you be the motive and i'll be the gun (hs/lt)
title: you be the motive and i'll be the gun
pairing(s): louis tomlinson/harry styles (references to zayn malik/liam payne, louis tomlinson/omc)
rating: R
word count: ~12,000
disclaimer: hilariously untrue.
summary: AU. louis is still kind of a mess (but not really) and harry is still kind of perfect and reality is kind of something neither of them are prepared for. sequel to don't give up on us quite yet -- prior reading probably required, i apologise.
warnings: heavy thematic issues.
notes: so many, many heartfelt thanks to everyone who read and commented on the first part of this verse. i appreciate every single thing y'all said to me. massive love. anyway, this is for wandersfound, who wanted harry pov, because i'm a sucker for her. also pretty much every word that comes out of my fingers is for estuve because she's my rock and put up with so much insecurity and bitching after literally every hundred words written. also can we talk about how i've written 22k of one direction fanfiction in a week, like. what.
there will probably be a louis+zayn prequel at some point.
Louis is full of secrets.
He doesn't fully lie, or at least he tries not to, but he has this two inch layer of bulletproof glass around his past.
It drives Harry mad. He's understanding, he is. He gets it -- Louis has had a shitty few years, a lonely few years. Harry gets that and he wants to do all he can to make up for that, to make Louis feel loved and safe and cared for, but.
Sue him, he's fucking curious, alright?
*
Harry lets himself into Zayn and Louis's apartment on Sunday evening. He kicks the door closed behind him and calls, "I come bearing gifts!"
There's some quiet murmuring coming from the living room and Harry's eyebrows pull together. He quickly drops the grocery bags off in the kitchen and heads in. Zayn and Louis are wrapped around each other on the couch. Well, Louis is curled up into Zayn, his head pressed into Zayn's collarbones, and Zayn's fingers are combing through Louis's hair, arms wound tightly around him.
Harry stops in the doorway.
See, it's like, Harry knows how Louis and Zayn are. Has known how Louis and Zayn are since the first day he met Louis. It freaked him out at first, honestly. It freaked him out how well they know each other, how close they are, how much of a claim Zayn has staked on Louis. It freaks him out how dependent Louis is on Zayn.
There's no real jealousy there. At least, Harry doesn't think he's jealous. Zayn's been there for Louis through the worst shit Harry can imagine and Harry's incredibly grateful to him for that. It's just. Sometimes Harry wants to be the one Louis comes to. Sometimes Harry wants to hold Louis through his insecurities, through his issues. Sometimes Harry wishes he didn't walk in halfway through the movie and feel like an intruder.
Hesitantly, he says, "What's up?"
Zayn cranes his neck to look back at Harry. "Hey, mate," he says quietly. He jerks his head in an obvious come here gesture, and Harry bites his lip but comes. As he gets in front of the couch, he notices Louis is asleep, but his eyes are red, his face puffy.
"Hey, Lou," he whispers, kneeling down, brushing his thumb over Louis's cheekbone.
Louis's eyelashes flutter and he blearily cracks his eyes open. He sees Harry and immediately smiles, struggles to sit up. His hands scrub at his face and fix his hair hurriedly. "Hazza!" he says brightly.
Harry glances at Zayn, sees Zayn roll his eyes. "Lou, I'm going to Liam's tonight. I'll see you at work tomorrow, yeah?"
Louis turns quickly to Zayn and there's communication there, with just that fucking look. Harry looks away, down at the floor. He hears Zayn sigh heavily and untangle himself from Louis.
"Have a good night, lads," Zayn says as he leaves the room.
"See you, mate," Harry says after him, willing Zayn to turn around and tell him what the fuck is going on. God knows Louis won't.
Louis pulls him onto the couch. "I missed you," he says as he presses kisses to Harry's face.
"Missed you too, Lou. Are you okay?" Harry tries to arrange himself so Louis's elbow isn't on his balls and his ass isn't hanging off the cushion.
Louis waits patiently for Harry to get comfortable before sprawling on top of him. "Most excellent, babe. Just pining for your body whenever it's not touching mine. What should we do tonight? Drink? Fuck? Watch a movie? Body shots while watching a movie?"
Harry bites his lip and glances away. "Lou, come on, what's up? Is everything alright?"
"What are you talking about?" Louis widens his eyes before grabbing Harry's hand and playing with his fingers.
Harry doesn't know how hard to push. Louis can be volatile, unpredictable. He's a bloody minefield of insecurities and Harry walks on his tiptoes every day.
He lets it go for now. After too long a pause, Harry shrugs. "How was your day, beautiful?" He curls his fingers around Louis's neck and pulls him in for another kiss, a real kiss.
Louis hums into Harry's lips, twisting his fingers into Harry's hair like Louis knows he loves. He pulls away eventually to say, "My day was fine. Zayner and I talked about adding another wing to the library but instead decided to invest in a hovercraft. How was yours?"
Harry smiles weakly, unable to let go of the need to know what's bothering Louis. "Good, good. I got my class schedule for my new degree today."
"Ooh!" Louis raises his eyebrows excitedly. "Are you planning on writing the next great American novel?"
"I dunno, love, are you planning on emigrating with me?"
Louis adjusts his position so he's straddling Harry's middle and runs his hands up Harry's chest. "I could be convinced. I read about this place in California yesterday. It's called Ukiah, which is haiku backwards. Isn't that sick? I'd like to live there, I think."
Harry laughs and digs his fingers into Louis's thighs. "You hate poetry."
"It's apparently the sixth best place to live in the States!" Louis says. "And besides, I don't hate poetry."
Harry raises an eyebrow. "Yes, you do."
Louis grins somewhat wryly. "No, I just hate poets."
Rolling his eyes, Harry pinches Louis's stomach. "What's the first best place to live in the States, then?"
Louis squirms, laughing. "I dunno, I didn't get that far. Ukiah, Haz. I love that name."
Harry tickles Louis until he collapses down on top of him. Brushing their noses together, Harry says, "Okay, let's move there. We can do American things." He slides his hands down the back of Louis's trousers.
"Ride 'em, cowboy." Louis smiles against his lips, and reaches between them to unbutton Harry's fly. "Yeeeeeehaw."
*
Harry wakes up early, too early, to the sound of a phone buzzing. Louis's. He grabs it and glances at it. The screen just says Lottie and Harry's stomach clenches.
"Lou," he whispers. "Lou!" He shakes at Louis's shoulder, pressed against Harry's back.
"What," Louis rasps.
"Phone." Harry holds the phone at Louis's eye-level. Louis immediately grabs it, sits up.
"Lottie?" he says, wide awake with traces of panic in his voice. "Lottie, hey sweetie, what's up?" Now his voice is softer, comforting, and he's pushing the covers off him, grabbing his pants from the floor and quietly leaving the room.
