisiting old haunts, but remember whens don’t sound like
the beginnings of ghost stories the way they used to. They hit the cafe and then spend some time
in the curiosity shop, buying each other souvenirs- a weird angel incense holder for Harry, and a
gaudy tortoise soap dish for Louis. The worker asks if they want them gift-wrapped, and they say
yes, and then sit on the bench outside to formally present each other with the offerings. They go to
the park, feed the swans- with specially bought feed from a stall there, because apparently bread is
bad for them. They wander through the woods iced over with winter, shoes dampening.

They reach a hill, and from it Louis can see the street he and Harry grew up on. “Who moved into
our house?” he asks.

Harry glances at him. The huff of air he releases is given form by the cold air. “I never- I don’t
really know. Mum says they’re nice, anyway, but I just… I didn’t want to know. I usually, um,
leave or like, go to my room, when they pop over.” He shrugs, maybe slightly embarrassed.

Louis clenches his jaw. “Y’know, the flat we lived in is being let out at the moment,” he says.

Harry turns to him with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah?” he asks.

Louis nods. “I visited it. Last week. They didn’t know I used to live there.”

“Why?” Harry asks, voice absent of judgment.

Louis shrugs. He still doesn’t know- part of him had been doubtful the flat even existed, that
anything from their past lived on. “I think,” he says. “I think it was almost just curiosity. Like, I
went there and- I honestly didn’t have much of a reaction. It was just a shitty little college flat.” It’s
not a complete explanation, but as close to one he can get.

Harry laughs. “I don’t really remember much of it,” he says, and it sounds like a confession.

They finish up by the fountain in the middle of town. Both of them make a wish. Louis doesn’t
have enough time to think of one in detail, ends up asking, please let things work out.

He doesn’t want to analyse his feelings in depth, will save it for when he’s lying in that bed again
tonight, but he knows, for whatever reason, that he’s happy. That doing this with Harry feels right.

It’s just gone one o’clock, then, and Harry says he’s going to go home and change for the
fundraiser. Before he does, though, Louis spots a sign tied to a lamppost.

“There’s an ice rink ‘round here?” he asks, almost laughing at the idea.

“Oh yeah, for the last few winters. Outside Warrington. Apparently it’s a shitty little thing,
though,” Harry says. He looks at Louis, and slowly grows a smile. “Wanna go?”

“Definitely,” Louis says. “You ever been?”

Harry shakes his head no, and Louis is weirdly relieved. “S’open late on Saturdays, though,”
Harry says. “We could drive over this evening.”

Louis nods, excited in a way he can’t explain. He doesn’t particularly like ice skating, and can’t
imagine Harry being exactly gifted either. Still, the idea’s pushing at his heart.

Their smiles are bigger than necessary, when they part ways, and Louis’ doesn’t fade on the short
walk back to his room to change.
Harry’s made the place familiar again- Louis no longer feels like an outsider.

The fundraiser is a rushed affair, but with a big turnout. Not surprising, given the catalyst. There
are stalls of baked goods from where, Louis learns, Harry worked as a teen, and local businesses
have donated vouchers and gift baskets to a raffle. There’s a donation box on the table near the
front, along with the raffle tickets, soft drinks, and 2000’s pop playing from an old CD player.

Some people glance at Harry when they walk into the hall, and his eyes widen momentarily. He
leans into Louis and says, “shit, I forgot I was famous.”

Louis giggles. “No one’s gonna do anything, not here.”

He’s right, but what he didn’t suspect was that he himself would be approached. He was only
thinking about his return in relation to Harry, forgot how many people lived here that he hasn’t
seen in years. The enthusiasm of the reunions is diluted by the circumstances of Louis’ return,
each good to see you accompanied by such a loss.

They blur, and Louis bluffs his way through some of the exchanges, people familiar but not
prompting any particular memories. He’s putting the money he’d withdrawn earlier into the
donation box when he’s approached by a middle-aged woman, and he thinks he’s going to have
to do it again, because the face looks entirely new.

“You’re Louis Tomlinson, right?” the woman asks. She looks slightly worn out, and her voice is
gentle.

Louis instinctively softens his own in response- “yeah, that’s me.”

The woman smiles. “It’s lovely to meet you- I’m Jenny.” She pauses. “Jenny Dipper.”

Louis hears Harry beside him- beside him through all of it- take in a breath. “Oh,” Louis says.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t… Alice talked about you, a lot. I’m so sorry for your loss. Really, it’s- it’s
so sad.”

