"So," Perrie says three days later, as they're packing up the radio show for the night, glancing up at Harry with her eyebrows raised, "You and Louis."
"I don't know what-"
"Harry. Save it."
He groans. "Zayn told you?"
"I do have eyes," she says airily, before adding, "Yes, he did, but that's not the point. You think nobody saw you two grinding up on each other Thursday night? I was drunk but I wasn't blind."
Harry flushes, remembering it well. He hadn't even been that drunk and he was sure Louis wasn't either, but the packed dance floor was too much to resist, especially with Louis grinding up on him, arms around his shoulder and gorgeous bum moving over his hard-on; and they'd ended up snogging in a corner then getting each other off in the bathroom while security banged on the door for them to come out. Louis could not have looked more smug when he opened the door wiping his shiny red lips, and even though they'd been told quite forcefully to leave the club then and there, Louis had grabbed Harry's hand and ran off into the dance floor and somehow they'd managed to lose the bouncer.
They still spent the rest of the night snogging, of course.
"Oh," Harry says, scratching the back of his neck as she slipped her pink coat on. "I, um. Yeah."
"Things are good then?"
Harry shrugs, zipping up his hoodie under his coat. "Yep."
"Should I be expecting an official flat announcement sometime soon, or-"
"We're just, like," he says, switching off the lights. "Kind of just figuring each other out right now."
"So you haven't talked about it?" Harry's silence is enough of an answer. She hits him gently on the arm. "Oh, Harry! You know this was what happened with me and Zayn. You need to communicate! What if he doesn't think you're dating? What if he's sleeping with someone else?"
"I'm pretty sure he's not," Harry scoffs, but even as he says it he's doubting himself. Perrie widens her eyes at him.
"Babe. Please. I know – like, it's not my place to say or anything, but Louis has had stuff going on this term and you – like, maybe you should make sure that stuff has been wrapped up, you know?"
Harry frowns at her, pausing as they exit the studio. "What kind of 'stuff'?" he says, hooking his fingers around the word in air quotes. She sighs, halting a little further up the corridor.
"Look, it's something he told me in confidence-"
"If you know, then Zayn definitely knows, so why can't you tell me?" he demands, unusually bullish. She tucks her hair behind her ears, foot scuffing the floor.
"I'm sorry. I just can't," she says, shrugging helplessly. "C'mon, let's go."
Harry doesn't move. Instead, he calls out, "Is this – is this about the moving out thing?"
"The what?" She spins where she stands, frowning hard. "Who's moving out?"
"Louis. You know. It was only supposed to be temporary, I get it, I always knew it...I found his letters," he continues, even though she looks confused. "I know that he, like, got an offer of accommodation. I know he's moving out soon."
"No, it's not – he's moving out? He never said!"
Harry bites his lip, scratching the back of his head. "Well, like. He's got letters about it and stuff. I haven't actually talked to him about it-"
"Promise me," Perrie says, stepping towards him to poke him in the sternum, "when we get back tonight you'll talk to Louis. Promise me."
"Yeah," Harry sighs, rubbing his nose. "Yeah, I guess. I just – I just can't believe it's actually happening. Me and him. I don't want to ruin it."
"If it's actually happening, you won't ruin it, hun. Promise," she says, before linking their arms and half-walking, half-dragging him down the corridor, and makes him get the bus with her back to the flat. It's rowdy with drunk students going to town, which isn't exactly pleasant, and by the time they get off Harry's sure someone upstairs has been sick and that he stinks of red bull and beer.
"Good luck," Perrie mouths at him, rather suspiciously waiting for him to let himself into his own room before returning to hers, which they actually had already walked past...hmm. When he lets himself in, Louis is sitting cross-legged on his bed, laptop balanced on his knees and bathed in the fluorescent glow of the screen. He grins up at him as he walks in.
"Hiya," he says brightly, as Harry toes off his boots and shrugs off his coat, before flopping down next to him. Louis' hand curls around the inside of his thigh, squeezing gently.
