Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Harry doesn’t say a lot when Louis tells him about the train ticket he bought. He sits cross-legged on top of the blanket in a too small T-shirt and short shorts, biting at his lower lip with visible worry, green casting down and enveloping Louis tight, too bright, too hot. Louis squints, he almost feels embarrassed under that look, like he’s doing something he shouldn’t be doing. One of these things that hurt Harry more than they hurt Louis. 

“If that’s what you want,” he says slowly, drawing out every word. Louis can’t shake the feeling that he’s disappointed him. He nods firmly anyways without making eye contact. He holds onto his other hand, pressing at the centre of the palm with his thumb to ground himself. Alex taught him that. His skin turns white. It’s not enough pressure for how guilty he feels.

“It’ll be alright,” he affirms, more confidently than he really is.

His hand hurts, it takes him a minute to realise it is from digging his fingernails into the skin.

“Don’t do that, love,” Harry’s voice is barely above a whisper. He separates Louis’ hands from each other, replaces tough fingernails with soft warm skin and interlinked fingers instead.

“Why do you need to go?” He sounds smaller than Louis expected. Harry doesn’t always have all the answers, sometimes he forgets. He doesn’t know about his hometown. He doesn’t know his parents’ house. He doesn’t know about Louis’ childhood bedroom. “Please don’t go.”

“Haz,” Louis sighs, squeezes his hand tight, lingers on the triangle between his thumb and his index finger, soft and warm and tender, “I’m coming back this time. Please, trust me. I need this, then I’ll be good,” he desperatly needs Harry to understand.

“You’re good already!” Harry protests with tears in his eyes. He’s not being entirely reasonable about this, but Louis understands. It doesn’t matter what is done to him this time, he’ll come back. He really will.

“I need this,” he insists. And then Harry understands. It’s just that they need different things sometimes.

“I know you do,” Harry buries his nose in the crook of Louis’ neck. “When are you coming back?”

“I don’t know,” Louis admits very truthfully. He doesn’t intend to stay there more than a couple of days, though. Maybe Harry’s right. Maybe having a plan would be better.

“Don’t you want to get a return ticket?” he can feel him panicking.

“I don’t know,” he wishes he had a better answer for him but in truth he really doesn’t know. “I don’t know who’s around and when, and how it will go, you know? But I promise as soon as I want to leave I will.”

Honestly, if he was Harry he wouldn’t trust himself either.

“And I can always pick you up, yeah?” Harry sniffs in his shoulder. Louis kisses the top of his head, he imagines love pouring out of his mouth, trickling all the way down from the crown of Harry’s head to his toes.

“I know. I’ll call,” he means that.

“I’m sorry, I’m just scared.”

“I know, I’m sorry” Louis sighs against his boy’s hair. He smells lovely and clean. “I wish there was something I could do to make you feel better.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Harry shake his head, his curls tickle Louis’ nose. “Just… if anything is wrong, call me this time, yeah?”

“Promise,” it’s an easy one. Louis could never stop himself from calling him every time.

Harry walks him to the train station the day he leaves. He hasn’t let anyone there know he was coming, and maybe that was a mistake. If no one is home then he will leave. It’s okay. He can always call Harry, even if he’s a five hour drive away. A lot can happen in five hours. He tries not to think too hard about it. Nothing will happen, he tells himself. Or maybe he doesn’t have to stay at all. Maybe he can just greet and go. All of him hopes no one is home.

He can tell Harry tries not to cry on the platform. He feels bad for leaving him behind. He texts him as soon as he sits down with a promise to update him.

His heart won’t stop racing and he wishes he had something to calm his nerves. It’s fine, though. He would still rather not. He does his breathing exercises. His ribs never hurt as much as they used to. He’s almost healed.

The train races and his head pounds. He feels himself floating away and doesn’t attempt to bring himself back.

He is surprised to find that no matter how much he has always hated it, he has really missed this town. He loves this town. The air is bittersweet, laced with nostalgia. He steps onto the platform and it’s strangely exactly the same, weirdly wholesome. He swears he was just there, hundreds of versions of him stepping on and off this train.

He could never stay in one place for too long, and he only realises now this is where he’s been both running away from and to. He’s been running in circles this entire time. There’s a pit in his stomach when he wonders whether he will ever truly manage to leave. God he sure hopes so. Maybe Harry was right to be worried.

He could walk home with his eyes closed. His feet carry him there slowly, heavily. The wind whips him cold but at least the jacket Harry gave him keeps him warm. It’s the jacket Harry gave him.

It’s his street. It’s the pavement he’s grazed his knees on so many times. No other place is as infused with his blood, it's the mud in his veins, he’s stapled to this land, to this strip of asphalt. It’s his house.

His legs falter but they still carry him all the way home. He might never be able to be whole, entirely found again anywhere else. He only truly exists in this place, grey and smothering, swallowing handfuls of rain-soaked grass, choking in fumes and all-consuming. He only makes sense in the town he both seeks out and hates with all his heart. He falls in and out of himself and throughout until he is found, more familiar than he has in the past 10 years. He never belonged anywhere else.

All he has been was violently homesick.

It’s his house.

It’s exactly 28 steps to his front door from the pavement, unless he has grown. He has not, he couldn’t have with his roots chopped off.

He knocks four times without thinking. He always used to. He tries not to think about that too much.

No one is home. He hopes no one is home. He thinks maybe no one is home. He should leave. No one is home and he doesn’t recognise that car in the driveway. He’s leaving. He takes a step back. He thinks he hears the door unlock but he knows it’s not true. No one is home.

He breathes in and then out again.

“Louis?” his mum says. She looks surprised, as though him coming home isn’t the most natural thing in the world. She is older than when he left her. He never thought she could age, for some reason. Or maybe she’s just tired. He tells himself she’s just tired.

Next thing he knows he is wrapped tight in her arms. She smells like his mum, but also like every other nurse, clean and medical. Of course. He forgot it until now but it had never truly been erased from his memory. He really missed his mum. He can’t breathe. He’s choking on his tears and she’s squeezing his ribs too tight. He won’t tell her they’re broken. She has carried him and birthed and nursed him, and he’s only battered and drugged and beaten himself down, thrown himself down the stairs. He still belongs to her, he’s still furniture in her haunted house and he can’t tell her that’s what he’s been doing. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you,” there are so many things he could have said. Instead he is just pretending that this is normal. He knows she likes to lie to herself and to everyone else. It’s just a game they’re playing where she pretends he often comes to visit and he pretends he is alright. It shouldn’t be so hard. It shouldn’t be so complicated.

He’s wound tight but he’s not untangling any knots. He’s just visiting.

“Come in,” she pretends with a smile. Her eyes still hurt so he looks away. He’s terrible and selfish like that.

He never thought he would step foot in this house ever again. He never thought it would ever be his house ever again. Even the wallpaper is different, the carpets have faded to a paler shade of grey. The picture frames have moved. None of them are of him, it’s just his sisters now and they’ve grown. His absence isn’t even glaring and it’s fair. They have been fine without him. To be fair, there’s this other daughter his dad has with another woman, he’s only met her twice and there’s no pictures of her there either. He’s not so alone in his dissapearance, at least.

It still smells the way it’s supposed to but everything else seems to have changed.

“Do you want some tea?” his mum asks. Louis nods eagerly. He’s been dying for some tea.

It just hits him then, when she turns around to fill the kettle up with water and he notes bitterly she’s wearing a top he doesn’t recognise. He probably looks older too.

She doesn’t ask him how he takes his tea. He’s not sure whether it would hurt more if she did.

“Thank you,” he whispers when the cup finally finds itself in his icy fingers. He recognises that mug at least.

“Your father should be home soon, if he doesn’t go to the pub after work,” she adds. Louis didn't ask but he did wonder. He is supposed to know these things. “Daisy and Phoebe should be back after school ends too. Lottie and Fizzy are coming back from Uni tomorrow evening.”

“Okay,” he nods firmly, pinching his lips into a tight line and taking a sip of his tea with a thumping heart. She’s made it just right. He’s never tried liking it any other way anyways.

