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Chapter Text

Louis Tomlinson’s world had begun to fall apart the moment Harry Styles had said hello to him on that sunny morning on Harry’s first day at Town Field Primary School. Louis, of course, should’ve known the small, curly haired kid with a toothy, dimpled smile would be trouble; for crying out loud, it was never sunny in Doncaster, the kid must be some sort of omen. But Louis Tomlinson, barely pushing seven years old, had smiled right back (with less teeth and less dimples) and introduced himself as the coolest friend Harry would ever know. 

Harry took him, a seven year old boy , for his word and made it his mission (not that Louis was all that resistant at the time) to be the lamest, weirdest, and bestest (totally not a word) friend Louis had ever had. And as all Primary school friendships go, they were practically adjoined at the hip by the end of the day. Harry had even promised, his pinky hooked with Louis’ that, “I’ll never leave you, Lou.”

Fast forward to secondary school, twelve whole years old and Louis still didn’t have a lick of sense. He had started growing the previous summer and ended up a whole six inches taller than Harry, who remained the small, rosy-cheeked cherub that Louis (stupidly) adored. It had been much too great of an advantage for Louis to just not be his friend, not to mention, Louis Tomlinson hadn’t been about to deprive Harry of the coolest friend he would ever know. 

When they were thirteen, Harry and Louis had their first fight. It had been a nasty affair, two weeks of glares in the halls and carelessly hurtful words flung between them. It had ended when Harry found Louis on the football field in the dark, knees bloodied and cleats abandoned by the goal. 

“It’s dark,” He’d said, all innocent and sweet and Harry.

Louis had snorted in reply, “No shit, Sherlock,” his voice, as he remembered (and he did remember), had been lacking the normal sharp and angry snark he had held as fuel of the fire during their rift. Louis should’ve let the fight be the end of LouisandHarry , he should have; but when Harry laid next to him and stared at the twilight-darkened sky with him, Louis forgot why he had even been angry in the first place. 

Louis Tomlinson’s world had crumbled a little more when Harry, his best friend, grew taller than him. It had been a cherished thing, those few inches that had grown sparsely thin as they hit sixteen, and then they were gone. It had become a negative amount, really, because Louis had always been the tall one, and him being shorter just hadn’t been (still wasn’t) feasible, it had to be a negative number. Harry had laughed when Louis told him that, the baby fat that had been clinging to his cheeks not two months ago faded away into the tall, slim seventeen-year-old who told him that Louis might just be in bitter denial. He hadn’t been, he simply understood that he had been negative four inches taller than Harry Styles, and it had been his best friend who was in denial. 

By the time Louis had become negative six inches taller than Harry Styles, they had neared the end of seventeen and the beginning of the wide expanse that was adulthood. It also, consequently, had been the first time Harry brought a girlfriend home. Louis said that like he and Harry had lived together, which wasn’t true, but they had stayed over at each other’s houses tonight that it hadn’t been uncommon for them to be there when the other wasn’t. This particular instance, Louis had been in the kitchen with Anne, Harry’s mum (and his favourite person, screw Harry), when Harry had walked in the front door, a blonde girl under his arm. He looked surprised to see him there, as if Louis hadn’t been escaping his stepfathers by coming over since they were seven. The girlfriend, the swinging hammer that had driven the chisel of his association with Harry Styles into his world a little further, was nice enough and Louis wasn’t really sure why he decided to hate her automatically. Her name was Molly, or maybe it was Morice or Mallory, Louis really didn’t remember it all too well and it wasn’t like he stayed long enough to do more than nod curtly in Mary’s direction. Harry had introduced him as the coolest friend she would ever know and Louis’ stomach rolled at the words because he hadn’t wanted to be Mackenzie’s friend, he was Harry’s friend and for some reason, Harry having a girlfriend had seemed to be the worst thing in the world. 

Harry and Maleficent (Louis had gotten tired of guessing names and settled for the fitting title) had broken up sometime after Harry had turned eighteen bringing their age gap to two years, which, apparently, had just been far too much. At least, that’s what Louis had assumed when Harry showed up on his doorstep in a rainstorm, an umbrella over his head because he hadn’t been some distraught idiot who walked in the pouring rain without one. It hadn’t been age. Harry had been accepted into a London University, one that Louis hadn’t heard the name of, too focused on the fact that Harry would be leaving. He was going to be moving four hours away to London. Maleficent and him hadn’t wanted to do long distance. Where does that leave us? Louis had thought to himself in the damp air that had followed Harry through the open door. He hadn’t even thought about Uni, let alone actually applying to one. His heart had stopped in his chest, yes, he remembered that feeling quite well because “London.” Harry had nodded slowly, “You’ll come with me, won’t you, Lou?” 

Louis should have said no and goodbye right then. 

But he hadn’t. He had smiled at Harry and said softly, “Like you could survive without your coolest friend.”

“Haz! Haz!” Harry hummed in acknowledgement, bent over a spilling pile of textbooks in the living room of their flat, but didn’t look up at him. Louis crossed his arms, quite ready to be offended but even Harry’s lack of attention couldn’t qualm the excitement rising in Louis’ throat, “I have great news!” He flung his keys at Harry’s shoulder only to miss and hit his friend on the cheek who finally looked up, disgruntled, “I, Louis Tomlinson, as in the coolest friend you could ever know, got a gig.”

Harry’s face lit up, teeth shining in a wide, dimpled smile as he stood up and gathered Louis into a hug, “That’s great, Lou,” he breathed, “I’m so proud of you. When and where?”

“Friday at Paul’s and your big exam is Thursday and you don’t leave until Sunday so it’s perfect, a last hurrah.” 

He didn’t get the chance to see Harry’s face crumple, his nose pressing into the dip of Harry’s collarbone.

“What’s happening at Paul’s?” Niall’s voice drifted in through the open door of their flat that Louis had forgotten to close in his excitement, “Louis, you really need to work on your door-closing skill--oh, hugs? I want a hug.”

Niall barreled into them from the side, both of them groaning at the impact. There was a moment of silence before Niall blurted, “Why are we hugging?” Louis snorted, the puff of air hitting Harry’s neck as the aforementioned laughed and said, “Lou got a gig!” 

“Louis got a gig?!” 

Liam’s happy shout led Louis to believe that their group hug was about to get a little bit bigger so he ducked out of Niall and Harry’s grips and watched as Liam barreled into the two of them. They landed in a messy pile on the floor, Niall groaning something about how much Harry and Liam weighed. Louis broke out into laughter at the sight, his shoulders shaking as Liam tried to stand up but fell again, drawing out a string of curses from Niall and an elbow jab from Harry.