"Gah. I'm tired," Harry mumbles, throwing an arm over his eyes. Louis' thumb rubs over the inseam of his jeans, which gives him...flashbacks.
"Harold," he coos sympathetically. "It's only half-ten."
"Yeah, but I've been busy all day, and I just want to lie down and go to sleep. Mm." Harry grins as Louis shuffles down next to him, tangling their legs together and splaying his hand on his chest as he kisses the exposed flesh of his upper arm flung across his face. "Hello," he murmurs, still grinning even though he can't see Louis' face.
"Hi, baby," he whispers, bunching his hand in the fabric of his t-shirt. The word makes Harry's insides cramp and his heart trip-hop in his chest, so he drops his arm from his face, wrapping it around Louis' shoulders instead. "You have a good radio voice," Louis says, after a long while.
"You listen to the show?"
"'Course I do. It's got two of me best mates on it. Wouldn't miss it for the word."
Mates. Harry's insides freeze again. He thinks he understands why Perrie thinks they need to have "the conversation".
"I really like that song you always play," he continues, propping himself up on his elbow so he can stare down at Harry. "Sex."
"Oh, do you?"
Harry crooks an eyebrow, and Louis gently pinches him. "I do. Not just 'cause of the subject matter. Which, for the record, I also enjoy."
Harry snorts. "Right."
"I looked them up. The 1975," he says quietly, now walking his fingers slowly up Harry's chest. "They're playing a pub down in town in February. I thought we could go. Me and you, Zayn and Perrie. Just us."
"Yeah?"
Louis nods. "Yeah. Could be, like, your birthday present. One of many, of course. Don't think I won't buy you every little tiny sentimental piece of shit you've mentioned over the last two months."
"Sounds perfect," he replies, a little shakily, because it does, the thought filling his vein with something hot and heavy that makes his heart pump heart, rattling in his fingertips and his toes. Harry runs his hand up his neck, the back of his head, fluffing his hair up with the movement. He sense now is his moment, and takes a little breath. "Lou. Are you moving out?"
Louis frowns, his hand stilling on Harry's chest. "What? No. Absolutely not. Where'd you – why would you think that?"
"I found your letters," he says mournfully. "When you asked me to look for the condoms and lube. They were – I'm so sorry, but they were right there-"
"No, no," Louis says soothingly, stroking his thumb over his collarbone, "No, Harry, don't worry, I'm not going. They can't make me. What are they going to do if I don't move? Drag my stuff out of the room?"
Harry worries his lower lip with his teeth as he thinks. "They'll take the bed."
"So? We don't use it anyway."
"Well, we do, we sleep in that one more than-"
"You know what I mean," Louis interrupts crossly, before leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to Harry's nose. "I like this, Harry. I like it just me and you. Besides, paying half rent is so much cheaper, it means I can have a bit more fun without worrying about money. I just won't move out, it's fine. Not like they'll care, is it?"
Harry has reservations about this – mainly that the fact that the two of them have been staying in this tiny room probably against the rules and regulations, and that anybody else he's ever met who had to share a room for the first few weeks of uni a) got a proper double room and b) moved out within the first three weeks.
"Yeah, OK," Harry says slowly, heart beating fast as he adds, "but, like...you and me, what is this, exactly?"
Louis leans down, smudging a kiss high up his cheek, then next to his ear. "Just like you said. It's just you and me. Just...us."
"But, like-" Harry starts to say, as Louis presses his thumb to his bottom lip.
"You're my best friend. And my roommate. And I like to kiss you. And touch you. And suck you," he breathes, as Harry gently bites down on his thumbnail. "It is what it is."
Harry lets Louis kiss under his jaw and his chin and finally his lips, wondering if that weird non-answer is a good thing or a bad thing. Good thing, he decides. Louis still wants to kiss him. Louis is shifting over onto his lap, opening his mouth and kissing him good. Mm. Really good.
"OK?" Louis murmurs, running his thumbs along his jaw. Harry nods.
"Mm. Yeah."
"You want to try," Louis breathes, nipping at his jaw with the lightest touch of his small, sharp teeth, "me being inside you, baby?"