“Where are you staying?” She asks. It’s the first time she acknowledges things not being normal. 

And he hasn’t thought about that. It’s not that he expected them to maintain his room as is, but he always just pictured it this way. There’s a sense of bittersweet relief about that. It seems as though they’ve been trying hard to wipe him from their memories when they’ve been haunting his. It’s like he’s never been in this house. But if that means he won’t have to sleep in his bed, then he’s happy for every shrine to him to be destroyed.

“I thought I could stay here?” he ventures. “If that’s okay with you, that is.” If she refuses then he won’t know where to go. Maybe he could call Harry. He hopes she refuses.

“We turned you bedroom into storage,” she explains casually, busying herself wiping the counter that is already clean so she doesn’t have to look at him. There’s something about the way he looks she doesn’t seem to like and he figures she will tell him exactly what it is eventually, when she puts her finger on it. She’s always been entitled to his existence. It just that she loves him very much, maybe. He’s her fruit, a rotten apple.

“It’s okay,” he shrugs. She might have been trying to hurt him but he didn’t even feel that. He expected it, and for some reason that makes his shoulders untense ever so slightly. He rolls them backwards and they click.

“Your bed is still in there, though. You can sleep in it if you don’t mind the mess,” she adds almost viciously, as if she knew. Does she know? He doesn’t think she does.

Everything is gone but his bed. He swallows a big gulp of boiling hot tea so he can excuse the tears prickling his eyes. It’s just that the skin of his palate is burnt raw and peeling off.

“Okay,” he chokes and bites his tongue. “Thank you.” She is humming a familiar tune he can’t recognise and she still won’t look at him. He hates how normal she’s trying to make this. He hates how small it makes him feel. “So,” he flails through the thick awkward silence. “I should probably put my stuff up there and make the bed, right?”

“If you want to hun,” she answers lightly, almost eerily. She’s still wiping the fucking counter. He finds that he’s relieved to escape and he’s not too sure why. She lets him take his mug upstairs with him. She never used to let him.

She didn’t lie about his room. Everything but the bed is gone, replaced by piles of boxes and random furniture. If they were going to change it he wishes they would at least have moved the bed.

He doesn’t mean to be so entitled, it’s just that he thought she would be happier to see him. Maybe he’s broken too many things in this house. Why did he come here? He shouldn’t have come here. He places his mug down on the ironing board, taking a good look around the familiarly unfamiliar surroundings.

“Mum?” he calls loudly, dropping his backpack on the floor. He realises just as the word leaves his tongue that he’s not said it in a long time. It tastes strange in his mouth, almost like he’s lost that privilege.

“Yes, hun?” She answers from downstairs.

“Where do you keep the bedsheets?” he asks too loudly. He never liked the sound of his own voice.

“Don’t worry about that, I’ll make your bed later,” she says, sounding unbothered.

“Can I take a shower then?” he doesn’t feel like going back downstairs just yet and something about him feels tacky. There’s a lot of layers of grime he needs to wash off.

“Okay,” she throws him a weird look. Maybe it’s a weird thing to want to do fifteen minutes into visiting after close to eight years of silence. Eight years is a long time. She gets a towel from what used to be his closet. None of the things in there are his anymore.

He takes fresh clothes out of his backpack before trailing off to the bathroom.

The bathroom door has a lock now. It never used to. Or maybe he doesn’t remember it so well because that lock looks pretty worn. But then again eight years is a long time. A lock can wear off in that time. If he squeezes his eyes shut tight enough maybe he can picture it always being there. He locks the bathroom door and lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in. 

The shower can’t get warm enough even when he sets the temperature to the highest possible setting, the pressure can’t get hard enough. He wants to burn his whole skin off. 

The shampoo strangely smells a bit like chocolate, and he doesn’t recognise the brand.

He scrubs himself until his skin peels off, raw and red. The water runs grey. He still doesn’t feel clean enough.

He feels all faint from the steam when he comes back to his room, his legs are shaky and his knees are weak. His clothes are damp and uncomfortably clinging to his skin. He can hear his mum busying herself downstairs, he doesn’t want to talk to her anymore. He regrets not telling Harry to come with him. He wishes Harry was here right now. He would be a reassuring presence, just a reminder that someone has his back. Someone does have his back but he’s hours away. He remembers he was supposed to text him and so he does. He oscillates between seeking for comfort and not worrying him. Pick himself or pick Harry. He always picks Harry.

Louis: Hi H I got there ok :-)

Louis: I’m with my mum & everything’s fine

Louis: How are you?

He forgot about his tea, it’s gone cold but he drinks it anyways, hoping Harry answers. His message is marked as seen almost right away and the three dots indicating Harry is typing instantly appear. He must have been anxiously waiting by his phone.

H<3: Hiiiiiiiiiiiii thanks for updating me!

H<3: That’s great news! I hope it goes well <3

H<3: Don’t be scared to let me know if anything’s wrong, okay? 

H<3: Love you x

Louis can’t help himself smiling at that. He feels a bit more at ease, actually. He should always just text Harry. He doesn’t tell him that the shampoo is different. He should be fine about the shampoo being different, it’s not a big deal. It shouldn’t be.

Louis: Luv u 2

He breathes in and then out again. He counts from one to ten, and then from one to ten again, pressing the palm of his left hand with his right thumb until it grows sore. Everything is bearable for just about ten seconds at a time.

“Do you not buy the blue shampoo with the gold cap anymore?” He asks his mum as his goes downstairs. He tries to pretend as though it doesn’t bother him. It’s just a casual conversation. It’s something to talk about, like anything really.

“What shampoo?” she turns back to him with a visible wary look. He briefly wonders whether she’s afraid of him. Would she be afraid of him?

“The argan oil of Morocco?” he insists. He knows that shampoo well enough. 

“I don’t know what you mean, pet,” she furrows her eyebrows. Maybe it’s confusion more than fear.

“We used to have the shampoo all the time!” he protests. He doesn’t understand why she doesn’t remember. He doesn’t understand what is so upsetting to him about this. “A blue one with a gold lid!”

“We never had a regular shampoo, don’t be silly,” she snaps. “I don’t really pay attention to the shampoos I buy. I just get whatever’s on offer,”

“No, I’m sure we used to have that one all the time. I’m sure!” he’s surprised to find it actually brings tears to his eyes. He won’t let her convince him he’s wrong. He hasn’t made that up. How could he make that up when he still uses that shampoo whenever he’s not stealing his flatmates’? Even Harry knows because he’s bought it for him recently without asking. He has not made that up.

“Why do you always need to make such a big deal out of everything?” he’s properly upset her now and he’s not too sure how. “Do you really need to make another one of your scenes about shampoo?”

“I am not!” He’s not making a scene. He doesn’t mean to anyways, it’s just that he’s so sure he’s not made that up. He’s been buying the same shampoo for years.

“We already never hear from you and now you’re coming here just to argue?” she adds almost viciously, the words sort of whip him sober. It’s the first time she’s actually acknowledged him being gone. The funny thing is, he’s not changed his number. She hasn’t tried calling him once.

He feels like throwing up. Maybe his shower was too hot after all. Maybe he will throw up. It’s just shampoo, it’s fine. Maybe it’s just that it got in his eyes. 

“No,” he mumbles, he knows his face has turned red. “I’m not arguing. I was just asking that’s all,” he hopes that’s the end of it. She doesn’t answer anything to that and suddenly it’s like he’s been entirely swallowed by the carpeted floor. Has he never been here at all? She walks past him like she doesn’t see him. Does she not see him? He counts from one to ten but when he reaches eight the front door swings open.

“Hello!” it’s unmistakably Phoebe’s voice shouting out, although weirdly more grown up, followed by a shyer “hi” from Daisy. 

“Hi!” their mum exclaims because she can see and hear and speak. She doesn’t mention him. He has to appear.

“Hi,” he attempts. It comes out all croaky, his voice is stuck in his throat but then his feet find the corridor and they must see him because their eyes grow wide.

