Someone you won't talk about (l.s)

Sunday

Louis wakes up to a strong ray of sun shining directly into his eye. He squints awake and stretches his tired limbs—his brow furrowing when he feels the cold space next to him.

It take a minute for his eyes to adjust to the empty bed—and even longer to adjust when he sits up and sees Harrys suitcase is gone, every remnants of him swiped clean.

He left. He's gone.

Louis let's that reality seep in—and suddenly the bed feels a lot colder, the room a lot emptier. He takes a deep breath...and then he's sobbing. His body curls in on itself as sobs rake through. Tears roll down his cheeks and drip from his chin—he's alone again. But being alone never felt as lonely as it did now. Being without Harry never felt so wrong as it did in this moment.

He lets himself cry—he lets the buildup of these past two weeks pour over him until all that's left are small sniffles and a deep thud in his chest. He doesn't even answer when Niall knocks on the door.

"Lou, we gotta leave for our flight soo—oh, Lou." Niall says when he opens the door and sees him, curled into the sheets with puffy eyes.

"He left." Louis sniffles.

"I know." Niall says, running a comforting hand over his back.

"He didn't even say goodbye." Louis whispers—another tear escaping and rolling down his cheek.

"I know, love." Niall says. "I don't think it was easy for him."

"I should've just went with him." Louis sits up to tuck his head into his knees. "I'm such a bloody idiot."

"You're not an idiot." Niall scalds. "Just going with him wouldn't have been fair to you, Lou. You wouldn't be happy in L.A."

"I would've been happy with him." Louis argues, tears welling up again.

"It's not over." Niall says. "It's not the end for you two."

"It feels like it is." Louis aggressively wipes at his eyes as Niall pulls him into a hug. Eventually he has to pull himself together and pack his stuff. He gathers his belongings and quickly changes into a sweatshirt and sweatpants—knowing he'll likely pass out the entire flight.

The only way he won't break out into tears again is if he sleeps.

***

Harrys POV

He's been trying to read for an hour—but his mind won't stop drifting.

Leaving Louis in that bed this morning was one of the most heart wrenching things he's had to do—and every time he closes his eyes he's flashed back to the night before. Louis' hands on his thighs, his lips slotted against his own, the feeling of having him like that again. It nearly makes his body shake.

He was stupid for leaving. Stupid for caring about some dumb interview his manager booked for him. Stupid for scaring Louis with all that talk of moving to L.A. He just didn't know what to do. It felt like Louis was slipping through his fingers so quickly—he didn't know how to stop it.

It's when he's staring out the private plane window—looking out amongst the endless blue that he realizes.

The interviews, the shows, the penthouses—none of it has ever made him feel the happiness he felt the past two weeks. He always felt like something was missing. Amongst all the solo fame and the luxuries—something always felt empty and out of place. And it wasn't love—no, it was bigger than that. It was Louis. It was the love of his life—the only person that's been his person since he was sixteen. His best friend. His love. His peace and comfort and every other wonderful word in Websters dictionary.