Harry lays back on the bed and sighs. Louis has alluded to his family situation a few times. It's always brief, vague, and dismissed quickly. Louis is full of shrugs and smiles and distraction and. It's hard not to be distracted when Louis Tomlinson decides, because Harry is human and when he's got that hot little body all to himself he's going to take full advantage.
After twenty minutes of futile attempts at falling back asleep, Harry pulls on some of Louis's joggers on the floor and wanders into the kitchen. Louis is in the bathroom with the door closed, his low soothing voice drifting through the wood.
Harry is in the middle of making tea when the door opens.
Louis doesn't see Harry yet, and he rests his forehead against the wall, exhaling heavily before pressing his palms into his eyes. He shakes himself, he actually physically shakes himself -- Harry always thought that was some sort of literary affectation -- and starts back toward the bedroom.
"Kitchen, Lou," Harry says.
Louis gives him a half smile as he walks in. "Sorry that woke you," he says.
Harry shrugs. "Is everything okay?"
"Yeah, just my little sister." Louis comes behind him and hooks his chin over his shoulder. "Is there tea for me?"
Nodding, Harry starts pouring into their mugs -- Man United for Louis and an old chipped Disneyland one for himself. He turns around to hand it to Louis. "Any reason she called at seven in the morning?"
Louis looks up at him sharply. "She's my sister. I don't think she needs a reason, Harry."
Harry looks back at Louis evenly. "That isn't what I meant."
"She just wanted to catch up," Louis says with a note of challenge in his tone.
"At seven in the morning."
"Christ, what is this? I'm sorry your beauty sleep was cut short, honestly, but can you let it go?"
Harry flinches back, a little involuntarily. "Sorry for caring, Lou," he mumbles and turns around, heading back to the bedroom.
Louis doesn't follow.
*
Harry texts Zayn as he leaves the flat. It's eight in the morning and he'll feel awful if he wakes Liam or Zayn up, but he's too anxious to wait. Louis was acting too forcibly normal by the time Harry left, full of kisses and cheeky groping, and no acknowledgement of their weird argument.
can we meet up before work? Harry sends Zayn.
are you coming onto me? he gets back quickly, almost immediately followed by, yeah but i doubt i can help.
Harry sighs. val's at 2, thx m8, he texts back. He drops his phone in his pocket and fiddles with his bracelets.
It's Monday, and he has his first class in this new wild territory of his English degree today. Modern American Literature. Harry's anxious.
He heads back to his tiny flat and showers quickly, grabbing a muffin and his new books -- short story and poetry anthologies and not endless equations, it's all very odd -- and walks to campus.
The lecture hall is packed, and Harry scans the crowd for Nick and Aiden, the mates who convinced him to finally stop going back and forth and switch his degree. Aiden waves at him excitedly from the back row. Harry grins.
"Hazza! Worried you weren't gonna make it, what with your busy life of being buried in your boyfriend's--" Nick claps a hand over Aiden's mouth. Harry pulls a face.
"Lovely to see you, too, mate." Harry drops his bag on the floor and sits down. He pulls out his phone, checking to see if Louis texted at all. He hasn't.
"Oh my god," Aiden says. "Can you seriously not make it without sexting him?"
"Shut up," Harry says and puts it on silent.
The professor strolls in, then, slamming the door behind him. He stands at the podium and surveys the room. "Good morning," he says. "I'm Professor Summers. This is Modern American Literature. If you're in the wrong class, I suggest you leave now and we'll never mention it again."
Harry pulls out a notebook and pen and tries not to feel out of his depth already.
*
Zayn's already seated at Val's when Harry gets there. "Sorry, mate," he says as he drops into the booth across from him.
"No worries," Zayn looks up from his phone and grins a little. "So, what's the problem? If your sex life's fallen flat, I really don't care to know."
Harry laughs. "I think you'd actually be the first to know."
Zayn makes a face and nods helplessly.
Harry looks down at the table, then. "I just... he doesn't tell me anything."
"Ah," Zayn says. He looks at Harry consideringly. "What, specifically, doesn't he tell you?"
"It's not, like." Harry stops, sighs. "It's not like I need him to tell me everything, you know? Like, I know that he's gone through a lot and I totally get that he might not feel comfortable sharing all that with me at this point. But, like. Like, yesterday when I came in. He'd been crying, right? Like, he was upset about something. And he just. He just wouldn't say anything. I'm not, like, an idiot, you know?"
Zayn purses his lips. "Yeah, Haz, I don't know what to say. Lou's got a fuckton of issues. And he's not... well, you know. He doesn't trust easily. It always seems to come back and bite him, whenever he does, and I guess he's just. Stopped trusting people."
"But I'm his boyfriend, Zayn."
Shrugging, Zayn just looks at him. "Give him time, Harry. That's really all I can say. It's only been a few months. Give him a bit more time."
Harry scrubs a hand over his face. "Yeah. Thanks. Sorry for this, like, I know it's not your place to tell me anything."
Zayn takes a sip of his coffee. "Yeah, well. Being Louis Tomlinson's boyfriend was never gonna be an easy job."
Harry smiles ruefully. "But someone has to do it."
Raising his cup in a saluting gesture, Zayn tips his head. "Amen."
"So how are you and Liam doing, by the way?" Harry gestures to the waitress for another cup of coffee.
Zayn ducks his head, grins, shrugs. "Good, it's good. He's... good."
"Ah, articulate as ever, Malik."
"Fuck off. He's..." Zayn trails off.
"Say good again," Harry challenges.
"God, just because you're dating the king of superlatives."
"Am I?"
Zayn laughs loudly. "Christ, mate, you should have heard him when he met you. I think the word 'lovely' has forever lost its meaning. Also 'amazing,' and 'sweet,' and 'charming,' and every other bloody adjective. Sickening, really."
Harry coughs, trying in vain to hide his smile. "Seriously?"
Zayn rolls his eyes. "I'm surprised he doesn't keep a bright pink journal with 'Mrs. Harold Styles' scrawled all over the cover."
"Please, stop, I might blush."
"You two are gonna be fine, yeah?" Zayn says, suddenly serious. "Just be patient with him. He loves you, you know. He just has to work through whatever's stopping him from believing it."
Harry's overwhelmingly grateful to Zayn, for his calming words, his calming presence. "I wish I had a best friend like you, mate."
Zayn half-smiles at Harry. "I am pretty fantastic, aren't I?"
*
Work passes by quickly. Niall is a goddamn typhoon in the kitchen, and Harry always finds himself watching him with awe until Niall catches him and snaps, "Oi! Stop checking me out, pervert, and get to work!"
Louis and Zayn burst in periodically, too, and Louis is frazzled and jittery -- hyped up on interaction and movement, while Zayn is generally annoyed and sluggish, causing Louis to give Harry these wide-eyed frustrated glances, as if Harry has any influence over Zayn's behaviour.
As is custom, they all pile in the kitchen as soon as the last customer leaves.
Niall's laying on his back on the counter, and Harry idly wonders at how many health code violations they break in a shift.
"I wish I could be drunk all the time," Niall muses.