Alice’s daughter- and for some reason it didn’t occur to Louis that Alice’s kids would be full
grown adults; she’d always talked about them as children- nods. “Thank you,” she says. “She
talked about you, as well. I’m sorry for coming up to you, but someone pointed you out, and I
remembered all of a sudden- it’s funny, the things I’m remembering. But I remembered, mum
really loved your voice. She talked about it, you singing while you helped ‘round her house. She
loved it.”

Louis is taken aback, cheeks flushing. “I- thank you.”

“You can say no, I don’t even- it just occured to me, a moment ago, but I thought it would be nice
if- would you consider singing at the funeral? It’s short notice, I know, but she would love it, I’m
sure.”

Louis doesn’t answer for a good five seconds, completely thrown off. He can hardly say no to the
grieving daughter of a woman he had such fond feelings for, but there’s something stopping him
from justing say yes, as well.

Jenny looks flustered, and Louis feels so bad- but still doesn’t know what to say. “I know it was
years ago,” she says. “You don’t have to answer right away, just seek me out this afternoon if you
make up your mind. And please don’t feel under pressure, either way.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I’ll let you know, no problem.”

For the first time that day, he’s forgotten about Harry’s presence. That is, until there’s a gentle
hand on his elbow, turning him.

“What’re you thinking?” Harry asks. His voice is low, eyebrows furrowed.

Louis shrugs. “It’d be shitty to say no, right?”

Harry is shaking his head before he’s finished talking. “Absolutely not, no, if you don’t think
you’re up for it.”

Louis takes a breath. He feels ridiculous for getting worked up about this, but just. Just. “D’you
think I’m up for it?”

Harry pauses, eyes fixed on Louis. “Yeah,” he says, finally. “Yeah, Lou, I do. I think it would be
amazing, I think- I think it’d do Alice justice.”

“What would I even sing? Like, I don’t know any hymns.”

Harry gives a laugh, and Louis raises his eyebrows at him, accusatory. “Sorry,” Harry says, still
smiling. “I just can’t imagine you singing a hymn. Choirboy Tomlinson. But I’m sure that’s not-
like, was Alice even religious?”

Louis frowns. The funeral’s in the church, but that’s more convention than anything. “No,” he
says, “I don’t think so.”

“Then the hymns are out,” Harry says. “I’’m sure you know a song she likes, or if you don’t you
can ask Jenny. But no one would, like, expect you to learn a completely new one."

Louis feels like looking for excuses, but he doesn’t know why. Or, well, he kind of does- he
hasn’t sung, properly, in years- and certainly not in front of Harry. But this should be different. It
is different, he decides. Nodding, he says, “okay. Yeah, okay, I’ll- I can do it.”

Harry gives a gentle smile, a gentle hand on Louis’ elbow. “I think it could be good for you too,”
he says. “Like, it’ll be good for honouring Alice, but-- it’ll be good for you too.”

“Yeah,” Louis says. “Okay.”

A half hour later, Louis still feels sort of thrown from the request, and from accepting it, but Harry
manages to distract him, feeding him local gossip and stray observations. They leave soon after,
following the turn of the tide as the hall gradually empties out. Harry’s rental car is parked nearby.

“Wanna grab something to eat, or do you want to head straight to the ice rink?” Harry asks.

Louis pauses, a worry occurring to him. “Do your family mind, like, you spending all your time
with me? I know you wanted a chance to catch up with them.”

“Already caught up,” Harry shrugs with a smile. “‘Sides. They know I like spending time with
you.”

This is a guy who has told Louis he loves him, who has dirty-talked and fucked Louis and gotten
intimate with him in so many ways. Louis still loses some breath over that statement. “Okay,” he
says. “Uh, ice rink, then? If you’re not hungry yourself.”
Harry shakes his head. “I’ll manage,” he says. “Are you allowed to eat before ice skating, or is it
like swimming?”

Louis laughs, delighted at how Harry’s mind works. “I actually think it’s a myth, that you can’t eat
before swimming.”

“Really? But I thought the sharks can smell the food.” Harry’s playing it up, Louis knows, but he
still plays along.

“Well ice-sharks have a much worse sense of smell, so you’d be safe eating before skating.
Everyone knows that.”

Harry laughs. “Yeah, still think I’ll go without. Scared I’ll throw up or something, I’ve never
really skated before.”

“Really?” Louis asks, sitting into the passenger side of the car.

“Not since I was a kid,” Harry says. “It’s gonna be pretty new for me.”

It’s new for them both, really, and there’s something pleasing about that. After a day of the
familiar, Louis can appreciate a change. Assurance that there still are new things he and Harry can
do, that they haven’t worn their relationship out, doomed to recycling old happiness.