“Louis?” Phoebe says. Daisy doesn’t say anything, she just stares blankly. He nods slowly, attempting a reassuring smile.

They’re shy, he realises. He’s a stranger. They probably notice a few white hairs on him and it’s his fault. They think they are old but they’re still just children. He doesn’t remember ever being their age. He was born older than this. He’s weary, he can feel it in his bones. His blood is older than him, passed down and recycled and they have some of it, partly.

“How was your day at school?” he asks, too formal but also too casual.

“Yeah, good,” Phoebe says, wary.

“I got a B in Maths,” Daisy adds, it’s a bit more normal. It’s normal but it isn’t. It shouldn’t be anyways, should it be? He doesn’t understand what it is he wants, a balance between normalcy and acknowledgment.

“Are you two in the same classes?” He asks.

“Yeah,” Daisy answers. “We didn’t want to be separated.”

Louis thinks about the last time he saw them.

“We have homework to do,” Phoebe says, she drags Daisy by the arm towards the stairs. Her eyes linger on Louis for a second longer before they disappear. He can’t stop thinking about the last time he saw them.

He’s not sure where his mum has gone now. No one has asked him a single question about himself yet. He can’t go back up to his room, that’s where his bed is. 

He needs a cigarette. He’s kept the pack in his pocket. The girls left the front door unlocked so he just leaves through there, briefly through the short garden but almost immediately on the street.

He stares at Aaron’s house across the street as he lights his cigarette. It’s strange to smoke in front of his house in plain sight. He used to always hide, when he was younger. He would go get Aaron and they would go to the bushes a bit further down the street with the cheapest cigarettes Aaron’s brother got them. Neither of them liked the taste, it made them sick to their stomachs but they pretended to. That was before they got used to the taste. They digged their fingers in lemon halves afterwards to get rid of the smell so they wouldn’t get caught. He forgot all about this until now. He thought Aaron and him were never truly friends more than just relatives but now he wonders if they were all along. And he wonders if his parents still live there. He could ask his mum later, it’s something to speak about. There is this strange weight in his chest and he feels like he’s choking. The smoke is supposed to help but it winds him even tighter somehow.

Maybe he’ll walk about town for a bit, that should settle his nerves before his dad comes home. He pokes his head back inside the house without stepping in. 

“Mum?” what else could he call her. He wonders how she feels about that.

“Yes?” she hears him now. Maybe she forgot about it. Him, he’s of the stubborn kind, he holds grudges longer than he can remember what they’re about. He doesn’t get that from her.

“I’m going for a walk,” he informs her.

“Okay,” that’s it. He just needed to let her know he’s coming back this time.

He can sense something smoothing over the farther he runs away from this house. He tells himself maybe he never has to come back. But he has to see this through. He has to get over this so he can get on with his life. He’s weary now.

The terraced houses turn into shops and a church and a football field until he gets to Frenchgate, marking the start of the city centre. The shops have changed, but the shops always used to change anyway. Some of them are the same. It’s sunny and he wishes it wasn’t, it’s not normal. The sun is big and low and it stays up longer than in Scotland. He remembers something about Doncaster belonging to Scotland at some point. He wouldn’t mind that so much.

There are too many buildings to look for the green flash but he looks anyway. And the green flash doesn’t come when he walks down High Street and the sky goes dark. He’s lost the sun a while ago, he can’t remember when the sky got so dark. He missed Doncaster with his whole heart, he actually feels good here, when the shops are all lit up and the streets full. He still loves this town. He walks up and down the streets, back and forth, taking it all in. It’s soothing. He walks all the way to the Racecourse. He realises he would like to come here more often, he would even like to live here, actually. He bets £5 on the horse called “I’m A Starman” because it’s a strange name and he’s got a banknote in his pocket. He likes that name and he likes the stars. He never understood much about the races, so he just watches the horses run and his comes last, of course it comes last. He wonders if he could become good at this or if his horses would always lose. He doesn’t bet on anything again. 

It’s his river. He follows the seagulls flying downstream all the way home where the sea is. When he comes back to his street there’s a strange sense of tension about his house. He noticed it in the way the bricks hold themselves all rigid and ready to run.

He shivers. The lights are on. He knows that when he comes home his dad will be there but he’s wearing Harry’s jacket so everything is different now. He wonders if his mum told his dad he has come back. They never used to talk much from what he can remember. He hopes she told him still. 

He’s unsure whether he should ring the doorbell or just walk in. He ends up ringing the doorbell. It’s not his house anymore, after all. His mum opens the door.

“Why’d you ring the doorbell?” she says. So he’s not supposed to. “Your dad is here,” she warns before letting him in. So he supposes if she doesn’t know she at least suspects.

“Does he know I’m here?” he asks when he takes his shoes off.

“Yeah,” she says before heading back to the living room. He can hear the soft buzz of the television. Even though that’s not possible he can swear he can smell his cologne already. What are the chances he would still wear the same one?

“Hello!” he attempts a bit louder. His voice cracks on the “o”.

“Louis,” his father calls. It sounds rather neutral but it runs shivers down his spine anyways. He’s not in trouble, though. He’s too old to be in trouble.

“Hi!” Louis comes into sight in the living room bravely. His father is sitting on the sofa, he doesn’t even raise his head. He’s watching something on the telly, a beer in hand. Daisy and Phoebe are sitting on the carpet despite there being room on the sofa, and he doesn’t know where his mum went off to.

“Have a beer from the fridge,” his dad says, gesturing back towards the kitchen. It’s not a question. He’s scared to refuse.

“I’m-I’m good, thanks,” he stammers out anyways. His dad sighs loudly. He’s already tired of him.

“Don’t be a little bitch, grab a beer,” he orders again. So Louis can’t really say no to that. He goes to the kitchen and grabs a small bottle of Corona. It’s a weak one and that’s the only one he will drink tonight, he promises himself. It’s just so he can fit in for a bit. So he doesn’t have to fight about everything.

It’s sad, it’s okay. He’s not going to tell Harry, not now anyways. It would worry him for no reason. They can talk about it once it’s all over. It’s going to be his only beer anyways.

“Good lad,” his dad says when he comes back to the living room with a beer in hand. He won’t sit on the sofa either and he’s not too sure why, he doesn’t want to think about it. He settles for the carpet next to Daisy instead. They’re watching Hunted. It’s not too difficult to stare at the screen, drink his beer and not think about anything. He’s never liked glass bottles. His dad always bought glass bottles. 

His dad doesn’t say anything else and he doesn’t even think he’s looked at him at all since he got here. Good. It’s reciprocated. When the episode ends he hopes he can get away with excusing himself off to bed. He drinks his beer too fast, it’s not been long enough so the taste is still familiar to him. He’s missed it. He would be lying if he said he didn’t. Maybe that’s what made it so easy to say yes. 

There’s something lingering in the air when the episode ends, something that chills him to his bones that prevents him from standing up and getting off to bed. No one moves except for his dad who stands up and goes to the kitchen while the next episode loads. Louis doesn’t look at him when he comes back but he can hear a glass clink and then another beer is suddenly handed to him. He can’t say no. It’s okay. It’s not like he will even get a buzz from that.

“Thank you,” he mutters.

“What are you doing on the carpet?” his dad groans as he sits back. “Sit on the sofa.”

Louis really doesn’t want to but he picks up his two beers, his empty one and his full one. He thinks again about how much he hates glass beer bottles and then he squeezes his eyes shut and doesn’t think about it because he doesn’t like to. He sits next to his dad but not close enough for their thighs to touch, the next episode starts and they don’t look at each other or speak. But they look alike. He’s been told as much. He wishes they didn’t look alike.

His mum must have gone to bed. Everyone is sitting too strangely still, it can’t be normal. It can’t be how they usually act, it’s his fault. He isn’t watching, not really. He is just breathing and counting to ten until the episode ends and then he says:

“I’ll go to bed, I think,” he hopes and prays his dad doesn’t make any off comments about it.

“Me too!” Phoebe says almost immediately. 