Zayn snorts loudly. "Aren't you anyway?"
Sighing longingly, Niall rolls over to look at them. Liam is organising the set of knives Harry left strewn over the cutting boards; Zayn is hunched over himself, leaning against the sink counting cigarettes -- probably rationing them out over the next few hours, depending on his varying levels of annoyance. Louis is pressed against Harry's side, playing with Harry's fingers, and almost completely checked out from his surroundings. Harry lets him be, lets him get lost in his head.
"What should we do tonight?" Liam asks, having graduated from knife duty.
Zayn looks up from his fags and glances around. "We could all go back to mine and Lou's. Have some drinks there. Easier on my wallet, at least."
Niall nods and slithers off the counter. "Excellent! No chance of me getting lost on the way home, either, because I'm sleeping over!" He grabs his jacket and slams open the door, allowing no room for protest.
Harry raises his eyebrows. "Okay, I guess that's happening. Sound good, Lou?" He looks down at Louis.
"What?" Louis says, eyes focusing on Harry's.
"Drinks at yours tonight."
"Oh, sure, yeah, good. Bit low on funds anyway." Louis glances at Zayn briefly before following Niall out the door. "You coming, Haz?" he says over his shoulder when he notices Harry hasn't moved.
Biting his lip, Harry mutters, "Yeah." He holds back the incessant fucking questions that always pour through his mind after any one of Louis's vague statements. It's like he speaks in puzzles: giving Harry pieces at a time, but simultaneously hiding some, stealing some back, mixing in pieces from different puzzles.
They just got paid yesterday.
*
They're piled in the living room at Louis and Zayn's. Liam and Zayn are curled on one end of the couch. Niall is sitting opposite them with one leg over the back, a bowl of popcorn resting on his chest. Harry and Louis are on the floor; Harry leaning against the couch and Louis between his legs. Niall's foot is too close to Harry's face for comfort. He buries his nose into Louis's hair.
"Let's play truth or dare," Niall says randomly. There's nothing on the telly and nobody wants to get up and put on a DVD. They're four drinks in each and while that's Liam's limit, Harry has no plans of stopping tonight. He's tired and stressed and there's no class tomorrow and he wishes he could not worry about Louis for one bloody second.
He's not sure how this happened, even. He's not sure how he fell in so deep with this group of people; with this one boy. One minute he was a small town kid in the posh part of Cheshire, bunking off school and playing football and working at a bakery, and there was this haze of absolute simplicity around him -- everything was fine and what could go wrong? But then all of the sudden everything was less fine and his parents were fighting and it all became confusing. Everything got so confusing so quickly. His parents were fighting all the time -- all the time -- and then his friend Martin started inviting him over more and more and he told Martin everything and then Martin kissed him and he was like oh, okay and it made nothing clearer, not at all, because his parents were still fighting and he maybe liked a boy and then his dad was all, right, fuck you, I'm leaving, and Gemma ran away for a week until she called from Liverpool in tears and Harry took his mum's car and got her and they slept on the side of the road that night because neither of them could go back and.
And now he's in London working at this stupid upscale restaurant with three of the most amazing people he's ever met. And this one boy. This one boy that's got him so turned around and insane and stressed out and he doesn't know how to deal with this, he's never learnt how to deal with this. He just wants to give Louis everything, is what it seems to be coming down to, and he doesn't know how to make Louis see that. And there's the issue of how he's eighteen and just starting uni and he's not meant to have his world revolve around one person and it's not meant to be this way and.
Everything got so confusing so quickly.
Harry maybe needs another drink, but probably not. He reaches past Louis's knee for the vodka anyway. As an afterthought, he splashes in a bit of juice so it looks a bit more like he's not aiming to get absolutely plastered. That's a lie, though.
There's conversation going on around him.
"Wait, what?" Harry says slowly, blinking.
Louis tilts his head backwards, chuckling at him. "How you holding up, soldier?"
"Good, yeah, pretty great. You're sexy. What're we talking about?"
Niall laughs. "Truth or dare; you in?"
Harry starts to smile but it feels like it takes about five minutes to get all the way across his face. He's always been told he's got a big mouth, though, so fair enough. "Yeah, mate. Yeah, sounds good."
"Okay." Niall looks around the group, calculating.
The problem is, Harry thinks, is that there's not one weak link. There are five fucking weak links. Five boys with fucked up stories and fucked up ways of ending up where they all are. The problem is, Harry thinks, where do you draw the line?
"Liam. Truth or dare."
Liam looks up from his position on Zayn's chest. "Mm. Truth. Never moving again."
Niall narrows his eyes. "Alright. How long have you liked Zayn?"
Zayn's face tenses, then smooths into a mask of blankness almost immediately. Louis twists around in Harry's arms to watch this unfold. Harry leans his forehead onto Louis's shoulder, feeling dizzy and inexplicably nervous. Foreshadowing, he thinks. English degree, that's where he's headed.
Liam's jaw twitches a bit and his body is very still. "I, um. I don't know? I guess it was always there in the back of my mind but I wrote it off as hopeless a long time ago. So, you know." He shrugs. "A few years, I guess, but not, like, actively. I didn't want to step on any toes."
Zayn's arms come around Liam tighter. Louis looks away, draws his knees up to his chest, the muscles in his shoulders tight.
It's quiet for a moment, until Liam realises he might have made things awkward. "Um. Harry! Truth or dare?"
Harry downs the last of his fifth drink, and reaches for the bottle again. Louis makes an aborted movement to stop him. Harry ignores it. "Truth, mate. Don't think I could stand if I wanted to."
Liam hums consideringly. "Okay. Um. How many people have you slept with?" He stops. "Like, er, fucked, I mean," he clarifies uncomfortably.
Harry rolls his eyes. "Three."
And, suddenly, there are four pairs of eyes on him, burning into him.
"Three?" Louis repeats in a high-pitched voice.
A muscle in Harry's jaw twitches involuntarily. "Yeah, Lou. Three."
Louis stares at him, searching, before nodding slowly.
Harry doesn't even bother. "Zayn. Truth or dare?"
Zayn laughs a little nervously. "Far be it for me to break from tradition. Truth, I guess."
Harry closes his eyes. "What's your happiest memory of Louis?"
The room is still for several moments. Then Zayn clears his throat. "Okay. Um. We were fourteen, I guess. Lou was captain of our football team, some small Sunday league team in Doncaster, but, y'know, we were fourteen and it was everything, right? Like, every match was the Champions League final and we were United. Lou was always Giggsy, you know, a fucking hammer of a foot and just. He was phenomenal. And I always fancied meself Cantona, right, because what fourteen year old doesn't, I guess. And, like, we were down three-nil at half and we were playing this team from the other side of town and we fucking hated them, we wanted to absolutely destroy them, but this game was hopeless and just. At halftime, Lou pulled us all together on the side of this muddy pitch and just started going mad at us, right, like, what the fuck were we doing out there, how could we let this happen. He was just. On fire that day. It was beautiful to watch, I dunno. Second half we came back in and just stole it. We bloody stole it from under their noses and. I guess. I don't know. Seeing Lou's face after that win, all covered in mud. He was just. Glowing. I dunno." Zayn stops, breathes in heavily. "I loved him a lot right then."
