Little Dove - Louismylovely - One Direction (Band) [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter 1: The beginning

Chapter Text

✧.*

Golden hues painted the room, highlighting the gentle rise and fall of the sheets with each breath taken by its occupants. Quiet chirping of birds outside heralded the start of a new day.

Louis stirred from the depths of sleep, eyelids fluttering as the Sunday morning light struck him, provoking an involuntary whine past his lips. He threw an arm over his assaulted peepers. Hadn’t he told Harry to close the blinds last night?

Speaking of which, Louis became keenly aware of the arms wrapped securely around his waist and the soft exhale brushing against the curve of his neck. Harry, ever the protective and adoring boyfriend, held Louis close even in slumber as if his subconscious was determined not to let even the faintest distance come between them.

Louis smiled. With the promise of a hearty breakfast waiting to be prepared, he attempted to wriggle free from the ‘Harry trap’, slipping his fingers under Harry’s hand that gripped the curve of his waist to pry the digits open. But his attempts remained futile against Harry who remained none the wiser. He simply nuzzled deeper into the junction between Louis’ neck and shoulder, releasing a sigh.

Deciding against disturbing the peaceful scene, Louis surrendered with a huff, settling back down into the cool sheets. He allowed the calm rhythm of Harry's breathing to lull him into tranquil wakefulness.

Harry was bare, frequently opting to sleep commando which allowed Louis to let his gaze wander to the intricate ink on Harry's arm— the one draped heavily across his abdomen. Louis’ fingertips whispered over the art, he pondered the meanings of the tattoos, the stories behind each image eagerly waiting to be discovered by him.

Reaching the hyperrealistic heart on Harry’s bicep, Louis bit back a grin.

“And this one…” Harry had said, placing Louis’ hand over said tattoo during a previous lazy morning. “This one shows that my heart is beating…” —And in a whisper— ”just for you.”

It was ridiculously cheesy, that moment. In response, Louis had buried his flushing face into Harry’s chest, mumbling something about how much of an idiot the latter was. Harry had only grinned, pressing a litany of kisses to Louis’ crown.

Louis loved Harry so much it felt like his heart could burst sometimes. And he knew Harry felt the same. His love was evident in every sweet note, every tediously prepared meal, every cuddle session where Harry’s loving hands would cradle his own as if to say: I love you and am here for you. Always.

So lost was Louis in his reverie that he scarcely noticed when the steady rhythm of Harry's breath shifted into wakefulness, the change so slight yet significant. Without warning, a soft wetness slid across Louis’ bare collarbone where his sweater slipped off one shoulder, sending a shiver dancing within him. Harry had just licked him.

Harry's chuckling reverberated against Louis' neck. "Mornin’." His voice was gravelly with sleep yet irresistibly attractive and Louis’ heart fluttered.

"Good morning.” Louis' gaze caught onto the pastel green sweater he donned, discovering that it was none other than Harry’s. His mind began to wade through the haziness of the previous night when they’d engaged in the lovemaking that was as old as time.

Louis faintly recalled how during the aftermath, with gentle hands, Harry had caressed him, whispering sweet nothings like "My darling, my precious Lou." and "Such a sweetheart, aren't you?" as his fingers glided over his skin, wiping away the evidence of their shared vulnerability. Louis had responded with only a sleepy mewl as his breathing was still erratic from the fervor of their passion.

With the following events, however, Louis’ memory became cloudy as his coherence had been fraying at the edges under the influence of sleep and bliss. He fiddled with his oversized sleeves.

“H, what happened last night? After…” Louis couldn’t quite conclude the sentence, reluctant in alluding to their coming down.

“After I f*cked you senseless?”

Louis turned his face away from Harry’s prying eyes, squashing his cheek into his own shoulder. “Made love to me, you mean.”

“Well,” Harry started. Louis could practically hear his smirk. “You were practically out before I even had the chance to properly tend to you. Snoring away like a hibernating kitten.”

Louis pouted, flustered, his mind aching to say: Kittens don’t hibernate.

“Getting you cleaned and clothed was a struggle, y’know. A deadweight in my arms.” Harry chuckled. “Also you drooled on me a tiny bit.”

Cheeks in flames, Louis whispered, “M’sorry.” Embarrassment crept up his spine like a slithering snake waiting to pray. Risking a glance at Harry’s beautiful visage, he caught the sight of his eyes softening considerably.

“Oh, Angel,” Harry murmured, his large, warm hand coming down to rest atop Louis’ bare thigh, stroking affectionately. “Why do you feel the need to say that?

Goosebumps began to blossom across Louis’ skin and he bit his lip. “Don’t wanna be a bother.”

Harry sighed. “You’re never a bother, sweetheart,” he mouthed softly. “You were precious, really. The sweetest thing who simply felt safe enough under my care to drift off in record speed, oblivious to the world.” Harry’s eyes looking into Louis’ carried a sense of love so deep, it could fill oceans.

Louis couldn’t help but squirm faintly, half-hiding his face behind the wayward curls of Harry's hair. “Thank you,” he managed to say under his breath then mentally facepalmed himself for sounding like an idiot.

"You're awfully shy this morning," Harry chuckled, clearly amused.

Louis blinked slowly, brows furrowed. “Oh,” he spat dumbly, though he fully knew it was the affairs of last night that had proffered him such a delicate state. He required more than just a good night’s sleep to recover completely.

"Not that I mind." Harry’s hand idyllically stroked the slender dip in Louis's waist. His lips found their path along Louis' neck, imprinting delicate kisses and drawing from him a contented sigh. "By the way, we’re meeting up with Maria for a picnic."

Louis frowned. Maria, Harry's colleague, had become a newly committed part of their lives. Lately, open spots in Harry’s schedule have become ideal places for her to occupy. Whether it was a modest get-together at her place or a paid visit to the local amusem*nt park, Harry’d more likely than not invite her to tag along.

However, like most things, there was a negative. Maria’s presence cast a shadow over their relationship. She had a way of excluding Louis. During conversations, she’d speak over him, belittling Louis to a mere child amongst the ‘well-spoken adults’ that were her and Harry. She seemed to harbor a dislike towards him; her smiles forced and hugs lacking warmth.

Frankly, Louis wasn’t too keen on her either. In his eyes, she appeared a domineering individual intending to drown him in her arrogance. He could see the way Maria treated him, as though he were an inconvenient addition, and saying that Harry’s obliviousness was bothersome to Louis would be an understatement.

“Where is it?” Louis murmured.

“Sunset Ridge Park. We’re having a picnic.” Sunset Ridge was where he and Harry usually went. A place to escape the world and revel in nature’s embrace, just the two of them.

"Do we have to?" Louis's voice was small, vulnerable. "Can't we just stay in bed?" His eyes fixated on the ceiling fan spinning clockwise in a trance-inducing manner.

Harry paused, his fingertips halting their caress. "Why not? I told her we'd come, and”—He shot a glance at the digital clock on their nightstand— “we're running late already."

Harry pressed a final kiss to Louis's temple and, before the latter knew it, was unraveling himself from the sheets and slipping out of bed. Louis whined, truly a petulant child. The absence of Harry's warmth left him feeling exposed, an inexplicable chill filling the void. “Stayy…”

Harry, sensing Louis's reticence, glinted with mischief in his emerald eyes. "I'm gonna shower. Join me?"

Something stirred in Louis's chest. "I–" But before he could utter another word, Harry bent down, scooping Louis up effortlessly into his arms, bridal style. The sheets slipped off his bare legs and he let out a squeal that soon dissolved into giggles, encircled by the strength of Harry's embrace as they made their way toward the bathroom.

The sunbeams caught Harry's disheveled curls, crowning him in a halo of gold, and Louis couldn’t help but gaze up at him adoringly.

Harry’s eyes locked onto his and a grin stretched across his lips. "You're an angel, you know that?" he whispered into Louis's ear, his breath warm. "My angel."

Flustered, Louis's cheeks bloomed with color, a shy smile flirting with the corners of his lips. He buried his face into Harry’s shoulder, letting him whisk him away while thinking: This might not be as bad as I thought.

✧.*

Turns out, it was as bad as Louis had thought.

For the picnic, Louis had carefully chosen a spot under the sprawling branches of an old oak tree, its leaves filtering the sunlight. It was a spot reserved usually for him and Harry, though today they had an undesired visitor— undesired to Louis, that is.

Over the blue and white checkered blanket was an inviting array of wicker baskets filled with an assortment of fresh fruits, artisanal cheeses, crusty bread, and strawberry jam. A pitcher of homemade lemonade, with slices of lemon and sprigs of mint floating on the surface, sat beside a bottle of chilled white wine. Colorful plates and napkins added a festive touch. Harry’s idea, of course, always the intellectual.

"So, Louis, I hardly really hear about you from Harry over here.” Maria’s voice carried a hint of practiced disinterest as she sat down gracefully on the blanket. “What do you do?” She took a sip of her lemonade and watched him with a quirk of her eyebrow.

Louis shot an uneasy glance at Harry who, oblivious as a blind bat, gave him an encouraging smile. Louis felt his throat go dry. "I, um, I work at a café downtown," he managed, feeling his cheeks heat up under her gaze. He was in for it now.

"Oh, right, the café," Maria replied, with a tone that managed to sound both surprised and underwhelmed. As she set her glass down, she added, somewhat cuttingly, "Harry and I just end up talking about work so much, and he never really mentions…” —She glanced pointedly at Harry— “Well, it’s nice, I suppose, working at a café is a good… start."

Louis tried to parse her words, searching for cordiality. But before he could respond, Harry chimed in, "Oh for sure. Louis makes a great espresso though." Louis looked up at him uneasily.

The light teasing from Harry should have felt inclusive, a shared joke among friends, yet it stung Louis. There was an undercurrent of comparison in Harry’s voice that Louis couldn't overlook. The comparison between the apparent sophistically of their job and his own in which he worked alongside high schoolers simply needing a quick buck.

Before Louis’ thoughts could spiral any further, Harry wrapped an arm around his waist, planting a kiss on his cheek which brought a smile to the latter’s lips despite everything. He didn’t miss the way Maria bit down her lower lip slightly, the faintest tension present at the corners of her mouth. Her gaze, though seemingly casual, lingered a moment too long.

When Maria spoke, her voice was steady but carried an almost imperceptible edge “Enough with the PDA people, can’t you see you have an audience here?” She motioned to herself. The supposed playful teasing was accompanied by a subtle tightness and Louis furrowed his brows.

Harry chuckled, his arm unwinding from around Louis much to his dismay. “Sorry about that, love.” Love?

Louis glared at Harry, expression asking: Are you gonna let her control us like that? but Harry only continued to sip that horrid kale smoothie of his and Louis scoffed internally. He felt the heavy weight of bitterness pooling within the pit of his stomach which only intensified when Harry gave him a gentle pat on the top of his head, the action almost disparaging.

To keep himself from letting out a snarky remark, Louis plucked a strawberry out of the Tupperware container before chomping down on it. Soon the familiar tangy sweetness coated the inside of Louis’ mouth, exciting his tastebuds and he let out a sigh, eyelids fluttering shut briefly in satisfaction.

Harry was staring at him with a sh*t-eating grin. “S’it good, darling?” he asked in a sly tone.

Louis nodded meekly. “Yeah, actually. Thanks for bringing them.” He expected Harry to reply to his gratitude with loving words and a fond smile, but instead, he turned to Maria.

“Louis loves strawberries, y’know,” Harry snickered. “There, now I said something so you can’t claim you hardly hear about Lou from me.”

Maria hummed reaching for a strawberry herself, eyeing the glimmering red fruit with an almost scrutinizing gaze as she held it near the sunbeams. “Couldn’t say the same for me. Kinda despise these things.” She tossed the strawberry back into the container before clearing her throat. "So, about the Thompson account, Harry, I was thinking—"

The conversation soon veered into territories of their work-related projects that Louis couldn’t penetrate, the two the picture-perfect idea of happiness, chatting away without a care in the world.

Louis sat quietly, shrinking in on himself with every passing moment. His unease grew as he watched Harry cackle at what had Maria said, something about triangles— an inside joke perhaps. Louis chewed on his bottom lip. When was the last time he made Harry laugh like that?

Louis felt more like an outsider rather than the loving beau of the very one he was being tossed aside by—a dull accessory to the vibrant duo.

At one point, summoning all his courage, Louis interjected during a pause, "I've actually been thinking about taking some courses, maybe even going back to school for graphic design." Harry smiled in presumably a doting manner and Louis’ heart soared the slightest bit.

Maria looked at him, her expression unreadable for a brief moment before she offered a muted, "Oh, that’s nice," and swiftly diverted the conversation back to a funny incident at the office.

Louis tried to laugh along— he really did—, tried to engage, but felt the sting of exclusion sharply. He didn’t understand the jargon exchanged between Harry and Maria, and the disparity between them seemed to crystalize. Harry, usually so attentive, talked over Louis multiple times without realization, the interjections always leading to yet another instant of excluding the blue-eyed boy.

Mind wandering, Louis let his eyes roam over the area before catching onto the children playing catch near the water fountain. A little boy was wearing a hat slightly askew on his head of golden curls and an even younger girl squealed with a smile puffing out her chubby cheeks, pigtails bouncing as the two passed the ball back and forth with all the might their tiny arms could harbor.

Louis smiled. He and Harry had always wanted kids, and had plenty of conversations about the topic, and though the thought of having a little one of their own pulled at Louis’ heartstrings, he knew they were both still too young for the reality of parenthood.

Harry must’ve followed Louis’ gaze because the next thing that came out of his mouth was: “Baby fever again, Lou?”

Maria paused her chewing abruptly, eyeing the two with an intensity that made Louis’ stomach flip and he chuckled nervously. “Yeah, y’know me. Just longing for one I guess.”

Harry grinned. “Always thinking about having kids, this one,” he said to Maria, brushing Louis’ fringe out of his eyes with that delicate touch reserved for him. Maria only hummed, picking at the crust of her sandwich in a nonchalant way that screamed she couldn’t care less.

Louis couldn't help but notice the understated elegance and beauty of Maria. She seemed like a figure borrowed from a chic magazine, exuding a natural sophistication that Louis found both intimidating and captivating.

Maria was dressed impeccably in a sleek beige blouse tucked into a high-waisted pencil skirt, her entire ensemble accentuating her poised figure. Her makeup was flawlessly done, her eyes striking, enhanced by a thin wing of eyeliner and voluminous mascara-coated lashes, her lips glossed smoothly. Her hair fell in silky waves, sunlit brunette streaks catching the light with every subtle movement.

Harry, on the other hand, had opted for a crisp, light blue button-down shirt with a couple of buttons undone, complementing his dark boots. His collar-length curls were slicked back and neatly styled, the light breeze occasionally tossing them into a disarray which he would subdue with a casual hand.

Louis huffed, eyeing himself. He’d opted for a soft grey long-sleeved tee paired with faded jeans cuffed at the ankle and his worn-out sneakers. His hair was a tousled mess, strands stubbornly falling into his eyes many times to the point where he’d given up trying to tame them.