Harry can't help the little shiver of lust that zips down his spine, but there's – but there's still that little question mark, that little amount of uncertainty, and tonight, in the quiet darkness, stone cold sober, he thinks he would probably rather not. He'd rather wait. He digs his thumbs into Louis' hips and kisses him softly before breathing, "Not yet, Lou. I don't think-"
"It's fine," he replies, kissing the corner of his mouth. "I don't mind. You could fuck me if you want. Or I could suck you off some more. Whatever you want."
Harry thinks he may have lost complete cooperation with his dick for a nanosecond, already half-hard from the sweet pressure of Louis' arse, but he steels himself.
"Blowjobs, I think. Yeah, blowjobs," he manages to croak out, before surrendering entirely. There are worse things to give in to, he supposes.
He's walking up to campus next week when his phone vibrates – because he's a weak slave to technology, he digs it out the back pocket of his jeans almost immediately to check the notification.
Facebook 7s ago
Stanley Lucas invited you to his event LOU'S SUPER SECRET 21ST PARTAY/NEW YEARS!!!.
He frowns, unlocking his phone and opening Facebook. It takes forever to load, as usual, before coming up with the event.
LOU'S SUPER SECRET 21ST PARTAY/NEW YEARS!!!
Invite Only · By Stanley Lucas
Tuesday, 31st December 2012
Going (88) Maybe (25) Invited (93)
Hey dudes and gals,
Since our favourite globetrotting gaylord is turning the big 2-1 this Christmas Eve I'm throwing a MASSIVE NEW YEARS PARTY for him!! There will be booze provided and I've got some sofas spare if your quick but otherwise bring your own booze and other recreational items but most of all bring you wonderful SELVES!! And not a word to the man himself about it, top secret and all that!!!
Harry honestly has no idea why he's been invited – he's not even friends with Stan on Facebook but he does know that he's Louis' best friend from home. And he definitely – like, he is racking his brains, but he definitely does not remember Louis ever saying that he's 20. That makes him a full 2 years older than Harry. He knows he's talked about his gap year, but weirdly the extra year makes it seem – Harry doesn't know, exactly, but it's frustrating him that this is new information, that after all the time they'd spent talking and kissing and, more recently, getting each other off, this had never come up.
He forces himself to forget about it as he enters the student pub, spotting Nick straight away at the bar.
"All right?" he says, sidling up to him. Nick grins and slides him a packet of dry roasted peanuts.
"Afternoon, Harry. No shadow today?"
"What?"
"Your ever-present roommate," Nick elaborates. Harry laughs.
"Oh, Louis. No, he's in Sheffield for a match. Just me."
"Fair enough," he replies, with a crooked smile. "So. What're you having?"
"Um, just cranberry juice, thanks. Went out last night, still feeling a bit delicate." He'd gone out with the law society and very unceremoniously woken Louis up when he got back by being sick all over the sink. Lovely, lovely Louis has cleaned him up and stroked his hair and washed him with a cool damp towel and made him take two aspirin before climbing back into bed with him. He's sure he could feel worse, but the idea of alcohol at the moment makes his stomach want to empty itself again, so he thinks it's a good idea to play it safe.
Nick gets them drinks – cranberry juice and ice for Harry, Diet Coke for him – and they go and sit in a corner, sharing the bag of peanuts.
"I've got some brilliant gossip for you," he says, sipping on his Coke. Harry grins.
"Really? So have I, um, kind of. Yeah. I do."
"Brilliant. Me first," Nick says, tossing a peanut into his wide-open mouth. "You know my mate Paddy?"
"Um-"
"Big Irish lad. Keeper for the uni football team? You met him at the house party last week. "
"Uh – I think so," Harry says, slurping on his cranberry juice, truthfully remembering nobody of the sort: the only Irish footballer he'd been with all night was Niall, and a large majority of that was spend in Nick's garden watching him and Zayn getting high and throw beer bottle tops at trees.