It's like the negative space in the room is a separate entity. No one speaks, until Louis draws in a rasping breath. Harry doesn't know what to do. Louis's shoulders are shaking in front of him and he doesn't know whether or not it's his place to touch right now. He doesn't know if this is Zayn's territory, if Zayn is the only one allowed to acknowledge how this affected Louis. Harry doesn't know if he'll be shrugged off or welcomed and it makes him so angry in that moment, so fucking furious at Louis for making him unsure, unsteady and Harry knows it's the alcohol that's doing this, but he can't turn it off and his hands are trembling. His hands won't stop trembling.
Zayn's eyes are heavy on Harry but he refuses to turn. Louis composes himself -- only one choked inhale before he's the same master of disguise.
"Niall," Zayn says. "Truth or dare?"
"Truth," he says through a mouthful of popcorn. "But for chrissakes, lighten the mood a little."
"Alright, okay, say you're on death row. What's your last meal?"
Niall turns serious almost immediately. "Wow, right in the jugular. Alright. Okay. Let's see. Mashed potatoes. Chicken pot pie. Shepherd's pie. Scalloped potatoes. Pizza. Fried black pudding. Corned beef and cabbage. Irish ham. And a chocolate cake. Three cakes. All the cakes."
Zayn nods approvingly. "Good answer, mate."
Niall groans. "And all I have here is some fucking popcorn. I hate you, Malik, I really bloody do. Lou, truth or dare?"
"Dare."
No one's surprised.
"Okay," Niall says slowly. "I dare you to... tell us how far you and Zayn have gone together!" He laughs loudly, glancing around.
No one else is laughing.
Louis unfolds himself gracefully and stands up. "No. You can give me a dare or you can ask someone else a question, but I'm not answering that." He walks into the kitchen and comes back with a glass of water. He presses it into Harry's hand and presses a kiss to Harry's cheek.
"Are you okay?" he whispers.
Harry shrugs. Fuck Louis for asking. Fuck Louis for expecting an answer to a question he won't acknowledge himself.
"This has maybe turned a bit not fun, lads," Liam says tentatively.
Harry ignores Liam, and sets the glass of water aside. He stares at Louis. "How many people have you slept with, then, Louis?"
Louis's gaze sharpens coldly and he just looks at Harry for a moment. "I'm going to bed," he says and there's a commanding air of finality in the way he turns his back on Harry.
The room is absolutely silent.
"You should maybe go, Harry," Zayn says. "This probably isn't going to be a good night."
"Fuck you," Harry says, and god, he drank too much.
"Harry," Liam starts, but Harry's already standing, waving him off.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Tell Louis... no, whatever. I'll talk to him later. God. Bye. Sorry."
He stumbles out the door and makes it two blocks before he's curled up next to a garbage bin, puking and crying and hating everything.
*
The next morning, in the shock of the century, Louis texts him at 6:34 in the morning.
i'm sorry. 22.
And then:
where are you? i want to talk to you
And:
harry please where are you, did you walk home?
Also:
harry are you asleep or dead, please tlel me now
Then finally:
im coming over, if youre dead ill kill you
*
Harry wakes up at 8:13 in the morning to someone crawling under his covers.
"The fuck?" he mutters, too hungover and pathetic to summon any real panic.
"Shh," the someone murmurs. "Sleep."
"Louis?" Harry rasps, rolling over to face him.
Louis smiles wanly. "The one and only."
Harry reaches out a clumsy hand and rests it on Louis's cheek. "I'm so sorry, Lou. That was super inappropriate of me, last night."
Louis turns his head and presses a soft kiss to Harry's palm. "It's okay, love. I mean, yeah, in front of the lads, maybe a bit inappropriate, but. There are some things you deserve to know, and. I'll try harder. Check your phone, maybe."
Harry reaches toward the nightstand and grabs his phone, scrolling quickly through Louis's texts. "I... oh. Um." He turns back to Louis, who is decidedly looking anywhere but at Harry. He may actually be counting threads in the sheets.
"It's big, I know," says Louis in a small voice.
"Hey," Harry says. "Hey, Lou, no, come on. I don't care. You know I don't care. Louis, look at me."
Louis raises his eyes to Harry and he can see the slight pink of his cheeks. "Lou, babe, stop. It doesn't mean anything to me."
Louis lets out a huff of air, frustrated. "It should, Harry!" His body twists under the sheets as he shifts positions frantically. "It should! I don't blame you if it does. It's. God."
Harry watches him carefully. "All I care about," he says slowly, "is that I'm the only one you're with now and that you're happy. That's it."
Turning again onto his side, Louis meets Harry's eyes briefly before dropping them. They lay there in silence for a few moments.
"Harry," Louis starts.
"Yeah, Lou."
"Harry, they think my mum has cancer," he whispers.
Harry just stares at Louis for a moment; stares at the scared boy across the bed from him, the boy who already lost his mum once, who can't go through that again. Then he's moving, pulling Louis toward him, into his arms.
"Oh fuck, Louis, oh fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck."
Louis is shaking, and Harry's t-shirt is getting damp with hot tears and. Oh fuck.
"I don't know what to do, Harry, I don't know what to do." He's gasping now, panicking. Harry strokes his back, his hair, kisses his forehead.
Louis is still talking, muttering frantically against Harry's skin. "I sent Lottie all of my money, but there's no way they have enough and I just. I don't know what to do. I love her so much, Harry, and what if I never see her again? I never thought. I never thought this was forever. I thought they'd come around, I thought maybe someday... oh my god. Oh my god."
"Lou, no, it'll be okay. It'll be okay, love." Harry squeezes his eyes shut. "Lou, please try to calm down. You need to breathe, love, you need to breathe."
Louis pulls away from him slightly and presses his palms against his eye sockets. "I'm sorry I've been so awful lately."
"God." Harry chokes on an empty laugh. "God, Louis, no. Don't worry about that."
"Zayn told me that you talked to him. And. I'm just. I'm sorry. You shouldn't have had to do that. I'm so sorry."
"Louis," Harry says pleadingly. "Louis, no, I was just worried. I just worry about you all the time. I just want to be able to help you, to be there for you. I just. Oh god, Louis, come on, you have to know how much I love you."
Louis makes a small noise in his throat. It's the first time either of them have said that word. "Harry..."
Harry shakes his head. "Don't. Don't right now. Just lay here with me for now. We're fine. Louis, god. It'll all be okay. Just. Be here with me. Breathe."
Louis gazes at him with glassy eyes for a moment before nodding minutely and curling into Harry's body.
"You gonna sing me to sleep, Haz?"
Harry's mouth twitches into a half smile. "Yeah, Lou. Yeah, I am."