“Okay, I leave for ten minutes and I come back to an open door, Louis laughing like a freaking maniac, and my boyfriend and other two roomates in a pile on our living room floor.” Zayn’s eyes narrowed, turning to Louis, “What did you do to them?” 

Louis held up his hands, feigning slight offence, “Why are you blaming me? It’s not my fault they’re clumsy idiots.”

Zayn raised an unimpressed eyebrow and Louis glared at him, “Don’t give me that look, Malik, it really wasn’t my fault, all I said was that I had a gig Friday and they all fell over. Really, I’m the one who’s been wronged,” Louis sniffed, turning his nose away and crossing his arms. 

“I’m not about to fall over, but a gig?” Zayn grinned, “That’s brill, babes. How about a celebratory smoke. I have those spliffs I was saving for a special occasion.”

“I knew there was a reason you’re my favourite.” There was an offended sound of protest from Harry who had managed to escape the entanglement and was now fixing his hair (aka mindlessly raking his fingers through the curls until they were sufficiently messy). 

“Don’t pout, Harold,” Louis smacked his cheek lightly, “You’re my favourite frog lookalike if that’s any consolation.”

“It’s not,” Harry huffed, grabbing Louis’ wrist when the smaller boy went to twist his nipple through his shirt, “You’re my favourite everything and you will pay for this grievous insult.” Harry’s hands dug into Louis’ ribs without warning, eliciting an extremely dignified (read with a heavily emphasized not before the dignified) bout of laughter as they tumbled to the ground. 

If he hadn’t been so focused on elbowing Harry in the head to get him to stop, Louis would have registered just how the whole ‘you’re my favourite everything’ made him feel, but he had more important matters to attend to than acting like some stupid, lovesick teenager. 

Louis’ elbow missed horribly which might have been better considering seeing Harry pout and rub at his head would make him feel like absolute shit. “Say I’m your favourite right now.”

“Never,” Louis twisted, trying to get out of Harry’s grip, “Z, help me.”

His friend shrugged nonchalantly and turned to follow Niall and Liam into the kitchen. Harry’s fingers danced over a specially ticklish spot, drawing out a ( obviously dignified) snort from Louis. “Okay, okay, I bloody surrender.”

Harry propped himself up on his elbows, staring down at Louis in mock seriousness, “So you admit that I’m your favourite?”

“Yeah, Haz,” Louis said softly, heart aching with the sentiment, “you’re my favourite.” It was worth it, always was, to see Harry’s dazzling smile, still all dimples and big teeth staring down at him. Louis’ heart thudded against his ribs, answering with a smile of his own that hopefully lacked the dazedness that Louis was feeling. 

Louis Tomlinson was perfectly aware that somewhere in his life he had made a mistake and he also happened to be aware that it most likely was the moment he met Harry. It may have been childish and far easier for Louis to blame his seven-year-old self for accepting the friendship instead of blaming whatever version of himself had decided to go off and fall in love with his best friend. It’s not like he had done it on purpose, in fact, he would pretty much have done anything else if given the choice. But no, Louis had to be the fucking moron who fell in love with his best friend of over fifteen years. 

Louis even followed him to bloody London and stayed despite his decision to drop out of Drama school and fling himself onto the shoulders of Harry and their friends for support while he searched for a job and pursued his dream, music. 

Harry, paying for pre med, met Liam, Zayn, and Niall sometime in the whirl of stress that was his first year, brought them out for drinks with Louis; and then, by some miracle, they were moving into a shared flat they could all afford barely two weeks later. Now, Harry was about to finish pre med and had already accepted a study abroad program for med school that might turn into something more than just a semester away. 

Louis had been dreading it since Harry had barged in with the news because he had finally gotten his life semi-together and he couldn’t pick up and move despite Harry’s offer. Eventually he had come to terms with it and was determined to enjoy the last weeks with Harry to the full extent before his heart inevitably shattered. And now Harry was leaving on Sunday. As in, he was leaving next Sunday that Louis would see. As in last Sunday was the last one Louis would have with Harry, eating Niall’s waffles and watching movies with all of the boys before falling into Harry’s bed for a cuddle where Louis would “accidentally” fall asleep.

Harry ambled off him, offering a hand to help Louis up. It was Tuesday. Louis sighed, taking Harry’s hand and reiterating, “A true gentleman, guess you really are my favourite.” Until Sunday. Six more days. 

Six more days dwindled into five before Louis could blink and the light of Wednesday filtered through his window, waking him from his dream back into the nightmare of reality. Harry, of course, was already awake and sitting in the kitchen, drinking some nasty-looking green liquid that Louis promptly ignored as he demanded, “Cuddle.”

Harry laughed, turning to open his arms for Louis to trudge into, “Morning, Lou. I’m heading to the library for a study group in ten minutes, want me to pick you up anything? I’ll be headed home around lunch time.”

“Mmm,” Louis mumbled, still half asleep, lips smacking together as he pulled away from the hug reluctantly, “I have to go to work.”

Another laugh rumbled in Harry’s chest, “No, babes, your boss is on maternity leave and she closed the part of the shop you work in for the meanwhile.”

“Oh right,” Louis laughed, scrubbing a hand over his face, “What would I do without you?”

“I’m sure Liam will be happy to become your calendar when I’m gone,” Harry smiled tightly with the words, looking down while Louis froze, unable to force a smile over the painful roar of Harry’s words, when I’m gone.

“Yeah,” Louis’ voice came out strained, “He’ll be good at it, he’s like that already.” Silence fell and Louis coughed awkwardly, “I’m gonna go take a shower.” 

“Lou-“ 

“Bring me the prettiest flower you see.”

Louis didn’t wait to hear what Harry had to say about his strange request, eyes set emptily on his open door as he pushed his way inside and pressed it closed. He didn’t cry until he was actually in the shower, and really, they weren’t sad tears (Louis Tomlinson did not cry) he had just gotten soap in his eyes. He sank to the tiled floor, five days. 

Harry brought him back a wild rose that he had found growing in an untrimmed bush along his path to the campus library. Louis grabbed it with a broad smile, hissing when a thorn cut open his palm. Harry’s brow creased with worry, “Careful,” he scolded. Louis winced when Harry examined his hand, bringing him over to the sink. “Gonna fix me up Dr. Styles?” Louis asked cheekily, hoping to lighten the dark concentration on Harry’s face, “Tell me what’s the best remedy for a thorny rose.”

He rinsed the wound with cold water, pursing his lips before smiling lightly, “The go-to remedy should suffice.” 

