Chapter Text
It’s Monday. Louis’ first class starts at 2:30 this afternoon so he’s sleeping in. He can still feel a lingering kiss to his cheek from when Harry left early this morning. There are dirty clothes on the floor and the scent of Harry’s cologne is leaking from the bathroom.
Louis gets up, he feels the wooden floor creak beneath his bare feet and the goose bumps rise on his skin as it’s met with the unheated air of their flat. He pads across the floor quickly, Harry’s white cotton t-shirt hanging off his shoulder to turn the kettle on. Tea. He needs tea.
He sits in their faded red love seat by the window and watches the dust reflect in little spectrums of rainbow colours as he burns the tip of his tongue on the hot tea. He’s got nothing to worry about.
Nothing to worry about except that test on Wednesday and the two papers that are due on Friday. But he feels good about it – it’s a good kind of worry, sort of strangely comforting in the way that it’s reminding him that he’s not wasting his life. He’s a university student now, majoring in photography, and yesterday one of his teachers told him, with a hint of life in his voice, that Louis is bright eyed and spontaneously controversial, and that might be one of the most beautiful things someone has ever said to him, if all the magnificent lyrics that Harry continuously sings to him isn’t.
Harry has gotten a job at a record shop through a friend of a friend and he works ridiculous hours, leaving early in the morning and coming home in the middle of dinner time. They mostly end up eating half-cold takeaway on the couch, tangled into each other for warmth in these winter months but it’s nice, and that’s what Louis focuses on when he spends mornings like these alone.
He glances at the clock above the stove. One-thirty. He should probably get dressed. He rummages through his closet and opts for the jeans he wore yesterday that were tossed aimlessly on the floor along with a light grey sweater. He tugs one of Harry’s beanies down over his fluffy hair, deciding he’s too lazy to comb it.
There’s no milk in the fridge, he concludes, and he needs milk for his cereal. So he stumbles to the door as he tries to put on his shoes and walk at the same time, and it’s in the exact moment as he reaches for the handle that someone knocks on the door on the other side and everything freezes up inside Louis.
He opens the door in one swift go and he does a sharp intake of breath as he’s met with familiar green eyes and pale skin. For a split second, he thinks it’s Harry because all he sees are those green eyes with dark rings and gold speckles in the middle. But then he realises that it’s not Harry, because Harry doesn’t have straight long hair, Harry doesn’t wear mascara, Harry doesn’t wear high-heeled boots and leather gloves and Harry just isn’t a girl.
“Can I help you?” Louis says then because the girl doesn’t say anything. She just keeps staring at Louis with wide eyes and her mouth agape.
“Uh, yes, hi! I’m Gemma Styles. Are you Harry Edwards?”
“No, I’m Louis… Tomlinson. Harry is my boyfriend and he’s not here right now.” He replies a bit tentative.
Gemma’s eyes widen even more and then she smiles a big toothy grin, dimples deepening in each cheek, and it hits Louis again how shockingly she looks like the girl version of Harry.
“Nice to meet you,” She says, “I, um, well, this is kind of unusual, and I don’t know how much you know and how much Harry knows, but – I’m Harry’s sister. I’ve been searching for him for quite some time. Do you think I could come in?”
Louis feels stunned. Surely Harry never mentioned a sister, he said he is an only child, and Louis almost feels a pang of pain in his chest because what if Harry is hiding more lies, what if Harry is hiding another life?
“Sure.” He mutters because what else is he supposed to do?
“Thank you.”
He takes his shoes off and turns on the kettle again, feeling light-headed and confused. Gemma thanks Louis when he gives her a cup of steaming hot tea and there’s a heavy silence where he starts to notice the mess of dirty clothes and records and used plates taking up space in the small living room.
“So, how long have you two known each other?” Gemma asks gently.
“Six years.”
“You’ve been together for that long?”
“No, not like that. We’ve only been a couple for a year and a half or so.”