Harry is predictably shit- he spends the first twenty minutes with a hand on the side railing,
making exaggerated panic faces. Louis remembers distantly how this New Harry (and somewhere
along the way he’s stopped thinking in those terms, stopped forcing himself to differentiate so
strictly between the Harry he knew five years ago and the Harry he knows now) had seemed too
collected and controlled to be clumsy. How Louis’d hated the idea of him doing something as
innocuous as playing football, because it would feel wrong, seeing New Harry be gangly and
uncoordinated the way Old Harry used to be.

Now it’s nothing but natural, the way Harry clutches at Louis’ shoulders and attempts to drag him
down with him whenever he falls. Louis laughs, unburdened by worries or analysis- the Harry
before him is his Harry, and he’s grown, grown so much, but he’s not an imposter. Not a stranger.

He knows Harry’s somewhat exaggerating his clumsiness- uncaring of any looks he gets from the
other patrons (mostly couples, Louis notes smugly- they fit right in)- because when Louis pulls
him up, takes his hands, begins to skate a slow lap around the rink, Harry follows easily, with
minor hiccups. They’re wearing gloves- Harry bought extra winterwear for Louis, without asking,
and Louis loves him- but the grip they have on each other’s hands is still intense, still ringing up
Louis’ arm.

The night is simple- tinny Christmas music, smell of artificial ice and chips from the next door
take-out place, pain in his toes from the tightly laced skates, and Harry, him and Harry. The night
is simple, and Louis thinks, we could be too.

They only leave after an employee tells them they’re closing up, and the lights are already
beginning to be shut off when they’re putting their shoes back on. Louis hasn’t stopped smiling in
so long, happiness enough to make him not realise he’s kind of hungry. Harry’s much the same,
and when they’re back by the car, ready to go, they pause. Hug. Louis’ not sure who initiates it,
only that he’s in Harry’s arms and Harry’s in his. The thickness of their winter gear makes it
slightly awkward, but Louis still sinks into it, buries his cold nose against Harry’s neck.
slightly awkward, but Louis still sinks into it, buries his cold nose against Harry’s neck.

“Hey,” Harry says, as they pull away- still with hands on each other’s hips. “After we get
something to eat I can drop you to the guesthouse, no problem. But I can also-- bring you home.”

Louis’ eyebrows shoot up. They’re close, and Harry’s beautiful, and- Louis never really learned
self-restraint. Harry’s lips have gone red with the chill, and Louis wants to make them redder.

“Not like- there’s a guest bedroom. Mum actually already made it up for you, yesterday. Just in
case.”

All Louis knows is that suddenly the idea of being far away from Harry makes him restless, push
up against his skin. “That sounds good,” he says. “I’d like that.”

They stay late at the restaurant they stop at, too, and Louis marvels at how constant and fast
conversation falls between them. They have a quick detour to the guesthouse so Louis can pick up
his few belongings, and by the time they reach Harry’s house, Gemma and Anne are already in
bed. Harry leads Louis to the spare room like he needs directions, and stops in the doorway.

“D’you need anything?” he asks, voice low.

Louis shakes his head, sending a smile Harry’s way. Harry stands in the doorway for a few
moments, and Louis notices his hand gripping the frame, tight.

“Right,” Harry says, eventually. “Well, then. Night, Lou.”

The phrase sounds familiar, and right-- like it belongs in Louis’ life, as much a part of evenings as
the moon or stars. “Night, Haz,” he replies, and finds himself staring at the door for a few
moments after it shuts.

Louis doesn’t have the same safety afforded to him as in that house in Reading. Here, Harry’s
room is right next to his, only a wall separating them.

His heart is pounding as he lies down, fingers clenched in the blankets. He doesn’t know if Anne
uses a different detergent than she used to, or if he’s just forgotten what the sheets in this house
had smelled like.

The calm from the day is burning out, slightly- Louis is thinking about Alice, and how it’s
impossible to think she died with any regrets. That she always seemed to do what she wanted,
always seemed to know what she needed. Life seems out of control, but she somehow managed to
tame a portion of it, shape it, make it conform to her expectations.

Louis is thinking about Harry, and how he was never fully brave enough to take control of that
situation.

The day of the funeral is as cold and sharp as it’s been all week, but the sun has visited. Not
enough to warm, but enough to brighten. Louis goes down to breakfast in his pyjamas, not
wanting to change into his suit till it’s necessary.