What about a broken heart? Louis wondered, watching Harry dig around and hold up a box of bandages, “A bandaid!” Would a bandaid work for one of those?

There were still five days left when Louis walked into Harry’s room and found his bags mostly packed. Harry had been finishing off his second suitcase when Louis came into his room, smoking the spliff Zayn had been talking about. If he hadn’t been high, Louis probably would’ve collapsed into a puddle of tears at the sight, but he was high (thank god) and he only raised an eyebrow, “You seem ready to get the hell out of Dodge.” He laughed for a moment only to realize that Harry wasn’t laughing. 

If Louis didn’t know better (and did he know better?) he would say that Harry looked guilty, like he had been caught doing something he didn’t want anyone to know about. Something churned in Louis’ gut, “Why are you packing? You don’t leave until Sunday.” He held up his hand counting off on his fingers, “One, two, three, four, five days!” 

Harry didn’t laugh again, just stood up, took the spliff from between Louis fingers and took a long drag, eyes drifting away from Louis’ face to stare at the far wall. “I just like to be ahead of schedule, Louis.” It should’ve been strange, unusual even, to hear Harry say that. But Louis was high and he couldn’t bring himself to understand that Harry used his full name and not some endearment or ‘Lou,’ a sure sign that he was either upset or lying.

Louis just grinned, too floaty to care, “I don’t.”

“I know,” Harry said, fingers dancing over Louis' face as he placed the spliff between Louis’ parted lips, “Just enjoy these two days.”

“I always forget how easily affected you are by weed, mate,” Louis giggled, “It’s five days, not two.” Harry smiled, guiding them out of his room and pulling closed the door, his voice too low and too steady and too serious for him to be high, “You’re right, Lou. My bad.”

Harry took Louis for a drive on Thursday to get takeout for dinner and Louis was stuck between the two countdowns consuming all his time. One day before his gig and four days before Harry would be leaving. 

“I refuse to listen to your shit taste in music, now please give me the aux.” Harry groaned, handing Louis his phone which was happily accepted and not long after, The Neighbourhood was blasting through the speakers of Harry’s car. “You’re a menace,” Harry complained, “My music is great, this, this is garbage.” Louis gasped in offense, slapping Harry’s arm, “Take it back or I'll promote Niall to my favourite.” 

“You wouldn’t,” Harry clutched at his chest as he turned onto their street and went to park in an empty spot for building residents.

“I woul-“ 

Louis wasn’t trying to look at Harry’s phone, but it was open when the notification popped on the screen and Louis had accidentally gotten a glimpse of it. Caught the edge of an airline logo and the, ‘Don’t forget your flight leaves tomorrow at four a.m.’ with an exclamation mark at the end, the words meant to be a cheery reminder. Louis’ stomach dropped as he swallowed, betrayed and hurt and angry because Harry had lied to him . “What the fuck.”

“What?”

He shoved Harry’s phone back to him, abandoning the takeout in his seat as he got out of the car and raked his hands through his hair, storming into the building. He caught the elevator but when he reached their floor and turned to get through their flat door, Harry was already jogging down the hall, out of breath from his obvious journey up the stairs. Louis tried to get the door open and then slammed back in Harry’s face, but Harry was too quick, catching the door with his hand and pushing inside. 

“Louis, I can explain.”

“Explain?” Louis laughed, voice going hoarse as he shook his head, “No I think I understand quite clearly.”

“Lou-“

“When were you going to tell me?” Louis’ voice rose sharply, the sound too loud for their normally calm apartment. He faintly heard Niall and Liam (Zayn would still be at work for an hour) come out and ask what was going on, but Louis was only focused on channeling the anger and betrayal burning inside him toward Harry, “Huh? Tonight? Or were you just going to let me think that you’re still leaving on Sunday and then have me wake up tomorrow to find out that you fucking left in the middle of the night like some one night stand?”

Harry winced, “Louis, I tried to tell you last night, but you didn’t believe me.”

“Maybe because I was fucking high out of my mind, you bastard!”

“They moved the first day to Saturday instead of Monday, I was leaving the day before just like always,” Harry said, so calm and in control and nonchalant while Louis was on the verge of screaming. 

“How long did you know?”

“A week.”

“So you knew that you wouldn’t be there for the biggest chance I’ve ever gotten, my first gig and you just decided not to tell me? I’ve been counting the days for two months, Harry! Ever since your stupid brain got you into some stupid, amazing school far away for at least a stupid semester, I counted. We were supposed to have four days left and now you’re just leaving!”

Harry’s face shifted, a similar anger sparking in his eyes as he warned, “Don’t make me the bad guy, Louis. All I’m doing is chasing my dream, which is all I’ve ever tried to encourage you to do.”

Louis scoffed, “Great job,” he clapped mockingly, “I feel so encouraged.”

“Don’t be childish. We’re not kids anymore, Louis. I don’t know why you’re so content to just sit around and pretend that nothing is about to change and we don’t have anything to be afraid of.” 

“Harry-”

But Harry was angry now, no longer taking Louis’ verbal assault without throwing punches of his own, “This was why I was so hesitant to tell you.” 

“What are you talking about?” Louis swallowed around the lump in his throat, scared to hear the answer, “It's not like I’m so fragile that I would break from honesty .”

“I’m leaving, Louis. I’m not going to be here to look after you or take care of you anymore. You have to grow up, we--” he paused, the startled silence emphasizing that there wasn’t a ‘we’ anymore, “ you can’t keep doing the same things.” 

“You’re acting like I asked you to be my parent or something. Last I checked all I wanted was for you to be my best friend, Harry.” Louis watched Harry pace back and forth, his eyes cast down to floor, like looking Louis in the eyes just was too hard. 

“You were my friend, Lou,” Harry’s voice was soft and the past tense knocked the breath out of Louis, his heart aching horribly as it struggled to keep itself from breaking, “You were the coolest friend, but-”

He finally looked at Louis, sudden regret twisting his mouth, and Louis realized numbly that it was because he was crying. He was crying in front of Harry and the dickhead felt bad. 

“-it doesn’t matter, Louis,” Harry breathed, arms wrapping around the smaller boy, “It’s not the end.” 

“You don’t believe that,” Louis breathed, the anger shattering into a numb, rolling sadness that fell over him like a dark cloud as he pushed away from Harry, “You want to leave and you don’t want to come back.”

Harry didn’t respond as he looked away and Louis laughed, the sound wet like someone trying to cry out in the middle of a rainstorm, “So you’re leaving like this? Just like everyone I ever loved?”