Louis’ appearance spoke of comfort over style, a vivid contrast to Harry and Maria, and though Harry had assured Louis he loved every version of him, Louis experienced the sharp sting of uncertainty. He started absently tugging at his shoelaces.

Louis noticed how Maria's laughter seemed to ring like chimes in the wind, while his own felt muffled, subdued by his growing sense of inadequacy. She reached into the woven picnic basket, pulling out the small jar of strawberry jam. She struggled slightly with the lid, her fingers slipping on the glass. Didn’t she say she despised strawberries? Louis thought.

"Here, let me help you with that," Harry offered smoothly, taking the jar from her hands. Their fingers brushed, a simple gesture, but to Louis, it felt charged with meaning. Effortlessly, Harry twisted open the jar, handing it back to Maria with a smile.

"Superman to the rescue," Maria teased, her eyes twinkling with amusem*nt. Harry laughed, his arm lingering around Maria’s shoulders for a moment longer than necessary. Louis’ gaze fell on the way Harry sat, merely inches from Maria, in striking contrast to the careful space he maintained from Louis.

The moment unfolded like a scene from a movie that Louis wished he could look away from but found himself helplessly fixated on. Feeling increasingly like an outsider, his appetite had vanished, replaced by a hollow feeling inside.

"Isn’t this just perfect?" Harry remarked, glancing around at their setup and then at Maria, who nodded in agreement. "We should do this more often."

Louis barely managed a smile, his voice a whisper when he finally spoke. "Yeah, it’s really nice."

As the afternoon drew to a close, and the sun began its descent, casting a golden glow over the park, Louis felt worlds away from Maria and his boyfriend.

Oh, what hell the next few weeks were going to be.

✧.*

Chapter 2: Can I?

Chapter Text

✧.*

The next week stretched on with a bland monotone, each day blending into the next without distinction. Everything was perpetually cold for Louis, casting a dreary pall over everything.

Harry's work had always demanded long hours, but lately, he had been returning home even later than usual. Louis would always try to wait up for him, but more often than not, after flipping through TV channels, his eyes would inevitably droop with fatigue and he’d drift off on the couch. Their mornings weren’t any better. Always rushed. They would exchange brief kisses and hurried goodbyes, promising to catch up in the evening.

But the evenings never seemed to come.

Louis never questioned Harry's late arrivals. Never questioned the frequent occurrences of waking up in the warmth of their bed after falling asleep on the couch the previous night. He trusted Harry implicitly and understood the demands of his job. Yet, a small part of Louis ached for their lost time together, for the nights spent talking about everything and nothing.

One night —Thursday night to be more precise—, as moonlight filtered through the translucent curtains, Louis’ half-awake mind registered a pair of arms sliding beneath his shoulders and knees. It was then that he stirred, feeling the strong embrace around him.

Earlier, Louis had fallen asleep on the couch yet again waiting for Harry, a soft crochet blanket draped atop him. The book he'd been reading lay open face down on the floor, presumably having slipped out of Louis’ pliant grasp.

Louis subconsciously released a soft, barely audible whimper at being jostled. Then Harry's voice, a soothing whisper, filled the room. "Shhh, baby-love. It's just me."

As he was lifted, Louis felt the subtle shift from the couch into Harry's arms and his head tilted back precariously due to the lack of support. Harry’s chuckle sounded muffled in Louis’ half-conscious state and with a trust only love could foster, he simply curled into Harry's chest.

Harry walked the both of them toward the bedroom. Through his half-lidded eyes, Louis caught glimpses of Harry’s gaze fixated on him, every slow blink making it seem like he was watching a film frame by frame. Pay attention to where you’re going, he wanted to exclaim, but the only thing he mustered was a muffled: "Hazza."

That nickname, though seemingly childish, was reserved for moments when Louis felt vulnerable, when he needed Harry the most, and the latter must’ve realized this because he murmured, "I've got you, my beautiful boy. No need to worry."

Upon reaching their destination, Harry slowly and gently lowered him onto the bed. The familiarity of the room wrapped around Louis and he sighed contentedly. His eyelids fluttered, struggling to fend off the weight of sleep that threatened to reclaim him so he observed as Harry gingerly removed his blazer, hanging it in their shared closet. Despite the day's exhaustion, his movements were careful.

Harry turned and his eyes landed on Louis’ curious ones. He grinned and Louis felt himself melt. “Hi there,” Harry murmured.

Louis smiled shyly, peaking out from under the fleece blanket Harry had tucked around him. The bed dipped under their combined weight as Harry finally laid down beside him, promptly pulling the smaller boy into his arms.

"Harry," Louis mumbled, his voice barely a whisper.

"Hmm?"

Louis shifted. His nose scrunched involuntarily at the unfamiliar feel of the crisp collared shirt against his cheek, a stark contrast to the comforting softness of Harry's sweaters. Fingers poked out from under the blanket, toying with the button at Harry's chest. "What took you so long tonight?" he asked, his question laced with sleep.

Harry sighed wearily. He held Louis tighter, hands splayed reassuringly across his back. "I got held back at work. Something important came up with the project deadline," he explained. "Maria found an error in one of the spreadsheets, and we couldn’t leave it until tomorrow. It had to be sorted out tonight."

Louis frowned faintly into Harry's shirt. Countless questions buzzed around his head like a swarm of bees, the predominant one being whether Maria's presence had kept Harry at work longer than necessary. But, Louis' heart—laden with trust—chose to cast aside the itch of doubt. Instead, he focused on Harry's presence beside him. He pressed a soft kiss onto the rough fabric covering Harry's chest. Then, with a sleepy sigh, he burrowed further into the curve of Harry's body.

"Mkay," Louis whispered, words muffled and heavy with slumber.

With a gentle motion, Harry's hand found its way into Louis' tousled hair. "Close your eyes, love." he pressed a tender kiss to the crown of Louis' head. "I'm here now, with you, where I belong."

✧.*

Louis shuffled through the door, dragging his backpack behind him, feeling every second of his long shift weigh heavily in his limbs. It wasn't just the ache of standing for hours, but the demanding customers and endless clinking of porcelain that was relentlessly spinning in his mind. At least it was Friday so he had the weekend to look forward to. He carelessly dropped his backpack onto the floor, then haphazardly kicked off his worn-out sneakers, leaving them by the doorway. Normally, Louis would be met with a gentle yet firm reminder from Harry to keep things tidy but, as far as he knew, his boyfriend was probably still at work, as usual.

Louis sighed, thinking of the empty room that awaited him and how much he craved Harry's embrace after such days. A whine slipped from his lips at the idea of facing the quiet without the one person who could effortlessly restore his peace.

But then— there it was. A soft, familiar tune hummed from the kitchen, seeping into the dreary hallway. The pall of his exhaustion lifted fractionally from Louis’ shoulders.

Casting aside his mental note on the mess he'd have to eventually tidy, Louis was guided to the kitchen by the comforting sound. "You’re home early" he stated with a hint of disbelief.

The room was filled with the savory scents of herbs and simmering broth. Harry turned to face him, his eyes lighting up at the sight of Louis. With a smile that held the sun, he replied without words, nodding as he turned back to the pot. At the lack of response, Louis attempted his best frown, which only made him look more endearing, lips pursed as he tiptoed to peek over Harry's shoulder, seeking the contents of the pot.

"Vegetable soup?" Louis inquired, eyes narrowing at the very idea. “Out of everything you could do, why that?” Harry chuckled.

“Because…” That stupid but also infuriatingly endearing grin played on Harry’s lips. "It's healthy."

Louis, embodying all the petulance of a child, crossed his arms with a huff. Turning to face Louis once more Harry’s arms enveloped his waist, drawing him close against his sturdy chest. Soon, a litany of kisses landed on Louis’ cheek, kiss, kiss, kiss, making him squirm with a giggle that bubbled from his chest.

"Quit pouting."

"I'm not pouting."

Harry hummed and, with a smirk that knew all of Louis' secrets, lifted him off the ground with ease, placing him on the counter next to the stove. Louis smiled and swung his legs back and forth like a metronome of contentment, his gaze fixed on Harry as the latter resumed stirring. Louis’ eyes gleamed with affection.

Harry, the timbre of his voice soft yet clear over the boiling, spoke up. "We're heading over to Maria's for a movie night. She's expecting us at seven, so eat up quickly, yeah?"

Louis's smile slipped from his lips, replaced by a look of subtle dismay. "Oh," he said dumbly. His heart sank like a stone dropped into a still pond. He had pictured a different evening, one with solitude and the comfort of Harry's arms, the strokes of Harry’s fingers through his hair and his lips pressing kisses on his cheeks. The usual couple-y sh*t.

After a few beats of consuming silence, where the only sound was the heartbeat thrumming in Louis's ears, he found his words. "Maybe we could... you know, not go?"

Harry's movements paused, the wooden spoon held mid-air. He turned fully, his eyes searching Louis'. "Why's that?" he inquired.

Louis shrugged, a feeble attempt at nonchalance. His eyes darted away, tracing the pattern of the tiles rather than facing the one who held his world. "I just thought we could have a quiet one together," he whispered, coming off more vulnerable than he would’ve liked. “Feels like we’ve barely been spending time together recently.”

Harry sighed. In one stride, he stood before Louis. His hands rested atop Louis' thighs, the warmth seeping through his trousers, and he rubbed reassuringly. "Angel," he said softly, his thumbs drawing comforting circles. "We can have the weekend to ourselves another time."

But Louis couldn't agree, couldn't shake the heaviness that lodged itself in his chest. He wanted Harry—all of him—not the diluted version their friends saw. Yet, he remained silent.

Harry, however, must’ve caught onto his underlying upset, always reading him like a book. “You’ve got that look on your face. Something wrong?”

Louis felt a gentle tug at his heart, looking into Harry's earnest, green eyes. Trusting Harry with his insecurities felt as natural as breathing. "Do you... do you think you've been spending a bit too much time with Maria lately?" His voice trembled. He could see Harry's brows furrow, a subtle shift in the atmosphere as a shadow fell upon his sweet, caring expression, and feeling brave, Louis continued. "When was the last time we had a movie night together? Just us." He absently played with Harry's fingers.

"Dunno," Harry sighed, a hint of defeat lacing his words. Louis' breath hitched in his throat; there was a vulnerability in that admission that said more than any words could.

Swallowing nervously, Louis dared to voice the gnawing concern that had eaten away at him for days. "Y’know… Maria... she seems to like you a lot. You reckon she may have a thing for you?" As soon as the words left his mouth, his heart clenched. He instantly regretted giving them life.

Harry's eyes shot up, a piercing gaze that startled Louis, causing him to flinch. "What makes you say that?" His tone was cold, distant—so unlike the warmth Louis had always known.

Louis chewed the inside of his cheek, fiddling more frantically with Harry’s fingers. "She's... always leaning in close, and flirting, like y’know, at the park the other day. She got all jealous whenever we were the slightest bit affectionate. You might’ve not noticed, but I did," he muttered.

Harry rolled his eyes. “You and your overthinking.”

Louis’ heart sank as he expected Harry to be supportive of his thoughts. He shrank back in on himself, hands releasing Harry’s. “But I’m being serious, H.” The trepidation made Louis feel smaller than ever, his heart racing. "I just think she might be trying to take you away from me."

Louis didn't see the anger coming, but it was there in the sudden tension of Harry's shoulders, the terse way he huffed and turned back to his cooking, muttering something under his breath that sounded something like: “Maria was right about you.”

"What?" Louis asked in a timid whisper, curiosity mingling with an odd sense of fear.

Harry shook his head, dismissing the question with a flick of his wrist. "Forget it. I can't believe you'd accuse Maria of something like that. She's loyal, Louis. You know I’d trust her with anything."

That struck Louis like a blow, sharper than any knife in their kitchen block. This was Harry, his Harry, vouching for his friend's loyalty, yet overlooking the loyalty that had bound them together.

"But what about me?" Louis' voice cracked as he asked, almost pleading for some affirmation.

With his back still turned, Harry's reply held an icy edge. "With these accusations, I don't know about trusting you."

That stung, feeling a rush of emotions he couldn't hold back, Louis tried desperately to keep his tears at bay. His eyes glistened as he whispered out a strained, "M’sorry."

The silence around them was deafening and Louis couldn’t help the whimper that escaped him. He slapped a hand over his mouth, fearing Harry had heard, blinking the tears away multiple times before releasing. “Before we leave, c-can I go change really quick?”

Harry only hummed dismissively, eyes not leaving the pot. Louis slipped off the counter in record time, dashing out the kitchen in a manner that would’ve seemed comical if it wasn’t for the situation.

So after a tearful change of clothes, Louis found himself sitting in the passenger seat of Harry’s car as it made its way to the gates of hell, or in other words Maria’s place.

✧.*

“The best love is the kind that awakens the soul and makes us reach for more, that plants a fire in our hearts and brings peace to our minds, and that’s what you’ve given me.”

Louis sat on the edge of the couch, keenly aware of the space separating him from Harry. He watched with a quiet yearning as Harry and Maria huddled together, sharing comments on the film like a secret language.

Earlier, they had arrived at Maria's front door after a car ride spent in painful silence. Louis had attempted to clutch Harry's hand, seeking comfort in familiarity only to be harshly brushed off with a shove. Louis had swallowed back tears, still feeling fragile from earlier’s ordeal.

The door had swung open and there was Maria, a whirlwind of exuberance. "Harry!" she’d exclaimed, throwing her arms around him in an embrace that lasted a little longer than what Louis had deemed customary. Harry had laughed with the kind of joy that Louis wished he could elicit.

When Maria's eyes had eventually landed on Louis, her smile didn't quite reach them. "Oh, hi Louis," she had said, the warmth in her voice notably cooler.

Once inside, the cozy living room, adorned with throw pillows and ambient lighting welcomed them. They had begun the ceremonial scrolling through movie options, the glow of the TV casting shadows across their faces.

Louis had timidly piped up, “What about Forrest Gump? It’s a classic.”

Harry, who either hadn’t heard or had chosen to ignore him, had glanced at Maria and then back at the screen, flicking through the tiles. "How ‘bout The Notebook?"

Maria had nodded fervently. "Oh, yes! Love that one."

The decision was made, deflating Louis' brief spark of participation like a needle to a balloon. Since then he had retreated, the rejection stinging.

Throughout the movie, with every poignant scene, Louis stole glances at Harry, hoping to catch his eye. But Harry was engrossed, leaning closer to Maria, drawn into the chemistry onscreen. Louis felt invisible. It was as though he had been replaced without notice.

Back to the present, the final minutes of the film unfolded, and Louis shifted uncomfortably. At that moment, he craved Harry's touch, the silent reassurance he was loved, but the void engulfed him. He turned back to the screen to see the credits rolled to a close.

Maria sighed, setting the remote on the couch beside her. “The rain scene was my favorite, it’s just so romantic, don't you think?" she mused.

Harry nodded, his gaze still locked with hers. "Yeah, pretty sick. The passion, the intensity—it's all… y’know."

Louis, trying to anchor himself to the moment, interjected, hoping to be heard. "I liked the part where they danced in the street. It was pretty sweet." The words hung limply in the air.

