Zayn calls him when he's just popped a bottle of champagne left over from last New Year's.
"What?"
"I'm sorry."
Louis licks champagne-foam off his hand. "Why?"
"For... assuming things."
"Good for nothing, that," Louis mutters, before he has a big swig of the overly sweet liquid, "assuming things."
"No," Zayn sighs into the phone, "I just—"
"You just what?"
"Can never comprehend why people who can't keep their dick in their pants would even get into monogamous relationships to begin with."
Louis puts the bottle down. "You know what I can't comprehend?" he asks, "how you've known me and Harry for as long as we've been together and the second you hear one thing going wrong you automatically assume that everything's just gone to shit and we might as well say fuck it to everything we've built up together over the past eight years."
"Right." Zayn sighs again. "Right, you're right. S'why I called to apologise. I said what I thought when I thought it. I didn't think it through. I apologise."
"It's all right," Louis tells him, mostly because he's just had another big two swigs of champagne.
"And, like... I guess it just set me off because I walked into your flat in the middle of the afternoon and you were passing out drunk and H wasn't there to take care of you or nothing."
Right. Louis puts the bottle down again. "Well, I'm fine now. And I'm a big boy, I can take care of myself. And also, on that note, ehm, thanks for... tucking me in."
Zayn gives a little chuckle. "Anytime."
"And you know what, I know it might've looked like... like he just fucked it all and left me behind to go up and see her, but that's really not what it's like. He's visiting the kid - just the kid - and then he's coming back tomorrow, I think."
"Okay. Well, then I got things wrong, I'm sorry."
"Yeah."
*
Except when Louis goes to bed alone that night and Harry hasn't texted in hours, he doesn't believe his own words for a second. He can't sleep, even with a bottle of shitty champagne stirring in his gut. He can't stop wondering what Harry's doing, whether he's thinking about Louis right now, or whether he's still with her. If he is, the kid's asleep and it's just Harry and her. Just the two of them, sitting in her little sofa, all cosy.
He checks his phone again. No new messages.
He types out goodnight, and then deletes. Then will you be back tomorrow? and deletes. Then how are you? and— deletes.
In the end, he goes with his first instinct and sends the goodnight.
When he checks his phone first thing the following morning, he's received three messages in response.
H - goodmorning :)
H - sorry didnt see it till this morning, was asleep. how are you?
And then a longer one:
H - called you this morning, but couldnt get hold of you. Will quickly explain here, but call me back when you can still. Marie's study-group thing is actually something she's doing through the week, turns out, and she was going to have her mum come and babysit but since things went well this weekend she'll let me babysit for the week. If I stay up here in sheffield until friday. how do you feel about that? would it be all right with you, I know you're working anyway so ?
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."
"Did you take the stairs or summat?"
"No, I just..." Harry shuffles out of his coat and puffs a lock of hair out of his mouth and bends down to unlace boots, "tired."
Louis nods. Leans back against the wall, arms crossing over his chest, eyes looking Harry up and down. The flush in his cheeks could be from the cold evening-wind outside. It could also be from having fucked Marie. The little tear in his bottom lip could be from mindlessly chewing at it while driving. It could also be from having fucked Marie. The guilt-ridden look on his face could be attributed to nothing but his lateness. It could also be—
"Did you fuck her?"
Everything sort of falls silent at that.
Harry freezes where he's leaning down, still fiddling with his bootlaces. It's a second, maybe two, maybe a fucking eternity, before he finally lifts his head and looks up at Louis. "No!" he exclaims, incredulous, "no, what the- what the fuck, you—"
"Sorry," Louis cuts through, spinning around on himself, dragging a hand through his hair, regretting, "sorry, that wasn't- sorry."
And, even though Harry doesn't say anything more to that, changes the topic onto the Indian curry that's going cold, Louis knows he's ruined the mood. Louis knows things aren't going to be cosy, light, casual, or even just remotely okay.
Then again, it might've been like that anyway.
He set the table over an hour ago, wanting them to sit down and try to talk for a bit, candles and everything, but now he regrets. Now all he wants to do is turn up the telly and sink into the couch and not have to think about the constant pit of anxiety in his gut, not have to look at Harry and not hear anything but didyoufuckherdidyoufuckherdidyoufuckher, a neverending loop in his head.