She hums to herself and sips her tea. Louis glares at the dark red polish on her nails as if it will give any answers. He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing and what the fuck is going on.
“I’m of the impression that you most definitely didn’t know about me?”
Louis nods and meets her gaze for a brief moment.
“Well, as I said, I don’t know how much Harry knows either and it might not be my place to tell, but now I’m going to anyway.”
He motions for her to continue with slightly trembling hands when she stops talking to bite her lip out of nervousness.
“Harry’s adopted.”
He blinks once, twice, and keeps staring, waiting, for further explanation.
“I was only three years old when my mum gave birth to Harry. My father left us when she got pregnant again and he never looked back, never came to visit us, never sent me birthday presents or anything. In addition, we didn’t have a lot of money. Barely enough for food and clothes, much less to take care of a newborn baby. So, my mum decided to get Harry adopted, hoping that he would have a better childhood and a better future than what we had to look forward to.”
“What made you want to find him?” Louis muses.
Her gaze falls to the ground and she starts fiddling with the hem of her shirt. Louis feels the air change from curious excitement and hopefulness to something completely else. Her gentle voice is thicker when she speaks again, “Mum died last year in August of breast cancer. I’ve felt lonely since then. I have lots of friends but I don’t have any family except Harry, and I thought that it might be time to try and get to know him, to mend the broken bonds, if not for myself, then for my mum. She would have wanted me to.”
He nods, sinks a lump and feels something like worry settle in his bones.
“Do-do you think Harry would want to talk to me? I really want to meet him, but I… I would understand if he doesn’t.”
“Yeah. I’ll, uhm, talk to him?”
She nods, the corners of her lips turning up a bit as Louis notices her eyes having turned shiny. “Thank you, Louis.” She says slowly. “Are you close with Harry’s adoptive family?”
“I’ve only met his mum a few times. He doesn’t really like talking about his family.”
“Oh,” She mutters, face falling.
“Harry is a very complicated person and he doesn’t trust people easily, so I suggest for you to not come on to him too strong or he will close in on himself. If he wants to open up to you, then he will. You need to be careful with the questions or he will feel like he’s being interrogated.”
“Of course. I’ll be gentle.” She nods.
“Look, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to kick you out, but I have to go to class. How about you give me your number and I’ll call you tomorrow? We can talk some more, maybe I could bring Harry too.”
“Yeah, yeah, of course! I didn’t mean to interrupt you like this but I only had this address so I just thought I’d show up.”
“Don’t worry about it, Gemma.”
They exchange numbers and Louis promises to call her tomorrow with an easy smile. She’s delighted with Louis’ helpfulness and he starts to feel a bit nauseated because he’s afraid he can’t promise as much as he’d want to. In fact, he’s pretty certain that Harry won’t feel fine about any of this at all, and when Louis grabs Gemma’s half empty tea cup to put it in the dishwasher, he can’t help but notice how his fingers are still trembling a bit.
<>
Louis is on the couch, papers spread out everywhere with notes in the margins and little scribblings of Harry’s name in the corners, when the other boy comes home. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is windblown, falling messily into his eyes. He smiles dazedly at Louis like he’s squinting at the sun, throws his backpack on the floor and stumbles onto Louis.
“Hey, you.” He grins and dips his lips down slowly.
“Hey.”
“How was your day?” Harry asks and nuzzles his nose into the hollow of Louis’ neck.
“Good. Better now.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhmmm.” Louis grins and catches the other boy’s lips again. And time disappears like that, it slips through their fingers like sand, dries off like water on their skin, fades away in the time it takes light to blink. When Harry starts to murmur little words of praising poetry into the dips of Louis’ collarbones, Louis starts to feel anxious and a bit like this is bitter sweet situation. Because Harry needs to know about Gemma and he knows that Harry will react rather negatively… but this is so nice, and his reluctance to ruin these passing moments are tearing at him. But Harry needs to know.
“Haz –“
“Shh.”