Harry and Anne have made a fry up, and Louis momentarily wonders if they’re having
neighbours over, or something. But Anne says that they shouldn’t go to funerals on an empty
stomach like it’s an old saying, and he realises that the vast quantity of food is for the four of them.
He widens his eyes at Gemma across the table, who laughs.
He realises, then, that he’s not sure when Gemma and Anne learned he had stayed the night.
Judging from their lack of surprise, Harry must’ve let them know somewhere along the way.

He tries to stop himself from letting it feel normal, but it doesn’t work. He’s already beginning to
feel like he belongs.

Louis is the first ready for the funeral, leaning against the hall cabinet as he waits for the others.
Gemma joins him next, smoothing down her black dress with a sigh.

“Y’alright?” Louis asks, nudging her.

She nods. “Yeah- yeah, it’s just weird.” She’s silent as she slips into her shoes, only picking up
her train of thought as she repositions herself beside Louis. “Last time I was in this church I was
choosing wedding venues. I thought the next time I’d be in it, it’d be for the wedding as well. Not-
not because someone had died. There’s really no... pattern to life, is there? It’s completely random.
You can plan for things, a bit, but you never know what’s gonna be thrown at you next.”

“Shit, Gem,” Louis says. “Very introspective.”

She laughs, shakes her head. “I know, I’m sorry, I just-”

“No, I get it,” Louis says. “Doesn’t feel like there’s much to rely on as constant, you know.” Even
as he says it, his eyes are drawn to the stairs, where Harry will be coming down any moment.
Louis glances back to Gemma, only to find her similarly distracted, circling the engagement ring
around her finger.

“Where’s your fiance?” Louis asks, only noting the absence now.

“Oh, he had to stay for work,” she says. “He wanted to come, but I wouldn’t let him. He’s taken
time off for wedding planning, he can’t really afford any more.” She turns to him. “Oh, did you
get the invitation? Are you going to come?”

It takes longer than it should for Louis to realise she’s talking about her wedding. “Oh, yeah,” he
says. “Yeah, wouldn’t miss it. I’m so happy for you, really.”

“Thanks, Lou,” she says, and then: “I’m happy for you too. You and Harry.”

He glances at her, heart rate spiking momentarily. “Oh, I don’t know if that’s…”

She laughs as he fades off. “Yes, you do,” she says.

He’s saved from replying when he looks back to the stairs. Louis wonders what the etiquette is for
complimenting people on the clothes they wear to funerals. It seems distasteful, but Harry looks
amazing- short hair, classic suit, shirt buttoned up. There are so many different versions of him for
Louis to memorise.

He probably doesn’t need to say anything. Probably the staring he does is enough, as Harry comes
down- like a prom date in a movie, or something. He hopes Harry doesn’t talk to him for at least a
few moments, because his throat feels completely dry.

He himself, he knows, is not looking his best- he’s shocked at how used he must have gotten to
good quality clothes. He never really felt like he’d picked up the high standards of most people in
the industry, keeping the trappings of a simple life. But this suit is cheap, and the trouser hems are
itchy, and the shirt and jacket tight under his arms, and-
“I think London’s made me a snob,” he tells Harry, as he fiddles with the lapels. It must’ve been
the same sort of suit he wore to school dances. Can’t remember it bothering him then.

Harry laughs, big and easy. “Nah,” he says. “Anyways, snobs would appreciate how you look.”

“You an authority?” Louis asks, to dodge the compliment.

“Oh, completely. I’m an artiste, y’know-”

“The toast of Londontown,” Louis finishes, wry. Harry’s smile is beautiful, and addictive, and
Louis suddenly feels less like he’s joking.

Louis has been told to sit in one of the first pews in the church, so he can easily navigate to the
front to sing. Harry comes with him- moral support, he says, and Louis remembers going
backstage at the BBC studios with the same words on his tongue.

His family is here, but he hasn’t spotted them yet. Hasn’t really tried- there’s a page in his pocket,
lyrics printed out from online, and it’s weighing the suit down. He doesn’t need it- knows the
lyrics. It’s why he chose it from the list Jenny emailed him, of songs her mother had liked.

Harry’s hand is between them on the pew, thumb pushing into Louis’ thigh, gentle. Louis needs it,
but he regrets that he can’t really comfort Harry himself. Harry’s eyes have been wet since the
service started. He settles with pushing their feet together, lightly pressing the toe of his shoe over
Harry’s momentarily.

A sister Louis didn’t know Alice had is talking about her into the mic, voice cracking occasionally
but still managing to laugh at some of the memories.

Alice, apparently, had gotten her driving licence at the age of sixty-two, after the divorce. Had
gone on a road trip that summer, with one of her friends.

Louis wonders what stories would be told at his funeral, if there will be any testament to his
character as strong as that.