"Eat," Harry says at some point, nudging his plastic-fork at Louis' box of rice and creamy orange chicken, "s'your favourite."
Louis nods. Stirs the food around a bit, makes a stuck-together clump of rice crumble apart and then has a piece of chicken because he can feel Harry's gaze burning through his skull.
"S'good," he mutters, and it's so hard to swallow, but it's worse to look up and look at Harry and not scream out did you fuck her, did you touch her, did you lie to me when you said you didn't?
They hardly talk through the entire meal. Not because it isn't uncomfortable not to, not because they don't both try to - hm, I like this green stuff, that's a new thing they've added, isn't it?'s and s'nice with the candles, cosy, don't you think?'s and other little things that don't feel like poking a needle into a massive infested cyst, but also don't make for conversation lasting past the ten-second mark.
At some point, Louis just can't take it any more, the sound of his own chewing and Harry's feet shifting under the table driving him mad.
"Gotta get some water," he says, even though he's got half a glass of coke standing right in front of him, "- throat itch, fizzy won't do," he adds, despite the fact that Harry didn't so much as lift his head at it.
Letting himself into the kitchen and closing the door behind him is a miserable relief. He walks over, flicks on the faucet, then watches the water run cold and keep running, hands clenched around the edge of the counter. When he finally pulls himself together to actually find a glass and fill it, Harry's been out there long enough to know that he's purposely stalling.
He can't quite bring himself to care. They don't seem to be in a place to call each other out on anything tonight, so he'll be fine, for the time being.
"You didn't want any, did you?" he asks, just because he can't come back into the room again without something, just anything, to get them started.
Harry isn't eating anymore. He's chewing on something, but it's probably just his own tongue, or some hard tasteless old piece of gum, and he's got his face rested sideways in his hand, gaze glazed-over. "No thanks," he murmurs, and then he pushes his chair back and stands without looking at Louis, properly. "I'm actually- I'm just gonna go have a shower. Long car-ride, so..."
"Yeah, course. You- you go do that."
Louis doesn't sit back down until Harry's gone into the other room.
When he does, it's with a thump, tired and sad and water splashing over the edges of his glass and down his arm.
He drinks the remains of it, listening for the shower-faucet until it finally goes off. A few months back, he'd hop in the shower with Harry, if they both needed one at the same time, just for convenience and cuddles.
Now, he waits until Harry's out of the room before he even goes to brush his teeth.
When he's showered, shaved, flossed, scrubbed his teeth to death and gone through a whole range of Harry's skin-care products, he finally runs out of things to waste time with and walks out of the bathroom.
Harry's in bed, naked, at least from the hips and up, rest of him covered by the duvet. He puts his phone away when he notices Louis walking in. "Hey."
"Hey."
Louis settles into bed beside him, looking around for his book, but he must've forgotten it in the livingroom. It's all the same anyway, because he wasn't that set on reading, he only wanted to be sure he had something to do with his mind, lest Harry should want to keep the lights on for a bit longer.
But, Harry flicks the lights off.
"S'okay, right?" he asks, once he's already shuffled down under the sheets, light-switch out of reach, "you weren't gonna read or—"
"No, it's- s'fine. I'm tired anyway," Louis says, and it's true, but not in the sense that he feels he could sleep yet. Ever.
He lies on his back, staring at the insides of his eyelids, pretends like he doesn't know Harry's doing the exact same thing.
At some point, Harry gives a long sigh and then rolls over. He comes closer, shift by shift, and then, in one and the same move, puts his mouth to Louis' neck and hand to his crotch. He isn't gentle about it, the initial wariness cancelled out by greedy impatience soon as he's sure Louis won't push him off. His teeth nip at Louis' skin, just a little too hard every second time, hand only kneading at his bulge till he's sure Louis' hard enough that he won't say no to anything.
Louis isn't any better himself. He closes his eyes and locks Harry in-between his thighs, pulls the hairband out of his hair and digs his fingers into the tangled mess of it and revels in every little thing that hurts just a bit too bad to be fun.