Harry sucked in a breath, eyes heavy as they fell back on Louis, “That’s not fair.”

“And abandoning me is?” Louis cried, throwing his hand at Harry’s chest, the tears blurring his vision. 

“You’ll be okay,” Harry told him, reaching out to brush the tears off Louis’ cheek. Louis flinched back, the words ‘I won’t be okay. I love you,’ clawing at his throat. Harry sighed, stepping back, a steely mask settling over his features, “Goodbye, Louis.”

I love you, don’t go, “Fuck you.” 

Harry left after a short discussion with Liam and Niall, Louis still standing in front of their door, staring numbly at the floor in front of him. He didn’t move until the door swung shut behind Harry’s back, moving unsteadily toward the rooms, waving off Niall and Liam’s concerned words. The moment he was alone, the weak feeling in his knees became too much and he barely made it to Harry’s bed before he collapsed, still staring emptily in front of him. 

Harry’s room was empty except for a few scant clothes in the closet and the sheets on his bed. Louis curled in on himself, gripping at Harry’s comforter as he gasped shallowly, his heart crying out for Harry to come back. He didn’t move, even when the door opened and Zayn sat down, bringing Louis’ head into his lap.. 

“You loved him.”

Louis nodded, words empty, “He was my best friend.”

“That’s not the love I’m talking about.” Louis shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut, pushing a fresh bout of tears to wet his face and clump in his eyelashes. 

“I saw the song you wrote after Harry told us about leaving. You showed me when we were drunk that night and I remembered and I know that you love Harry.”

Loved, he loved Harry, Louis desperately wanted to say, correct his friend and affirm that he could no longer love Harry when he was gone, but all he could say was, “I love him,” as he looked up at Zayn, dampness gathering in the corner of his eyes, “When will I stop loving him?”

Zayn smiled sadly down at him, brushing his hair back, “I don’t know, babes.”

Louis choked on a cry, the tears clumping in his eyelashes as the urge to curl up and cry overwhelmed him. “It’s okay,” Zayn reassured him, “You don’t have to hold it in.”

The sobs he had been holding back were tearing from his lips, barely muffled as he turned his face into Zayn’s jeans, “H-He left.”

Zayn just hummed in agreement, never ceasing the soft movement of his hands as they sifted through Louis’ hair as he let Louis’ tears soak the denim of his trousers. Louis ached, his body jerking with the violent sobs that racked through him. 

“D-Do you have a b-b-bandaid?” Louis asked, hands curling into fists that he pressed into his chest where the ache originated. Zayn sighed, “A bandaid won’t fix this, love.”

The ‘But it’s the go-to remedy,’ died on his lips and Louis trembled with the realization that nothing could put back together the pieces of his shattered heart. 

“I hate him,” he cried, “I hate him. I hate him,” and that’s all Louis said because nothing was a whole lot better than admitting that the ‘hate’ sounded a whole lot like love.

Louis’ world fell apart so quickly, he hadn’t had the time to tell himself, ‘This is it’ before it was over. He blinked and then opened his eyes to find all of his motivations, his hopes, his future shredded to pieces at his feet.

A day ago he had a future, he was going to play a gig that would turn into more gigs until he could quit his on and off job at a local cafe and permanently pursue music, a career that would allow him to be anywhere and everywhere and therefore Harry would have still been in reach. But then Harry lied, he had lied for an entire week and Louis blindly fell into the belief that they had time. 

Now Louis didn’t care, he didn’t care that his best shot at his dream was tonight. It was the thing he wanted to do least with his eyes still fogged over with the residual burn of his tears and the way he had sunk into Harry’s bed. In this moment, Louis wanted nothing more than to throw his dream away and stay in bed ( not Harry’s) and sweater (also not Harry’s) so he could dwell in the feeling of sifting through the broken pieces of his world. But Zayn dragged him out of Harry’s bed (where Louis had not been since Harry left) and into a shower. His friend peeled off Harry’s old sweater (which Louis was only wearing because it had been what he was wearing the night before) and washed Louis’ hair, telling him without much conviction how awful he smelled. Louis was quiet, even when Zayn threw him a pair of sweats, a t-shirt of his own, and helped him get dressed. Louis was brought into the kitchen where Niall was making some soup and Liam was making tea. They huddled around him, Niall setting a bowl of soup on the counter. Liam rubbed his back and asked him if he wanted honey in his tea. Zayn looked at him, eyes serious, “You know we’re gonna make you get off your sorry arse and do your gig tonight.” Louis nodded and hiccuped pitifully in reply, his eyes downcast as he whispered, “I suspected, yeah, insensitive dickheads that you lot are.” It lacked the humor that the words suggested his tone should hold, but they laughed and told him, “We’ll all be there.” 

“Promise?” His question had been so meek that Louis had to repeat it when it had been humiliating enough the first time, which resulted in him being drowned in a large group hug that felt too empty to be comforting despite their reassurances that they would all be there. 

“Tonight we have a first time performer so be nice. Everyone welcome, Louis Tomlinson.” 

The announcer motioned him to go ahead as he jogged off stage. Louis took a deep breath and shook out his hands before walking up the steps, his heart hammering. The crowd, decently large since it was a Friday night, stared back at him, silent except for the short murmurs that rippled through the gathered people every so often. Louis smiled and shuffled his way over to the piano, adjusting the microphone stand, “Good evening, I’m Louis Tomlinson, and because that name doesn’t mean much to you at the current moment, just think of me as some random guy singing a song that he wrote sitting drunk at Paul’s bar.” 

A small laugh echoed from the crowd but for the most part all Louis received in return were blank stares that cut straight through to his nerves and sent a tremor through his hands. He was almost unsure as he started to play, hesitation bleeding into the chords as he tried to steady himself. Almost ready to panic, give up, and get the heck off that stage, Louis looked up desperately trying to find Zayn or Niall or Liam in the crowd, but with the lights blinding him, the only people who were obscured were the people by the door. He missed a note briefly, eyes shooting down as he continued to work through the intro, looking back up just as the door opened, “I will leave my heart at the door.” His voice, by some miracle, kept steady through the words, the one note that fell flat escaping his notice as his eyes locked on the person walking through the door, “I won’t say a word,” his heart ached as Harry pulled off his beanie, shaking it and his curls of any residual snow, “They’ve all been said before, you know.” 

The ache of grief dissipated when Harry looked up at him and his lips quirked into a smile, something hot and angry and desperate grew inside him and Louis grit his teeth, “So why don’t we just play pretend? Like we’re not scared of what is coming next, or scared of having nothing left.” 

