Louis' house

10. the fourth tear

Harry is sick of it. He just turns his phone around and turns the page of his book, trying to calm his emotions and focus on his favourite Jane Austen piece of art. Just that the page he just turns is the page that is missing in his own copy, that is still there in the one Louis gave him on Christmas Eve.

It's the page the notes were tucked in. The notes that might have turned Harry's world around twice with merely words. Hand-written words from the bottom of Louis' heart.

Harry's eyes fly over it, quickly focusing on one line that is only slightly underlined with a pencil. Harry has to read it five times at least, until he is able to take in what it says. When he does, he feels his heartbeat stopping.

If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.

That's all. That's what Louis underlined in the book he used for the last love confession he gave Harry. Harry lets out a shaky breath, staring at the wall for a few seconds until he slams the book shut, scrambles out of his bed and runs down the stairs. He's breathing heavily by the time he arrives downstairs at the door, slips into his shoes because it's raining, grabs his keys and opens the door.

If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.

Harry wants to talk about it, he wants to hear it and he wants to say it. God, he wants Louis. He wants to be loved, by Louis. And apparently, Louis does. So Harry really wants to get that clear now.

He runs the few steps over to Louis' house, almost jumping up the porch. Harry goes through his hair with one hand as he takes a few deep breaths. What does he even want to do? He wants to love Louis. He wants to ask him what the fuck he means with that. If I loved you less. Fucking hell. He wants to talk to him, hear him say it. He needs to hear it and he needs to answer and he needs to kiss Louis and hold him and love him. He wants to kiss him. His world is spinning, one endless circle of Louis' name and Louis' eyes in front of his face. Love.

So Harry removes his hands from his face, breathing in and out deeply while he presses the small button of the doorbell. He hears the sound from inside, his heart off on a rollercoaster while he waits, tapping his foot impatiently. He waits and waits, fingers freezing slightly where they're fiddling with the hem of his hoodie.

Louis doesn't open the door.

Harry's heart doesn't seem to calm down, and he really needs to talk to him. Maybe Louis is listening to music, maybe he's showering. Maybe he's just doing something important and didn't hear the door bell. Harry huffs out a grey cloud of air as he turns around and grabs the small plant pot that is in a corner of the porch, lifting it up and grabbing the key underneath.

It's absolutely cliche and Harry scolded Louis for it when he watched him place it there while they decorated the front porch, but now he's glad Louis has such little senses for safety. Harry's hands shake as he tries to unlock the door, succeeding after several tries. He pushes it open and walks into the hallway, suddenly hesitant. During the last weeks, he's been here more than in his own house, but he never walked in alone. He closes the door slowly and toes off his shoes, putting the key onto the small table next to the door.

"Louis?" He calls out with a quivering voice.

This is the point where everything will change, he concludes. Openly asking Louis about it, sober and clear-minded. It has to change. If it changes for the better, he might end up tangled with Louis, wrapped as close to his body as physically possible, if it changes for the worse, he will be crying again. So this might mean all or nothing.

Not getting a response, Harry tries two more times to say Louis' name loudly, before he walks into the living room slowly. It's cold, no Louis in sight, no Clifford in sight. They're probably out for a walk.