Maria turned to him. “Cool,” she said uninterestedly, Harry equally stoic. Their dismissal washed over Louis like a cascade. He tucked himself into the cushion, the room feeling cavernous around his quiet presence.

As murmurs of choosing another movie filled the room, Louis remained still and silent. He looked down at his hands, folded neatly in his lap, contemplating a connection that, for the first time, felt frayed.

“Let's watch this," Maria suggested.

Louis glanced at the TV screen, his heart contracting at the sight of the eerie movie title: The Ring. He had never heard of it, but the creeping dread that slithered into his bones told him all he needed to know—it was scary.

"Um... it seems quite scary, though," Louis murmured, a tremulous note in his voice. Maria rolled her eyes with a scoff and he felt a pang of hurt. He turned to Harry, silently pleading for him to catch his unspoken worry, but Harry's attention was focused on the screen, his brow furrowed in contemplation.

“Is it alright if we watch this one?" Maria asked, her fingers lingering just a bit too long on Harry's hand that rested on his knee. Louis held his breath.

"Oh, sure," Harry responded oblivious to Louis' discomfort, his voice light and unconcerned. Louis' heart clenched. Betrayal knotted in his stomach. Harry knew how he felt about scary films, and yet, he'd consented without a thought.

The opening scene began to play out. Onscreen, a pair of girls discussed a cursed videotape said to doom its viewers to a grisly end after seven days. Louis' hands gripped Maria’s tacky decorative pillow tighter, his eyes wide.

Maria and Harry were utterly engrossed, their expressions bathed in the bluish glow of the TV. Louis became acutely aware of how Maria edged closer to Harry, her grip on his bicep taut with pretended fear, her body leaning into his space. Harry seemed oblivious to the undercurrents of attention.

Louis spent the better part of the night trying to keep his composure, to not flinch or let out a noise that might reveal the depth of his fright. Clutching the pillow like a shield, he watched the malevolent forces onscreen.

Then came a scene: the looming threat behind a closet door, the sudden revelation of a distorted, lifeless face. Maria gasped and clung to Harry, her fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. Harry chuckled, a sound that bubbled with indulgence.

"Is it over?" Maria asked through nervous laughter, face buried into the older one’s shoulder.

"Yeah, darling," Harry replied, amusem*nt coloring his tone. But Maria didn't let go. She remained glued to his side, the proximity and intensity of her grip unyielding. Louis observed them with a growing sense of desolation. His own need for comfort was an ache inside him.

Harry must’ve noticed this because his attention finally shifted to the small, curled-up form of Louis. "You alright, sweetheart?" His voice was soft, laden with concern. Louis nodded timidly, his heart fluttering in his chest at the simple acknowledgment.

To his relief, Harry's smile was fond, and he reached over, his fingers gently sweeping Louis' fringe out of his eyes and traveling down to caress his cheek. The touch was electrifying, momentarily soothing away the previous turmoils that had occurred in their kitchen.

Harry mouthed the words "I love you," his eyes holding Louis' in an intimate gaze. Louis felt a swell of happiness and he bit back a giggle. He opened his mouth to whisper the words back, the shapes forming on his lips.

But just as the moment was about to bloom, Maria yelped again—a keen sound that snapped Harry's attention back to her. She clung even closer to him, her body language a loud plea for protection and as if on instinct, Harry wrapped his arm around her waist. He murmured comfort into her hair: “It’s just a movie, babes. I’ve got you.”

A tinge of sadness crept back into Louis, wrapping around his heart like a vine.

Eventually, the end credits rolled and Louis released a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Harry and Maria were quick to launch into another lively discussion—analyzing, theorizing, gossiping about every twist and turn. Feeling small and overlooked, Louis tucked his feet closer, wishing he could somehow become part of the furniture, invisible and inanimate.

As Maria spoke with vivacious gestures, Harry's responses were punctuated by chuckles that reverberated through Louis' core. A sigh escaped his lips. He adored watching Harry in these casual scenarios. The way his emerald eyes sparkled, and the animated manner his hands cut through the air as he regaled Maria. Louis smiled fondly despite everything, love blooming in his heart for the one who promised to protect it.

A sudden silence fell, and Maria pursed her lips. "I'm parched."

Without missing a beat, Harry bounced to his feet, ever the gentleman. "I'll get you some water," he offered. Louis furrowed his brow slightly, confused as to why Maria couldn't fetch it herself in her own home.

Maria's eyes followed Harry as he disappeared into her kitchen, but then they fell upon Louis. The room suddenly felt both emptier and heavier without Harry's presence.

Maria leaned forward into Louis’ personal space and he couldn’t help but scoot further away. "I haven't been held like that in a while, y’know," she sighed.

Louis nodded hesitantly, not quite sure where this conversation was headed.

"Ever since I broke up with my boyfriend," Maria continued. "No one has really cared for me." Louis watched her heave a faint sigh, the setting sun from the window casting a somber glow on her seemingly troubled face. “He was an asshole, my ex.”

The invisible weight of her gaze pressed down on Louis, who nodded timidly. “I’m so sorry to hear that,” he murmured, and he was right, something inside him somehow felt empathy for Maria.

"You're lucky, Louis,” Maria turned her eyes back to him, “to have someone like Harry in your life.”

At that Louis’ heart softened. With a half-smile, he affirmed, “I know. Harry is…he’s amazing.”

Maria's eyes drooped with a bitter-sweet pang. "Yeah, it’s rare to find men as considerate as him these days.”

In those words, something feral stirred within Louis—a sense that this conversation hid thorns beneath its bloom. “Harry’s just one in a million, I guess,” he answered, his words a soft murmur.

Then, with a firm directness, Maria uttered, “Harry must really love you, given that you’re just so… you know.”

Louis’s heart hitched. He swallowed, finding a rare spark of courage to ignite his voice, “What?”

Maria exhaled, “Well, you know, he just seems so generous to be putting up with someone… someone like you.” She tapped her fingers rhythmically on her knee, lips pursed in feigned casualness as she kept her gaze down.

Louis’ chest tightened, his eyes stung but he compelled himself to question further, “What do you mean?”

Maria’s eyes offered sympathy, but her words were needles. “I don't mean to be rude, but you come off a little clingy.” She glanced at him with a forced smile. “No offense, of course.”

Louis barely whispered, more to himself than to Maria, “Oh.” He tucked his legs closer to his chest, curling into himself to mask the looming insecurity.

“If I were in your shoes, love, I’d feel like such a burden to someone like Harry.” Maria leaned in closer, her breath ghosting over his eyelashes. "Do you ever feel,” her voice softened to an insincere coo, “like you’re a burden?"

Louis’s breathing quickened as he recalled the events that happened hours before in the comfort of their own kitchen. He had wanted Harry all to himself, a foolish desire blooming from the innocent seed of love. Maria’s words, dressed in empathy, struck him deep, rooting down to his deepest insecurity.

The room seemed to close in on Louis as his heart sank and his breath shrank back into his chest. Emotionally caught in the spider’s web of his own thoughts, Louis sat feeling for the first time utterly alone. Had Harry been merely tolerating him? Was his affection an act of charity towards someone as 'clingy' as him?

Louis tried to remember the moments, the countless expressions of genuine adoration Harry had bestowed upon him, but Maria's words cast a venomous shadow over those once precious memories.

Harry’s voice suddenly broke through Louis's reverie. "Honestly, Maria, what's with the fancy water filtration system? f*cking hell," he complained playfully, weaving through the hallway back to the couch with a glass of water cradled in his hand.

Maria's eyes glinted with delight as he handed her the water. "Thank you, you’re a lifesaver." Her thanks was laced with something warm, something only Harry could elicit from her. Harry smiled, positioning himself on the couch with an arm tactfully draped behind Maria, but not quite touching her.

Maria began chugging the water greedily, and Harry chuckled. "Hey, pace yourself. Wouldn't want you choking, would we?" As he spoke, his hand gently enveloped hers, guiding the glass away from her mouth. Louis felt his throat constrict with something far too complicated to quench.

Louis's voice, barely above a whisper, cut through the jovial atmosphere. "Harry, could I have some water too, please?"

Harry turned towards Louis, his eyebrows knitting together lightly as if he had just remembered that Louis was even in the room. That glance alone was a dagger to Louis' heart. "Sorry, what was that, Lou?"

Louis fidgeted with a loose string on the pillow. “Can I have some water too?” he repeated his request, his gaze faltering and straying to Maria, who now sported an irked expression.

Harry nodded, rising, when Maria's hand darted out, clasping his forearm before pulling him back down. "Oh no, let him get it. Louis is a big boy, aren't you darling?" Her voice walked a fine line between teasing and condescension.

A heavy silence fell over Louis. He half-expected Harry to laugh it off and head to the kitchen, demonstrating to Maria that Louis mattered most in his world. Instead, to Louis’ surprise, Harry remained seated, and worse still, he wrapped an arm around Maria's shoulders, pulling her in closer.

“Mary’s right, baby. You’re all grown up now, you could get your ass up to the kitchen and fetch a glass all by yourself.” Harry smirked and reached over, dragging his thumb down Louis’ lower lip, making it appear as though he was pouting.

Louis wanted to cry at Harry’s utter dismissal of his needs but somehow, the weight of that arm around Maria seemed a heavier burden. His stomach roiled with unease as he watched Maria beam up at Harry. It was as if Harry’s world tilted, perspectives skewed, leaving Louis on the outside.

And just like that, stood in front of the sink of Maria’s kitchen, listening to her and Harry’s laughter, brazen and unapologetically loud, Louis wanted nothing more than for the floor to open up into a gaping void beneath him.

✧.*

Later that night, under the soft golden glow of the bedside lamp, Louis lay curled up on their bed, wrapped in the comforting scent of freshly washed fleece and Harry's lingering cologne. His eyes were fixed on Harry, who was sitting beside him, typing furiously on his computer with a seriousness etched across his brow.

Louis studied his boyfriend’s focused expression, the way his blue light glasses perched perfectly on the bridge of his nose, the furrow that formed between his eyebrows when he was deep in thought. He always found this diligent, hardworking side of Harry quite charming. But tonight Louis wanted nothing more than Harry’s attention on him, feeling his arms around his waist and his breaths on his neck.

Their drive home had felt cold. Harry's eyes were fixed on the road, his hands gripping the wheel a little too tightly. Louis had tried to fill the silence with innocent chatter, chirping away like a sparrow in early spring. But Harry had responded only with curt nods and one-word answers, leaving Louis with an emptiness that now gnawed at his insides.

Louis hugged his knees closer. He let out a sigh, feeling the heaviness of Harry's neglect settling on his heart. Plucking up what little courage he had left, he spoke with a voice so meek it was almost lost in the quiet of the room. "What are you working on?"

Harry paused for a moment, sparing Louis a glance before returning to his screen. "It's just some research for a project at work. It's... complex stuff. You wouldn’t get it." Louis felt a sting more deeply than he would have cared to admit. Harry’s words lacked warmth and were all painfully Maria-ish.

They lapsed back into silence, the only sound being the tap-tap-tap of Harry's fingers against the keyboard. Maria’s words began playing over and over in Louis’ head like a broken record. You’re a burden.

Minutes, or perhaps hours—Louis couldn't tell—passed before he found the courage to voice his fear. "Harry... am I a burden to you?" His voice was so timid, a whisper.

That question seemed to pierce through the silence and the shield Harry had put up. His fingers stilled, and he turned toward Louis, his features softening as his eyes met Louis’ big, questioning blue ones. "Of course not, Lou. Why would you ever think that?" His hand reached out, gently stroking Louis' cheek.

Shrugging, Louis searched for the right words. He didn’t want to rat out Maria. "I just... I look at myself sometimes and think I could be better. More independent."

Harry cooed, “Oh, my sweet boy.” He closed his laptop with a decisive snap and shifted closer to Louis, enveloping him in a warm embrace. Harry's arms were safe and Louis released a deep breath. "You're perfect."

Harry peppered Louis’ crown with soft kisses and he let himself melt into Harry's chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath his ear reassuring him more effectively than any words could. The gentle rebuke carried with it a wave of drowsiness Louis didn’t know he harbored until now and he let his eyelashes flutter.

"I love you more than anything.” Harry continued. “Your so-called clingy nature? It's just part of what makes you the person I fell in love with. Nothing could make my love for you waver. So no more doubts, yeah?"

Louis wanted to reply, but instead let out a yawn accompanied by a tiny squeak, catching both of them off guard.

Harry chuckled. "You're the sweetest, you know that? Go to sleep now, Lovely."

Louis snuggled even closer, if that was possible, nuzzling into Harry's neck. "I love you," he murmured. The sense of belonging and contentment finally seemed to be on his side.

But not for long.

✧.*

Chapter 3: Big Eyes

Chapter Text

✧.*

Maria was quite the party animal. She often organized office celebrations, which quickly became infamous for their wildness.

Louis wouldn’t have cared if it was just Maria who partook in such events, but it was the fact that Harry had to tag along every time that struck a chord.

At first, Louis didn’t mind. He thought it was good for Harry to unwind after long days at work. However, as the weeks went by, Louis noticed a troubling pattern of what had started as a once-in-a-while occurrence but soon became a regular event.

Louis would sit alone in their apartment, waiting for Harry to come home. The hours would tick by, but rather than just letting himself drift off like how he did during Harry’s regular work days, Louis would grow increasingly anxious. His mind always wandered back to Harry.

The worst part wasn’t even the waiting—it was what happened when Harry finally did come home. He would stumble through the door, drunk out of his mind, often barely able to keep his balance. Without a word, Harry would dive straight into Louis’ arms and then pass out almost immediately. There were no “hi’s” or “I love you”s, no reassurances or apologies. Just the heavy weight of Harry’s dozing body atop him and the stinging realization that Louis had been forgotten.

Their jobs already took up most of their hours together, and now Maria’s parties seemed to steal the remainder. It was as if everything they’d worked so hard on was undone. They were back to square one and Louis was back to being forlorn.

But one particular night the worst happened.

Louis sat curled up on their worn-out couch, wrapped in the quilted blanket his grandmother had made for him when he was younger. His eyes half-focused on the flickering TV screen, his mind oscillated between the characters' drama and his own unfolding plot.

The fever Louis had caught earlier that day was mild, but enough for his body to weigh him down like it was filled with lead and his nose to run like a leaking faucet.

The party Harry had scrambled off to this time was a networking evening for the rising stars in his office. Maria, ever so thoughtful, had used Louis’ illness as a convenient excuse not to extend the invitation to him. He didn’t care for it much anyway.

Every now and then, Louis would glance at his phone, its screen dark and void of any messages from Harry. He had chosen an evening of partying over caring for his ailing boyfriend. A knot of discomfort tightened around Louis' heart, his thoughts swirling with unease that maybe his meek disposition made it too easy for Harry to overlook him.

The night crept on. The potent medication had lulled Louis into a restless doze when suddenly, the front door burst open. Harry stumbled through.

"G'night, Niall! See ya!" Harry hollered, the door clicking shut after an echoed response from outside. There was a loud crash —presumably the knocking over of one of their flower vases— then Harry cursing under his breath. Louis flinched. His instincts told him to muster all his hurt into the silent treatment he so rightfully deserved to give.