“Yeah,” Daisy adds.

“Sure,” their father sighs, waves it off like it bothers him, but he’s being gracious about it. It’s a sort of game Louis doesn’t really understand, he doesn’t really know how to play so he’s constantly losing.

This used to be his room and he’s happy it’s not his anymore, maybe if that means he’s been erased from their memories. Now he just needs to undress and go to bed, but it’s still his bed. There’s a knot in his throat at the thought of that.

It was in his bed. His bed. He’s slept in this bed so many times that it means nothing. It’s still his bed. Its just a mattress, wires and foam and fabric and a frame made out of wood. It only means what he thinks it means. It holds no memories except for maybe the halos, ghosts of his own tears and drool and piss and sweat and blood and cum. But it’s just a bed. The bedsheets have been cleaned and his mum has just dressed it today. It’s barely even his room anymore. His posters are gone. When he lays flat on his stomach and looks at the wall above his head. That’s where the Manchester United poster used to be, the one he had been staring at, getting lost in when it happened. It’s gone now. He doesn’t really like Manchester United anymore.

He can’t sleep in his bed, he can’t even get in his bed no matter how hard he tries. But it’s not real, and none of it ever happened. If he squeezes his eyes shut tight enough this version of him doesn’t exist and he can pretend no time has passed. He hadn’t noticed it happening but it happened.

He takes it easy, slow. Everything is slower here. Stiff. Iced over.

His dad is smaller than he remembered. 

He kneels next to his bag, crawls onto his stomach. The carpeted floor is warm enough and he curls in on himself. He can’t think about getting into his bed. He is only here for a few days. He thinks Harry must have texted him good night but he’s too frozen to check. There’s something oddly similar to guilt gnawing at his chest. He’ll understand, he hopes he does, it’ll be okay once they’re together. He only ever really wants to be forgiven but he needs to stop doing thing he needs to ask forgiveness for first.

After few fitful bouts of sleep he wakes, it takes him a few confused minutes to realise where he is, and why he is on the floor. His not-quite-healed ribs protest when he sits up. He has to be careful when he stretches the knots out of his back. It’s still early, he can tell because it’s dark outside of his window, but there’s rummaging downstairs. “ What am I doing here? ” is his first thought. He has nothing here and he really just wants to go home except now he’s not sure if he can anymore. He just wants to dissapear. He can’t leave before he sees his other sisters, though. And his mum said they’ll be home today so he fights the urge to disappear, keeps it at bay for just a little while longer.

He goes to check his phone, he forgot to charge it yesterday evening. It’s 7:21AM, it’s on 15%, and there’s 0 new messages. Harry hasn’t texted yesterday like he expected him to. Objectively, Harry’s last message said to text him if he needed him, so it’s probably fine. He probably wants to give him some space. But there’s nothing Harry can do all the way from Edinburgh anyways, really. Louis just wishes he’d maybe checked up on him. But what would Harry say once he tells him he’s had a drink? He wonders if that means he’s had enough of him. He wouldn’t be surprised, he would be tired of himself too. He’s tired. Maybe after this he’ll disappear. 

He plugs his phone in. If he’s tired enough, comfortable enough and not anxious enough, he’ll sleep on his old bedroom floor just a little while longer. He wishes he could sleep until his sisters come.

The day goes just as odd as the last, once he finally emerges from his room around 11 in the morning. His dad makes a snarky comment about him being lazy, and neither him nor his mum look at him after that. He keeps thinking he wants to go home. He forgot why he came here a long time ago.

His mum cooked spaghetti bolognese for lunch. Nothing too fancy. It tastes the most real spaghetti bolognese has tasted in years, yet he’s pretty sure she’s used the sauce from a pot. He comes to the conclusion things just taste different here. His dad gives him yet another beer from a glass bottle he can’t refuse but he also won’t get drunk from it. He promises himself he can’t get drunk.

Lottie and Fizzy come home from University for the weekend together later that afternoon, sooner than he expected. That’s good. No one warned them he would be here, and, just like Phoebe and Daisy had, they stand very still in the corridor when they hear his voice. 

“Hi!” he smiles shyly. They’re both adults now. Lottie had texted him on his birthday and he’d never replied. But here he was now, and maybe it was a little bit thanks to that text. He knows at least she still thought about him sometimes.

Lottie squeals, falls into his arms and hugs him tight. He hugs her back and it feels right. He enjoys it, even. He missed her. Her bleach blonde hair smells like the shampoo their mum says they’ve never had.

Fizzy isn’t as extensive with her greetings, but she was never really fond of these things anyways. Louis understands. Out of all their siblings, they’ve always been more alike.

“It’s good to see you,” she still says.

“Oh, we have a lot to catch up on!” Lottie exclaims, bright teethy smile with a side eye at Fizzy who nods. That’s good. That’s what Louis needed. He’s been here longer than a day at this point and he hasn’t caught up on anything with anyone. “Let me just go put down my bag,” she wiggles out of her coat and throws her shoes off of her feet before running upstairs. Fizzy remains for just a while longer.

“It’s good to see you,” she repeats with a shy smile.

“It’s really good to see you too,” Louis answers with eye contact because he’s missed her. She takes her shoes off more slowly than Lottie and places them neatly at the corner of the room, hangs her coat on one of the hooks by the door.

“I think Lottie’s going to propose we go out,” she tells him. The thought that they can’t talk about much here is there, even if she doesn’t voice it. It’s something she sustains in her eyes and the subtle flex of her eyebrows. It’s because their mum is still in ear shot. 

“Fine by me,” he nods eagerly. It’s not the implied drinking, he can easily avoid that, it’s more so having an excuse to get out of the house. He feels trapped here, and he keeps having to remind himself he can leave at any time.

Indeed, a few minutes later Lottie is rushing down the stairs in a different outfit with a bright smile on her face.

“Let’s go to the Hallcross!” she exclaims. Louis hasn’t been to the Hallcross in a long time, he didn’t expect it to still be around sometimes things don’t change as much as he expects them to. Except he never knew his sisters to be old enough to go, that feels strange.

“How are you?” Fizzy asks as the three of them are walking side by side down the street on their way to the pub. Louis has his hands tucked under his armpits because he’s cold, despite Harry’s jacket. If anyone asks about his jacket he’ll tell them it’s Harry’s. No one asks.

“Erm, good?” he hasn’t thought about it. He didn’t expect them to ask him that. He guesses he’s overall good, even if he’s not feeling it right now.

“Better than the last time we saw you?” Lottie insist. He doesn’t like to think about the last time he saw them. Maybe they’re right to be scared of him.

“Yeah,” he smiles softly. “Better.”

“Where do you live now?” she insists.

“Glasgow,” he says without thinking. “Well, I’m in the process of moving to Edinburgh,” he corrects himself. He thinks Harry still likes him and wants him to live with him even if he hasn’t texted.

“Cool, I’ve never been there,” Fizzy answers lightly.

“You should come visit sometimes,” he replies eagerly. It wouldn’t be so weird if they visited him instead of him them. He really means it too. “You too,” he adds to Lottie.

“Yeah?” Lottie smiles. They think he doesn’t want to see them. He’s done nothing to prove them wrong.

“You’re both welcome of course,” he tries and sound as reassuring as possible. They smile at him so it’s working a little. “What is it you both study at Uni?”

“Psychology,” Fizzy says.

“Cosmetology, I’m actually at college,” Lottie says. So his mum has told him wrong.

“But you’re both in Sheffield?” they came home at the same time.

“Yeah,” she says. “We actually live together.” 

It reassures him a little to know that they’ve got each other’s back like that. Lottie must have taken on the big sibling role after he left. He hopes everything went okay with them, but he’s too afraid to ask. He supposes as the night goes on and they get more comfortable around each other he will know.

He won’t drink though, he can’t. Maybe he should text Harry about this.