*
part two.
pairing(s): louis tomlinson/harry styles (references to zayn malik/liam payne, louis tomlinson/omc)
rating: R
word count: ~12,000
disclaimer: hilariously untrue.
summary: AU. louis is still kind of a mess (but not really) and harry is still kind of perfect and reality is kind of something neither of them are prepared for. sequel to don't give up on us quite yet -- prior reading probably required, i apologise.
warnings: heavy thematic issues.
notes: so many, many heartfelt thanks to everyone who read and commented on the first part of this verse. i appreciate every single thing y'all said to me. massive love. anyway, this is for wandersfound, who wanted harry pov, because i'm a sucker for her. also pretty much every word that comes out of my fingers is for estuve because she's my rock and put up with so much insecurity and bitching after literally every hundred words written. also can we talk about how i've written 22k of one direction fanfiction in a week, like. what.
there will probably be a louis+zayn prequel at some point.
Louis is full of secrets.
He doesn't fully lie, or at least he tries not to, but he has this two inch layer of bulletproof glass around his past.
It drives Harry mad. He's understanding, he is. He gets it -- Louis has had a shitty few years, a lonely few years. Harry gets that and he wants to do all he can to make up for that, to make Louis feel loved and safe and cared for, but.
Sue him, he's fucking curious, alright?
*
Harry lets himself into Zayn and Louis's apartment on Sunday evening. He kicks the door closed behind him and calls, "I come bearing gifts!"
There's some quiet murmuring coming from the living room and Harry's eyebrows pull together. He quickly drops the grocery bags off in the kitchen and heads in. Zayn and Louis are wrapped around each other on the couch. Well, Louis is curled up into Zayn, his head pressed into Zayn's collarbones, and Zayn's fingers are combing through Louis's hair, arms wound tightly around him.
Harry stops in the doorway.
See, it's like, Harry knows how Louis and Zayn are. Has known how Louis and Zayn are since the first day he met Louis. It freaked him out at first, honestly. It freaked him out how well they know each other, how close they are, how much of a claim Zayn has staked on Louis. It freaks him out how dependent Louis is on Zayn.
There's no real jealousy there. At least, Harry doesn't think he's jealous. Zayn's been there for Louis through the worst shit Harry can imagine and Harry's incredibly grateful to him for that. It's just. Sometimes Harry wants to be the one Louis comes to. Sometimes Harry wants to hold Louis through his insecurities, through his issues. Sometimes Harry wishes he didn't walk in halfway through the movie and feel like an intruder.
Hesitantly, he says, "What's up?"
Zayn cranes his neck to look back at Harry. "Hey, mate," he says quietly. He jerks his head in an obvious come here gesture, and Harry bites his lip but comes. As he gets in front of the couch, he notices Louis is asleep, but his eyes are red, his face puffy.
"Hey, Lou," he whispers, kneeling down, brushing his thumb over Louis's cheekbone.
Louis's eyelashes flutter and he blearily cracks his eyes open. He sees Harry and immediately smiles, struggles to sit up. His hands scrub at his face and fix his hair hurriedly. "Hazza!" he says brightly.
Harry glances at Zayn, sees Zayn roll his eyes. "Lou, I'm going to Liam's tonight. I'll see you at work tomorrow, yeah?"
Louis turns quickly to Zayn and there's communication there, with just that fucking look. Harry looks away, down at the floor. He hears Zayn sigh heavily and untangle himself from Louis.
"Have a good night, lads," Zayn says as he leaves the room.
"See you, mate," Harry says after him, willing Zayn to turn around and tell him what the fuck is going on. God knows Louis won't.
Louis pulls him onto the couch. "I missed you," he says as he presses kisses to Harry's face.
"Missed you too, Lou. Are you okay?" Harry tries to arrange himself so Louis's elbow isn't on his balls and his ass isn't hanging off the cushion.
Louis waits patiently for Harry to get comfortable before sprawling on top of him. "Most excellent, babe. Just pining for your body whenever it's not touching mine. What should we do tonight? Drink? Fuck? Watch a movie? Body shots while watching a movie?"
Harry bites his lip and glances away. "Lou, come on, what's up? Is everything alright?"
"What are you talking about?" Louis widens his eyes before grabbing Harry's hand and playing with his fingers.
Harry doesn't know how hard to push. Louis can be volatile, unpredictable. He's a bloody minefield of insecurities and Harry walks on his tiptoes every day.
He lets it go for now. After too long a pause, Harry shrugs. "How was your day, beautiful?" He curls his fingers around Louis's neck and pulls him in for another kiss, a real kiss.
Louis hums into Harry's lips, twisting his fingers into Harry's hair like Louis knows he loves. He pulls away eventually to say, "My day was fine. Zayner and I talked about adding another wing to the library but instead decided to invest in a hovercraft. How was yours?"
Harry smiles weakly, unable to let go of the need to know what's bothering Louis. "Good, good. I got my class schedule for my new degree today."
"Ooh!" Louis raises his eyebrows excitedly. "Are you planning on writing the next great American novel?"
"I dunno, love, are you planning on emigrating with me?"
Louis adjusts his position so he's straddling Harry's middle and runs his hands up Harry's chest. "I could be convinced. I read about this place in California yesterday. It's called Ukiah, which is haiku backwards. Isn't that sick? I'd like to live there, I think."
Harry laughs and digs his fingers into Louis's thighs. "You hate poetry."
"It's apparently the sixth best place to live in the States!" Louis says. "And besides, I don't hate poetry."
Harry raises an eyebrow. "Yes, you do."
Louis grins somewhat wryly. "No, I just hate poets."
Rolling his eyes, Harry pinches Louis's stomach. "What's the first best place to live in the States, then?"
Louis squirms, laughing. "I dunno, I didn't get that far. Ukiah, Haz. I love that name."
Harry tickles Louis until he collapses down on top of him. Brushing their noses together, Harry says, "Okay, let's move there. We can do American things." He slides his hands down the back of Louis's trousers.
"Ride 'em, cowboy." Louis smiles against his lips, and reaches between them to unbutton Harry's fly. "Yeeeeeehaw."
*
Harry wakes up early, too early, to the sound of a phone buzzing. Louis's. He grabs it and glances at it. The screen just says Lottie and Harry's stomach clenches.
"Lou," he whispers. "Lou!" He shakes at Louis's shoulder, pressed against Harry's back.
"What," Louis rasps.
"Phone." Harry holds the phone at Louis's eye-level. Louis immediately grabs it, sits up.
"Lottie?" he says, wide awake with traces of panic in his voice. "Lottie, hey sweetie, what's up?" Now his voice is softer, comforting, and he's pushing the covers off him, grabbing his pants from the floor and quietly leaving the room.
Harry lays back on the bed and sighs. Louis has alluded to his family situation a few times. It's always brief, vague, and dismissed quickly. Louis is full of shrugs and smiles and distraction and. It's hard not to be distracted when Louis Tomlinson decides, because Harry is human and when he's got that hot little body all to himself he's going to take full advantage.