However, as Harry shuffled into the room, his figure silhouetted by the dim hallway light, a different sentiment crept up. His curls were disheveled, his grin wide and he greeted Louis with a charm that was so undoubtably Harry.

"Hey, darling," Harry slurred lightly, ambling over to the couch before ungainly draping his frame atop Louis’ smaller one. He wrapped his arms around Louis' waist and nuzzled into his cheek, causing the latter’s back to arch uncomfortably to the side; not that he minded. Harry smelled faintly of alcohol and the cologne that always made his head spin—not unpleasantly—on a better day.

"How much have you had to drink?" Louis surprised himself by asking.

Harry chuckled drunkenly. "You’re adorable when you’re worrying about me, y’know that?"

“M’always worrying about you.”

Harry pulled back to gaze blearily at Louis. His green eyes, though slightly glassy, were deeply affectionate. "How’re you feeling?" He genuinely sounded concerned, despite his inebriated state.

"Not great." Louis sniffled pitifully through his congested nose. "M’head hurts and I’m all cold.”

"Aww, my poor sick angel," Harry cooed, trying to pout sympathetically—a comical attempt that dissolved into a soft smile. He leaned in, clearly aiming for a kiss.

Louis giggled despite himself, cupping Harry’s cheeks to weakly push his face away. "Harry, I’m all sick and gross," he said, still laughing softly.

"Of course," Harry agreed and gave a kiss to the pink tip of Louis' nose. He nestled his face into the crook of Louis' neck. "M'really tired," he murmured. Louis nodded, fingers tangling in his curls. As Harry relaxed against him, breathing evenly, Louis couldn’t help but admire his features.

Even in his mussed state, Harry was striking. His skin, though flushed from the alcohol, still held its usual warm glow and his lips parted slightly in contentment. His clothes were rumpled, his jacket hanging loosely off one shoulder. Harry was still such a charmer, even now, with his guard down and complete vulnerability on show. And Louis, through his fever-hazed thoughts, found it impossible not to love him even more in that moment.

Taking notice of Harry’s eyelashes, dark and heavy, fluttering against his cheeks, Louis smiled softly. Harry was starting to conk out in his arms and Louis wanted nothing more than to stay like this forever, basking in each other’s warmth. However, he was hit with the reality that he probably wouldn’t be able to lug Harry to bed had he drifted off right there.

“H, we should go to bed now, Love,” Louis whispered, stroking Harry’s hair gently. Harry only grumbled, tightening his hold on Louis and nuzzling further into his neck. Stubborn.

Louis’ resolve remained firm. “Do you want both of us to wake up with sore backs?”

That seemed to do the trick because with a sigh Harry finally sat up, his weight lifting off Louis. “Hmm, fine.” Louis could tell he was in a haze by the way he blinked repeatedly, struggling to find coherence.

Harry stood up from the couch with a clumsy flourish, that charming grin never quite leaving his lips. Louis began to rise as well, his own movements unsteady from the fever. But before he could fully stand, Harry slid his arms underneath him, sweeping him off his feet, literally.

The sudden hoist into Harry’s arms caught Louis by surprise, prompting a startled gasp and a flurry of light protests."Harry! Put me down, you're too—," his words dissolved into a string of nervous laughter, scrambling to maintain some sense of composure.

Harry's warm breath fanned over Louis’ face. "No way, Lou. I've got you," he insisted, the words affectionate yet slurred at the edges. However his arms, usually so reassuring, wavered beneath Louis’ weight. Louis wrapped his arms tighter around Harry's neck. His azure eyes grew wide with alarm as he noted the perilous wobble of Harry's steps.

As Harry walked the two to their bedroom —something that had occurred one too many times in the past few weeks— the air suddenly went cold, and not just because Louis was unwell; it was tinged with the sense of foreboding.

Through the fog of alcohol that Louis knew clouded Harry's judgment, he stepped forward with the optimistic certainty of a gambler, convinced of his winning hand even as the house's victory loomed. Something else loomed, however—the edge of the patterned rug crumpled under the misplacement of Harry's foot, beckoning toward an inevitable conclusion.

Harry stumbled, and in that fraction of a heartbeat, the world upended. Time stretched into eternity as they were falling lower, then lower. Then everything seemed to speed up into a split second. They were both met with the wooden floor with a jarring thud.

Harry’s descent ended up being broken by Louis cushioning his fall, their foreheads painfully colliding. Louis found himself splayed on the ground with Harry atop him, head and back throbbing from the collision. But worse, Louis’ wrist was caught at an unnatural angle beneath himself. A surge of pain raced through his arm, white-hot and fierce. A sharp gasp tore from his throat, echoing in the room.

“sh*t! Sorry." Harry scrambled up, his weight lifting off Louis’ wounded frame. Yet, Louis’ breaths came in short pants, his vision blurring slightly as Harry’s voice became background noise.

The metallic pain in his arm now became unbearable. He couldn’t take it anymore, it was all too much crushing down on his soul all too fast. Tears burned in Louis’ eyes and he broke out into gut-wrenching sobs. Harry’s eyebrows raised in a manner that would’ve been seen as comical if it weren’t for the situation.

Louis tried to sit up, his cries carving through the stillness of the room. Tears etched canyons down his cheeks, and he clutched at his wrist, which dangled limply. Louis looked up at Harry with such a raw expression of fear, and panic etched into the furrows of Harry’s brow. At that moment, the world was reduced to the acute parameters of pain.

"Harry," Louis whimpered, frantically choking on his own sobs. He bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.

Harry, seemingly sobered up as his own eyes filled with responsibility knelt beside Louis. "Shh, babe, I'm here. It’s okay, sweetheart.” His hands cradled Louis' wrist, unsure and hesitant, laden with the fear of exacerbating the agony. “You’re safe with me.”

The reassurances seemed to do little to quell the tide of worry that had begun to crash over Louis. His breath hitched, shallow, and frantic as if trying to find an anchor in a sea that threatened to pull him under. Harry, the only one who could skyrocket Louis’ mood with just a smile, seemed lost.

“It really hurts.” Louis’ voice was stronger now with a cutting edge. He watched as a flicker flashed across Harry’s face.

Harry shoved his fingers into his back pocket. “Let me— Let me fix this." He fumbled over his phone, digits pressing the emergency numbers with trembling urgency in hopes of bringing an ambulance to their front door.

✧.*

And that was just what had happened.

Now, in the sterile examination room of the local hospital, Louis and Harry waited anxiously for the doctor, their nervous faces reflected in the sterile sheen of the walls.

Louis sat on the thinly cushioned bed, a paper sheet crinkling under his weight, while Harry perched solicitously on the chair beside him, holding Louis' hand. The scent of antiseptic hung in the air.

Harry had managed to get Louis’ sobbing to cease during the ambulance ride, weaving his fingers through his hair while whispering sweet reassurances in his ear, and at that moment Louis had felt home again.

Now, with a pained look creasing his features, Louis seemed especially in need of those reassurances. His wrist was swelling, a blemish on his otherwise unmarred skin. Harry remained steadfast by his side.

The door finally swung open and a woman donning a white suit, who appeared to be in her mid-forties with her honey-blonde hair slicked back into a bun, entered the room. She had gentle eyes and a comforting smile that could put anyone at ease. Louis noticed her name tag read Dr. Abrams.

"Good evening, gentlemen," Dr. Abrams greeted, shaking Harry’s hand while Louis clutched his limp wrist close to his chest. She took a seat on the other chair beside the bed, across from Harry. "What are we in for today?"

Harry quickly straightened up, his taller frame commanding attention. "It was… a silly accident. We were heading off to bed, and as we were, we just... sort of tripped over each other—"

"Fell," Louis interjected softly, barely audible. He kept his gaze down, focusing on his feet dangling above the ground idly.

"Yes, fell," Harry corrected, squeezing Louis' good hand. "And I, uh, I landed on top of him. His wrist was caught under himself when we hit the ground."

Dr. Abrams hummed and knelt beside Louis. She reached out for the boy’s wrist who, with a nod, let her examine the swollen area, her touch light and reassuring. "Did you hear anything when you fell? A pop or crack?"

Louis, his cheeks now flushed either from the pain or embarrassment or perhaps both, shook his head, his voice barely a whisper. "No... just hurt a lot." He felt Harry's gaze, intense enough to burn a hole through a wall, studying his every movement. Louis curled his toes as much as the confines of his sneakers would allow him to.

"I see," Dr. Abrams said. "We'll need to get an X-ray to assess the damage and confirm if it's a fracture. I'll have one of our technicians take you to imaging."

“How long will that take?” Harry interjected.

Dr. Abrams raised a brow. “That’s uncertain, I apologize.” Harry nodded and Louis could feel his heart rate picking up.

As if on cue, the imaging technician appeared at the door, a smile on his face that didn't quite reach Louis's anxious gaze. "Ready for your X-ray, Louis?" the technician asked.

Louis' eyes flicked up to Harry, filled with an intensity that wordlessly conveyed his fear. He tightened his grip on Harry’s hand, signaling his hesitation. "Can Harry come with me?" he pleaded.

Harry brushed a comforting hand through Louis' hair, soothing him with a gentle voice. "It's alright, Lou. You'll be back before you know it."

Louis whimpered. He needed Harry with him. “Please.”

“It’ll only take a minute, love.” Harry’s smile was kind, reassuring, and Louis felt like he could trust him with the world. Reluctantly, he released his hold. The technician escorted him out, leaving Harry behind.

The clicking and whirring of the X-ray machine did nothing to soothe Louis' nerves. He bit his lower lip, squeezing his eyes shut as he willed his pounding headache to go away. He wanted Harry; wanted his voice to be the one filling his ears, not the electrical beeping. He wanted Harry’s attention which had been so scarcely on him it felt like he had to beg to even receive an ounce of it. He wanted things to go back to how they were before Maria stepped into their lives. Why can’t Harry see what she’s doing to them?

The images finished capturing the necessary evidence of his injury. Louis was returned to the examination room, guided by the hand of the technician on his shoulder. He settled back on the bed beside Harry who was looking at Dr. Abrams expectantly. Louis wanted all this to be over soon so he could go home and snuggle up in bed with Harry, hopefully for the rest of their lives.

"It's a distal radius fracture," Dr. Abrams confirmed upon reviewing the X-rays. "We'll need to put a cast on it." She started the preparations with methodical precision.

Louis, though, could scarcely focus on her words. A young lady in scrubs —a nurse—soon walked in, wheeling in a tray of tools Louis couldn’t identify and his eyes desperately sought Harry, seeking the familiarity of his presence. "H-Harry?"

At that moment, Harry’s focus visibly sharpened, the world outside their bubble fading. He took his uninjured hand with all the loving care in the world. "I'm right here, love. Right here."

At that moment, Louis felt as though a ton of bricks had just been lifted off his shoulders and he released a long, drawn-out sigh, slouching. Everything was going to be okay. Nothing could hurt him. Not as long as he had Harry.

Dr. Abrams and a nurse worked seamlessly to set Louis' wrist, gentle yet efficient. Harry watched closely while Louis was only partially there. The residual effects of crying had long since dried upon his face and his nerves had gone down significantly, leaving him to blink slowly as he fought the urge to give into the exhaustion that his fever cast upon him.

Casting tape was being wound around Louis' radius. That anchored him, allowing the metronome of the wrapping to lull him in a half-aware state. The world became fuzzy as he nuzzled closer to Harry’s shoulder, seeking refuge. Louis’ eyes were heavy, his body drained. Pain and tiredness clouded his mind, as the doctor’s voice slowly turned into a distant murmur.

Dr. Abrams had begun to discuss the healing process, detailing the care instructions for the cast, but Louis was too cocooned in his fatigue to follow the thread of her words. He was floating, drifting, held together only by Harry's grip on his waist and the steady beat of his heart.

Louis, nestled now fully within the protective circle of Harry's arms, didn't witness the gaze of understanding that briefly passed between Harry and Dr. Abrams. Through his heavy lashes, he noticed Harry, ever so attentive, nodding along with Dr. Abrams's instructions, a furrow of concentration on his brow as he made mental notes of each piece of advice—keep the cast dry, elevate the arm, watching out for signs of swelling or pain that worsened. Louis was all but adrift in Harry's care. Safe.

"You're doing wonderfully, sweetheart," Harry murmured into Louis' hair, cradling him impossibly closer.

“M’sleepy,” Louis murmured back, his voice trailing as sleep pulled at the edges of his consciousness. His eyes were fully closed now, and yet, he could still feel Harry’s tender smile on him.

“I know, baby-love. Not long now.”

Dr. Abrams finished securing the cast, a traditional white one. "All done," she announced, stepping back to offer them one last, reassuring smile. "Make sure he takes the pain medication as prescribed and comes back for a follow-up. Call if there are any concerns. And try and get some rest, both of you."

Louis felt Harry releasing his arms around him, leaving Louis to have to sit upright on his own, and his brows furrowed at the loss of warmth. "Thank you, Doctor," Harry said, gratefully, standing up to shake her hand one last time.

Outside the examination room, the hospitable world carried on—beeps of monitors, the murmur of nurses, the shuffling feet of patients and visitors alike.

The evening air clung to the fluorescent lights outside the examination room in a haze. Louis leaned against the cold metal of the row of seats, a ghost of anguish still visible on his youthful face. He watched Harry press his phone to his ear, the other hand carding through his own disheveled curls, a gesture born from the stress of the moment.

A wave of anxiety washed over Louis when he realized they needed a ride home. His own injured state and Harry's earlier drunkenness left them stranded. He reached out with his good hand, fingers brushing against Harry's arm, a tender but urgent plea for reassurance. His azure eyes lifted to meet Harry's gaze in the dimly lit corridor.

"Who are you calling?" Louis's voice was a whisper.

Harry squinted at the screen, "Maria. She didn’t have anything to drink tonight so she could drive us home," he said without looking at Louis.

A subtle change washed over Louis's face, his features folding into a pout at the sound of that name. How could Harry, out of all the possible times, invite Maria into their own personal bubble now?

Louis angled his feet so they were pointing inward, pigeon-toed. "Why Maria…?" He trailed off, unable to mask his disappointment. "Why not Niall or someone?"

Harry, up until then the wind beneath Louis’ wings, suddenly seemed sharp around the edges. His green eyes narrowed as he turned to Louis, the warmth that usually inhabited his gaze cooling. "Why not Maria?" He bit back, the question fired like a bullet from a gun. Louis could feel a weight pressing against his chest at Harry’s sudden mood change.

"She might be busy," Louis managed to eke out. He swallowed thickly, clutching his casted hand closer to his chest. Please take the hint, his mind screamed. He didn’t want Maria to witness him in such a state, to have the upper hand more than she already did.

Harry's firm tone crested as he all but growled, "What's your problem with Maria? Why can't you just accept that she and I are good friends? You’re always like this!"

Louis flinched, the combination of the fever burning through his veins, the gnawing pain in his broken wrist, and now Harry's anger becoming too much to bear. His blue eyes shimmered with resurfacing tears that silently pleaded for understanding.