They don't talk at all, aside from turn over and d'you need prep or can I just put it in? and no, you- you can- just get in me.
Normally, it starts out slow. No matter how rough it gets within moments, they always start out slow, just to give Louis a second. Tonight, Harry pushes all the way in with a grunt, one hand holding Louis by the hip and the other going up to grab onto the headboard above him, and then he starts to pound in, hard. It's rougher than it's been before, violence behind every thrust and Louis has to grab hold of the headboard too, just to hold his body up.
But, it's all right. It's the way he wants it tonight, just on the wrong side of too much, intense enough to forget about anything that isn't physical.
It's all right, until Harry starts to spew filth in that horribly deep, hoarse voice he only gets when the he's so into it he can't even remember his own name. "Take it," he says, "take it, come on, does it hurt, huh?" he grabs Louis by the back of the hair and yanks his head back, thrusts into him so hard he shouts, "does it hurt?"
"Yeah," Louis croaks, voice absolutely shot.
"Well, ungh, you're gonna take it anyway," Harry spits, just as he lands a stinging slap to Louis' left arse-cheek, "you're gonna take me till I come, don't care how bad it hurts, you're just gonna take me."
"Yeah," Louis manages, as he gets a hand on his own dick and starts to jerk, "fuck yeah, ah- ow, ah, yeah, fuck me."
"Fuck, ah—" Harry takes his hand off the headboard in favour of holding Louis by both hips and fucks into him faster, fast enough that Louis can't hold onto the headboard either, can't even manage to jerk himself, and he slumps into his own arms instead, just letting his arse get pummeled into.
Harry reaches round and takes hold of his dick.
"Come for me," he says, and his voice is fucking— gone, the tips of his hair sliding up and down the back of Louis' shoulders, skin slappy with sweat as he slams up against Louis, "come on, come for me, come on," he keeps on, and Louis knows it's because he's about to come too, and he won't want to bother with getting Louis off once he's finished, so he tells Harry to go jerk him faster, and he does, but then he also spits out; "such a little slut, you just can't get enough, can you?"
"No," Louis pants, just because Harry's jerking him too good to ever want it to stop, "no, can't- ah- can't get enough of you."
"Of me," Harry echoes, and there's something behind all the breathiness, almost mocking, "can't get enough cock," he says, and somewhere in the middle of it he's managed to get Louis over the edge with his hand, so Louis hardly hears the next thing he says over his own moans, but then he still does, "you'll take fuckin' anyone, just as long as they've got a cock, you'll get on your fuckin'- ungh- fuckin' hands and knees, cause you're such a fuckin'- ah- fuckin' whore for it, ungh—"
Louis lies plastered to his own arms, panting so hard his entire back moves with it, head twisted just enough that he can peek an eye at Harry pounding into him still.
He's a fucking mess, flushed from his chest up to his temples, dripping with sweat, hair clinging to the side of his face, muscles convulsing under his fern leaf-tattoo's. Louis catches his gaze for a moment, no trace of green left in them, and then Harry cuts it away, moves it down to where he's fucking into him.
"Does it hurt?" he pants, nails digging into the flesh of Louis' hips like he wants it to, "does it hurt, yeah? S'it hurt to be a fucking whore?"
He's so gone with it Louis knows there's nothing in it. They've done this before, they've said these kinds of things, Louis' said worse in the heat of the moment, things he'd never ever say, or mean, elsewhere. Louis knows there's nothing in it and yet— he just can't bring himself to remember. "Well, then fucking come already," he hears himself yell, "bet it didn't take this fuckin' long with her."
Harry's gaze snaps up, a hard puff of air falling from his lips. His thrusts come to a halt, eyes locked on Louis'. Louis still can't tell what he's thinking.
It feels like ages before Harry finally looks away again.
"You're fucking pathetic," he says, before he resumes to fucking Louis for another fifteen seconds and then comes, nails set deep in his skin.
He hardly leaves a second for his come to pump out before he pulls out and thumps onto his back beside him.
And, the only thing Louis can think, as he collapses completely, face in his arms, is the same as he's been thinking all night.
"Did you fuck her?"