“We’re not kids anymore, Louis. I don’t know why you’re so content to just sit around and pretend that we don’t have anything to be afraid of.” 

“Harry-”

“Look, don’t,” Louis’ fingers clack down the chords almost angrily, his eyes catching on Harry who was leaning against the entrance, head tilted as he turned to talk to Zayn who had also noticed his entrance, “get me wrong. I know there is no to-mor-row-” 

“I’m leaving, Louis. I’m not going to be here to look after you or take care of you anymore. You have to grow up, we--” he paused, the startled silence emphasizing that there wasn’t a ‘we’ anymore, “you can’t keep doing the same things.” 

“All I ask is if,” his voice worked through the riff, holding onto the technicality of the music before the last shreds of his control tore and he was left a mess of conflicting anger and sadness on stage, “this is my last night with you hold me like I’m more than just a friend-” Harry looked over, eyes locking on Louis’ while he ignored whatever Zayn was telling him. 

“You’re acting like I asked you to be my parent or something, last I checked all I asked was for you to be my best friend, Harry.” 

“You were my friend, Lou,” Harry’s voice was soft and the past tense knocked the breath out of Louis, his heart aching horribly as it struggled to keep itself from breaking, “You were the coolest friend, but-”

“Give me a memory I can use,” Louis’ voice dropped slightly and if he were talking, he would be whispering to match the plea that dripped from his words, something behind his eyes burned and he grit his teeth because he refused to cry again, “Take me by the hand while we do what lovers do,” his hands clanked out the chord, “It matters how this ends, ‘cause what if I never love again?”

“-it doesn’t matter, Louis,” Harry breathed, arms wrapping around the smaller boy, “It’s not the end.” 

“You don’t believe that.”

“I don’t need your honesty,” the words were bitter and Louis watched Harry rake a hand through his hair, shoulders obviously tense, “it’s already in your eyes and I’m sure my eyes, they speak for me.”

The riff fell a little flat, Louis’ anger coming to a peak before abruptly falling back into the emptiness that Harry had left behind. It was his fault for falling for his best friend, because, “No one knows me like you do, and since you’re the only one that matters, tell me who do I run to?

“Look, don’t,” Louis took a sharp breath, “get me wrong. I know there is no tomorrow.”

He closed his eyes, tears building up as his chin falls toward his chest, “All I ask is if this is my last night with you. Hold me like I’m more than just a friend. Give me a memory I can use. Take me by the hand while we do what lovers do…” his voice fell into a whisper, “it matters how this ends, ‘cause what if I never love,” his voice clutches at the note, “again?” 

He fought through the bridge, tears staining the corners of his eyes, “Let this be our lesson in love. Let this be the way we remember us,” Louis' voice trembled, no longer able to keep his eyes off of Harry as his fingers punched out the moving notes, “I don’t want to be cruel or vicious.”

“So you’re leaving like this? Just like everyone I ever loved?”

Harry sucked in a breath, eyes heavy as they fell back on Louis, “That’s not fair.”

“And abandoning me is?” Louis cried, throwing his hand at Harry’s chest, the tears blurring his vision. 

“And I ain’t asking for forgiveness…because all I ask is,” the piano fades into a new key, the usual crescendo broken into barely-there chords from the brush of Louis’ touch, “If this is my last night with you, hold me like I’m more than just a friend.” 

“You’ll be okay,” Harry told him, reaching out to brush the tears off Louis’ cheek, but Louis flinched back, the words ‘ I won’t be okay. I love you,’ clawing at his throat. 

“Give me a memory I can use. Take my hand while we do,” Louis watched Harry shift and look back up at him, eyes shining, “what lovers do. It matters how this ends,” Louis embellished the chords as he slowed in an attempt to catch his breath as the lump in his throat grew, “‘Cause what if I never love again?”

His hands fell off the keys, eyes tearing away from Harry’s intent gaze as he stood, ready to escape the stage and the hurt ringing in his ears, but then the crowd exploded with applause. People whistled, threw money on the stage, but Louis couldn’t do anything more than mouth a thank you and manage a shaky smile before taking the stairs off stage two at a time. 

He ran through the dingy hallway until he reached the back door, breaking through into the snowy night. His  chest heaved as he threw himself back against the alley wall, breaths billowing out into the air around him as the snow and ice nipped at the exposed skin of his arms.

The door creaked open and there was a slight hush of conversation before the crunch of someone walking approached Louis and the door swung shut again. Louis wiped at the sweat that had beaded on his upper lip with the back of his hand. He straightened and went to face the person but he stumbled and a hand reached out to steady him. Anger flared in Louis and he dodged the hand, “Get the fuck away from me,” he snarled, “Why are you even here, Harry?”

“It was your first gig, Louis, I-I couldn’t miss it.”

Louis scoffed into the darkness, the cold instilling into the tremor of his limbs, “That’s not what you said last night.”

Harry’s gaze went dark with regret, “I didn’t mean those things-“

“What?” Louis laughed, incredulous and accusing as he turned his back to his friend, hands flying out, “Not wanting to be my friend? Me holding you back? Or you walking out the door? Because it was all real to me, Harry, I didn’t see an ounce of regret when you ripped apart our friendship and left the pieces to blow away.”

Harry didn’t reply, but Louis heard him breathe out sharply, shifting from foot to foot nervously. “Why are you here, Harry?” he asked, softer this time as the accusation drained from him and he had to keep himself from dropping to his knees from the exhaustion of having to hate who he loved more than anyone. 

“You wrote the song, didn’t you?”

“Why are you here?”

Harry stepped closer, the snow crunching loudly in the background of Louis’ whirling thoughts, “Did you write the song?”

It wasn’t an answer and Louis shut his eyes, steeling himself as Harry took another step closer, “Why are you here ?”

“Because you wrote a song,” Louis sucked in a sharp breath, completely aware that Harry had no way of knowing about the song beforehand and therefore was really only answering his own question and not Louis’, “about me.”

The breath rushed out of him, “I hate you.”

Harry draped his winter coat over Louis’ shoulders, “I leave tomorrow.”

Louis turned to find Harry inches away, breath puffing out into small clouds, “That’s why I hate you,” Louis murmured, pressing up onto his tiptoes and leaning in to slot his lips against Harry’s.

He had been planning to kiss Harry and then dodge back inside so he could run away and never look back, but then they were breaking apart, all slick lips and shallow breaths, and Harry was kissing him again. 