"M'sorry," Louis whimpered, almost inaudible. He nestled into the curve of Harry's shoulder, attempting to make amends. He really didn’t want another argument to ensue between them, especially not now. His voice cracked, "Please don't yell at me."

Time stood still, the echoes of their discord fading. Harry exhaled deeply as if letting go of a breath he'd been holding since the conversation began. A softness returned to his eyes, and his posture slackened, the hardness melting from his features. He enveloped Louis's smaller frame with his arms, bringing him close. Louis wanted to cry out of relief.

"I'm sorry, Lou," Harry whispered, his lips brushing gently against the tousles of Louis's hair. "I shouldn't have raised my voice. I’m such an idiot, I just…" His explanation tapered off into solemn silence. Within that quiet, Harry held Louis.

Louis nestled deeper into Harry's embrace, curling impossibly smaller as he buried his face in Harry’s chest, hiding from the world farther and farther away until the only thing that filled his senses was the essence of Harry. He loved him so f*cking much, but that didn’t change the fact that Maria was their chauffeur tonight.

By now surely everyone else was tucked away in the comfort of their beds, save for the couple and the sparse nocturnal hospital staff. Warmth emanated from Harry's frame each time he pulled Louis closer.

"You’ll heal before you know it," Harry murmured, brushing his lips lightly against Louis's temple.

The words were comforting, but they fluttered away as the automatic sliding doors opened with a whoosh, revealing none other than Maria. Her eyes lit up as she caught sight of Harry and she made her way in briskly, her arms crossed.

Despite the lateness of the hour, Maria was a vision with her hair meticulously styled in a half up half down look, brunette locks falling in loose ringlets to her waist. She gracefully donned a crème colored tube top with a front knot and matching high-waisted trousers that fluttered elegantly with her every step toward them.

Even from far away, Louis could tell her makeup was done impeccably, supposedly for the party she had hosted a mere few hours ago. He couldn't help but feel frumpy and disheveled in comparison and he sunk into Harry's side, hoping to conceal his pitiful injury, and more importantly, his bruised pride.

Maria's gaze slipped from Harry to the ground but never to Louis; he might as well have been transparent. "Nice of you to bring me here," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "Did the poor thing get himself hurt having a tumble?" Her tone was light, but the words hit like scoffing slaps.

Harry’s protective arm curled around Louis, tucking him safely against his side. He chuckled. “Mary, thank you so much for being here on such short notice, you’re a lifesaver.”

Maria simply shrugged, giving Harry a sly smile which he returned. Louis hid slightly behind him, a silent shadow amid their exchange. The humiliation crept upon him like ivy and he doubted even the gentle weight of Harry's arm could ground him.

They followed Maria to her car, her stride somehow both haughty and efficient. Harry opened the door for Louis and guided him to the backseat, then, much to Louis' sleep-burdened gratitude, slid in beside him.

"Thought you'd sit up front whi’Maria," Louis murmured, struggling against the sleepiness that had decided to make a comeback.

"'M right where I belong," Harry’s lips brushed against Louis' forehead who sighed contentedly letting himself settle into Harry’s arms.

As the car hummed to life, the gentle vibration coaxed Louis toward the brink of unconsciousness. Harry's careful fingers drew patterns on his back and he soon found himself edging closer to sleep, face half hidden in the cavern of Harry's chest

The world was muffled and soft, until Maria’s voice sliced through the quiet, as unexpected and jarring as an alarm. "So, you two are coming to my birthday thing next week, right?"

Louis flinched, eyes briefly shooting open. Harry was quick to reply, "Of course, we'd love to. As long as my Lou is feeling up for it." With that, he kissed Louis' nose—a simple affection that pulled out a sleepy smile from Louis's lips.

Maria's huff could have inflated a balloon, her stare fixed on Louis through the rearview mirror like an accusation. Louis found himself shrinking further into Harry’s embrace, so in need of his protection at that moment. "And how did you actually break your wrist, anyway?" she prodded, propping up her question with a mockingly concerned tilt of her head.

Feeling as if his clumsiness was on trial, Louis shied away, melding further into Harry's embrace. "It was kind of my fault, actually," Harry answered for him. “I had dropped him on our way to bed and we both fell… well Louis broke my fall and ended up landing on his bent wrist.” He looked down at Louis and Louis could see the guilt in his eyes. “M’so sorry, Angel,” Harry whispered just to him, gently caressing his cheek.

Louis felt himself crooning under Harry’s affection. “S’kay,” he yawned.

Maria's intrusive interrogation continued as the city lights flitted by. “Bet he cried, didn’t he? Did you cry, Lou?” she inquired patronizingly.

Louis hid his face in Harry’s stupidly expensive jacket, an involuntary whine slipping past his lips that he just knew made him look even more juvenile to Maria. Harry shushed him soothingly, then answered, “Bucket loads. It’s okay though.”

Maria hummed, seemingly stoic though Louis could see her biting back a grin through the rearview mirror. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting, sweetheart?” Louis could only shake his head, his fingers gripping Harry’s who hadn’t come to his defense with this one. He wanted to disappear.

Then, as if the well of her curiosity had run dry, Maria fell silent. The quiet was a blessing.

Harry's focus became undivided once more, his voice a lullaby. "You're safe with me. Nothing to worry about," he whispered, his breath warm against Louis' ear.

Louis allowed the rhythm of Harry's heart to wash over his frayed nerves. He snuggled closer, letting Harry's hold shield him from the unresolved tension that lingered. Time slipped by, marked only by the soft hush of tires on the road and the occasional flash of streetlights that punctuated the dark.

Louis caught the flicker of Maria's eyes in the rearview mirror one last time. They held a storm behind their glossy sheen. But why? Was it because of their late-night hospital pickup? Or was there something deeper? He dared not ask, nor could he muster the energy to.

Harry’s gentle coos were like a siren’s call, lulling Louis toward sleep. "You're my brave boy. I love you so much." Harry said softly, his fingers tracing lazy circles on Louis' waist.

“Lo’you too,” Louis whispered. Within the safe confines of Harry’s arms, the outside world gradually faded away. Even Maria's simmering rage could not penetrate the bubble of comfort that Harry had woven around him.

Louis’ eyes fluttered shut and he let himself drift off to dreamland right in the back seat of Maria’s car, beside his favorite boy in the world.

✧.*

Chapter 4: Don’t Forget Me

Chapter Text

✧.*

In the warmth of the small bathroom, steam curled like gentle tendrils around Harry and Louis. The hum of the overhead light and the distant bustle of the city filled the room.

Standing in front of the mirror, Louis examined his cast with a frown. Stupidly, he had expected some miraculous improvement after just a week, even when the doctor had promised a healing period of six to eight weeks.

“Still hurts?” Harry’s voice, low and laced with affection, broke through Louis' pensive silence. Removing his t-shirt, he tossed it into the laundry hamper at the corner of the room, his reflection a doting image behind Louis.

“I just… It’s silly, I know, but I thought maybe…” Louis sighed, ceasing his glare at the cast and meeting Harry in the mirror. Harry’s smile in return lit up his green eyes, and Louis couldn’t help but feel a warmth spread through his chest.

“It’s not silly, Lou. It’s just you being your lovely, hopeful self.” Harry slipped out of his sweatpants, his bare skin displayed for Louis to admire as he ruffled his tousled curls gracefully. He looked breathtaking.

Louis pursed his lips. Today was the dreaded day that he’d hoped was eons away but wasn’t: Maria’s birthday. And currently, the two were readying themselves for the grand celebration Maria had claimed it to be. It was going to take place at a ballroom near Starlight Drive —thirty minutes away— with all of her and Harry’s colleagues invited, plus Louis. Louis just knew he was going to stick out like a sore thumb.

Harry nudged the shower door open, the sound of cascading water filling the room. “Try to keep the cast away from the spray, alright?” Louis offered a small nod. He stepped into the shower cubicle first, flanked by porcelain and steel.

As Harry stationed himself behind Louis, sliding under the falling water with practiced ease, there was hardly any space left; the cramped quarters felt overwhelmingly intimate and Louis couldn’t help but revel in it. The warm droplets danced across their skin as Harry wrapped his arms around Louis’ waist, drawing the smaller boy near so that his back was flush against his chest. His movements were careful not to jostle Louis’ fragile limb.

“I can’t get enough of you,” Harry murmured, his voice tingling with raw honesty.

Harry began pressing kisses along the column of Louis’ neck and down his shoulder. His lips felt like the softest of petals and Louis’ skin bloomed with goosebumps, a contradiction to the warmth enveloping them. Each peck from Harry made Louis feel like the recent days of unintended neglect were worlds away, and now he was anchored by Harry’s presence. He leaned back against Harry’s chest, savoring the security of his embrace. With his good hand, he traced patterns on Harry’s forearm that was pressed into his stomach. Cleansing themselves can wait; now was their much-deserved time.

Louis felt a delightful shiver run down his spine. “It’s cold,” he whispered, the lie harmless with the simple desire to hear Harry’s voice again.

Harry held him even tighter, if such a thing was possible, his hands running up and down the curves of Louis’ waist in an attempt to warm him. “Better?”

“Mmhm.”

Louis felt Harry’s fingers lightly cup his chin before his face was guided to turn to the side. He was met with Harry’s intense gaze, an underlying hint of desire pooling within those jade eyes. Louis smiled softly, craning his neck to give a brief peck to Harry’s lips which left the latter grinning like an idiot.

“My beautiful boy,” Harry cooed, his breath warm against Louis’ skin, “you’re so perfect just like this.”

Louis could only stare longingly at Harry’s beautiful visage as their eyes locked, his lips parted in a silent gasp. The water streamed over them, the sparkling droplets reflecting the light, blanketing the whole scene in an ethereal glow. Each drop that fell on Louis’ skin seemed to burn into the very core of his existence and he felt a strong desire that matched what he had witnessed in Harry’s eyes.

Harry must’ve read his expression because the next thing Louis knew he was being swiftly spun around by the hands on his waist. They were face to face now. Louis gasped slightly as his wide eyes expectantly looked up at Harry who studied him fervently. Louis was the picture-perfect image of docility, waiting for Harry to make the first move, and the latter took no time delving right in, pressing his lips against Louis’, hot and needy. Louis’ hands instinctively went up to cradle the back of Harry’s neck, playing with the curls that resided there.

Harry skillfully worked his lips against Louis’, dominating the kiss by lightly bending him backward so that his back was arched into him. As the kiss got heated, Harry nudged his tongue against Louis’ lips, asking for an entrance, and without any hesitance, Louis gave it to him. He basked in the familiar feeling of his boyfriend’s tongue roaming around the territory of his mouth. Louis felt Harry smiling into the kiss as he grabbed Louis’ chin with his thumb and forefinger, gently tilting his head up to get better access. Louis’ breathing started to pick up, his heart hammering inside his chest. He wanted more, more, more.

Harry pulled away from the kiss, their mouths detaching, making a wet pop sound. Louis’ mind was spinning thrillingly as he felt Harry attaching himself to his neck; he couldn’t even think straight. He gasped at the feeling of Harry gently nipping his delicate skin, teeth grazing the sensitive area in a manner that was so teasing it was infuriating.

The water was getting hotter by the second, steam filling up the cramped cubicle and fogging the glass. A waterfall of gasps and whimpers chorused from Louis’ lips as Harry worked his magic. Feeling a surplus of pleasure, Louis slammed his good hand on the glass, the heat radiating from him leaving a dripping handprint. He hadn’t had this in so long and now that he did, it was intoxicating.

✧.*

The grandeur of the party shimmered in the opulence of the grand ballroom, an expanse of gleaming marble floors and crystal chandeliers casting prismatic light onto the glittering assembly of Maria and Harry's colleagues. The air buzzed with a symphony of clinking glasses and animated conversations, drowning out the subtle classical music that bled from hidden speakers.

Earlier their shower activities were forced to be cut short given that they were on a time crunch. Much to Louis’ dismay, they hadn’t made it past one singular lovebite before Harry had abruptly pulled away, claiming they had to be at the party as soon as possible.

Now, Louis was lost, his presence seemingly invisible to the professionals. Clung to Harry's arm, he felt like a lone dandelion amidst a field of orchids, hiding behind the one person who was supposed to be his anchor. But the comfort and guidance Harry usually provided were absent tonight as he was pulled into conversation after conversation, discussing matters that Louis couldn’t comprehend —margins, acquisitions, and the incessant rise and fall of stocks.

Highly disinterested in Harry’s conversations, Louis let his mind wander when he noticed, like always, the difference between them. Harry was a portrait of elegance, donning a crisp white button-up, the sleeves rolled gracefully up to his elbow. It was chosen by Louis.

In contrast, Louis had on a knitted cream sweater that stretched slightly over his cast, paired with his usual cuffed jeans that, while well-fitting, weren’t up to par with everyone else’s extravagance. His outfit seemed apologetic; and modest, and the cast itself was a stark reminder that he was an outsider.

"You see," Harry was saying with an easy smile, gesturing with his free hand to a man with a slick-back hairdo whose name Louis couldn’t even bother to remember, "the market is ripe for innovation, and that's where we come in." The man nodded, dressed just as elegant; a sleek navy suit paired with a white shirt and a burgundy tie.

Louis tried to follow, his eyes flickering from Harry to his colleague in search of inclusion. Yet the circle of conversation tightened, squeezing him out like a lemon pip pinched from a finger. The slicked-back-hair-man didn't even acknowledge Louis, continuing to bombard Harry with jargon. Harry's obliviousness wrapped tighter around him, making Louis believe that perhaps Harry actually preferred this. The smile Harry wore was too accustomed to this environment, too distant from the one he reserved just for Louis during their quiet evenings entangled on the couch.

Then suddenly, Louis was hit with reality, the dread of Maria's intentions loomed over his head. He let his eyes rummage through the ocean of people, searching and searching until they finally fell on her.

She was the epitome of the event— all charisma and confidence. Clad in a snow white dress that married sophistication with allure, she was currently caught up in a conversation with a couple of other superficial colleagues, her laugh a melody that seemed to captivate an audience. Louis felt Harry’s fingers unraveling from his, leaving his hand cold. He must’ve too noticed Maria because he waved joyfully in her direction, dimples carving into his cheeks. Louis turned his gaze back to Maria who now had her eyes locked on Harry, her smile holding an underlying current of being more than just friendly.

Louis wanted to shake him, to pull Harry out of Maria's spell and remind him that they were each other's keepers, to ward off the intentions of those like Maria. That was the whole reason why he intended to not have anything to drink tonight; to keep an eye on her. But his insecurities, this overwhelming environment, the cast on his wrist — they all mutely voiced his vulnerability.

She was making her way towards them now, maneuvering through the throng with the grace of the inebriated, somehow still exuding a dazzling, dizzying charm that only heightened Louis's sense of unease. Her dress, a thigh-length, silky off-the-shoulder number with intricate lace patterns on the borders, captured the light. A dainty gold tiara sat atop her impeccably curled hair.

"Harry, darling," Maria slurred slightly, touching his arm in a manner that bordered on intimate. Her eyes twinkled with a mirth that made Louis' insides churn—as she blatantly ignored his presence. He watched, heart constricting, as Harry beamed back at Maria.

