when the lights come up (we're the only ones dancing)

The breakup was mutual. Amicable. A series of conversations leading to a rational decision. Well. Maybe it was a bit more complicated than that.

It's not that Louis isn't enough for Harry. He's more than enough. It's just that Harry craves adventure, can't afford to have someone clipping his wings. He knows Louis wants to get married. Settle down. Have two kids and raise them in a nice house. There's nothing wrong with any of that. Harry's just not ready for it yet.

They're at two different stages in life. And, yeah, the two years between them is pretty insignificant, but it just became clear when Harry graduated and went out and partied and he came home completely drunk and his boyfriend couldn't be at the party because he had to work. Earn a paycheck to keep the place they both live in. Lived.

So, they broke up. And Harry has never been more miserable in his entire life.

"C'mon, mate, this was your idea, I can't have you sulking while we're trying to have a fun night out," Harry's best mate Niall says with a teasing — though empathetic — lilt to his voice. He digs his elbow gently into Harry's side, prompting movement.

"Why did I think this was a good idea again?" Looking out over the crowd, Harry feels nauseous. Flashbacks hit him like freight trains, bringing him back to the night he and Louis met. He'd gotten up the courage to move onto the dance floor. He'd found his groove, not really dancing with anyone, mostly just with himself. A few songs in, there were hands on his waist and a smooth voice in his ear, warm breath exhaled over his neck. He'd gotten goosebumps.

"Come here often?" The most cliché of lines. Harry's almost willing to excuse it, though, because the man's voice sounds like heaven.

"First time," Harry replies. "Nice place."

They aren't completely pressed together, not yet, but he can feel the man shrug behind him. "It gets the job done."

"Are you gonna dance with me?" Harry asks boldly, but the man doesn't reply, just uses his grip on Harry's hips to turn him around. And oh. He's gorgeous. Even in the dim lighting, Harry can make out his piercing blue eyes, the soft fringe over his forehead, the cocky curve to his lips.

"Don't know, love. Am I?"

In another uncharacteristically bold move, Harry lifts his arms and rests them on the man's shoulders. "Tell me your name first," he bargains.

The man laughs. "Louis. Do I get to know yours?"

"Harry."

Louis spins Harry around again, pressing completely against his back. Harry's breath hitches. "I think we're going to have fun, Harry."

Harry takes a shallow breath, blinking away the memory. They had. They had so much fun. It wasn't all sexy encounters in bars; in fact, it quickly progressed to coffee dates, which turned into study dates, which turned into Louis taking Harry out when he was working too hard on a project, and Harry whisking Louis off when he was stressing about finals. They helped each other cope; admittedly, Louis helped Harry more than Harry feels like he helped Louis, since Louis had the advantage of time and experience, while Harry was quite literally flailing his way through his freshman year of university.

Still, they leaned on each other, clicked like only they knew how. Until they didn't.

"I can't always wait around for you!"

"I never asked you to!"

Louis breathes heavily, pressing a hand to his stomach like he always does when he's anxious or stressed. Harry hates that he knows him so well, knows all his tics even when they're fighting. "That's that, then."