When the sister finishes up, Jenny turns ‘round from the pew in front and smiles at him, nods her
head to the altar, eyes red-rimmed. Harry squeezes his hand, and Louis stands up, walks to the mic
in a daze.

He knows virtually everyone in the church- is reminded, suddenly, of local talent shows as a teen.
He had Harry by his side, then. He doesn’t let his eyes search out Harry in the crowd. He’s scared
he’d simply forget to sing, if he did that.

When the piano reaches his cue, he doesn’t have to tell himself to open his mouth. He just starts.
It’s a Sinatra number, not something he’s particularly familiar with, but it still somehow feels like
an old lullaby from his childhood, something he knows inside out.

He can’t remember if this is how performing used to feel, before. Can’t remember if his heart’s
heavy thumping is something he had been used to, at one point.

The words are coming without thought, and he’s not worried. Shit, maybe this is better than how
performing used to feel, because he remembers the side of self-doubt that had been inevitably
attached to each song, and can’t find a drop of it in him now.
The song is slow, and his heartbeat urge him to speed it up, but he resists.

So let people wonder, let 'em laugh, let 'em frown. You know I'll love you ‘til the moon's upside
down.

It’s definitely got to be the first time this church has heard this song, and none of the options that
were provided to him were particularly traditional. But he’s not self-conscious, not wondering
what people think. May as well be alone, be rehearsing in his bedroom, battling with Harry for
mirror-space.

He moves away from the mic as the piano swells, so it doesn’t catch his shaky breath. It’s not
nerves anymore, though- it feels good, singing like this. He feels like there’s more of him than
there used to be. He’s nearing the end, and trusts himself to redirect his eyes to the part of the hall
he’s been avoiding. Harry’s smiling softly, and Louis can’t read the nuance of it from this
distance, but it’s enough to carry him to the finish.

Why try to change me now?

It’s a funeral, Louis’ five feet away from a coffin, and so there’s no applause the way he’s used to
hearing at a song’s close. Just quiet, as he makes his way back to his seat, and it’s sort of fitting. It
didn’t feel like a performance, like something he was offering other people. It was just for him.

Harry’s looking at him, eyes wide, as he sits down, but Louis just turns to focus on the remainder
of the service. Lets his hand find Harry’s between them.

Louis sees his family at the wake, and they keep him occupied for the hour he stays. The youngest
have remained in Doncaster, Lottie and Fizzy the only ones who would have any memory of
Alice. If they have questions about his situation with Harry, they remain unasked. Lottie’s eyes are
rimmed red, and that feels like a bigger deal.

Louis sees, at one point, Harry looking at them from across the room, and realises it’s his first time
seeing the family in years. He doesn’t approach, and Louis wonders why. Thinks maybe a
reunion would feel more appropriate at another stage. A stage when they have a set term to refer
to each other as.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t work out- Anne is delighted to see Louis’ mum again, invites her and
the girls back to the house after the wake. Their excitement is clear, even as they try to tone it
down given the setting.

It’s enough to spark an old guilt in Louis, that it was his and Harry’s breakup that put such a strain
on the friendship between their families in the first place. He stops himself from choking on it. It’s
a pointless guilt, now, no room in the reality he and Harry have made for each other. Or, well. The
one he’s going to fight for, anyway.

On the drive to Harry’s after the wake, Lottie asks if he’s heading back to London tomorrow. The
answer is yes, dictated by his work schedule, and Louis’ suddenly on the verge of panicking. It’s
4.30 pm, Louis has less than 24 hours to figure some basic shit out.

What does back to London mean? What are the conditions lurking beneath the concept? Harry’s
taken time off, but Louis’ not sure when that comes to an end. He’s not sure if it’s accomplished
what Harry has wanted it to accomplish.

He knows, despite the loss of Alice, that Harry seems calmer than he’s been the last while. That
his knuckles are less white and the shadows under his eyes less purple. He doesn’t know how
much of their time together in the past two days, their conversations and the fun they’ve had, is a
result of that perceived improvement, and how much of it is just the outcome of being alone
together in the town they grew up in, slightly emotionally vulnerable.

He doesn’t know how many of the ripples of this weekend will reach London. And he doesn’t
have long to figure it out.

The house is too loud to make noise in- Anne’s invited a few neighbours over, and the rooms are
being zig-zagged through constantly, conversations bouncing off every corner. Louis has, by this
point, completely gotten over cravings for cigarettes, but he wishes he had them as an excuse to go
outside for a moment.

He figures there’s enough people that his absence won’t be noticed, that he won’t need an excuse.
He slips out the side door, not noticing the drizzle till he’s already in the cover of the neighbour’s
trees.