"Mary, you've outdone yourself! This is incredible," Harry praised, his voice laced with genuine admiration.

"Oh, you are too kind. Always the charmer." Maria smirked, taking another sip of her drink, her balance wavering just so. Her cheeks were flushed, the wine painting them a deeper shade of rose. The warmth of Harry's hand in Louis’ seemed to dwindle, leaving Louis with a creeping coldness. He mustered a fragile smile, trying to appear enthusiastic only to be blatantly ignored by Maria. Insecurity washed over him.

Maria’s eyes latched onto a man passing by with a tray of drinks, her fingers beckoning for another. Louis seized the fracture of silence, desperate to assert his existence, to remind them and himself that he was there, he was someone.

"I like your necklace," Louis ventured, his throat tight as he gestured towards the gold chain that lay against Maria's collarbone—a delicate heart locket.

Maria glanced down at it, then back up with a slow, wolfish grin. "Oh, um… thank you." she quipped, her response laced with condescension. “Surprised to hear that coming from…” She trailed off as her eyes left Louis and sought affirmation from Harry.

"He’s right, it is beautiful," Harry agreed, the words spilling out easily, naturally—a stark contrast to how they seemed to tear at Louis’s throat.

“Thank you.” Maria stepped closer to Harry, her fingers now tracing his shirt cuffs. She was touchy, and Harry being Harry, was too polite to withdraw. Louis felt himself shrink. He nuzzled into Harry's shoulder and could hear the thud of his own heartbeat: boom, boom, boom. He just wanted to go home.

Harry's conversation with Maria ceased, and he turned his head, softly stroking Louis’ knuckles with his thumb. "You alright, lovely?" His voice was a low hum, genuine concern brushing each syllable.

Louis merely snuggled closer, the fabric of Harry's top rough against his cheek, the sandalwood scent of his cologne a familiar comfort. Then, so softly that only Harry could hear amid the swell of party noise, he whispered, "I'm hungry." He wasn’t; not with Maria’s presence haunting him.

Harry's response was instant, gentle. A small smile touched his lips, a recognition of Louis's needs. "I'll get you some food," he said, extracting himself with a careful motion.

“M’kay. Thanks.” Louis watched as Harry excused himself with a polite smile thrown at Maria before he walked away, melting into the crowd.

A new song began to pulse through the speakers, the beat a stark contrast to the sudden stillness within him. The absence of Harry's warmth was palpable. Louis sucked in a long breath. He was now left exposed—and Maria, like a hawk to a rabbit, was right in front of him.

"How's the wrist, Louis?" Maria started, a deceptive warmth to her smile.

"It's okay," Louis managed softly. He knew Maria couldn’t give less of a f*ck about his petty situation.

"Mhm," she hummed disinterestedly. For a moment, her gaze lingered on Louis, then shifted down his frame slyly with malicious intent. "And how has Harry been, coping with it all?"

At the mention of Harry's name, a spark of genuine happiness flickered in Louis' heart. He felt the tension waning. "Harry has been...amazing." Louis smiled, musing over his better half. "He's always there when I wake up, making sure I've taken my medication. With the injury and all, he helps me with the smallest things like getting dressed, doing my hair... When I feel overwhelmed, he’s right there to calm me down, and when I’m bored out of my mind, he's there to entertain me. I tell him he doesn’t need to do all this but he insists." Louis’ eyes beamed with adoration for Harry. “He's been like my own personal angel."

Maria's expression soured. "That's... lovely," she said flatly. With a practiced hesitance, she then leaned forward fractionally, her voice dripping with feigned empathy. "Louis, I have something to tell you...

Curiosity piqued, and the innocent boy in Louis tilted his head. “Hmm?”

"It's just...Harry's been venting to me recently, and well, he's finding it quite hard, managing with your... dependence on him."

Louis felt as though a cold wind had whipped through the room, snatching his breath away. "Oh?"

Maria's voice took on a theatrical somberness. "He says you're clingy and, I quote, 'so attention-seeking'. Said he can’t get a moment to himself without you nagging him."

Heart plummeting, Louis shrank inwardly, the brightness in his eyes dimming, eclipsed by the shadow of doubt. Did Harry say that? Was Maria telling the truth? "But...he never made me feel like it was a chore for him," Louis whispered, his earlier confidence now crumbling like a sandcastle before an unrelenting wave. He felt as though he had been stabbed.

Maria patted his shoulder with mock consolation, playing the part of a villain with deceptive concern. "I'm so sorry to be the one to tell you this, Louis. Truly, I am."

Louis felt the sharp sting of betrayal. He was about to reply, to deny all of Maria’s ridiculous claims, only to be interrupted by the startling sensation of something soft —lips— grazing his cheek, pressing a kiss there. Startled beyond measure, he jerked away as if stung by a wasp, his limbs flailing forward with panicked instinct.

In the fraction of a second before disaster struck, Louis watched in slow-motion horror as his hand grazed the stem of Maria's glass, teetering it perilously. Time seemed to malfunction as the crimson wine flowed gracefully through the air. With a shatter that cut through the clamor of the party like a gunshot, the glass fell to the ground, splintering into a hundred pieces.

A hush swept across the lavish room. Maria's gasp came out as a sharp intake of breath, her horrified eyes following the stream of wine cascading over the pristine white fabric of her dress. Then, ever so slowly, her gaze lifted to meet Louis' wide, guilt-ridden eyes.

"What the hell?" Maria's voice was barely a whisper, but it carried the weight of thunderous wrath.

"I.. I'm so s-sorry, Maria. I didn't mean to—it was an accident," Louis stammered out, his voice thin and reedy. The air grew colder, thicker.

Maria was clearly having none of it. “You ignorant lunatic! My mother spent weeks hand making this dress for me and your clumsy, nitwitted self had to go and ruin it!” She yelled right in Louis’ face and he flinched, cowering.

“M’sorry,” Louis apologized once more, this time softer as he held back tears, his hands trembling frantically; a fragile boy amidst the loud clamor of the room.

Harry stepped in then, having been the one to sneak a kiss onto Louis’ cheek. His comforting presence was a balm to Louis' fraying nerves —but the reprieve was short-lived. Harry's arm didn't come to drape around Louis, as he’d expected, but instead went to Maria, pulling the enraged girl into a gentle hug. In a heartbeat, he softened around Maria.

"It's okay, love, we'll get this fixed," Harry murmured soothingly. His movements were open and consoling, enveloping her in a protective cocoon, while whispered reassurances escaped his lips and flowed into her hair.

And Louis? Louis was an island in a stream, eyes lingering on his boy providing affection to someone else. Every whispered word (“It was an accident, babes, he didn’t notice what was happening.”) Harry offered Maria was a stone in Louis' chest.

What about me? A voice inside Louis screamed, silent and unnoticed. There were no consoling hands to wipe away the tears that had now started sliding down his cheeks, no soothing whispers for his mounting dismay. When Harry had promised to always be there to catch him, Louis hadn't pictured it like this.

The crowd was staring now; some at Harry and some at Maria, but most directly eyeing Louis, looking like they wanted to kill him. He felt their glares burning into him, flaying him. Each set of eyes declared him guilty, villainizing him.

Then out of nowhere, without catching anyone else’s eye, Maria peeked her face out from where it was previously nuzzled into Harry’s shoulder and her eyes pierced right into Louis’ soul. She smirked a sly one, the expression reserved for Louis as a way to reveal her act.

As Harry continued his ministrations, Louis' heart shattered. In the theater of his worries, doubts took the stage: Did Harry still love him?

✧.*

“I saw the exact dress Maria wore tonight at the mall.”

The city lights flickered like distant stars, casting a glow over the car's interior as Harry navigated through the quiet streets. An awkward silence filled the space, the air still thick with the disaster of earlier.

Louis, nestled into the passenger seat, turned towards Harry with a puzzled look. “What?”

“Yeah, when I went the other day,” Harry continued casually. “Her mother didn’t make that dress for her.”

Louis blinked, taking a moment to process this new information. “Oh,” he replied dumbly.

Harry took a deep breath, his hands steady on the wheel, “It’s not your fault, darling, for… y’know.” Louis heard the genuine earnestness in Harry’s voice and felt a spark of hope but didn’t respond, just hummed softly, his gaze fixed on the beautiful night sky outside the window.

Louis was still silently berating himself for the earlier incident that had forced the party to conclude soon after. Maria had promptly told them to leave and with a few protests from Harry, they had no other choice than to do just that, the death stares burning into Louis’ back even as they exited. But at the end of the day, he couldn't help but feel like he deserved every sharp-tongued rebuke from Maria.

Harry, seemingly attuned to Louis' inner turmoil, reached out, his hand finding its way to Louis’ resting on his knee. “She shouldn’t have lashed out at you like that,” he said. Louis kept his gaze fixated on the road ahead, observing how the bright headlights of the cars zoomed past them in the opposite direction all blending into one singular light show in the jet-black night.

“You look so beautiful tonight.” Harry turned to Louis briefly with a glowing smile that seemed to light up the entire car.

Caught off guard, Louis could feel the warmth of a blush creeping onto his cheeks. He glanced down at his hands in his lap, which fiddled with his cast nervously. “I felt so underdressed,” he admitted in a soft murmur, barely audible over the hum of the car engine. “Compared to everyone else…”

“But you still stood out the most to me,” Harry soothed. “My colleagues, or Maria’s family, or even Maria might not realize how much of a gift you truly were to her party. But I know you. You're the real deal and anyone who doesn’t understand that is missing out.” Harry's voice was a beacon of comfort amid the dark waves of Louis’ self-doubt. “You’re everything good in this harsh, cruel world, Louis.”

Louis, feeling completely adrift in a sea of emotions, managed to whisper out a shy but sincere “Thank you.” At that moment he felt an immense love for the boy sitting next to him who saw him in a way no one else could.

The evening dusk settled silently over the quaint little town as Louis and Harry made their way home. The night air held a crispness that hinted at the adventures of summer leaning into the arms of autumn.

Minutes later, upon reaching their doorstep, a sense of privacy enveloped them. It was as if the world beyond ceased to exist as Harry pushed the door shut with his foot. The soft click of the latch severed them from everything else.

Harry turned to Louis, a gentle determination in his eyes as they roamed around his face and then down his body. Louis, feeling exposed, quickly averted his gaze from Harry’s piercing one.

Without a word, Harry reached out with a tenderness that belied his next action. His hands came to cradle Louis' face, thumbs brushing lightly against his cheeks, eliciting a warmth that spread throughout Louis’ entire body. He was gently being pushed back and soon wall pressed up against Louis' back felt cool compared to Harry's touch, and before he could process the rapid heartbeat in his chest, Harry's lips were upon his.

Surprise flickered across Louis' face, his blue eyes wide for the briefest moment before fluttering closed. Harry's kiss caught him off guard, but any semblance of uncertainty quickly melted away. Louis surrendered to the kiss, allowing Harry to take the reins, guiding him. The strength in Harry's arms as they wrapped around his waist seemed to be the only thing tethering him to earth. Harry held Louis so incredibly tight that it forced him to tip up onto his toes. He liked it, it brought him closer to Harry.

Harry's lips moved with a quiet fervor against Louis' who could feel his heart doing summersaults and his stomach filling up with butterflies. His fingers lightly grazed Harry's nape, tangling into his soft curls.

The moment stretched out, feeling like minutes folded into seconds. As Harry eventually drew back, their breaths mingling, he gazed deeply into Louis' eyes. A universe of affection was held in that stare.

"I love you so much," Harry whispered, voice laden with emotion.

Louis' cheeks flushed a darker hue, bashfulness overtaking him beneath such intense regard. "I love you too," he responded.

Harry's smile spread, infectious and bright. Without another word, he swooped down, wrapping his arms around Louis’ thighs and lifting him into his arms. It was a movement so sudden that it drew a gasp from Louis, quickly transforming into a giggle that bubbled up from his chest, pure and unrestrained as if the events that had occurred before were completely forgotten.

Louis wrapped his arms tighter around Harry's neck, legs around his waist, seeking comfort in the warmth of his shoulder, nuzzling into it. This beautiful, extraordinary moment was finally happening and was real. Harry, his strength unwavering, walked them towards the bedroom with steadiness. Thank the world Harry didn’t have anything to drink.

As they reached their room, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the curtains, Harry gently lowered Louis onto their bed. The mattress yielded under his weight. Louis’ heart rate was skyrocketing now. Then, with a fluid motion, Harry climbed over him. He hovered there, the intensity of his gaze never faltering. Louis, under the weight of that stare, felt seen, felt cherished. He could read every thought flickering behind Harry's eyes, and for a fleeting moment, the world outside their love ceased to exist.

Harry’s lips parted for a question that sent shivers down Louis’ spine: “What would you like, angel?”

Louis’ eyes grew as wide as sparkling blue saucers. His fingers gripped the sheets, breath catching his throat and his mind whirled. He needed this.

“Would like you to f*ck me.”

Harry’s smile turned sly. “Make love to you, you mean?” He lowered his face nearer to Louis’ so the latter could feel his warm breaths ghosting across his skin, driving him crazy. He was desperate now, embarrassingly so considering how little time it took for his sweet, meek self to morph into this state. Harry’s effect was that powerful.

“Yes, yes, please. Do something, Harry, I need you.” At this point Louis could feel the pressure building up in his lower stomach, creating a tingly feeling throughout his body. The room felt hotter by the second.

Harry raised a brow, seemingly unfazed. “Need me, how?” He brought a hand up to graze his thumb across Louis’ bottom lip, the digit slipping slightly into his mouth, escalating his neediness.

Louis almost choked on his quickening breaths. Harry’s nonchalance was difficult, almost infuriating even though he knew that was all part of the routine. “Need you… in me,” he whimpered.

Harry’s eyes suddenly locked in with Louis’. His face was so close to the point where they were sharing the same air. Louis could see his eyes darkening rapidly, the set of his jaw tightening, only adding to his allure and Louis’ desire.

Not minutes, but seconds after their garments were shed, Harry was preparing to do none other than that. Louis was exhilarated, feeling emotions he hadn’t felt in what seemed like an eternity.

When the time actually came, Harry was gentle, taking care of Louis like he was the most fragile of porcelain. As passion enveloped them, the world outside dissipated into insignificance.

Amidst the intense crescendo, Louis found himself surrendering utterly and irrevocably to the moment. All the brutal moments that had encompassed that night built up to this. Louis felt like he was at the pinnacle of everything and anything to exist or had existed in the world.

Time flew by and soon the climax was hit. It was over. There was a slight tremor of Louis' lips accompanied by the dewy tears that adorned his flushed cheeks—the evidence of his all-encompassing pleasure. His breaths came out as short pants as he felt himself slowly coming down.

With the utmost care, Harry pulled out, a whimper escaping Louis’ lips at the loss. His chest heaved with contented exhaustion, a blissful smile lingering even as his eyelids fluttered heavily. His world was a soft haze as if everything in the world was covered by a thick, warm blanket—except for Harry's presence.

Harry wasted no time tending to Louis. Louis felt him shift his weight off his delicate body to cradle him gently, arms snaking around his waist —mindful of his fragile cast. "There you are, beautiful," Harry murmured, tenderly wiping away the traces of Louis’ tears. "You're absolutely perfect."