“I’ll get us drinks!” Lottie says as they get to the pub and he doesn’t think about it. The pub hasn’t changed at all, it’s comforting. It’s only when Lottie comes back with three pints of lager that he realises. It would be weird to say something, he thinks. He’ll just drink the one and stop there. Special occasion and all. Besides, it would feel strange not to drink in a pub. It’s better that way. They can bond better that way. There’s a lot of formative years of theirs he’s missed out, and he’s traumatised them quite a bit, he thinks. By how he left, and by staying gone for so long. He wonders if he can ever make it up to them. If it takes drinking a pint then he’ll drink a pint. 

“What happened to you?” Fizzy asks straight on after they all cheer while maintaining the mandatory eye contact.

“What do you mean?” Louis tilts his head. He’s scared he knows what she’s asking about, but at the same time they should talk about this.

“Last time we saw you? That night you had this break down and left?” Fizzy insists a bit more quietly, she tries to act brave but she looks a bit scared of asking.

Lottie just listens quietly then nods, resting on her elbows on the table with shining eyes. He does owe them an explanation.

“Well,” he’s not sure what he can say and what he can’t. He doesn’t want to possibly ruin their whole perception of everything, but he wants to be honest with them. And he wants to know whether they possibly would have went through something similar. “I just… I was going through a lot of changes, you know, being a teenager and all,” he tries. No, that’s not good enough. He sighs, catches his breath and they give him time. The pub is too loud, he can’t focus. “I was just starting to realise things about myself, like-” he doesn’t think he’s ever told anyone about Harry who he’s not sure would understand before. He doesn’t even know how to say it. “There was this boy I was sort of seeing and…”

“It’s okay…” Lottie whispers with an encouraging smile. It seems she already knows. Fizzy nods eagerly.

“I was kind of just… going through a rough time, I guess, and I didn’t know how to handle it, it was getting a bit tough, especially with, like, dad and all. So I sort of freaked out,” he’s not sure how to explain it himself.

“Were you, like, on something that night?” Lottie asks softly, she wouldn’t have known then but she knows now. He wonders if she understands. Part of him hopes she doesn’t, he hopes she never know what that feels like.

“Yeah,” he is ashamed to admit, his face grows redder. “I wasn’t in my right mind.”

“Is that why mum and dad were threatening you? Rehab?”

“Something like that, yeah,” he smiles sadly. “I’m better now.” He doesn’t tell them how recently that happened. Just the fact that he’s better should be enough to reassure them, even if he’s drinking right now.

There’s a few awkward beats where they don’t speak. He’s not sure whether he should say more.

“Your friend came looking for you a few days after, you know?” Fizzy finally breaks the silence, thankfully offering him a way out of his explanation.

“My friend?” she might mean Harry. He had told him he came to get him a little while after that freak out. He’d called him that night.

“From University? I forgot his name.”

“Harry,” Louis can’t help himself. Despite being the one who’s been talking most of the time, he’s still drinking his beer faster than the two of them.

“Was he the one-” Fizzy starts.

“Yeah,” she means the “ boy he was seeing ”. “He was. He is. He told me he came.”

“You’re still seeing each other?” she guesses.

“We are.”

“That’s cool.”

There’s another beat of silence and so he downs his beer. He was fast enough about it that he gets a little buzz now. “I’m sorry though,” he eventually manages to apologise, even if it’s not quite the right words. “That must have been really scary for you girls. I didn’t mean for you to see me like that”

“Yeah, it was… It was a lot” he could swear Lottie’s eyes are shining.

“Yeah,” Fizzy backs her up.

“I’m sorry,” there’s nothing more he thinks he can say. They won’t say it’s okay and he wonders if that means they won’t forgive him for how badly he freaked out that night. Maybe they would understand if he explained it more, but he’s not sure he can.

“Oi, Tommo! It’s been a long time!” a familiar voice he can’t quite place exclaims, tearing them out of the heaviness. It takes him a second to locate where it’s coming from. The man coming towards him has a face he sort of recognises.

“David!” he suddenly gasps, finally placing him. He was never the closest to him, but they definitely always got along. He was a part of his friend group when they’d all moved to Manchester for University. “It’s been a while!”

“It’s been years lad!” David wobbles towards them, clearly inebriated, he pats Louis on the back, leans heavily against him. “Let me get you a pint!”

Louis doesn’t know why he lets him. He wobbles off to the bar.

“My boyfriend is coming in a bit if you’d like to meet him?” Lottie once again saves the day by gracefully changing the subject. “We could all squeeze in here,” she adds.

It’s what they do once David comes back from the bar. Louis wonders if he’s here on his own but doesn’t ask. Seeing how they all were at the time he wouldn’t be surprised.

“Do you still live in Donny then?” he asks after the mandatory cheers and he’s thanked David for his beer. In truth, he feels quite comfortable around him. He was never as much of a bully as Aaron was, and he was always fun to be around. Louis had always felt comfortable around him.

“Yeah, best place in the world, you know?” he laughs heartily, down a quarter of his beer in one sip.

“I know,” Louis admits. He’s not even lying. “How’s Aaron anyways?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” David shrugs. Good. “I haven’t seen him in a long time. Isn’t he your cousin?”

“Yeah, Aaron’s alright,” Fizzy cuts in. “He’s not been around so much, he’s still in Manchester but I think he’s doing quite good for himself” she informs them.

“Never liked him much to be fair,” David admits, probably because he is actually quite drunk.

“You know what? Me neither,” Louis echoes because he is starting to be too. It’s not quite true. There was a time when he and Aaron were inseparable. It was a long time before that, though. Something had grown spoiled by the time they got to Uni, Aaron had become too controlling, too eager to please Louis’ dad. It was understandable. Aaron grew up across the street without a father himself, so it made sense. Louis understood and excused it. His father always liked Aaron better, and it never bothered him.

When Lottie’s boyfriend, Andrew, gets there he’s almost finished with his second beer, and both of his sisters also are. He seems genuinely nice, and Louis is reassured to see this is who Lottie chose.

“I’ll get this round,” he offers, immediately standing up. It’s fine. He can always get back on this sobriety thing when he goes back to Edinburgh. Maybe this can be his last night of true fun before it’s gone forever.

He checks his phone when he gets to the bar. One night message, he can’t help the smile growing on his face. He’s been needing this.

H<3: Lou is everything going alright?

H<3: Miss u x

Harry does care, he supposes, but he’s already too buzzed to answer. Harry will be able to tell. He can’t answer but it makes him feel a little bit more at peace that Harry cares.

“Five pints of lager please,” he orders. It occurs to him as the bartender pours the alcohol into the glasses that he realises he won’t be able to carry them all by himself. “I’ll bring these over to the table,” he gestures to the first three pints. “I’ll be right back.” He hasn’t paid, he’s not even sure it makes sense but the bartender lets him. He wobbles back towards the table with the first three glasses not so securely stuck in between in his fingers, leftover skill from when he used to be a bartender himself, a thousand years ago. He spills a little of it on himself but that’s alright. It’ll dry.

The last two beers have been poured when he comes back to the counter. He is presented with a card machine totalling up to £21.50.

“What are you getting?” someone asks him from behind as he is rummaging his pocket, looking for his card and hoping his balance is enough. It should be.

“Sorry?” he turns around, reacts too slowly. He’s not too sure they’re talking to him at all.

“Do you want a shot of tequila?” a man, he reckons quite obviously gay, offers. It’s not usual to see someone so outwardly queer here. Times are changing fast.

“Sure,” he smiles, tapping his card on the machine.

He comes back to his table with the two last beers after taking a shot of tequila with that stranger. There was strangely charged eye contact he didn’t feel too good about, so he briefly thanked him and disappeared. He just won’t say no to free things but he wants nothing more than that.

“Tommo!” David slaps his back hard. Thankfully his beer is almost empty or he would’ve spilled it from the shock. Louis raises his head slowly. He hasn’t spoken in forever, he’s been too focused on his drink and his head is spinning. “Toilets?”

Now, Louis isn’t stupid. He remembers David. He knows boys don’t go to the bathroom together the way girls do. And by the looks of it his sisters know too. They both pinch their lips in a similar way as they watch him go. They look alike. They look like their mum. He ignores the looks. It’s just one night. He has some sense of self control. He just needs to feel okay.