He can still hear some laughter and chatter from the house, but from this distance it’s more
comforting than oppressive.

It feels cliche, and somewhat self-absorbed, to react to a death by worrying about his own time
running out. But that’s what it’s done- he thinks about the urgency to get to Harry he felt after
hearing the news, and thinks it was more than just the fact that Harry had his phone switched off.
Thinks he just needed to see him.

He thinks the way the past few days have settled him has nothing to do with Holmes Chapel,
nothing to do with familiar faces or landscapes. Thinks it has everything to do with having Harry
by his side again, to touch and to talk to.

He told Harry he’d wait for him, and he would. He knows Harry has things to work through, and
that maybe he hasn’t done that completely yet, but suddenly he doesn’t understand why Harry has
to do it without him. He doesn’t want to be a stranger to the storms Harry weathers. He doesn’t
want Harry to not know he’s been to Birmingham before, and he doesn’t want to be a guest
among Harry’s family.

Harry has things to work through, and Louis can’t believe they even for a second thought it would
be good for him to deal with that on his own. Harry had gotten teary at the funeral, and again at
the wake, and Louis burns at the idea of not having been there through that. Can’t believe they
went four years without each other, and now, after a random coincidence bringing them back to
each other, they want to take more time apart.

They don’t get to talk that evening at all, restrained words replaced by prolonged eye contact
Louis can’t understand. He’s exhausted by the time people actually clear out, helps a bit with
clean up, and then goes, begrudgingly, to bed.

He wakes up early, early enough it doesn’t feel like waking up. He drifts downstairs at 7am,
everyone else still in bed, and makes himself a bowl of cereal. It’s chilly, too early for the heat to
have been put on, so he pulls on a stray hoodie that’s been left out. The sky is still night-dark, and
he makes his way to the conservatory.

It’s new, or at least hadn’t been around back when Louis was. He remembers how Anne had
always wanted the extension, though, unsatisfied with the lack of light allowed by the kitchen’s
small windows.

When he walks in, Harry’s already there, curled on what looks like a piano bench, minus the
piano. With no back support and the early hour, the hunch in Harry’s shoulders is more
pronounced. “Oh,” Louis says.

Harry turns to him, eyebrows raised. “Lou,” he says. “Y’alright?”

Louis nods, takes it for the invitation it isn’t really, and sits down on the wicker couch next to
Harry’s bench. “Yeah, just getting ready. I have to leave soon enough.”

“Oh.” Harry looks taken aback, but the surprise softens into a smile when he asks- “that my
hoodie?”

Louis looks down like he needs to check. “Yeah, sorry,” he says. “It was just on a chair.” He
doesn’t know what logic that is to justify putting it on, but he doesn’t really care. Harry doesn’t
seem to either, just nodding and pulling at one of the strings.

Harry’s journal is open on his lap, Louis realises. He makes out some words on the top margin, if I
could fly, before he can stop himself, and then redirects his gaze to Harry. Can’t help himself from
just- staring.

One thing that has stayed the same, since he was sixteen, is the disbelief that he managed to catch
the attention of Harry. How fucking lucky he is to get to know Harry on a level most people are
deprived of. He’s leaving for London, and he’s not sure what part of Harry, how much of Harry,
he’s going to be taking back with him.

“What?” Harry asks once he realises Louis is staring, small curious laugh. Louis can’t get over
him, the fact that the universe managed to come together so perfectly to create him. Can’t believe
this perfect result of a million different variables grew up next door to Louis.

Louis needs him. “H,” he says, voice softer than he was expecting. It makes Harry turn more fully
toward him, till their knees are touching.

“Yeah?”

Louis has a thousand thoughts, but they fuse into- “I love you.”

“I--”

“D’you know that?” Louis asks.

Harry inhales. “I do,” he says. His voice breaks.

“I want to be with you,” Louis says, his own voice strengthening, claiming more room in the
space between them.

“Lou-”

“No, listen. Listen.” He pauses, forces himself to take a breath. “I have to go back to work, today,
I have to leave here soon, but before I do, I want to tell you where I am, right now. And you don’t
have to reply right away. I can leave, and if- if you figure out what you want to say, you can text
or call or email or whatever. Okay. But I’m going to say this.” He’s more telling himself than
anyone else. Harry still nods.