"Well," Nick says, waving a hand, as if this is in fact unimportant, "he was telling me about one of the players on the team – I don't even know what all the positions are called, but he's defence-something, anyway, you would know him if you saw him – like an actual Adonis, all perfectly sculpted, and I should know, I saw him last year half-naked and dressed as a Roman slave at the charity slave auction-" He's said all of this in one breath; Harry is vaguely impressed. "-an-y-way, the point is, Paddy said that despite the fact this guy – Mark, his name is-" Harry flashes back to his and Louis' trip to Sprinkles, and suddenly feels a coil of unease start to wind in his stomach, "-despite the fact he's got a girlfriend, some skinny Hollister-model type, is apparently getting it on with none other than your one-man-shagging-machine Louis Tomlinson."
Harry's heart sinks straight through his feet and goes crashing through the floorboards below.
"What?" he says, cheeks heating up in panic. "What d'you mean, getting it on?"
"Well, Harold, what do you think I mean? Do I need to quote Marvin Gaye at you? Paddy caught them with their hands down each other's pants after training the other week, apparently. Embarrassing for everyone involved, as you'd imagine, but Paddy just thinks everything's a laugh so it's all good. Mark's a right closet case about it, though – apparently his dad's Turkish and they really don't approve of that sort of thing...Harry, you all right?"
Harry jerks back to reality, remembering how odd Louis had seemed when Mark approached them, the way he'd squeezed his shoulder, just too chummily for Harry's liking.
"Fine," he says emptily. Nick's eyes widen.
"Oh, of course. You liked him, didn't you?"
"Like him, yeah," Harry corrects, swirling his straw in his drink. He feels quite sick now, wishes he'd stayed in bed and rearranged the meeting for another time when Louis were here and not in Sheffield getting sweaty on a football pitch with Mark.
"Harry, look. It's like I told you before. You need to find someone else. That boy is as easy as 1, 2, 3, to inappropriately quote the Jackson 5. He would've just fucked you and fucked off. That's the way boys like him are."
Harry grits his teeth, one fist clenched under the table. "We've been sleeping together for almost two weeks," he says quietly. Nick's eyebrows shoot so far up into his quiff that Harry almost expects to see them hovering above it.
"Wow," he says. Harry doesn't reply. "I didn't – wow, I'm genuinely surprised at that."
"I think I'm in love with him, and I think – I don't know, maybe I'm being naive, but I think – I thought he might've felt the same way. You are right, I've watched him with other boys, but he just-" Harry cuts himself off, feeling his vocal chords tremble. "He seemed different. I thought we were different."
"Maybe you are. Hot boys are always arseholes in the end. Maybe this Mark was using Louis," he suggests, reaching for his hand over the table. "Hey. Sorry. I didn't know-"
"You knew I liked him," he says quietly, eyes burning. He won't cry, fuck it, he isn't going to cry, not here, not over Louis. "Could've softened the blow, Nick."
"I'm sorry, I really – I just forgot. Shit. Sorry. Hey, hey, wait a second-"
"I don't feel well, I think I'm gonna go home," he mumbles, before rushing to the toilet and noisily throwing up in one of the cubicles. He can't stop shaking afterwards, swilling tap water around his mouth to try and get rid of the burning, acidic taste, and nearly jumps when Nick quietly walks through the door behind him, coming up behind him in the mirror.
"C'mon. I'll walk you home or something. You look awful."
"Thanks," Harry says dully. Nick slips an arm around his shoulders, squeezing him tight. "You'll be all right. You're a catch. He'll come round."
"Can we not talk about it, if that's OK?" he replies, with an unconvincing smile.
"Yeah, sure. Sure. Hey, wait, let's hear your gossip then!" Harry only has to look at him before Nick's expression wilts and he sighs. "Right, right. It was about him, wasn't it?"
"Yeah," he mumbles in reply, chewing the hangnail on the end of his thumb and trying to blank everything from his brain. He lets Nick talk at him for the entire walk back, hands stuffed in his pockets and vaguely paranoid he smells like sick. When he gets back to the flat he's the only one in, as far as he can tell, and flops down on his bed, letting himself cry into his hands for a little bit now he's alone. Once he's got it all out, he scrubs at his eyes and sends a text to Louis – it's half four, he's sure the match will be over – that reads hey what time are you back from sheffs?