It was so easy to get lost in kissing the one person you thought you’d never be able to kiss, and Louis couldn’t bring himself to pull away from the incessant, cold press of Harry’s lips and the warm, addicting feeling of Harry prying his frozen lips apart with slow, steady movements of his tongue. Louis, in his defense, was frozen, emotional and therefore far too gone to put up a fight (which any other day he would’ve won) and he let Harry in easily, moaning when the taller boy licked into his mouth, stepping them toward the alley wall. 

Harry’s hands were tight on his hips, his touch burning through Louis’ leather pants as they pressed closer together. The lack of air burned in Louis’ lungs but the last thing he wanted to do was stop kissing Harry, so he pressed closer, arching his back as his hands went to tangle in Harry’s curls. Harry broke the kiss, lips pressing into his jawline before traveling down to suck at his pulse point, drawing a startled, pliant sound from Louis. 

“P-please,” Louis was displeased to hear the tears staining his plea as Harry bit into his neck, leaving a blooming bruise around wet teeth marks, “Don’t leave without giving me this.”

“Louis,” Harry’s forehead dropped onto Louis’ shoulder, his voice pained and hesitant, “You don’t know what you’re doing. I’m leaving and you’re clinging to an idea that you don’t really wan-“

“I want it,” Louis insisted, pressing his hips forward to show Harry how much he wanted him, “Please, just-“ he swallowed as the lump in his throat swelled again, “Let me have this.”

Harry looked up at him, eyes softening as his thumb came up to wipe at Louis’ cheek. The strange thing was that Louis hadn’t even realized he’d begun to cry until the damp feeling of his tears smeared across his cheek in the path of Harry’s touch. It was a horrible mood killer, to cry while trying to sleep with your best friend, but Louis couldn’t stop them from falling as he leant into Harry’s touch, lips parting around a shaky cry of, “Please, Haz.”

Harry’s resolve crumbled then, right in front of Louis, a noticeable change in his expression as he kissed him again, more deeply and said, the warmth of his breath, so foreign in the frozen atmosphere, hitting his lips in the words, “Let’s go home?”

Louis couldn’t bring himself to disagree and tell him that it wouldn’t be either of their homes for much longer, not when Louis’ home was on the dawn of walking out of his life completely. 

Louis had brought home guys plenty of times to know that stumbling into a flat with all the lights off, lips latched onto someone else’s was far different when it was with someone you’re in love with. And he was so fucking in love with Harry that the spark had burned into an icy fire that he had carried with him every moment and now he was consumed in the feeling as Harry shoved his jacket off Louis shoulder and framed Louis’ jaw with a large, ringed hand. 

It really wasn’t any different from a one night stand, in all honesty, Louis would be waking up alone, Harry long gone. But it was with Harry. His Harry. The curly haired, sweet, rosy-cheeked cherub that had haunted Louis since primary school before turning into some daunting adonis and haunting Louis some more. 

His hands tugged harshly at Harry’s stupid button-up shirt as they stumbled toward Harry’s room, too entranced with the feel of Harry sucking on his bottom lip to focus on actually trying to get the shirt off. Harry must have understood what Louis wanted because he chuckled breathlessly against his mouth, swallowing Louis’ very, very clever remark with a hungry kiss as he kicked the door open and pulled the smaller boy inside. 

“Someone’s been sleeping in my bed,” Harry murmured against Louis’ lips, “Would you know anything about that, baby?”

Baby, baby, baby. Would you know anything about that, baby ?

“Anything in that pretty little head, sweetheart?” Louis nodded dumbly in reply. Sweetheart. Harry laughed, kissing him again, biting Louis’ bottom lip when he pulled away, “I think you’re lying, Lou. Think someone calls you baby and you just turn all pliant and dumb. A pretty little thing to play with.”

Louis whined, flushing red. Harry’s grin was sharp, predatory, “Want me to play with you, baby?”

“Harry, please, I just,” Louis pleaded, fingers clutching at Harry’s shirt as his voice dropped to an embarrassed whisper, “Please.”

His voice cracked and Harry softened, “I’ve got you, baby, you’re doing so good. Why don’t we get you comfortable and then you let me kiss you a little bit, get you feeling good.”

Harry guided him backward with a gentle motion, untucking Louis' sheer t-shirt and pulling it over his head before pushing him back to fall onto the bed. Steady hands worked to get Louis’ leather pants undone and Harry peeled them off his legs slowly, littering the skin of Louis’ thighs with hickies. 

Harry fell on top of him, still fully clothed and Louis made a sound in protest, yanking at Harry’s shirt until the taller man pulled back and pulled it over his head, not bothering to unbutton it. Harry nudged Louis’ legs apart, falling between them and hitching Louis’ knee on his hip, mouthing over the boy’s collarbone sweetly before moving up to kiss him. They stayed there, for longer than Louis could’ve ever hoped for, just kissing slowly, Harry sucking on his tongue and manipulating the shape of his lips until they parted for air and Louis could feel just how swollen his lips were. 

There was something incredibly surreal about kissing Harry without it being an accidental drunk peck or a kiss on the cheek or forehead, because here Louis was, just off his first gig and now he was kissing the person he was in love with for the first (and last) time.

Louis rutted up against Harry, no longer able to ignore how fucking hard he was. Harry pinned his hips down with a sure hand, tutting against his lips, “Patience, doll, I told you I would make you feel good after I kissed these pretty lips for a while,” a thumb dragged over Louis’ swollen, bitten bottom lip, “So pretty. Love kissing you.”

Another flush crept up Louis’ neck, “Please,” voice cracking when Harry rolled his hips down against his. Louis’ hands gripped at Harry’s back, the pads of his fingers digging in until the skin turned white around them. Harry was doing all the work, preventing Louis from rutting up against him as the taller boy settled into a slow, steady grind. Louis bit his lip as his head lolled to the side, cheeks painted red because he was close, too close to cumming in his pants like a teenage boy. 

“H-Harry,” Louis’ plea was broken, “Ple-please.” He sounded desperate, although he wasn’t sure if he was asking Harry to stop and save the last shred of his dignity or to not stop and help quell the tightening coil in his core. 

“Such a pretty thing,” Harry breathed, “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

When Louis didn’t answer, Harry stopped moving, “I asked you a question, baby? Be a good boy and answer.”

Louis blinked up at Harry, “Yeah,” he murmured, “Feels good. Want more.” His hands released their grip on Harry’s back, running over the planes of his shoulder before traveling over the light, toned muscle of his chest and coming to grip at Harry’s belt.

“More isn’t very specific. You’re gonna have to tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

Louis, able to regrasp some sense of his usual attitude, unbuckled Harry’s belt, pulling it out and throwing it to the floor. “I wanted something to remember, but I guess you just can’t give it to me.” Louis sighed, ready to roll out from under Harry and walk as far as he could, just so Harry would get all riled up. 