After twenty minutes of futile attempts at falling back asleep, Harry pulls on some of Louis's joggers on the floor and wanders into the kitchen. Louis is in the bathroom with the door closed, his low soothing voice drifting through the wood.
Harry is in the middle of making tea when the door opens.
Louis doesn't see Harry yet, and he rests his forehead against the wall, exhaling heavily before pressing his palms into his eyes. He shakes himself, he actually physically shakes himself -- Harry always thought that was some sort of literary affectation -- and starts back toward the bedroom.
"Kitchen, Lou," Harry says.
Louis gives him a half smile as he walks in. "Sorry that woke you," he says.
Harry shrugs. "Is everything okay?"
"Yeah, just my little sister." Louis comes behind him and hooks his chin over his shoulder. "Is there tea for me?"
Nodding, Harry starts pouring into their mugs -- Man United for Louis and an old chipped Disneyland one for himself. He turns around to hand it to Louis. "Any reason she called at seven in the morning?"
Louis looks up at him sharply. "She's my sister. I don't think she needs a reason, Harry."
Harry looks back at Louis evenly. "That isn't what I meant."
"She just wanted to catch up," Louis says with a note of challenge in his tone.
"At seven in the morning."
"Christ, what is this? I'm sorry your beauty sleep was cut short, honestly, but can you let it go?"
Harry flinches back, a little involuntarily. "Sorry for caring, Lou," he mumbles and turns around, heading back to the bedroom.
Louis doesn't follow.
*
Harry texts Zayn as he leaves the flat. It's eight in the morning and he'll feel awful if he wakes Liam or Zayn up, but he's too anxious to wait. Louis was acting too forcibly normal by the time Harry left, full of kisses and cheeky groping, and no acknowledgement of their weird argument.
can we meet up before work? Harry sends Zayn.
are you coming onto me? he gets back quickly, almost immediately followed by, yeah but i doubt i can help.
Harry sighs. val's at 2, thx m8, he texts back. He drops his phone in his pocket and fiddles with his bracelets.
It's Monday, and he has his first class in this new wild territory of his English degree today. Modern American Literature. Harry's anxious.
He heads back to his tiny flat and showers quickly, grabbing a muffin and his new books -- short story and poetry anthologies and not endless equations, it's all very odd -- and walks to campus.
The lecture hall is packed, and Harry scans the crowd for Nick and Aiden, the mates who convinced him to finally stop going back and forth and switch his degree. Aiden waves at him excitedly from the back row. Harry grins.
"Hazza! Worried you weren't gonna make it, what with your busy life of being buried in your boyfriend's--" Nick claps a hand over Aiden's mouth. Harry pulls a face.
"Lovely to see you, too, mate." Harry drops his bag on the floor and sits down. He pulls out his phone, checking to see if Louis texted at all. He hasn't.
"Oh my god," Aiden says. "Can you seriously not make it without sexting him?"
"Shut up," Harry says and puts it on silent.
The professor strolls in, then, slamming the door behind him. He stands at the podium and surveys the room. "Good morning," he says. "I'm Professor Summers. This is Modern American Literature. If you're in the wrong class, I suggest you leave now and we'll never mention it again."
Harry pulls out a notebook and pen and tries not to feel out of his depth already.
*
Zayn's already seated at Val's when Harry gets there. "Sorry, mate," he says as he drops into the booth across from him.
"No worries," Zayn looks up from his phone and grins a little. "So, what's the problem? If your sex life's fallen flat, I really don't care to know."
Harry laughs. "I think you'd actually be the first to know."
Zayn makes a face and nods helplessly.
Harry looks down at the table, then. "I just... he doesn't tell me anything."
"Ah," Zayn says. He looks at Harry consideringly. "What, specifically, doesn't he tell you?"
"It's not, like." Harry stops, sighs. "It's not like I need him to tell me everything, you know? Like, I know that he's gone through a lot and I totally get that he might not feel comfortable sharing all that with me at this point. But, like. Like, yesterday when I came in. He'd been crying, right? Like, he was upset about something. And he just. He just wouldn't say anything. I'm not, like, an idiot, you know?"
Zayn purses his lips. "Yeah, Haz, I don't know what to say. Lou's got a fuckton of issues. And he's not... well, you know. He doesn't trust easily. It always seems to come back and bite him, whenever he does, and I guess he's just. Stopped trusting people."
"But I'm his boyfriend, Zayn."
Shrugging, Zayn just looks at him. "Give him time, Harry. That's really all I can say. It's only been a few months. Give him a bit more time."
Harry scrubs a hand over his face. "Yeah. Thanks. Sorry for this, like, I know it's not your place to tell me anything."
Zayn takes a sip of his coffee. "Yeah, well. Being Louis Tomlinson's boyfriend was never gonna be an easy job."
Harry smiles ruefully. "But someone has to do it."
Raising his cup in a saluting gesture, Zayn tips his head. "Amen."
"So how are you and Liam doing, by the way?" Harry gestures to the waitress for another cup of coffee.
Zayn ducks his head, grins, shrugs. "Good, it's good. He's... good."
"Ah, articulate as ever, Malik."
"Fuck off. He's..." Zayn trails off.
"Say good again," Harry challenges.
"God, just because you're dating the king of superlatives."
"Am I?"
Zayn laughs loudly. "Christ, mate, you should have heard him when he met you. I think the word 'lovely' has forever lost its meaning. Also 'amazing,' and 'sweet,' and 'charming,' and every other bloody adjective. Sickening, really."
Harry coughs, trying in vain to hide his smile. "Seriously?"
Zayn rolls his eyes. "I'm surprised he doesn't keep a bright pink journal with 'Mrs. Harold Styles' scrawled all over the cover."
"Please, stop, I might blush."
"You two are gonna be fine, yeah?" Zayn says, suddenly serious. "Just be patient with him. He loves you, you know. He just has to work through whatever's stopping him from believing it."
Harry's overwhelmingly grateful to Zayn, for his calming words, his calming presence. "I wish I had a best friend like you, mate."
Zayn half-smiles at Harry. "I am pretty fantastic, aren't I?"
*
Work passes by quickly. Niall is a goddamn typhoon in the kitchen, and Harry always finds himself watching him with awe until Niall catches him and snaps, "Oi! Stop checking me out, pervert, and get to work!"
Louis and Zayn burst in periodically, too, and Louis is frazzled and jittery -- hyped up on interaction and movement, while Zayn is generally annoyed and sluggish, causing Louis to give Harry these wide-eyed frustrated glances, as if Harry has any influence over Zayn's behaviour.
As is custom, they all pile in the kitchen as soon as the last customer leaves.
Niall's laying on his back on the counter, and Harry idly wonders at how many health code violations they break in a shift.
"I wish I could be drunk all the time," Niall muses.
Zayn snorts loudly. "Aren't you anyway?"