Louis managed a tiny, satiated hum, the overwhelming sleepiness turning his attempt at words into mumbles. He felt delirious and drained but fulfilled. Harry chuckled. What's so funny? Louis thought. But his exhaustion, like sweet molasses, held his curiosity at bay, too weary to voice the question aloud.

"You, my sweet Lou," Harry continued, pressing soft kisses down Louis' neck, making him sink even deeper into their plush bed. "You're an angel, aren't you?" Louis' heart fluttered; he wanted to respond, to tell Harry he was no angel, just a boy madly in love.

"You did so well, my gorgeous gorgeous boy," Harry whispered. Louis opened his mouth to reply once more, but no sound came out—only a dainty mewl that spoke volumes of his unwavering trust and love for Harry. His eyes —no matter how hard he tried— fluttered closed. This brought another fond chuckle from Harry, who seemed to revel in the display of Louis’ ethereal vulnerability.

With a gentle hand, Harry pulled their soft blanket over them. He gathered Louis even more into his arms. "Go on, close those pretty eyes for me," he encouraged softly. Louis obliged without resistance, surrendering to the call of slumber as he felt Harry's chest rise and fall beneath his fingertips—steady, strong, alive. The distant sound of Harry's heartbeat was a lullaby.

In the depths of the night, as Louis drifted into sleep, his last conscious thought was simple: He should have never doubted Harry’s love for him.

✧.*

Chapter 5: Put Me In A Movie

Chapter Text

✧.*

The first rays of the morning sun peeked through the curtains and warmed Louis’ closed eyelids. Their surroundings were shadowed with a hint of sun peeking here and there. A gentle breeze whispered through a slightly open window.

Louis’ consciousness lingered at the threshold of sleep, and the first thing his groggy mind registered was a weight on the bed beside him. He felt comfort in the familiarity of the presence. Straining through the fog of drowsiness, he became faintly aware of low murmurs—a voice he would recognize anywhere—Harry’s.

The curly lad’s words sounded muffled but infused with an urgency. Still sleepy, Louis struggled to pry his eyelids open, yearning to see his face but finding his vision blurred and unreliable.

Harry's silhouette was hazy. His voice continued, unbidden — "Are you sure?" he asked into the phone. A brief silence fell before he spoke again, "Yeah, okay, will do," and then a reassuring tone, "Don't worry, I'll take care of it."

As clarity gradually conquered the last of Louis' weariness, the conversation slowly etched itself into his awareness. Shifting slightly, he tried to piece together the context of the exchange, puzzlement knitting his brows.

Harry ended the call with a quietly spoken "Alright, goodbye." He turned to Louis whose blue eyes were now half-open and clouded with sleep yet fixed on him with a gentle inquisitiveness. A flash of surprise flickered through Harry's gaze, but it was quickly masked by a calculated smile. He bent down towards Louis, cooing in a voice reserved for moments of affection. "You’re awake. Good morning, darling," Harry chirped. His fingers tenderly raked through Louis' tousled hair before tracing a path down his cheek.

Overwhelmed by the genuine —and recently rare— adoration shimmering in Harry's eyes, Louis surrendered to the doting attention. He smiled. The sheer presence of Harry filled him with contentment, momentarily dissolving any remnants of curiosity.

But it was persistent and the memory of the earlier conversation began to slip back into Louis' thoughts. "Who was that on the phone?"

Harry's features flickered, a brief shadow of disappointment crossing his expression, but it was quickly hidden behind a practiced mask of nonchalance. Louis didn’t miss it, though; he was too attuned to Harry’s nuances. Nonetheless, Harry maintained a cheerful demeanor and replied easily, "Oh, just Maria." Of course.

"Mmm," Louis hummed, still confused. He knew the two were becoming closer by the day, but he couldn't quite understand why Harry would be on a phone call with Maria so early in the morning. He considered prying further but refrained. They didn’t need any more twists and tribulations.

There was a subtle shift in the air, a barely noticeable tinge of hesitation in Harry's presence. "So, about last night," he started in an uncharacteristically casual tone.

Louis rubbed his cheek against Harry's shoulder. "Yeah," he whispered, unaware of where this conversation was headed.

Harry inhaled deeply. "Fine, let me get straight to the point. Maria's necklace —y’know, the heart locket— went missing."

Louis’ eyes widened with genuine concern. Maria might’ve been cruel to him, but his heart was incapable of fostering resentment. “Oh.”

"Yeah," Harry's voice was laced with a weightier undercurrent. "So basically, she said, uh... she thinks she lost it after... after she talked with you."

The confusion settled awkwardly. Louis replayed the scenes of the previous night in his mind, sifting through the moments. "I don't know where it is, I’m sorry."

Harry's gaze, once tender and reassuring, narrowed into an unspoken accusation. "Are you sure? Because, Maria was quite certain on the phone, and she implied... she suggested that you might have..."

"Taken it?" Louis finished for him, his heart dropping. "Harry, I didn’t."

Harry's eyebrows arched skeptically. "Are you sure, babes?"

Harry’s doubt was a hammer to Louis' spirit. He met Harry's interrogative gaze, seeing the reflection of a question he never imagined would pass between them. "Why would you think I'd do something like that?" he asked, hurt.

There was a heavy pause, a split second when time seemed to stall as if the world itself held its breath.

"Are you saying Maria is lying, then?" Harry challenged with the raise of a brow.

Louis' thoughts raced in panicked circles. He did not want to accuse Maria of being a liar; Harry would hate him. "I—I don't think she's lying," he stammered, "Maybe she just... misplaced it? You know how parties can be. Everything's a blur and it's easy to lose things. It could be a misunderstanding."

There was still doubt in Harry's eyes. “I don’t think so. I mean, you seemed quite keen on it last night, eyeing it and all.” Something fragile and delicate fell off one of the shelves in Louis’ heart, shattering to the floor in a million different pieces similar to last night’s wine glass. Harry sighed. "Tell me the truth, Louis." His voice was stern, the words cutting.

Sunlight trickled through the gaps in the curtains, casting long stripes across the bed where the two lay. Hurt and disappointment were plain in Louis’ bright, trusting eyes. "I am telling you the truth, Harry. I didn't take it. Why don't you believe me?" His voice broke slightly, a tremor giving away his distress.

Harry huffed. His gaze didn't falter, but he didn't seem to register the pain in Louis' plea, his eyes instead roaming the room restlessly. They settled on something: a pair of jeans, Louis's jeans—which had been abandoned in a heap on the floor the night before, cast aside in the rush of the moment.

Suddenly, Harry swung his legs off the bed and strode over to the discarded denim. He picked it up, his movements deliberate. "Why don't we find out?" he proposed. He started to rummage through the pockets.

Frustration began to bubble inside Louis, tinging his cheeks a splotchy pink. "I already told you, Harry...” His heart was racing now, pulsing in his ears. Why won’t Harry believe him? “I didn’t take the necklace," he insisted because he didn’t.

Harry’s hand emerged from the back left pocket, a shimmering golden thread —the missing necklace— draped over his fingers like a damning piece of evidence. "Is this the necklace you're talking about?" Harry intoned, and though his words were soft, they may as well have been thunderclaps.

Louis was beyond shocked, his eyes bulging out of their sockets in a matter that would’ve seemed comical if it weren’t for the situation. He could see the anger in Harry's posture, the rigid line of his shoulder, the way his jaw was set. “I—Harry, I swear. I have no idea how it got there,” he protested.

Sarcasm dripped from Harry's lips like bitter honey. "Right, so it must've just unlatched from Maria's neck, floated through the air, and landed perfectly in your pocket?" His words were exaggerated, imbued with disbelief and accusation. His choice to believe a colleague over ‘the love of his life’, sliced through Louis' heart. He felt suddenly very small beneath the weight of Harry's scrutiny, his defense mechanisms crumbling to dust.

Louis can’t revive himself now that the so-called ‘evidence’ was right in his face. An overwhelming mix of emotions gripped him tightly, squeezing the air from his lungs. His eyes grew glassy, but no tears fell; he was frozen, utterly defeated. He couldn’t help but drift off to the conclusion that last night Maria must’ve snuck the necklace into his pocket when he had his back turned, and although that may make Maria out to be a traitorous villain, it was the most logical explanation.

"Louis, how could you do this?" Harry’s eyes, generally warm, now held a cold glare that seemed to pierce through Louis. He felt the world shrink around him. A sense of betrayal twisted Harry's features, creasing his brow and tightening his lips into a firm line.

"I didn't, though," Louis insisted, but his voice was barely above a whisper. The space between them thrummed with tension. "Harry, please."

There was no softening in Harry's eyes, no gentle hand coming to rest on Louis' cheek. Instead, "No, Louis. How can I believe you?" Harry thrust the necklace towards Louis’ face who withdrew further, the blanket rising to engulf him until only his eyes remained visible—wide, watery, and beseeching. “The evidence is right in our faces!”

Louis felt completely, utterly defeated. He decided to not let the truth spill over, not to show how deeply he was cut by Harry's harsh judgment. His boy wasn’t going to believe him anyway. He set out a long sigh. "M’sorry." Playing along with Harry’s false narrative felt like a shard of glass slicing through his veins.

Harry simply scoffed, the sound sharp and bitter, and it was as if the room blurred for Louis, everything but the disbelief on Harry's face falling away. "Sure you are." His sarcasm was cold, striking Louis with the force of a slap.

What happened to Harry from last night? The Harry who had not only told Louis how much he loved him but also expressed it through his actions, making him feel beautiful inside and out. The Harry who took care of him like he was the world, wiping his tears away while holding him close and whispering sweet nothings into his unruly hair. That Harry was gone; dissolved into thin air.

A single tear trailed down Louis' cheek, making its slow path from his eye down to the fabric of the blanket that shielded the rest of his face. "Please don't be mad at me," he whispered, each word trembling, barely audible.

Harry stood still with that stupid glare on his face. "How can I not be mad, Louis?" The room was filled with a broken trust that Louis could not mend. "Are you insane? Doing something like this —I mean, what were you thinking?"

Louis was a portrait of dejection, his eyes dimmed, his slight frame shaking. He cowered beneath the duvet. "I-I don't know why I did that," he lied. "I promise, it won't happen again."

There was a long silence, in which the only sound was that of their uneven breathing.

Harry huffed, visibly exasperated, and shook his head. "What's your problem with Maria anyway?" he bit out, his green eyes searching Louis’. "You never want to be around her, and when you are, you're always so distant, as if she’ll give you the plague. What did she ever do to you?"

Louis' heart was racing faster now, thumping erratically against his ribcage. This was the moment he could reveal the truth about Maria; the snide comments, the demeaning looks, the patronizing behavior. But his mouth wouldn't form the words, fear clamping down on his throat. He couldn't stand the thought of Harry's growing anger directed further at him.

"No-nothing," Louis stammered. He averted his gaze from Harry's penetrating one.

Harry's scoff was more bitingly bitter this time. "That's what I thought," he muttered, then stood and moved towards their shared closet, yanking it open before pulling out clothes with more force than necessary, the sound of fabric rustling loudly.

Louis, desperate for some semblance of normalcy, ventured a timid question. "Where are you going?"

Harry whirled around. "To Maria's, to return this damned necklace, where else?" His reply was as sharp as a knife's edge. Louis flinched, sinking deeper into bed as though he could disappear into the white sheets, and become part of the furniture.

"Okay," was all Louis could manage, his voice breaking. He wished Harry would just turn around and see the truth in his eyes; that he would drop everything —including Maria— to be there for Louis, to reassure him that he loved while realizing that he had been an oblivious fool. To be his again.

But Harry did not turn. Instead, he roughly slipped on the clothes and then headed for the door which then slammed shut as he swiftly exited, and with the sound still echoing in his ears, Louis drew his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. In the cocoon of his own misery, he buried his face and let the sobs come, muffled by the sleeves of the soft sweater Harry had dressed him in late last night.

The room closed in on him. He was cold and alone.

✧.*

Since that morning, the warmth faded from their home, leaving the walls to echo the hollow absence.

Louis’ heart ached from the lack of Harry's laughter, his touch, his everything. At the cafe, he'd mindlessly pour coffee or teas into each cup with a zoned-out look on his face, forgoing greeting the customers with the same enthusiasm he used to harbor. The days felt like he was swimming through thick, sticky molasses, slow and dreadful. He'd return home to rooms that greeted him with loneliness. Each night, he'd curl under the blankets, feeling the ghost of Harry's —who had been swamped with work more than before— arms, the flutter of his lips upon his neck. Louis missed them —those simple nights engrossed in cheesy rom-coms while pigging out on junk food with his favorite boy in the world.

Harry's growing distance was like winters biting at the heels of autumn, chasing away the remnants of warmth. With each visit to Maria’s, he seemed to return more and more isolated from Louis. Was she poisoning Harry with lies about him? In all honesty, wanting to make Louis out to be a villain so she could have more of Harry wasn’t something Louis would put past Maria. The thought was ludicrous, insanity, but he couldn't muster the courage to confront either Harry or Maria about it.

One night Louis stirred on their shadow-dapped couch, feeling the peculiar grip of disorientation that comes from waking after a post-work nap. He had drifted into a half-slumber here, with the TV barely mumbling in the background, expecting Harry to be out late with colleagues.

The muffled sound of voices disrupted the silence. Louis rubbed at his groggy eyes, the clock's hands groping around 10 pm, the tick-tock muffled. Harry would have told him if someone was coming over, surely.

The voices carried secrecy in their tones, two pitch shifts that trickled into Louis's ears: one deep and familiar, the other lighter and distinctly unwelcome. "...I just felt so hurt, Harry. I mean, Louis just—"

Curiosity clashed with the fog in Louis' mind, and a chill crept along his spine, at the very mention of his name. As quietly as his own heartbeat, he slipped off from the cushion and padded toward the kitchen, his feet light on the floor, hoping to not make a sound. He reached the corner, the wall pressing cold against his palms, his heart thrumming in a nervous rhythm. With a breath held in, he peeked into the kitchen.

At the counter sat Harry, eyes pinched with concern, a glass of red wine cradled in his open hand, its contents reflecting the dim kitchen light. Opposite to him was Maria, her face full of feigned sorrow and distress but looking immaculate as usual.

"—And then, during that one movie night when you went to get me water, I confided in him." Maria's voice was a soft, dangerous thing. "I told him about my ex and how he'd treated me. And Louis... Louis just said that I had probably provoked his anger; that it was my fault—"

Louis' heart skipped a beat. The lies cascaded from her lips like poison, making him seem like the worst piece of art. No such words had ever come out of him; it was Maria who had let her own rude remarks slide that night. Clingy, needy, a burden.

Louis could barely make out that Harry’s brows were furrowed, his expression troubled as he uttered with disbelief, "That doesn't sound like Louis at all. He's always been so gentle and understanding." Louis felt a sense of hope at this. He drew in a deep breath.

Maria shook her head. "You didn't see him then, Harry, you didn't—his eyes, they were just so cold, as if my feelings meant nothing to him."