He obviously miscalculated just how long it would take Harry to get the best type of angry because he barely moved before a hand was around his neck and Harry was snarling in his face, “Wanted to be sweet with you, treat you like a princess for our first and last night,” Louis choked on a moan, “but apparently that’s not good enough for you. You want to be thrown around, don’t you? Roughed up? Want to remember me for weeks because I fucked you so good. Is that it?”

Louis nodded, frantically slipping into the fog clouding his mind, “Yes, yes! Please.”

Harry pinched his nipple, tugging roughly as Louis’ back arched into the touch, “You’re so fucking desperate for it, baby,” a hand palmed Louis through his pants, as Harry voice turned condescending, “Oh, sweetheart, you’re so wet already. Leaking all over yourself, aren’t you?”

A thumb pressed into the damp spot on Louis’ pants and he whined, humiliated and turned on and feeling too many other things to think clearly. Harry’s smile turned mocking, his hand spanning over Louis’ ribs, “So small, baby. Bet I wouldn’t even feel it if I sucked you off,” Louis wasn’t that small, but when Harry moved down, pulling his pants down and taking him into his mouth, Louis didn’t want to protest. The hand on his ribs kept him from squirming around as Harry swallowed around the head before pulling back. 

He sat back, staring down at Louis who was flushed and glassy-eyed with his swollen lips, looking like he was the one who just gave head. Harry brushed a hand through Louis’ darkened caramel hair, “Just like a little doll, so pretty and fragile. Can't wait to watch you break.”

“Turn over for me, will you, sweetheart?”

Louis complied, shifting away from Harry to turn over without kicking him in the face, arching his back obscenely as he rested on his elbows. Harry tugged at his thighs pulling him back until Louis’ ass was against Harry’s jeans, his chest pressed into the comforter. 

Harry popped open the cap to the lube he had gotten at some point, smearing some of the watermelon flavored gel (Louis doesn’t understand why either) over two of his fingers. Louis shuddered when a finger prodded lightly at his hole, circling around the rim before pressing in. Louis sighed, pressing back into the feeling of Harry’s finger fucking in and out of him, a second joining before Louis adjusted, a startled, pleased sound breaking through the obscene squelch of the lube. 

“Such a tight little hole, baby, takes my fingers so well,” Harry praised as Louis whined out an unsteady, “please.” 

“Gonna leave you gaping,” Harry told him,  free hand reaching around to hook two fingers into the corner of Louis’ mouth, “Fuck your little hole until nothing but my cock will make you feel full. Make you my little cockslut, so desperate and dumb for it.”

Louis tried to say something but it was jumbled around the fingers in his mouth. His body jerked when Harry’s fingers brushed that bundle of nerves and Louis doubled his efforts to fuck himself back onto Harry’s fingers. 

“M’ready,” he gasped, “Please. Fuck me.”

Harry shed his jeans, tearing open a condom and rolling it over his cock, Louis watching from the bed. Louis turned over and spread his legs, “Wanna see you,” he slurred, reaching for Harry. 

Harry smiled softly down at him and for a moment, Louis could pretend that this was more than their last night, that he would wake up next to Harry in the morning and be greeted with a genuine, sweet ‘I love you.’ And maybe that’s why Louis shifted uncomfortably, suddenly wishing for the horribly filthy words to come back out of Harry’s mouth instead. 

“C’mon,” He urged, “break me...” before you break my heart for good.

Harry broke him slowly, taking his time to push in and ignoring Louis’ whimpered urges to go faster. He waited, bottoming out and snogging Louis breathless until the smaller boy was writhing underneath him, trying to goad Harry into doing something, anything. It was too slow for Louis to not let his mind drift despite the way Harry was mouthing filthy words into the skin of his neck, the shell of his ear, and against his lips.

When Louis started to cry, overwhelmed with his lovesick thoughts and the constant drag of Harry’s cock, Harry kissed the tears away, telling him how pretty he looked when he cried. 

“More,” Louis begged, “I need more.” He reached for his leaking cock, hard against his belly, but Harry slapped his hand away with a contemptuous glare, “You’re not getting more, you’ll cum on my cock or you won’t cum at all.”

Louis nodded shakily, hands trembling as he tried to pull Harry closer, his legs spreading as his knees bent adjusting the angle until Harry was rubbing against his prostate with every rocking motion of his hips. Louis fell lax with a breathy moan, his back arching as Harry continued the sensual pace, slow and hard. 

“That’s it, doll,” Harry murmured, “Love seeing you like this, all pliant and cockdumb. Put a cock in you and you just can’t help yourself. You love it, don’t you, sweetheart?”

Yours, only yours. I love you. You’re the only one. I love you . I love you. 

“Y-Yeah,” Louis pushed into Harry’s thrust, the coil tightening, “Love yo-Love it.”

Tears were clumping in his eyelashes, as he continued to babble incessantly, grabbing at any part of Harry he could reach as he hurtled toward the edge. I love you, I love you, I love you. 

“Lou,” Harry groaned, “Fuck, baby, feel so good.” 

“H-Harry, I-I-“

Harry hovered over him, hips snapping against his own, “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he soothed, “cum for me. Want to see you let go.”

And then Harry kissed him, his whisper still drifting through the air as Louis gasped into the kiss and came, shooting up across his chest and Harry’s stomach. Harry fucked him through it, groaning into their kiss, back tensing under Louis’ fingers before his hips stilled and he came into the condom. 

They laid there, kissing softly until Harry pulled out and stood, tying off the condom and throwing it away. He walked into the bathroom and came back with a damp towel, wiping down Louis’ and then his own stomach, throwing the cloth into the bathroom before climbing back into bed and pulling Louis into his side. 

Louis wasn’t sure when he started crying or if he ever really stopped, but soon enough Harry was running his hands through his hair and shushing him softly. He clung to Harry’s warmth, fingers desperately trying to find a way to hold the taller man that would prevent him from slipping through his fingers in the morning. 

“Please don’t go,” he begged, voice cracking as his tears fell against Harry’s neck where he had buried his face, “Please don’t leave me.”

“Lou, I-“

He hiccuped, eyes blurred with overflowing tears, “All I ask is that you stay. With me.”

There was a pause of broken silence, Louis’ cries echoing off of Harry’s skin before Harry pressed a kiss to his forehead and whispered in a pained voice, “I’m not leaving right now.”

It wasn’t the soft, pretty crying; it was the horrible kind, not dripping from his nose while broken, ripping sobs racked through his chest, “I don’t want you to go,” he told him, like it was some big secret.