Sighing longingly, Niall rolls over to look at them. Liam is organising the set of knives Harry left strewn over the cutting boards; Zayn is hunched over himself, leaning against the sink counting cigarettes -- probably rationing them out over the next few hours, depending on his varying levels of annoyance. Louis is pressed against Harry's side, playing with Harry's fingers, and almost completely checked out from his surroundings. Harry lets him be, lets him get lost in his head.
"What should we do tonight?" Liam asks, having graduated from knife duty.
Zayn looks up from his fags and glances around. "We could all go back to mine and Lou's. Have some drinks there. Easier on my wallet, at least."
Niall nods and slithers off the counter. "Excellent! No chance of me getting lost on the way home, either, because I'm sleeping over!" He grabs his jacket and slams open the door, allowing no room for protest.
Harry raises his eyebrows. "Okay, I guess that's happening. Sound good, Lou?" He looks down at Louis.
"What?" Louis says, eyes focusing on Harry's.
"Drinks at yours tonight."
"Oh, sure, yeah, good. Bit low on funds anyway." Louis glances at Zayn briefly before following Niall out the door. "You coming, Haz?" he says over his shoulder when he notices Harry hasn't moved.
Biting his lip, Harry mutters, "Yeah." He holds back the incessant fucking questions that always pour through his mind after any one of Louis's vague statements. It's like he speaks in puzzles: giving Harry pieces at a time, but simultaneously hiding some, stealing some back, mixing in pieces from different puzzles.
They just got paid yesterday.
*
They're piled in the living room at Louis and Zayn's. Liam and Zayn are curled on one end of the couch. Niall is sitting opposite them with one leg over the back, a bowl of popcorn resting on his chest. Harry and Louis are on the floor; Harry leaning against the couch and Louis between his legs. Niall's foot is too close to Harry's face for comfort. He buries his nose into Louis's hair.
"Let's play truth or dare," Niall says randomly. There's nothing on the telly and nobody wants to get up and put on a DVD. They're four drinks in each and while that's Liam's limit, Harry has no plans of stopping tonight. He's tired and stressed and there's no class tomorrow and he wishes he could not worry about Louis for one bloody second.
He's not sure how this happened, even. He's not sure how he fell in so deep with this group of people; with this one boy. One minute he was a small town kid in the posh part of Cheshire, bunking off school and playing football and working at a bakery, and there was this haze of absolute simplicity around him -- everything was fine and what could go wrong? But then all of the sudden everything was less fine and his parents were fighting and it all became confusing. Everything got so confusing so quickly. His parents were fighting all the time -- all the time -- and then his friend Martin started inviting him over more and more and he told Martin everything and then Martin kissed him and he was like oh, okay and it made nothing clearer, not at all, because his parents were still fighting and he maybe liked a boy and then his dad was all, right, fuck you, I'm leaving, and Gemma ran away for a week until she called from Liverpool in tears and Harry took his mum's car and got her and they slept on the side of the road that night because neither of them could go back and.
And now he's in London working at this stupid upscale restaurant with three of the most amazing people he's ever met. And this one boy. This one boy that's got him so turned around and insane and stressed out and he doesn't know how to deal with this, he's never learnt how to deal with this. He just wants to give Louis everything, is what it seems to be coming down to, and he doesn't know how to make Louis see that. And there's the issue of how he's eighteen and just starting uni and he's not meant to have his world revolve around one person and it's not meant to be this way and.
Everything got so confusing so quickly.
Harry maybe needs another drink, but probably not. He reaches past Louis's knee for the vodka anyway. As an afterthought, he splashes in a bit of juice so it looks a bit more like he's not aiming to get absolutely plastered. That's a lie, though.
There's conversation going on around him.
"Wait, what?" Harry says slowly, blinking.
Louis tilts his head backwards, chuckling at him. "How you holding up, soldier?"
"Good, yeah, pretty great. You're sexy. What're we talking about?"
Niall laughs. "Truth or dare; you in?"
Harry starts to smile but it feels like it takes about five minutes to get all the way across his face. He's always been told he's got a big mouth, though, so fair enough. "Yeah, mate. Yeah, sounds good."
"Okay." Niall looks around the group, calculating.
The problem is, Harry thinks, is that there's not one weak link. There are five fucking weak links. Five boys with fucked up stories and fucked up ways of ending up where they all are. The problem is, Harry thinks, where do you draw the line?
"Liam. Truth or dare."
Liam looks up from his position on Zayn's chest. "Mm. Truth. Never moving again."
Niall narrows his eyes. "Alright. How long have you liked Zayn?"
Zayn's face tenses, then smooths into a mask of blankness almost immediately. Louis twists around in Harry's arms to watch this unfold. Harry leans his forehead onto Louis's shoulder, feeling dizzy and inexplicably nervous. Foreshadowing, he thinks. English degree, that's where he's headed.
Liam's jaw twitches a bit and his body is very still. "I, um. I don't know? I guess it was always there in the back of my mind but I wrote it off as hopeless a long time ago. So, you know." He shrugs. "A few years, I guess, but not, like, actively. I didn't want to step on any toes."
Zayn's arms come around Liam tighter. Louis looks away, draws his knees up to his chest, the muscles in his shoulders tight.
It's quiet for a moment, until Liam realises he might have made things awkward. "Um. Harry! Truth or dare?"
Harry downs the last of his fifth drink, and reaches for the bottle again. Louis makes an aborted movement to stop him. Harry ignores it. "Truth, mate. Don't think I could stand if I wanted to."
Liam hums consideringly. "Okay. Um. How many people have you slept with?" He stops. "Like, er, fucked, I mean," he clarifies uncomfortably.
Harry rolls his eyes. "Three."
And, suddenly, there are four pairs of eyes on him, burning into him.
"Three?" Louis repeats in a high-pitched voice.
A muscle in Harry's jaw twitches involuntarily. "Yeah, Lou. Three."
Louis stares at him, searching, before nodding slowly.
Harry doesn't even bother. "Zayn. Truth or dare?"
Zayn laughs a little nervously. "Far be it for me to break from tradition. Truth, I guess."
Harry closes his eyes. "What's your happiest memory of Louis?"
The room is still for several moments. Then Zayn clears his throat. "Okay. Um. We were fourteen, I guess. Lou was captain of our football team, some small Sunday league team in Doncaster, but, y'know, we were fourteen and it was everything, right? Like, every match was the Champions League final and we were United. Lou was always Giggsy, you know, a fucking hammer of a foot and just. He was phenomenal. And I always fancied meself Cantona, right, because what fourteen year old doesn't, I guess. And, like, we were down three-nil at half and we were playing this team from the other side of town and we fucking hated them, we wanted to absolutely destroy them, but this game was hopeless and just. At halftime, Lou pulled us all together on the side of this muddy pitch and just started going mad at us, right, like, what the fuck were we doing out there, how could we let this happen. He was just. On fire that day. It was beautiful to watch, I dunno. Second half we came back in and just stole it. We bloody stole it from under their noses and. I guess. I don't know. Seeing Lou's face after that win, all covered in mud. He was just. Glowing. I dunno." Zayn stops, breathes in heavily. "I loved him a lot right then."