He gets an almost instant reply. Um not sure maybe at like 5 ? But I'm going to the pub with the lads straight after so might not be back til late, save me some tea please :) xxxx
He stares at the screen for the longest time, before finally typing with shaking fingers I know about you and Mark.
He's not exactly surprised when Louis doesn't reply.
He locks himself in his room, turns off his phone and crawls under the duvet, pulling it up over his head like he used to do when he was younger. His stomach drops as he thinks back to Perrie's words the week before – he had some stuff going on – and how absolutely stupid he's been not to realise it. Louis even told him himself that he was sleeping with someone on the football team. He told him he didn't want a boyfriend, oh God, why is he so stupid –
He cries a little bit more because he feels pathetic, and then he must fall asleep for a while because he's woken up by someone banging on the door. He's planning on ignoring it until a deep voice calls out, "If anybody is in there, you should be warned I have a key, I'm coming in anyway!"
Curious, and mostly confused, Harry flops out of bed to open the door: he's met by a man he vaguely recognises as the manager of their halls and two others who wouldn't have looked out of place playing the part of Hired Goon in an action movie.
"Hello?" Harry says, thoroughly bewildered.
"Louis Tomlinson?" he halls manager says.
"Um, no – I'm Harry."
The man looks briefly down at a sheet of paper in his hand, and nods. "Ah, right. This is your room?"
"It's Louis' room as well," he says slowly, but the man ignores him.
"We're here to take the bed and drop off Mr Tomlinson's keys. Do you know when he'll be back?"
"Not really, but why-" Harry feels his heart sink again, "-why are you taking the bed?"
The man gives him a look probably usually reserved for children, and says, "Mr Tomlinson has been informed. We've warned him numerous times. It was always agreed that he was to move out of this room at the absolute latest by the 30th of November."
Today's date. Harry swallows hard. "Um – I don't think he knew-"
"He did. At least his mother did, after phoning us four times asking why he was still in makeshift shared accommodation. Now, can I please get in and take this bed? I haven't got all day."
All Harry can do is meekly step outside as the men make their way into the room: they strip off the sheets and other miscellaneous rubbish Harry had left on his bed, piling it onto Louis' – the room's rightful bed – before starting to dismantle it, one of the Hired Goons grabbing the mattress and hauling it into the corridor. It doesn't take more than five minutes. Once they're done, the halls manager hands Harry Louis' new rooms keys, smiling humourlessly.
"Sorry to disturb you," he says, before setting off. When Harry looks back at the room it's almost unrecognisable: the desk has been pushed back from its makeshift spot behind the door, and there seems like there's too much space. Harry's sheets and belongings are on a pile on the floor, which is the funny thing: it's not even Louis' stuff that's been disturbed. It's Harry's.
He drops Louis' keys on the desk and shoves his sheets in the laundry bag – not as if they didn't need changing, if he's honest with himself – and settles down on Louis' bed. Now his bed is gone he can't help but notice how sharp the springs are through the mattress, how the light hits at just the wrong angle from the streetlamp across the road – it's just wrong, it just feels wrong, and he doesn't even have time to get used to it before there's the sound of a key turning in the lock and his heart jumps to his throat.
He doesn't say anything as Louis walks in, halting immediately and dropping his kit bag. He's frowning, but not in the adorably frustrated way Harry has come to love – no, this is a different beast. Seriously Pissed Off Louis.
"What the fuck," he says eventually, staring coldly at Harry, "have you done?"
"I didn't – they just came-"
"Is this about Mark?" he says, still furious. "Because – Jesus Christ, Harry, what even was that, I know about Mark? There's nothing to know,he's just – he's just a hot boy who's scared of his own feelings, what the fuck is new, and since when – since when do I belong to you? It was fucking ages ago, anyway, since anything properly happened and I-" He takes a deep breath, putting his hand to his face and pressing the heel of his palm into his eye. "I can't believe you'd do this. I can't believe it."