It’s just coke, and it’s just two keys. And that’s it, he tells himself. He won’t do any more than that.

At least it sobers him up.

Lottie is looking at him weird and Fizzy isn’t looking at him at all. David is gripping his arm too tight and he thinks he might have been speaking too loud for the past fifteen minutes. Andrew’s accent is too Southern, too posh. He forgot if he’s Lottie’s boyfriend or Fizzy’s, but his voice seems to be dripping with some kind of contempt and Louis is so annoyed he feels like punching him a little bit, but he won’t. He’s trying really hard not to.

His face feels numb.

“Toilets?” David says a second time and Louis won’t say no. He forgot how many drinks he’s had since then but the coke is starting to wear off.

He whips his phone out to check the time. He forgot about Harry’s texts, still glaring at him

from the lockscreen. But he’s fine. He’ll text tomorrow when he regrets this.

11:33PM. There still is that message from Harry.

He breathes in then out again. He’s losing. He thinks he’s losing. Or maybe he’s fine. He’s not even having a bad time.

 It takes him by surprise too, how suddenly it crashed over him, how unexpected drowning is.

He must lose his mind entirely because the third time he finds himself leaning against the sticky-wall of a cubicle, David isn’t with him and he almost forgets what he is here to do. He’s smart. He figures out it must be that he is feeling sick.

He hates that he ended up here, bent over a toilet in a cheap pub again. After being handed drinks, after desperately fighting against calling him because he swears he can handle this on his own but he never trusted himself. He had really wished, or maybe hoped that there was something more to him than this but he’s lost again. His sisters will walk him home and he’ll sleep in a bed that hasn’t felt like his own in years. He wants Harry, he wants to sleep in his bed and he wants his stomach and his healing chest to stop aching every time he touches him. He just wants to sit quietly and make no noise, watch him make him breakfast and then he could find peace. He just wants peace. But Harry is miles away so it will be a while until he sees him. He just wants to talk to him on the phone. If he talks to him on the phone he will be fine. The pinching in his chest tells him he’s done something horribly wrong. He wonders if Harry misses him. He wants to give him a reason to miss him but he’s ruined things again. He can never get anything quite right.

The reality of him is almost sobering in the way it consumes him. He needs him.

He prays he hasn’t ruined everything when he runs out of the toilets, back through the crowded room without even glancing over at his table. It will be a while before they notice. Maybe they’ll even be relieved.

The air outside is cold and sharp and stings his eyes, it feels like they’re open too wide. It’s raining just a little but not bad enough that he needs to hide from it. He drops his phone when he attempts to take it out of his pocket, it thumps loudly on the pavement along with a handful of lose cigarette filters. It’s because his hands are so shaky. The ground is wet and his filters are ruined. His screen doesn’t turn out more cracked than it already is. He rolls himself a cigarette first before picking it back up. He makes sure he’s away from the little group of smokers enough before he dials up Harry’s number. There’s a pit in his stomach. He doesn’t think about last time he drunk called Harry. He doesn’t want to think about it. He hopes that it’s going to be okay this time.

“Louis?” Harry picks up almost immediately. Louis wonders if he’s been worried and waiting by his phone. He feels guilty.

“Harry,” he’s surprised to find his voice shaking like he’s about to cry. He’s so relieved to hear his voice. “Hi,” he whispers so it’s not obvious how close to tears he is.

“Is everything alright?” Harry always knows what to ask.

“Erm,” he hesitates. His voice goes all funny and high pitched. 

“Did anything happen?” Harry’s voice is soft. He wants to drown in it.

“I messed up,” he admits, his throat tight. “I messed up, I’m sorry”

“What do you mean?” 

“I wanna go home,” He wants to go home. He wishes he didn’t have to worry Harry so much.

“Where are you right now?” Harry’s tone grows increasingly concerned.

“I’m sorry, Harry I messed up,” it’s all he can do. Maybe he will never manage to get better.

“It’s okay Lou,” Harry is really trying to soothe him. He sounds sad. “Listen to me, where are you right now?” he repeats. Louis hasn’t answered.

“At the pub with my sisters,” he admits. At this point Harry can probably guess what happened.

“Okay,” it sounds like he is trying to keep calm. “Are you safe?”
“I want to go home, with you,” he breaks. There’s tears in his eyes. But Harry’s in Edinburgh. Maybe he could go home tomorrow if he hasn’t ruined everything.

“Can you share your location with me please?” Harry asks. That’s odd but he doesn’t have time to think about it because he can see Lottie at the entrance. He wonders if she’s looking for him.

“Lottie’s here, I have to go,” he whispers. He needs to stop being silly.

“Share your location!” Harry repeats before Louis hangs up. He quickly sends his live location on whatsapp, even though he doesn’t know what good that’ll do, before hailing Lottie down.

“Want a fag?” he offers as she gets near. He doesn’t know if she smokes.

“I don’t smoke,” she answers. “I came out here looking for you.”

“Oh,” he doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t know why she’d be looking for him.

“So, this is weird, right?” he can tell she is biting the inside of her cheek. Maybe she’s intoxicated enough to be brave. The truth is, she’s right, no matter how they all pretended nothing was off the entire night, something feels extremely wrong.

“Yeah,” he admits. “Sorry, I don’t really know how to act.”

“I mean, you could’ve come back and apologised any time,” she points out. She’s in some sort of feisty mood. “Why did it take you so long?”

“Apologise?” he gapes, he didn’t realise she’d be this heated about it. He thought their earlier conversation kind of sorted it. He thought they understood.

“Like, you did a shitty thing and all but why did you have to disappear for so many years? We didn’t even know whether you were alive.”

“You think it was my decision?” it partly is. But he’s so sure that it’s not entirely.

“You pretend like our parents were so bad to us growing up!” she’s being way too loud about this. Maybe it’s stupid of him but he didn’t realise how upset she actually is about this.”They’re really fine!”

“It was different for me than for you, I think,” he tries to stay calm but he doesn’t know what to do. Everything is going from worse to worse and crumbling around him.

“I mean, yeah, dad’s a bit much sometimes but it’s not like he touched us or anything?”

No.

“What?” she pushes, it’s probably because of the look on his face.

“He did it to me,” it leaves his lips before he even decides to tell her. He wasn’t supposed to tell her. He bites his tongue immediately.

“Stop making shit up!” Lottie explodes, because he shouldn’t have told her. He’s not going to try and defend himself. She can scream at him if she wants to. “Shut the fuck up, honestly. Why are you coming back here if it’s only to cause drama?”

“I wanted to see you…” Louis can’t manage anything louder than a whisper. Everything is loud, everything is swirling and he might be sick again. He holds it in until Lottie storms off before spewing miserably in the gutter. It’s all liquid.

A car honks down the street and he doesn’t pay it any mind. He is just wondering where he will sleep tonight. He’s sure he’s not going back, now. He’s disappearing, he knows he is. The car honks again, or maybe it’s a different one this time. And maybe it’s another one that slows down near the pavement. Someone’s Uber, surely. Louis doesn’t look up, he will be sick again. 

“Louis!” a familiar voice calls. He doesn’t want to believe it. He didn’t hear that, not really. He thinks his name might be called again but he doesn’t believe it. He closes his eyes and disappears for a bit.

“Lou!” his name being called yet another time pulls him out of it. It has to be real this time. When he opens his eyes and looks up, that car is still there. He recognises that car. He doesn’t remember when he sat on the pavement. He didn’t even realise he did until the driver tells him. “Come on Lou, stand up, get in!” he insists. 

Louis doesn’t understand how he does it, but he does it, because all of a sudden he is wobbling towards the passenger side door.

“What… what are you doing here?” he asks through the rolled down window.

“I came to get you,” Harry says warmly. “Come on, get in.”

“From Edinburgh?” Louis finally manages to open the door and crashes into the passenger seat. He feels safe for the first time in what feels like years.