Louis could see the gears turning in Harry’s head, fighting the battle of whom to side for. Then, with a long, conclusive sigh, Harry set his glass down on the counter. "I never pictured Louis being... capable of that. It's shocking. It makes you wonder, doesn’t it? If his sweetness... is just a facade."

Louis felt an icy draft where there was no wind. The kitchen lights seemed to darken further. He couldn’t help but question his and Harry’s history as he presumed Harry was doing the same; every tender kiss and whispered declaration of love, every night spent tangled up in each other, every moment where their eyes would lock and the world would crumble away down to just the two of them and the love in their hearts.

Maria nodded fervently. "You have to think of yourself, Harry. Don't be blinded by—"

The world faded from Louis’ grasp as he leaned against the wall, limbs numb. Harry, his Harry, was choosing to believe a girl weaving deceit into their lives over him. Louis’ throat became a desert. All he could do was witness the fissure growing. A facade he had never worn was being fitted onto him by the very person who promised to know him best. That was the sharpest cut—Harry's trust in him, was now a thing of question.

Maria's voice was like a toxin as she murmured, "I just don't see how you cope with him. So needy, plus his hair is always a mess, I mean, does that boy take care of it or not?"

"Yeah, he can be...a lot. His hair makes him look adorable, though, in a deceptive way, I suppose," Harry replied, taking another sip of that godawful wine.

Louis combed through his hair with insecure fingers. It was a bird's nest. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes, betraying him, and a whimper slipped out. He clapped a hand over his mouth soundlessly, but it was too late.

Maria's head snapped in Louis’ direction; her smile was more of a baring of teeth as her gaze landed on his timid figure. "Oh look, your sleeping beauty is here." Louis felt his heart drop heavily to the pit of his stomach. He thought he was going to be sick.

Harry's eyes finally sought Louis out, but the tenderness that usually resided within them was gone. Instead, his gaze was flat, detached, as if he saw through Louis. With a sigh, Harry turned away.

Louis fidgeted with the edge of his cast where it had started to come loose. He looked down at his feet, voice only just managing to rise above a tremble, "C-can I join you guys?" Harry said nothing.

Maria, who was far from sincere, pursed her lips in false contemplation. She regarded Louis with a patronizing squint. "Sure."

Louis let out a sigh that could rival a deflating pufferfish. “Thanks.” With mindful steps, he approached. The only two chairs in their kitchen were currently being occupied. Louis half expected Harry to slide off his chair and offer it as he would usually do in these situations. Or better yet, scoop Louis up onto his lap where he belonged. Not tonight.

Louis' eyes, rimmed red with unshed tears, searched Harry's face for a sign, a sliver of the past, but found none from the blank stare looking back at him. He felt like his presence put up a wall between Harry and Maria. The air was thick with awkwardness as the three eyed each other hesitantly.

Louis noticed the heart locket necklace now adorning Maria's neck. She got it back. He quickly averted his gaze as his cheeks burned with a familiar shame. But Harry, observant as ever, caught the split-second look. His eyes bore into Louis with an intensity that sent shivers down his spine, forcing his gaze to meet the floor. Maria, however, had a knowing smirk on her face. Louis wanted to die.

Later that night, after Maria had departed, Louis hesitated at the entrance to their living room, his sock-clad feet sinking into the plush carpet. He clutched the fabric of Harry's t-shirt a little closer, the soft material feeling like a hug. The room was dimly lit, with only the faint glow of a solitary desk lamp and the computer screen cutting through the darkness.

Harry was sat on the couch, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Despite the tension visible in the set of his jaw, to Louis, there was still something undeniably beautiful about him in that moment. Harry's glasses were perched precariously on the bridge of his nose, a style he proclaimed as 'geeky' but Louis had always found endearing. Now and then, Harry would reach up and push his glasses back into place with a knuckle, not once drawing his gaze away from the screen.

There was a tenderness in Louis' chest. He yearned to reach out, to touch, to close their growing gap. Summoning a frail smile, he stepped closer. "Harry, are you coming to bed, love?" No response. "Harry?" Louis tried again, his voice a touch louder but still delicate as if he was speaking to a skittish creature.

Harry's fingers paused momentarily, then continued their rapid typing. "Yeah, babe, just got to finish this," he said, seemingly strained.

Louis chewed on his lower lip, a habit when apprehension climbed its way up his throat. "When will you be done?"

Harry drew in a sharp breath. "I don't know, okay?" His gaze snapped up, eyes glassy with frustration. "I don't."

Louis flinched, a small wave of shock pulling his shoulders tight. "Okay, that’s okay…" he whispered, the taste of copper blooming in his mouth where his teeth had caught skin. He didn’t want to give up just yet, he needed Harry. "But you'll come to bed once you're finished, right?"

"Just go to bed, Lou."

It was over. Defeated, Louis turned in the direction of their bedroom. The journey there felt like a walk of shame; rejected, and his cheeks burned. He slipped beneath the covers, Harry's side of the bed cold and empty, prickling against his skin.

A tear escaped, sliding warmly down Louis’ cheek. It carved a path for more, and soon, his pillowcase was dampened with his pathetic loneliness. He wept not just for the Harry who was working in the other room, but for the Harry who had once shown his love for him like it was his last day on earth.

Louis couldn't help but wind down to a single, piercing thought—Harry hated him. That wasn’t true, surely, but it clung to him like a leech, unwilling to let go. He cried for what felt like hours. When his tears finally dried they left him with a hollow emptiness far more profound than sleep.

Harry did not come to bed that night.

Chapter 6: It’s Over

Chapter Text

✧.*

The gentle hiss of steam filled the room as Louis stood by the ironing board near the window seat of their bedroom. He wielded the iron, smoothing out all the wrinkles from Harry's shirt with love and care, lost in the task at hand.

The peacefulness was abruptly shattered when the door burst open and Harry entered the room like a whirlwind of frenzies. With the look of someone driven by a singular purpose, he scanned their shared closet with a sense of urgency that contradicted Louis’ serenity.

Louis merely shifted his gaze for a moment to watch the flurry of activity, his hands never leaving the iron. "You're home early, love," he observed, his voice soft and tinged with curiosity. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, just looking for something to wear," Harry replied between breaths, still rifling through the clothes. “Darling, have you seen that one black tee I wore last week; the plain one?”

Louis blinked but maintained his focus on making sure he didn’t burn a hole in the shirt he was ironing. They didn’t need to go through that tragedy again. "I haven't seen it, I'm afraid," he offered.

Harry, having tossed aside another handful of disregarded options onto their bed, stood up with a huff, presumably giving up. Louis could practically feel him making his way towards him, his presence lingering behind as the former kept his gaze on the ironing board.

A beat of silence then a delightful chuckle. "Babe..." Harry said with a smile in his voice. "That’s the one I've been looking for." Louis looked up to see him briefly motioning to the very shirt he had been ironing, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

A sudden rush of color flooded Louis' cheeks, and a pang of mortification struck his heart. "Oh," he breathed out, his tone laced with self-reproach. He ceased his movements, the iron hovering awkwardly above Harry's now half-ironed shirt.

Harry, in an instant, plucked the shirt from its place, then examined it with an endearing tilt of his head. Louis’ heart melted a bit at that. "How did you not notice?"

Louis chewed his bottom lip. He was a tornado of nervous energy, fingers raising to toy with his fringe that wouldn’t stop falling into his eyes as he stammered out an apology. "I-I'm so sorry, Harry. I just... I don't know how I—"

Harry set the shirt aside and began to unbutton his work top with a calm and deliberate pace. A bit confused at the intensity of Louis' reaction, he arched a brow. "It's alright, Lou. No need to fret."

Louis felt the corners of his lips twitch upwards but he dared not lift his gaze from his own fidgeting fingers that suddenly seemed far more interesting. His heart longed to admire Harry freely as his shirt fell away. He exhaled a shaky breath and methodically made his way over to their bed, gingerly taking a seat on the edge of it.

Dusk began to throw its shadow over the room, painting it in shades of orange and grey. Louis had been anticipating an evening like this for what felt like eons; Harry —as per usual— had been so caught up in the vortex of work. Tonight could be the night.

Louis caught a brief glimpse of well-defined, tattooed arms before shifting his gaze, feeling heat prickle at his cheeks. Harry was striking, effortlessly so. Slipping the shirt over his head and smoothing it down, he turned, his emerald eyes catching the dying light.

“I’ve got about a thousand episodes of 'Love Island' recorded we could watch tonight,” Louis blurted out stupidly. Harry’s laughter filled the room, dislodging the butterflies in Louis’ stomach. “And I thought maybe…” he continued with a bit of hope, “we could...I don’t know, have a movie marathon? Just… you know, stay up late, watch the sunrise like we used to?”

Harry’s eyes softened; for a second, Louis thought he was going to accept the offer. But then, something shifted. “Actually…” Harry started, “Maria invited me out to dinner tonight, y’know, just for the fun of it.”

Louis’ heart stumbled, faltered, and fell like a paper plane caught in an unexpected downdraft. He nodded faintly, “Oh, cool.”

Harry, oblivious continued without faltering. “Yeah, it’s at this super fancy place called La D’Auré—something.” He grinned sheepishly, “But yeah, it’s pretty sick.”

Normally, seeing Harry so excited about something would light up the darkest corners of Louis' world. But tonight that wasn’t the case. His plans were crushed.

Louis masked his creeping disappointment with a weak smile, his fingers anxiously tracing the soft fabric of his woolen sweater. He longingly watched Harry standing in front of their closet mirror, his attention focused on styling his already impeccable curls. The room filled with the faint scent of Harry’s cologne—a mixture of pine and amber.

A sense of trepidation settled deep within Louis. “Harry?” His voice was so soft it almost disappeared.

Harry hummed in response, not turning away from his reflection, his fingers skillfully slicking a curl back into place.

Louis’s heart rate escalated, his breathing picking up until he could hear it in his ears. His eyes dropped, fixating on the fraying hem of his sweater. He wound and unwound a loose thread around his index finger, watching the tip of it swell pink and then return to normal as he gathered the courage to speak the words that had been haunting him for weeks.

“I think...” Louis forced the whisper out, his mouth dry. “I think you should maybe... cut ties with Maria.”

Harry’s hands paused, and there was a stillness in the air. The jade eyes that had so often been warm and full of affection met Louis in the mirror with a bitterness that stung. “Of course, you’d say that,” he said, his tone colder than Louis had anticipated.

Hurt settled in Louis’ chest with a dull ache, but he couldn’t let the fear win, not when so much —their relationship— was at stake. He forged on. “She’s not nice to me, Harry. Whenever you’re not there, she’s extra rude, and she always finds a way to exclude me. She—she makes up lies just to make me look bad in front of you. And—and all the things she says about me aren’t true, Harry. I swear to you. I never said it was her fault that her ex treated her horribly. You know I would never accuse anyone of that.” There it was, the slip of his tongue that reignited the fire in Harry’s eyes. Louis instantly knew he shouldn’t have mentioned what he had overheard that one night after work, but truth had a way of breaking through.

“How,” Harry’s voice was edged, dark as he spun around to face Louis fully, “do you know Maria said that about you?”

Louis felt the room shrink, the walls inching closer as he tried to make himself smaller, to somehow disappear. “I…”

“Were you eavesdropping on us?”

Shame washed over Louis and he simply nodded, unable to find his voice.

The distance closed between them in swift strides as Harry made his way over to the bed. He then reached out for Louis’ face, his fingers not gentle, tilting Louis’ chin up to force their gazes to lock. “Use your words, Louis. Were you listening in on our conversation?”

Louis’ eyes, shimmering with unshed tears, finally met Harry’s, his whispered confession feeling like the final strike to whatever stability was left. “Yes.”

Harry’s scoff was sharp as he released Louis’ chin, turning away and muttering something about privacy and trust. Gone was the possibility of the cozy evening where it was just the two of them. Instead, the door slammed shut behind a departing figure.

✧.*

"Shh, it's alright; I’ve got you now, clam down babes."

The beating heart beneath Louis’ ear felt comforting. Nimble fingers combed through his hair. detangling the strands. Niall's gentle whispers fluttered through the quiet room, doing a bit for the ache in Louis' heart. The bed felt hollow due to Harry’s absence.

Louis lay nestled in Niall's arms, his head resting on the Blond’s shoulder, his body racked with sobs that seemed to draw every breath from his lungs. He hated crying, espacially in front of other people, and he’d been doing a lot of that recently. Niall —bless his heart— just cradled the weary boy gently; an actual lifeline he was.

Earlier, in his solitude, Louis' walls had crumbled, and for the first time in a long while, he reached out past his pride for support. Niall had arrived within minutes to the sight of Louis—so small and helpless, curled up in bed like a delicate little rag doll.

"Go on, Lou," Niall urged, nosing into Louis' crown, offering silent encouragement as the latter struggled to piece his words together.

Louis, bearing his soul with the vulnerability of a broken dove, tried to explain through stuttering breaths and tears that refused to cease, "I-I didn't... I didn't mean t-to... to make him mad, Ni." Every word was an effort, sobs punctuating each syllable. Yet amid his pain was the courage to continue. "I think... Harry likes Maria more than me. He's always... always taking her side, and he laughs with her all the time ‘cause they get along so well and have the same interests and stuff, and I'm just... a stick in the mud." Then out of deep sadness came a plaintive cry for affection, "He hasn't cuddled me recently, Ni; just want Harry's cuddles." As the silence filled the room Louis' statement hung heavily in the air.

"Oh, Lou, you're perfect, you hear me?” Niall cooed. “Nobody, even H, should make you feel anything less." Louis could hear anger echoing from his words. His eyes, ablaze with protectiveness, locked on Louis' tear-stained cheeks. "You're not in the wrong, Louis. Not in this. And Harry... he's got to sort himself out or else he doesn't deserve you. You stand your ground. If he can't see Maria's not good for you—or for him—then that's on him. He shouldn’t be near you again if that’s the case."

Louis' breath hitched at the last sentence, his heart rabbiting at the mere thought of finality within their relationship. "But I don't... don't want to lose him," he whispered, a whimper escaping his lips. His tears had ceased a bit but that didn’t change the fact that Niall would have to change into a different shirt; one that’s less covered in snot and tears.

Through his blurry vision, Louis vaguely saw Niall’s eyes soften, probably sensing the fragility of his resolve. He tightened his arm around Louis’ shoulders, holding him closer. "We'll figure this out later, petal. Take some rest now. You’re knackered, I can tell." As if Niall’s words had summoned it, drowsiness abruptly crept into the corners of Louis' eyes.I should really cut back on the crying, always makes me sleepy,Louis thought.

His eyelashes fluttering as he burrowed deep into his friend’s chest, Louis murmured a tired, "Can you stay the night, please?"

"Of course. Wasn’t planning on leaving you," Niall whispered back.

A small, contented smile graced Louis' lips. He could barely keep his eyes open now, the brief reminder of Harry’s teasing of Louis’ penchant for exhausting himself in a matter of seconds ghosting above him. "Thank you, Ni," he breathed out, steadily drifting off to Niall grumbling under his breath something about how he’s going to ‘give Harry a piece of his mind.’

✧.*