"It wasn't me," Harry repeats desperately. "They just came – they said your mum called them, and that you knew-"
"I didn't know, and shut up about my mum," he snaps, just too quickly, and Harry wonders if this is some kind of coping mechanism, that Louis had known all along that it was going to happen and had just buried his head in the sand about it rather than doing anything.
"Louis, please," Harry says, as Louis randomly starts snatching at his belongings, kicking his suitcase out from under the bed. "Please, can we talk, please, you don't have to go-"
"Talk about what? Mark?" Louis straightens up, cheeks flushed pink with anger. "Go on, Harry. What've you got to say? That I'm not good enough for you either? That-" He punctuates his sentence by throwing a pile of clothes into the open suitcase, "-I'm just another stop gap, just someone to get you off when you need it, just someone to experiment with, to figure yourself out with – Fuck!" he yells, kicking the suitcase again. Harry wants to walk up to him and grab him and hold him but he also doesn't want to get punched, so he just stays where he is.
"Lou, it's not like that, you know it's not like that, I just was – like, wondering if you were still getting with him when me and you were-"
"What? I never did. I never did. You fucking - you have the fucking nerve," Louis starts up again, still violently packing, "to get annoyed with me seeing Mark when you spend every other fucking day with Nick Grimshaw-"
"It's not that often!"
"-going to all his little cliquey parties and meeting his fucking irritating hipsters friends and scouting out for someone else, and you – and you're angry with me because I have a fucking closet case after me, even after all the times I turned him down and told him I – do you know what, never mind. Never fucking mind."
He starts opening drawers, throwing the rest of his belongings in and zipping up the first bag.
"Louis," Harry says shakily. "Louis, please, I don't understand. It wasn't me who did this, I promise you, I want you to stay – it doesn't matter, you can just sleep here, I don't care, have the bed, I'll sleep in the hallway, I – never wanted to own you, I never wanted for you to belong to me, I swear-"
"Please just go away, Harry," he says, pausing for a moment. Harry can't see his face. "Just go away."
"No. Not until you say you'll stay."
"Go away."
"Nope. Say you'll stay."
"Just fuck off, Harry," he says, voice trembling with poorly constrained emotion.
"Say you'll stay," Harry replies woodenly, stubborn as a mule when he wants to be.
"Look – I can't." His voice has dropped now, weary and quiet. "It said in one of the letters they'd fine both of us if I stayed. So I can't. It's, like. Technically illegal or against some fire regulations or some shit."
Harry takes the opportunity now Louis has calmed a little to walk over to him, hands gently rested on his shoulders. Louis flicks him away.
"Lou," he says quietly, not wanting to cry again, but it's happening, fuck it, "Lou, I swear. I'll do anything to get you to stay. And I never – you weren't ever just a stopgap to me. Never. I want to be with you. Please."
Louis is silent for so long, before slumping down against the wall, hands over his eyes. He sucks in a deep breath and says, "It doesn't matter anymore, just forget it. I'm sorry I shouted at you."
"Louis," Harry says again, because he feels like an important thing has been ignored. "Louis, did you hear me? I want to be with you. I do. I don't care about Nick or any of them. I want to be with you."
Louis sniffs hard, hands still covering his face. Harry wants to see him, wants to make him look at him, but he doesn't dare grab him or force him to do anything he doesn't want.
"I'm sorry," he says eventually, sniffing again and wiping his eyes before meeting Harry's gaze. "I've fucked up and I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get angry, like, of course you'd ask about Mark, because of what we... This thing, between us, it was all – too intense, I don't – like, I don't even know how I feel, I'm so, um, itchy and uncomfortable and jumpy all the time-" He chokes out a sob, startling him into covering his mouth with his hand. "I don't know, maybe it would be good. For us to, like, be apart. Figure things out. I mean, look at you." Harry can barely see him through his tears. "You need to make some mistakes, kiss the wrong boys, sleep with the wrong people."
"I don't want to," Harry says, lip wobbling.
"Harry, you have to. Otherwise how do you – how can you know who the right person is for you? If you've got nothing to compare?"