"I swear to god if you ask me that one more time, I'll fucking—"
"No, it's not that fucking unreasonable," Louis snaps, not half as heavy as he thought all of a sudden, jerking round to look at Harry, "it's not that fucking unreasonable cause you did it once, what the fuck is to stop you from doing it again, huh? I've no bloody idea what you've been doing all week, it's not that fucking unreasonable that I'd be worried about it, Harry."
"Well, what the fuck do you want me to do?!" Harry screams, shoving off the mattress and sitting up, "what the fuck do you want me to do, you didn't wanna come with, you don't believe me when I tell you I didn't touch her, you- you- I've— fuck."
He goes to his wrist for a hair-band, but the only one he had was the one Louis pulled out of his hair earlier and threw to the floor. It's petty how smug it makes him feel, just for a second.
Harry shakes his hair out and pushes his back by hand-force instead. "I'm- I'm at the end of the fuckin' rope right now," he says, "I mean, what am I supposed to fucking say? You tell me it's okay for me to go, but that I can't touch her. I tell you I wont and I don't, but then I come back and you ask me if I did and you don't believe me when I say I didn't. What the fuck do I do then? What else have I got? I can't make you trust me."
He stares at Louis for a few seconds, wide-eyed and panting. Then he drops his face into his hands, rubbing at it.
Louis watches him with furrowed brows, unsure whether he wants to yell and throw something or just break down crying. In the end, he's just too tired for any of it. Done too fucking much of it lately. "Harry," he says, voice half-gone, but steady still, "you've fucked me, like... twice a day since you found out about me and that bloke."
Harry looks up, and raises his brows at him, like yeah, what's your point?
"You've fucked me twice a day and you've not fucked me while I faced you one single time," Louis says, "that's not normal. That's not normal, for us."
"Well, you've got a voice, use it if you want something differently, you're a grown fucking man."
But that's not it. That's intentionally averting the point. "I've asked you how you felt about what happened, but you haven't wanted to talk about it. I've tried not to pry too much because you've stayed and I haven't wanted to bring it up and risk getting on your nerves about, but Harry," he says, "you're obviously affected. You've never— you've never called me names like that when we fuck, you- not like that. It's like you're acting a part or summat, I don't know, it's like you're putting up a front, you've never been- like that with me. It's not nice."
Harry rolls his eyes. "Oh, please don't get all fuckin' victim-y on me. If I'm acting a part then you are too, because I heard you moaning how much you fuckin' loved it."
"Yeah, cause it's nice when we- it's sexy, but you- it's not nice if... if it's just out of resentment. That's just not healthy."
"All right," Harry says, plopping back onto his back.
Louis expects him to say something more, but then he doesn't.
In the end, curiosity gets the better of him and he breaks. "All right, what?"
"All right, I'm too tired to fight."
"Well, I'm not," Louis says, too irritated to be tired, "tell me what the fuck's going on. Are you- what, is it cause of what I did or is it cause- cause you want to fuck her or—"
Harry throws the duvet off. "That's it," he snaps, marching for the bedroom door, "you're just-" he kicks at something on the floor and then rips the door open, "too fucking much."
He slams the door behind him. Louis lies stiff in his spot, and doesn't miss the sound of furniture getting kicked, and something, probably Louis' book, getting thrown into the wall.
After a while, the room settles down, though, and Louis stops fearing he'll suddenly hear front door slamming shut. He falls asleep that night, clutching the sheets not to go in and beg Harry back to bed. Or maybe scream at him some more.
*
He wakes feeling guilty. Sore-fucked and guilty. Harry hasn't come back to bed during the night and when he pads into the living-room, he finds him where he has far too many times lately; asleep on the couch. He's on his back, mouth left softly open, snoring. On the floor by the wall lies Louis' book, quite clearly having been launched across the room last night like suspected. The bookshelf seems to have been given a bit of a shove as well.
But, Harry's still here. That's the most important part.
Until his phone buzzes on the coffee-table, that is.
It's just lying there, face-up, blue-ish light screaming at Louis, fucking begging for his attention.
And, he can't help himself. He's pathetic, just like Harry told him last night, he's pathetic and he just can't help himself.