“I’ll tell you later. Are you okay?” Harry asks so softly. “And put your seatbelt on please.”

So Louis puts his seatbelt on, but he’s not sure if he’s okay.

“I’m okay,” he says because he’s not really dying. 

“Why are you crying?” Harry points out. It’s true, Louis is crying. His cheeks are wet when he wipes at them, his eyes sting and he won’t stop hiccuping. He doesn’t understand how he hasn’t noticed before.

“Lottie doesn’t believe me,” he manages to sob out as if that explained anything at all. Harry is driving. He doesn’t know where to but he doesn’t care. He’s with Harry. It dawns upon him that this is it, he doesn’t have to go back there. Harry’s got him. “Where are we going?”

“Do you want to just drive around for a bit and talk?” Harry proposes. The car is warm, the rain is hitting the windows in such a lovely drum and the radio is set on a low humming setting. This is the nicest place he’s been to in days.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” he says before it hits him. What does Harry mean by talk ? This can’t be good. Maybe he’s messed up too bad. He breathes in and then out again, tries to accept it, be at peace with it. This is what he’s done to himself. He’s been given too many second chances.

“Hey, I’ve got you,” Harry reminds him. Thank god. It helps a little.

Harry’s driving a little too fast but it’s okay. It’s nice. The puddles splash under the tyres and he doesn’t ask Louis any questions about anything. He wishes he would ask him questions but he understands. He doesn’t know what’s okay and what isn’t.

“I don’t want to go back,” he finally breaks the silence first.

“You don’t have to,” Harry says. “You can stay with me. I can go pick up your things tomorrow and we can go home.”

“Thank you,” Louis says. It makes him feel a bit beter. He doesn’t deserve it. He has to break it to Harry. “I’m drunk, you know?” he admits. He doesn’t know what is so familiar and comforting about this oblivion that always seems to find its way to him. This unquashable thirst to self destruct.

“I know,” Harry says very calmly. “It’s okay.”

“I’ve had coke” he needs to come clean.

“It’s okay,” Harry repeats but he sounds hurt and Louis hates that he can’t help but keep hurting him.

“It’s not her fault you know? Lottie’s.”

“I know.” 

“I’m sorry,” sorries aren’t enough to express how much he regrets it. “Harry, It's getting bad again. But I really tried this time… I actually really tried.” He doesn’t want to break. There’s this need to be understood so deep and so raw it scares him to his core. He hopes Harry gets it. He hopes Harry is kind and patient.

Harry sighs deeply, glances over at him briefly before looking back at the road. It’s all dark outside the windshield.

“Look, it doesn’t have to mean anything” he says so sweetly Louis thinks he might have shattered again. “You’ve not broken anything, alright? It’s just a slip up. You can still be sober, you can still keep going.”

“Okay,” he breathes in and out again. He counts from zero to ten, presses the palm of his hand with his thumb.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah. Okay,” he mutters. He doesn’t know what emotion it is he is experiencing now. Something between shame and relief. His heart is still racing but maybe that’s just the coke. “So you’re staying?”

“Of course I’m staying. You called me,” Harry says like it makes all the sense in the world. And maybe it does. “Thank you for calling me.”

Louis sniffs. And to think he was afraid of calling him.

“Why are you here?” he asks. He wished for Harry and then Harry was here. 

“Look…” Harry sighs, “don’t be mad at me please.” How could Louis ever be mad at him? 

“Why would I?” He furrows his eyebrows.

“It’s not that I didn’t trust you,” Harry starts, it’s a bad start. It scares Louis a little. “I just… I was scared. Like what if something happened to you again, like the last time, you know? What if you called and I wasn’t around to help and then-”

“I called though, didn’t I?” Louis cuts him off, because his tone is increasing in panic. “So whatever it is you did, you did good.”

“I just thought I’d stay here for a bit,” Harry finally admits. “I slept in a hotel, in case you needed me.”

Louis sighs. He’s relieved. Nothing about that sounds as bad as Harry seems to think it does. “What about the bakery?” 

“You’re more important than the bakery,” Harry affirms, very sure of himself. Louis doesn’t believe that, but he doesn’t share that thought.

“I’m glad you did that,” he eventually says after a bit of silence. “Turns out it was useful, eh?” He doesn’t mean to sound so bitter. It’s just that he doesn’t want to need rescuing anymore. He doesn’t want to want Harry to save him. It’s not fair.

Harry doesn’t reply, he just drops his hand down to Louis’ thigh and squeezes it. His hand stays there for a while. The rain keeps beating the window, the lights keep being a blur outside and he keeps driving. The car is warm inside.

“Can we drive for a bit longer?” Louis asks because he still has things he needs to talk through.

“Of course,” Harry replies so softly Louis can barely make the words out over the buzz of the radio. “Anywhere specific you want to go?”

“Can you just keep going,” he doesn’t know. He breathes in and out again and Harry’s hand grounds him. “Lottie thinks I’m lying,” he repeats, without really thinking about it.

“But you’re not,” bless Harry. He doesn’t even know what this is about and he still has Louis’ back.

“I’m not.”

There is another beat of silence where Louis doesn’t really know where to go from here. He kind of wants Harry to ask. The radio has been playing Yellow by Coldplay for the past few minutes. Tears are rolling down his cheeks. His chest heaves, trembling. Harry doesn’t ask but he squeezes his thigh harder.

“Maybe I shouldn’t complain,” he tries to rationalise it. “I wasn’t planning on telling her. I don’t know why I did. It makes sense that she’d react like that.”

“I wish you gave yourself this much patience and understanding,” Harry says low. It tears him apart a little bit. He can’t allow himself that, if he allows himself that he’ll go off rails.

“Something happened, that time I never came back,” he figures Harry already knew that. But he’s never really told him that. Harry just hums in approval. “I think… I think I need you to ask me questions, if that’s okay?” he finds it in himself to request.

“Okay,” Harry sighs heavily. It hits Louis that he probably is in just as much turmoil as he is. “Do you want to tell me what happened? Or do you need me to be more specific?”

“Maybe more specific,” he mumbles. He hates how vulnerable that makes him feel, how much he still asks from Harry when he’s already there for him.

“Okay,” Harry always sounds so gentle and patient. “Do you want to do this step by step? What happened when you got off the train from Manchester?”

“Erm,” Louis squeezes his eyes shut, tries his hardest to remember that part. He knows he’d been thinking about Harry that whole train ride. “I had always intended to come back. It was supposed to just be for a few days,” he starts, glaring at Harry’s side profile for an ounce of approval. Harry is always safe, he looks at the road but he smiles a little so it’s okay. “I really liked you, you know? I really did,” and he still really does. Harry glances over at him with shiny eyes. “The plan was to tell my family about you,” Louis continues, made braver by that look. “I was going to tell my mum and my sisters first, because I thought it would go down well with them, and I’d tell my dad right before leaving. I didn’t think he’d like that very much.”

“And how did that go down?” Harry asks gently. Louis supposes he can already guess.

“Well,” he shrugs. “Not great. Definitely not according to plan.”

Harry just hums in understanding as Louis watches two raindrops racing each other down the passenger window. The one he bets on loses, it’s a pattern.

“I told my mum right away, and she didn’t really say anything, like, at all. It wasn’t bad per say, but it wasn’t really what I expected from her,” he detaches himself from all of it, or at least tries to.

“What did you expect from her?”

“I thought she’d just already know, you know? I thought, she’s my mum, she’ll love me no matter what.”

“Yeah.” 

The pale orange hues of the street lights are a blur, even when he tries to focus on them. Maybe he needs glasses.

“She told my Dad that evening,” he explains quietly. No words can measure up to how intensely betrayed he had felt that night. It seems silly when he thinks about it, now that he really does. Nothing is ever that deep. If he had to choose between either never caring at all or caring too much he’d always choose the former. “And my dad… well he didn’t like that too much.”

“What happened…?” Harry whispers, he can hear that Louis is getting worked up again. “You don’t have to tell me I mean, it’s just… I should ask questions, right?”