“I know.”

“Will you come back?”

Harry sighed, pressing another kiss to Louis’ forehead, “Let me tell you a story.”

Louis choked out another sob, “Is this just a fancy way to say no?”

“In Greek Mythology, Humans were originally created with four arms, two faces, four legs, and two hearts. Fearing them, Zeus split them in two and left them to separate and be subject to find the other half again.

“This job, pretend it’s Zeus, it’s splitting us apart and all we can do is hope we’ll find each other again.”

Louis sniffed, “What if we never find each other?”

Harry sucked in a breath and didn’t answer. 

“What if you find a cooler friend that’s not negative inches taller than you?”

Harry leaned down and pecked his lips, short and almost friendly, Louis’ heart cracked in his chest, “No one will ever be you, Louis Tomlinson.”

Louis woke up warm, a body pressed up against his side. He leant in closer and an arm wrapped around him. 

“He’s gone, isn’t he?”

The person shifted and Louis blinked up at Zayn who smiled sympathetically, brushing Louis’ hair back from his eyes, “Yes.”

“Z?” Louis’ eyes fell shut. 

“Yeah?”

Louis felt tears rise in his throat but he swallowed them down, his throat burning as the ache in his heart kickstarted again, “I don’t think he’s coming back.”

“No,” Zayn agreed, “some halves of a whole don’t get to stay together. There was a story from Greek-“

“I know the story,” Louis whispered, an invisible hand squeezing at his heart. We won’t, Harry should’ve said, he should’ve told Louis the truth. 

What if we never meet again?

We won’t. 

Louis shook his head, because he should’ve known that Harry Styles, dimples and all, was bad news. He should’ve walked away when he was seven or when he was eighteen and Harry was about to leave then. He should’ve prevented himself from falling so deep into the endless hole that is Harry Styles. 

But he hadn’t. And now his world was gone. 

Chapter Text

Louis woke up warm, a body pressed up against his side. He leant in closer and an arm wrapped around him. 

“He’s gone, isn’t he?”

The person shifted and Louis blinked up at Zayn who smiled sympathetically, brushing Louis’ hair back from his eyes, “Yes.”

“We slept together,” Louis whispered, something close to regret infringing on his words. 

“I’m pretty sure the whole floor is aware of that.”

Louis snorted, apologizing softly before his face fell again. He didn’t feel like he would cry again and he didn’t exactly feel empty or numb, he just felt. He could feel the hollow place Harry had left in him, he could feel the ache of his heart, but he could hear Harry’s words that felt all too much like a promise, ‘No one will ever be you, Louis Tomlinson.’

Harry’s story. Harry kissing him. Harry fucking him in a way that went against the beautifully degrading words he had uttered. 

Louis remembered it all. He felt it. He knew that his heart was breaking and it might not ever heal, but Harry had felt something too. They were best friends, had been for years and years, and Louis knew that they were only something more for one night but he was okay with it. He got what he asked for. 

“He told me a story from Greek mythology.”

Zayn hummed, “Which one?”

“The one about best friends and how they’re halves to whole. Humans had four legs, four arms, two faces and one heart, but when Zeus began to fear them he separated them.”

A startled laugh hit his cheek and Louis stared back at Zayn who looked at Louis with humoured incredulity, “It’s not a story about best friends, Lou. It’s the legend of soulmates.”

“Harry told me the story about soulmates in comparison to us?”

Zayn nodded, his smile amused. Louis breathed out, mouth falling into an ‘o.’ “Harry Styles, the man that is negative eight inches shorter than me, thinks we’re soulmates.”

“Yep, get up,” Zayn swung his legs over the side of the bed, throwing the covers out of the way, unbothered by the fact that Louis was still naked, “NIALL! START PACKING LOUIS’ BAG!”

“What? Am I going somewhere?”

“I may not be a romantic, but I do know that if Liam was walking out that door, I’d be following him. So you’re getting your ass out of bed, you’re going to catch a plane, and you’re moving to bloody wherever to go be with Harry.”

Louis paused for a moment, “Harvard. As in America, Z. That’s where Harry is. What if he already has a roommate, where am I going to live?”

“All we heard is that Harry already got a nice single bedroom flat with no mention of a roommate whatsoever. I think that he’ll gladly let you sleep in his bed if what we heard last night is any indication.”

Louis flushed, “I don’t have a ticket.”

“And I don’t have time for your excuses,” Zayn muttered, “Both problems are easily fixed, you just focus on looking less like you were railed and we’ll do the rest.

Louis was in Massachusetts, all of his possessions stuffed into two large suitcases and one carry on, an address already set into google maps, and (much to Zayn’s protest) he still looked thoroughly railed with a visible bite mark on his neck and the limp in his stride.

He called an uber, a nice college girl who helped him with his bags and complimented his accent. The drive to Harry's flat was an anxious one, Louis' leg bouncing up and down while he tried to count the raindrops on his window. When they arrived, Louis was practically buzzing, “Thank you,” he called to the uber driver, trying to wave with his handful of suitcases. He had never been happier that Harry got a ground level apartment, dragging his stuff along behind him pathetically as he limped to the door. 

Deciding that a love declaration was far less romantic buried in luggage, Louis shoved his things to the side, taking a deep breath and reaching to knock on the door. 

It swung open a minute later and Louis swallowed, “Harry, I-“

“Who are you?”

Louis snapped his head up, eyes scanning over the leggy brunette standing in the doorway, “I’m looking for Harry Styles. Are you his…roommate?”

The girl stared at him curiously, “No Harry here. But I think you might find a british boy in apartment 1D.”

Louis smiled gratefully, “Thank you, sorry to disturb you.”

She made a dismissing gesture and Louis gathered his shit and tried one more time, sliding to a halt in front of flat 1D. He knocked, shifting nervously from foot to foot when a familiar voice called, “Coming, one moment-“

The door swung open, Harry froze, curls falling in his eyes as he stared down at Louis. Louis smiled, “Hey, Harry, found you again.”

Harry blinked in surprise, “Louis, I thought you- what are you doing here?”

“What did you mean by that story?”

“What are you doing here?”

Louis smiled, a quick show of teeth, “I hear you think I’m your soulmate.” Harry flushed, stammering to explain, but Louis raised a hand, “It’s a good thing I’ve been in love with you since primary school.”

And then he pulled Harry out of his flat and kissed him square on the mouth; and like all the cliche movies, the rain picked up and soaked them to the bone, but Louis didn’t care, he didn’t stop kissing Harry because Louis’ world was mending and he had all he could have asked for.