"Maybe you just know?" he says, giving him a watery smile. Louis wipes his eyes with his sleeve and doesn't look at him. "Please give me a chance, Lou."
"Trust me, Harry," Louis says, dark and vicious as he gets to his feet, "there's millions of people out there who deserve you better than me."
"He'll always fuck you over," Harry blurts out, as Louis finishes the last of his haphazard packing. All that's left are the sheets on the bed, but he doesn't seem to be interested in taking them. "Mark. I can tell. If you're waiting for him you'll be waiting forever. He's just using you. You know it. You told me yourself."
"No offence," Louis says coldly, "but you know fuck all about what happened with me and Mark. And it's not about him, anyway."
"You said I should be with someone who I trust, that's what makes it good, right?" he says desperately, as Louis starts dragging his suitcases towards the door. He follows him like a puppy that can sense it's about to be left on its own for the first time. "Please, Lou. I don't know how else I can say it. You're my best friend, and I lo-"
"Don't say it," Louis barks out, eyes shiny. "Don't say it, don't even think it. You might think you do but you – you won't soon, I know you won't. And this whole thing – this whole thing is easier if you don't. So just shut up. Please, just shut up."
"I can visit you," he says quietly. "I'll spend every night with you. Please don't shut me out."
Louis grabs his new keys, not looking at him. "I've had plenty of straight boys break my heart before, and even though that sucks, I can get over it. I thought at the beginning that would be what would happen with you but, like." He blinks hard, staring at the floor. "I guess recently I got carried away with the fact that you had feelings back. That you weren't just like them. And, um." He clears his throat; Harry's heart is being a thousand times a minute, or so it feels. "I'm terrible at relationships. I take too much or give too much and I can never make it work and it always ends up messy. So. It's probably for the best. I'm sorry," he says, his voice giving out on him on the last syllable.
"What am I supposed to do? Are you gonna come visit? You have to, I won't let you not," Harry says, clenching his jaw. Louis still won't look at him. "Why, Louis? Why won't you tell me anything? Why do you keep so much? I had to find out from someone else that you're two years older than us. Like, really?" Harry feels a little bolder, a little more like he's allowed to be angry. "Why are you acting like me being in-"
"Shut up," Louis says hollowly.
"-love with you is the worst thing ever to happen to you? If I were you right now, I would – I would-" Harry's arms flail in his attempts to explain himself "-I don't know, but I'd be really fucking pleased! I wouldn't-"
"Harry," he says quietly, gaze fixed firmly on his feet, a muscle twitching in his temple. "Don't you dare tell me how to feel. Don't you dare tell me how to feel when everybody in my life except my mum and my sisters has walked out on me. Don't you dare tell me that I shouldn'tsuspect people when they tell me they – when they say they care because guess what, most people fucking don't, they change their minds because I'm not good enough, I've spent my entire life shafted from parent to parent and city to city and never – never had one person just for me, who just wanted me, who didn't have some other life they'd rather be fucking off to, some part-time weekend family who had to fit me into their life like some funny-shaped puzzle piece that you can't figure out what to do with. Some other friendship group, some other girlfriend, just gay for the night or the weekend or who wanted more of an 'experience' on their fucking trust funded gap year or-" His breath hitches, and he wipes furiously at his eyes with his damp sleeve. "You might think you feel that way about me now, Harry, but trust me, you'll change your mind soon. Everyone else does. Go make some mistakes. Go fuck some skinny tortured hipsters. Go fuck Mystery Dave, I don't know. I need to sort my head out. I'm a fucking headcase, I'm sorry, you never asked for all my – baggage-"
"I don't care about any of that," Harry says, heart swollen with love and empathy, as Louis opens the door. He wants nothing more than to hug him and never let him go. "I don't care at all. I won't change my mind. I love you, Louis, for fuck's sake. I love all of you, even the bits I don't know yet. I'm stupidly in love with you. Please don't go."
He just catches the tears dropping down Louis' cheek before he kicks his suitcase out into the hall and shuts the door behind him.