Louis swallows. He feels a fucking fool, putting this all out there, but he knows he has to. “All the
time we’ve been taking apart, I’ve felt so restless. And seeing you again made me feel anchored,
made- it’s just, life can be so shit, and so unfair, and I don’t know what to expect at any given
moment, and. Christ, Harry, you’re my one sure thing. Like, I can imagine my life going a
thousand different ways, but I can’t imagine it without you. Not once, not ever, and I don’t know
why we’re letting ourselves get in the way of that.”

His leg is shaking so much he has to stand up. “Look, I know I said I would wait for you, and
honestly, honestly, I probably would, you could disappear and show up on my doorstep ten years
down the line, and I’d probably still have a bed ready for you-” Louis’ not sure where it’s coming
from, but it feels more like the truth than anything else. Harry’s looking at him, listening, and it
feels so fucking important to get this all out. “But, Christ, we’ve already wasted time. And I know
we’ve made mistakes, but a good relationship- it’s not one without mistakes, it’s one where you
learn from them, together, and that’s all I want to do with you. And I fucking want to do it now. ”

Harry stays quiet for three, four, five seconds, just looking at Louis, and it’s too much. Fucking
Christ, this whole seize the day bullshit is harder than it seems. “Okay,” Louis says. “Okay. I’m
going to go, because my taxi’s meeting me outside the guesthouse I stayed at, and it’ll be there
soon. Tell Anne and Gemma thanks for everything, and that it was lovely seeing them.”

He’s walking out as he says it, not looking back at Harry. He realises he hasn’t eaten any of the
cereal he made, was clutching it all through his dramatic speech, so he scrapes it into the bin and
puts the bowl in the dishwasher. He pulls his phone out and stuff his headphones into his ears,
picking up his bag from the foot of the stairs and stuffing his feet into his shoes. Closing the door
behind him, gently.

He’s been in the taxi for ten minutes, driving towards London, when he realises he’s still wearing
Harry’s hoodie.

Arriving at work feels surreal in the exact same way arriving in Holmes Chapel had a few days
earlier. It feels like months since he’s been in his office, is expecting cobwebs and dust bunnies
upon entry.

Despite this- despite the looks he’s gotten for showing up in a hoodie- he’s surprisingly able for
work. He’s on his first non-Harry related assignment, and gets through it well enough. His
colleagues know the reason he’d taken time off was for a funeral, so they’re sort of gentle with
him in a way he usually wouldn’t appreciate.

There’s a lot for him to catch up on, and he’s grateful for that.

Liam visits him ‘round lunchtime, hugging him and bearing tea. Louis knows he can tell there’s
something up almost immediately, but he doesn’t react much. “Is Harry back, yet?” he asks.

“I dunno,” Louis says, not as casual as he was going for.

He doesn’t see the voicemail till 2pm. His grip around his phone tightens at the sight of Harry’s
contact name, the timestamp from hours ago, but he makes himself put it down on his desk. His
hands are shaking, but he has work to do.

Twenty minutes later, Louis reaches a conclusion: fuck work. He’s been banging on about no
more waiting, so he may as well put it into practice. No one asks questions when he grabs his
jacket to leave, and he thinks, dryly, thank God for funerals.

He knows it’s not something he can listen to in the office, be it good news or bad, so he practically
runs to the tube. Can’t listen to it there, either, on account of all the other people he forgot existed.
Even if the tube was empty, he’d stay standing, too restless for the seats. His hand is still clutched
around the phone, sweating by this point. He won’t let himself think about what the message
could be. Only ten minutes to his stop. Seven minutes, five minutes, two.

He pulls up the message as soon as he’s got his first foot on the stairs to his place. Stops there, as
soon as he hears Harry’s voice.

“Hey, Lou. Um. I’m sorta sad that you just left, because like, I don’t want you unsure, or doubting
me. But then also it’s nice, because- because I need time to gather my thoughts, put ‘em in order,
and I guess you got that, to an extent. I’m in the garden, right now. It’s weird, I don’t really have
any memories of us in this garden. Were we like, massive nerds as children? Or did we just hang
out in your garden? You had a better tree. Anyway. Sorry. Um.”

One of Louis’ neighbours walks by him, shoots him an odd look, and it’s enough to spur him into
ascending the stairs.

Harry releases a shaky breath through the phone, and it matches the tremor in Louis’ hand. “I love
you, Louis. So much. And sometimes it feels like you’re always ahead of me with that, always
know what you want before I figure it out. But- but even if that’s true, I have figured it out. And.”
He breaks off with a laugh. Louis’ heart is pounding.

“I wanted to write more, on my time off, because sometimes it feels like the only thing that can
calm me down. But for the most part-” he laughs, slightly. “For the most part I didn’t end up
writing songs, I ended up writing- more, like, letters. To you. Cuz it’s so hard to work things out,
sometimes. Like, my brain would tell me to go to you no matter what, whether it’s a good idea or
not, and I just- I needed to work out what I could trust.”