“I don't know what to do with all this, now. I don't know where to put it,” he feels helpless, like he’s plummeting and the car seat he’s gripping so tight his knuckles have turned white isn’t enough to tether him.

“Put it on me.”

He feels fucked up. He feels terrible. He doesn’t wish to put that kind of thing on Harry. He doesn’t wish anyon e to know him. But someone does . And Harry wants to know for some odd reason. Harry wants to know him.

“Right, yeah, yeah,” it’s the best Louis can do in terms of reassuring him. All he can do is tell him. He isn’t sure he wants to be known that way, he isn’t sure he wants everything about him to be uncovered like that. The water is cold and dark and uninviting but he dives in anyway. “I was raised… I was raised in a way that being… being like us was the worst thing you could do. Anything I was growing up had to be corrected. I was too sensitive, I was too effeminate, I was too- I mean it wasn’t just my dad, you know? It was everyone.”

“Yeah, I know,” Harry says somberly. It’s more than likely he has a similar experience himself, yet he turned out better than Louis did.

“And I turned out exactly how I wasn’t supposed to. And I’m my dad’s only son.”

“...Right.”

“And it doesn’t make it right, I know,” he can’t stop now. If he stops now he’s afraid he’ll never start again. “But he was drunk, and he was angry, and disappointed, and upset and he had to punish me somehow. He had this glass beer bottle that I was so afraid would break… And I… I let it happen.”

It’s not happened to him, he thinks. It’s happened to someone else. Or it’s never happened. 

“Let what happen?” Harry voice is barely audible. Louis can’t look at him. He can’t think about what this is doing to him. Everything is see through, and his entire body is on fire. If he’ll ever sleep again he’ll sleep for a thousand years.

Louis can still smell his cologne lingering on his bedsheets. He can still feel the weight of him, holding him down. He can still see every detail of the Manchester United poster.

“He-” he hesitates, weighing his words carefully. He doesn’t know how to say this in a way that doesn’t send him spiralling over the edge. He’s never really said this out loud. If he’s never said it out loud then how real can it be? “He wanted to show me how fucked up it was, I think. It doesn’t make sense to me, but it probably made sense to him. He probably thought he was helping me, in a way, by showing me I didn’t want this…” It’s someone else. It doesn’t hurt. He tells himself it doesn’t hurt through gritted teeth and blurry eyes. It doesn’t even hurt. 

“And I didn’t, and it did feel wrong. He used his bottle… erm… on me. I think you get the picture. And he’s… he’s my dad. It’s scary, it hurts. I had to be quiet. I had to be still or it would’ve broken. I didn’t ask him to stop,” it doesn’t even hurt. He made it real, but most probably it never happened. He must have dreamt it. He must have made it up. It’s the only way it doesn’t absolutely annihilate him. “And he asked me to… erm… blow him,” he keeps going but it’s all so hard to say. “And I did. I did it, in the end,” he admits. “I let it happen.”

“It’s not your fault,” Harry says.

Louis knows that. But it makes things easier to think it was. It makes things more understandable. Why else would it happen?

“I know,” he says. He knows. There’s not much Harry can say to that. There’s not much anyone could say to that. It’s just terrible and that’s it. “I’d like for this to be the cause of all my problems but I can't say it is. I was already like this before.” He wishes he could take it back a thousand times. He just wants Harry to stay. “I don’t know why I’m like this,” he doesn’t give himself any excuses.

“Don’t say that,” Harry must find it difficult. Louis sure doesn’t make it easy for him. He wishes he was easy to love. “I understand why you ran the way you did. I understand why you’ve been struggling so much. I’m sorry I didn’t understand before.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Louis says. “I didn’t tell you.”

“I’m glad you told me.”

“I still don’t understand. I don’t think I do,” he’s talking to himself more than to Harry at this point. He doesn’t like to think about this much. “I had the flu after that. I could barely move, or eat, or leave my room at all,” he barely remembers that too. He can’t shake the feeling it was all a fever dream he’s been torturing himself over for years. Except there’s the fact his dad won’t look him in the eye. It was then he’d lost himself. He realised it then and he knows it now. “They had bars added to my bedroom window when I was younger to keep me from running away, have I told you that? I tried to run away once.”

“Something’s really wrong with the both of them, your parents,” he shakes his head, devastated. Louis devastates him.

“It’s a little blurry, but I must have managed to leave at some point, though. I think maybe Aaron came and got me?” he can barely remember that part. “Anyway, I went out with Aaron, and I drank so much, and I did so many lines of whatever I could find in hopes I would either feel better or die,” he pauses for a second. He’s never been very far away from that feeling at all. “I didn’t die, and I didn’t feel better. In fact, I freaked out when Aaron brought me home. Like, I completely lost my shit. I think I really scared them, my sisters. They were just children…” he sighs. They still are. “I don’t remember exactly what I did. I think I must’ve screamed and cried a lot. Broke a few things. And I ran back out and they never went after me and I… I called you then. I needed you, I think. But then it turned out… I couldn’t face you. I couldn’t tell you this. I couldn’t carry on doing what we were doing like nothing happened. Whatever it is he was trying to do, it worked. I wish I could have said I saved something just for you,” he adds bitterly. There’s nothing that he hasn’t already done.

He thinks about his younger getting off that train, when the world hadn’t broken him in just yet, but it was about to. That’s who Harry has been looking for in him. Still sweet and soft and tender but he’s long gone. Maybe Harry doesn’t realise that.

“It doesn't matter. None of that matters,” Harry never lets him stray off too far, reels him in almost desperately. He’s grateful. It’s only a matter of time before he realises and lets go.

They breathe. The radio and the rain deafeningly quiet and Harry doesn’t say anything. He slows the car down at the next crossing. He turns his warning lights on eventually coming to a halt at the side of the road. Louis just stares straight ahead, shaking all over, fists balled up, breaths coming out in quiet gasps. He can get through this. He’s already gone through this.

Suddenly Harry is hugging him tight so Louis lets go. He melts into him completely, lets his body get taken over. He can be taken care of sometimes, Harry is good. Harry will hold him for as long as he needs, he’s sure of it.

“Are you okay?” Louis asks eventually, so quietly, because he thinks this is it. This is when Harry will say it’s all too much. This is when he realises Louis isn’t coming back from this.

“Are you ?” Harry returns the question instead. His chest vibrates against Louis’ when he speaks. His voice is so deep.

“I think so,” Louis answers very genuinely, it’s almost like a weight has been lifted off his chest. He doesn’t feel as bad as he felt a few minutes ago. He’s tired of crying. He never likes to think about this and now Harry knows he doesn’t have to talk about this ever again. He is the first one to break the hug. Harry keeps holding his hand, meets his gaze meaningfully.

“Fuck them. All of them. None of them are worth it,” it takes him a second to realise Harry means his family. “I’ve got your back, always. Just because they’re your family doesn’t mean you ever need to have a relationship with them, you know that right?”

“Yeah,” Louis knows that. “You’ve got me. You came to pick me up,” he repeats it to himself like he’s trying to believe it. He needs to hammer the idea Harry is staying into his mind. Harry is staying.

“I did. I’m sorry I was late last time,” it rips him open. He doesn’t want Harry to feel guilty about this.

“You couldn’t have possibly known,” Louis repeats.

“Do you still want to drive or should I take you back to the hotel?” Harry glances briefly out of the window. They’re out in the countryside, now. It would be beautiful if it was the day.

“To the hotel?” Louis hadn’t realised there was a hotel.

“You’re not going back there,” it’s almost like an order. He’s relieved. He might’ve died if he did. “You’re staying with me at the hotel.”

“Okay, yeah, the hotel. I’m tired.”

He is. He’s exhausted. His eyes are tingling like he’s just cried for the past few days. Maybe he has. His cheeks are still wet and his eyelids feel so swollen he can barely see. He just wants to sleep forever, safe with Harry, never thinking about anything else but Harry like a beaten up dog who feels like roadkill. He’s safe, though. Harry’s got him.