It's like the negative space in the room is a separate entity. No one speaks, until Louis draws in a rasping breath. Harry doesn't know what to do. Louis's shoulders are shaking in front of him and he doesn't know whether or not it's his place to touch right now. He doesn't know if this is Zayn's territory, if Zayn is the only one allowed to acknowledge how this affected Louis. Harry doesn't know if he'll be shrugged off or welcomed and it makes him so angry in that moment, so fucking furious at Louis for making him unsure, unsteady and Harry knows it's the alcohol that's doing this, but he can't turn it off and his hands are trembling. His hands won't stop trembling.
Zayn's eyes are heavy on Harry but he refuses to turn. Louis composes himself -- only one choked inhale before he's the same master of disguise.
"Niall," Zayn says. "Truth or dare?"
"Truth," he says through a mouthful of popcorn. "But for chrissakes, lighten the mood a little."
"Alright, okay, say you're on death row. What's your last meal?"
Niall turns serious almost immediately. "Wow, right in the jugular. Alright. Okay. Let's see. Mashed potatoes. Chicken pot pie. Shepherd's pie. Scalloped potatoes. Pizza. Fried black pudding. Corned beef and cabbage. Irish ham. And a chocolate cake. Three cakes. All the cakes."
Zayn nods approvingly. "Good answer, mate."
Niall groans. "And all I have here is some fucking popcorn. I hate you, Malik, I really bloody do. Lou, truth or dare?"
"Dare."
No one's surprised.
"Okay," Niall says slowly. "I dare you to... tell us how far you and Zayn have gone together!" He laughs loudly, glancing around.
No one else is laughing.
Louis unfolds himself gracefully and stands up. "No. You can give me a dare or you can ask someone else a question, but I'm not answering that." He walks into the kitchen and comes back with a glass of water. He presses it into Harry's hand and presses a kiss to Harry's cheek.
"Are you okay?" he whispers.
Harry shrugs. Fuck Louis for asking. Fuck Louis for expecting an answer to a question he won't acknowledge himself.
"This has maybe turned a bit not fun, lads," Liam says tentatively.
Harry ignores Liam, and sets the glass of water aside. He stares at Louis. "How many people have you slept with, then, Louis?"
Louis's gaze sharpens coldly and he just looks at Harry for a moment. "I'm going to bed," he says and there's a commanding air of finality in the way he turns his back on Harry.
The room is absolutely silent.
"You should maybe go, Harry," Zayn says. "This probably isn't going to be a good night."
"Fuck you," Harry says, and god, he drank too much.
"Harry," Liam starts, but Harry's already standing, waving him off.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Tell Louis... no, whatever. I'll talk to him later. God. Bye. Sorry."
He stumbles out the door and makes it two blocks before he's curled up next to a garbage bin, puking and crying and hating everything.
*
The next morning, in the shock of the century, Louis texts him at 6:34 in the morning.
i'm sorry. 22.
And then:
where are you? i want to talk to you
And:
harry please where are you, did you walk home?
Also:
harry are you asleep or dead, please tlel me now
Then finally:
im coming over, if youre dead ill kill you
*
Harry wakes up at 8:13 in the morning to someone crawling under his covers.
"The fuck?" he mutters, too hungover and pathetic to summon any real panic.
"Shh," the someone murmurs. "Sleep."
"Louis?" Harry rasps, rolling over to face him.
Louis smiles wanly. "The one and only."
Harry reaches out a clumsy hand and rests it on Louis's cheek. "I'm so sorry, Lou. That was super inappropriate of me, last night."
Louis turns his head and presses a soft kiss to Harry's palm. "It's okay, love. I mean, yeah, in front of the lads, maybe a bit inappropriate, but. There are some things you deserve to know, and. I'll try harder. Check your phone, maybe."
Harry reaches toward the nightstand and grabs his phone, scrolling quickly through Louis's texts. "I... oh. Um." He turns back to Louis, who is decidedly looking anywhere but at Harry. He may actually be counting threads in the sheets.
"It's big, I know," says Louis in a small voice.
"Hey," Harry says. "Hey, Lou, no, come on. I don't care. You know I don't care. Louis, look at me."
Louis raises his eyes to Harry and he can see the slight pink of his cheeks. "Lou, babe, stop. It doesn't mean anything to me."
Louis lets out a huff of air, frustrated. "It should, Harry!" His body twists under the sheets as he shifts positions frantically. "It should! I don't blame you if it does. It's. God."
Harry watches him carefully. "All I care about," he says slowly, "is that I'm the only one you're with now and that you're happy. That's it."
Turning again onto his side, Louis meets Harry's eyes briefly before dropping them. They lay there in silence for a few moments.
"Harry," Louis starts.
"Yeah, Lou."
"Harry, they think my mum has cancer," he whispers.
Harry just stares at Louis for a moment; stares at the scared boy across the bed from him, the boy who already lost his mum once, who can't go through that again. Then he's moving, pulling Louis toward him, into his arms.
"Oh fuck, Louis, oh fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck."
Louis is shaking, and Harry's t-shirt is getting damp with hot tears and. Oh fuck.
"I don't know what to do, Harry, I don't know what to do." He's gasping now, panicking. Harry strokes his back, his hair, kisses his forehead.
Louis is still talking, muttering frantically against Harry's skin. "I sent Lottie all of my money, but there's no way they have enough and I just. I don't know what to do. I love her so much, Harry, and what if I never see her again? I never thought. I never thought this was forever. I thought they'd come around, I thought maybe someday... oh my god. Oh my god."
"Lou, no, it'll be okay. It'll be okay, love." Harry squeezes his eyes shut. "Lou, please try to calm down. You need to breathe, love, you need to breathe."
Louis pulls away from him slightly and presses his palms against his eye sockets. "I'm sorry I've been so awful lately."
"God." Harry chokes on an empty laugh. "God, Louis, no. Don't worry about that."
"Zayn told me that you talked to him. And. I'm just. I'm sorry. You shouldn't have had to do that. I'm so sorry."
"Louis," Harry says pleadingly. "Louis, no, I was just worried. I just worry about you all the time. I just want to be able to help you, to be there for you. I just. Oh god, Louis, come on, you have to know how much I love you."
Louis makes a small noise in his throat. It's the first time either of them have said that word. "Harry..."
Harry shakes his head. "Don't. Don't right now. Just lay here with me for now. We're fine. Louis, god. It'll all be okay. Just. Be here with me. Breathe."
Louis gazes at him with glassy eyes for a moment before nodding minutely and curling into Harry's body.
"You gonna sing me to sleep, Haz?"
Harry's mouth twitches into a half smile. "Yeah, Lou. Yeah, I am."
*
part two.