Where We Belong

Chapter 17

Louis re-reads it a few times. He doesn't know what he expected, nor what he wanted. On one hand, he'd hoped for Harry to come home today or tomorrow, just so he'd know exactly where he was and who he was with and, most importantly, who he wasn't with. On the other, being together lately hasn't even felt like being together.

He types out a quick text u later and then, for once in his life, thanks the lord that he's got a full day's work ahead of him.

Not that he concentrates much when he's there.

Once he gets out and gets home, he finally allows himself to check his phone. There are two missed calls from Harry and two new messages.

H - will come home tonight if u dont reply. its ok if u want me to, i just need to know before i check out of hotel.

H - babe.

Louis pulls himself together and calls him back.

Harry picks up on the first ring. "Yeah?"

"Jesus, that was fast."

"Yeah, well," he drawls, "I was waiting."

Louis nods, even though Harry can't see it. "Well. I just rung to tell you that it's fine, you can- obviously, you can stay for as long as you want, it's not up to me."

"But—"

"But what?"

"We're gonna be all right, then?" he asks, after a beat, "it's not gonna be, like... you freezing me out for the entire week and then blowing up on me the second I come home?"

Louis has to take a second just to calm his temper at that. "No," he grits out, "no. It won't be like that. We'll keep in contact and you'll come back Friday and then we'll be okay. We'll be okay. I'll be okay here, it'll all be— okay."

"Okay."

*

Okay. Okay.

He goes to work and he's okay. He comes home and eats, shits, wanks off to porn, watches telly, wanks off to more porn and then goes to bed and he's okay. He receives messages every day from Harry, just quick little things like back at the hotel now and they're showing Love Actually on Channel 4 right now, just FYI and, late one evening, what are you doing? paired with a winkey-face and a dickpic. And Louis' okay.

Thursday, Louis receives no messages at all and— he isn't okay. He makes a point of not reaching out first, but the only thing he gets out of that is a night of no sleep and just staring at a message-less phone-screen. He can't think at work the next day, can't do anything at all but bite his nails down and stare at his phone.

Around 3 PM, he finally receives a text.

H - will be home around 6 pm. will buy indian on the way home for us

And, just as Louis' finished reading that one, another ticks in:

H - love you

And, it's terrible, but the only thing Louis can think of when he sees those two words is guilt. Guilt, because he's done something. Guilt, he must've touched her. Guilt, he's gone and fucked her and now he's overcompensating. Out of guilt. Guilt guilt guilt, it's written all over that text.

It's written all over Harry's face, when he arrives home an hour later than he said he would. "So sorry," he pants, tumbling into the hall, duffel and take away-bag dropping to the floor, "sorry, there was, like- a massive queue at the place and I... hh... traffic."