Louis turns the corner to his flat- and shit. There he is, There’s Harry, leaning against his door.
Looking perfect.

Louis’ first thought is, how the fuck did I never think to give him a key?

“Lou,” Harry says, when he notices him, taking a step forward.

“No, shut up, I haven’t finished yet,” Louis says, holding up his hand. Harry laughs, and Louis
has to turn away so he’s not distracted.

“But I wrote songs, too- it’s been five years, Lou, and I still haven’t run out of songs to write
about you. And that means more than I’ve let myself believe.”

There’s a pause in the message, phone-Harry taking deep breaths. Louis turns to hallway-Harry,
part awed, but mostly amused: “you wrote me letters?”
Harry huffs out another laugh. “Shut up and I’ll maybe let you read them, one day.”

“Everything that made me fall in love with you then is still right in front of me. And all this new
stuff, too. All this new, amazing stuff, I wouldn’t have gotten to see. And I knew, knew from the
first time you helped me with a song, that I couldn’t ever let you go, not again, not ever. And I
was still a mess, and it felt like a bad idea, but it also just- it also felt so fucking inevitable. And
I’m sorry if you ever doubted that. I wanted to make sure I was ready, I was prepared, for a
relationship, but I also wanted to make sure I’d be able to give you the relationship you deserve,
because you deserve so much, Louis. So much, everything. And I’m still a mess, but if you think-
if you already think I’m able to give you that, then I trust you. Then I want to start as soon as
possible, too. I don’t want to make you wait.”

Louis takes a deep breath, slowly lowering the phone from where it was pressed tightly against his
ear. He and Harry both move closer, and Louis wants to reach out, to touch, but he’s still in shock.
Christ, they never seem to take the easy way, not anymore.

Harry reaches into his pocket, and pulls out that Godawful turtle, or tortoise, Louis can't think,
soap dish. "Just came 'cause you forgot this," he says.

Louis lets out a laugh, his disbelief evident in it. Harry smiles, holds it out till Louis takes it. "Is
that the only reason?"

Harry shrugs.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Louis asks, but he realises how hypocritical it is even as the words
leave his mouth. He didn’t tell Harry, either, not for months.

“I tried,” Harry says, frowning.

“What? When?” Louis can’t imagine Harry having to try, can’t imagine being anything other than
completely receptive to those attempts.

“When I sang Something Great, that first time. I sang it to you.”

Louis pauses, waits for Harry to finish. When he’s met with silence, he gives a disbelieving laugh.
“Shit, sorry, just- really? That was you trying to tell me how you felt? Through song ?”

“I thought you knew, when you came backstage-”

And that’s actually sort of heartbreaking, because Louis remembers how fiercely Harry had kissed
him then, but he can’t just let this go. “Like, I get that you’re a musician, but this isn’t High School
Musical. You can’t sing it to me, oh my God. Are you actually from a Disney film? You’re like
fucking Amy Adams in Enchanted-”

“Shut up, Lou,” Harry says, but he’s smiling, and Louis breathes, deep. Looks Harry up and
down. He’s the most beautiful person in the world, is the thing, and somehow Louis gets him for
the rest of his life.

“Do you want to come in?” he asks, pulling out his key. Before he can even move to open the
door, Harry’s got a hand on his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. Louis falls into it so fast he’d be
embarrassed, if he hadn’t given up on the concept of shame that morning. Isn’t embarrassed by the
soft sound he makes, the way he lets his hands curl into Harry’s shirt, the way he relaxes into the
hand pressed into the small of his back.

Harry pulls away sooner than ideal. “Yeah, sure,” he says, still looking down on Louis, like if he
blinks Louis could disappear. “It’s good to be home.”
 It makes a blush run through Louis’ body, but he still nods in agreement, opening the door.

Even though none of this is about coming home, he thinks, as he takes Harry’s hand. It’s about
building a new one.

Chapter End Notes

aah okay! it's finished! i really hope you guys are satisfied with the resolution
(because idk if i am!). thank you so much for reading, it means a lot. special thank
you to everyone who has left comments-- i don't want to get corny but they mean so
so much to me. i can get very neurotic about my writing, but y'all always manage to
talk me down from that ledge. i appreciate it! i'm super looking forward to hearing
what you all think of the denouement.

housework: here is my tumblr, here is the tumblr post. do with that what you will!
also, it's coming up to exam season for me, so i should really buckle down. the
epilogue will probably not appear till the latter half of may.

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