Nick - can get Tony to pop by and pick you up if u need a breather. Up to you, Harry, its your life, he isnt forcing you to stay.
Louis takes a slow breath in, gut tightening and twisting up. He knows what it's about. He knows what Nick's offering that for, he doesn't need to scroll back through the conversation to get that, he isn't a fucking idiot.
He still does though.
He glances over at Harry to check he's still sleeping, as if the constant snoring wasn't enough confirmation, and then looks through the messages. He only means to go back to last night, just to see what Harry said about him, just to see how much he shares with fucking Nick.
He ends up getting caught on a text from just a little bit earlier. It's sent approximately forty minutes before Harry came home last night.
Harry - parked now. Have been for ten minutes straight. Cant pull myself together to go up there
Nick - hold on 1 sec and ill call you
Then it seems like they've spoken on the phone. For over half an hour. Louis bites his lip, scared to read the following text. In the end, he still does it.
Harry - thanks mate.
Harry - its also the fucking that worries me. Its like getting off into some random at the club these days. I cant look at it the same or i cant do it or it makes me too sick
Harry - ill just give it another 5 mins then ill go up there.
Nick - yeah i know H. But dont fuck him if you feel so sick about it then. Just focus on eating some food and not fighting too much ?
Harry - yeah. thanks
Harry - but fucking him feels like the only thing we have left right now and I cant even do that anymore without feeling sicked out by him cause he let some other bloke up him
Harry - i hate that i feel like this, i know im a fucking hypocrite.
Nick - well its not something you've got control over, is it? Just dont fuck him if you cant get your head in the right space. Give it some time. Try to chat or something, focus on other stuff for a while.
Nick - and go the fuck up there already, you just said on the phone you were supposed to be home an hour ago ?
The texts end there. For a few hours.
After the fight, Harry must've gone out onto the balcony or waited until Louis was asleep and then called Nick up to blow steam off, judging from the following texts;
Harry - thanks again. sorry to load off on you like this.
Nick - no problem Harry. Just get some sleep.
Harry - yeah. Goodnight, sleep well and thank you
Harry - I just feel like im staying round right now cause he stayed for me and I cant be that much of a fucking hypocrite but I also cant even look him in the eye and he knows somethings wrong.
Nick - give it time, Harry. He's working on getting over stuff for you. You can do the same for him. You love him.
Harry - too bloody much, thats why it makes me so sick
That's the last one before the one Nick sent just now.
Louis flicks the phone off. Sits down on the coffee-table slowly and stays for a moment, just wringing his hands around.
Then, he drops his face into his hands and starts to fucking cry again.
It's mostly soundless, but it wouldn't matter if it weren't, because Harry isn't sleeping anymore. He's been watching Louis through the last of the messages and since he sat down, so quiet himself that Louis thinks he might've purposely been holding his breath.
Now he sits up, checks his phone, and then lets go of a long breath and puts his hands on Louis' thighs and says; "I love you, but I think I might have to leave you."
Louis can't manage to lift his head, but something inside him breaks. The last little bit left of that stupid kid inside him, genuinely thinking love was all they needed.
"I think we've just hurt each other too much to keep going, babe," Harry goes on, hands shaking round Louis' thighs, thumbs tapping frantically at his skin, "I think it's- I think that, uhm—" even his voice is trembling, fighting on every word not to crack, "I think that if you look up right now and tell me you think that isn't true, then I'll stay and try some more."
It sounds like he's going to say more right away, but then he doesn't. Then he stops, shaky breaths and fingers cramping up around Louis' thighs. It feels like the moment drags on forever and, right then, Louis' feels the heaviest he ever has, like just lifting his head to tell Harry stay seems the most insurmountable task in the world.
In the end, he's waited too long.
"Okay," Harry says, no voice at all, "I'll figure something out. I'll, uhm- I'll pack some of my stuff now and..." he stops himself, swallowing loudly, "I think it's just too much now. But, just know, that, uhm," he scratches at Louis' thighs, sniffles and clears his throat. His voice is raw, hoarse, when he finally says; "if it were just about the love and nothing else, then I think we'd have lasted forever."
He presses a soft kiss to Louis' shivering thigh and then gets up and starts to pack his bags.