“No, I need to talk to you, I –“
“Let me just –“ Harry whispers, lips caressing Louis’ ear, “—make love to you:”
The older boy trembles beneath him. “Harry, please,” He whimpers.
But Harry misunderstands Louis’ plea, and rides his shirt up instead. Their breathings are ragged, faltering, and Louis feels his veins shooting sparks but things need to be solved. He’s done procrastinating and ignoring problems.
“We need to talk.” Louis says more firmly then.
“About what?” Harry frowns and the annoyance is clear in his voice. Louis wishes he didn’t feel so obligated because he can’t help but cringe at this tone of voice – this tone of voice that Harry only uses so rarely.
“I – uhm, today, right…” He sits up a bit, straightens his shirt out and meets the other boy’s demanding gaze, “This girl stopped by. Gemma. She said she’s your sister, and that you’re a-adopted.”
“You talked to her?” Harry says, voice raising several octaves and knuckles going white around Louis’ hips.
“Well, yeah, of course I talked to her. You look so much alike, and I’m sure that she –“
“I don't have any family, Louis, and fuck, this is none of your fucking business. I don't want you sticking your nose into my shit.”
“I didn’t stick my nose into your shit. She came here and knocked our goddamn door! What else was I supposed to do? Ignore her?”
“I don't want to talk about this.”
"Well, I do!" Louis shouts with furrowed brows and a faltering strength inside him. He looks Harry in the eyes then and finally notices – Harry looks absolutely broken like this. Red-rimmed, hollow eyes, lips set in a tight line and with a skin that’s paling along with the winter sky. Louis thinks he knows some of the feelings that might be welling up in Harry right now. He remembers them from that first summer they spend at Emma. He remembers the anger with himself for being helpless and the anger towards everyone else for never fucking understanding. He remembers the fear of losing yourself and being rejected by the people you love. He remembers the feeling of being betrayed, the apathy, the hurt and the confusion. And it felt like it was all carved into your bones, permanent tattoos running along your veins.
“You have to talk to her. You have to meet her, Harry.”
“No.” The other boy says, lips pursed in defiance and eyes narrowed to stop the tears.
“Why the fuck not? You should have seen her face! She will be fucking devastated if I tell her you won’t.”
“Just stay out of this!” Harry hisses and gets up from the couch, harshly jostling Louis’ legs. He has his fist clenched around a strand of curly hair and he looks like he’s absolutely losing it.
“No.”
“Louis,” The younger boy warns.
“Fuck you, Harry. Just fuck you. I deserve to know what the hell is going on! Did you know about her? Did you know that you’re adopted? Is that why you never see your family?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Even more reason for me to know about it.”
Harry sighs then, paces around and tugs at the sleeves of his jumper. He still looks angry, but it has deflated a bit, and the helplessness is beginning to overshadow. “I’ve known I was adopted since I was seven, okay? It’s no big deal.”
“How is that no big deal?”
“Because, it just isn’t, Louis. And don’t try to make it. I’ve accepted that I’m unwanted and I’ve moved on from that. Can we drop this now?”
“Most definitely not.”
Harry stops pacing around and looks at the other boy with a deep frown. “I’m leaving.” He says and starts in the direction of the door. Louis shoots up from the couch like a lightning bolt and gets his hand around Harry’s shoulder from behind. Harry shakes his hand off with a hiss, but it only spurs Louis on to jump in front of him and to put his hands on Harry’s chest.
“Please, Haz. Don’t run away.”
Harry opens his mouth and he looks like he’s about to say something hurtful, something that will make Louis cry, something that will never be forgotten, but then he closes his mouth again and his gaze falls to the floor.
“You are not unwanted,” Louis whispers and puts a hand on the side of Harry’s face, “You were never unwanted and you never will be. I, for one, need you so fucking much that it hurts to think about.”
Harry’s expression softens slightly but he still looks ready to explode, to run, to do stupid, regrettable things.
“Please stay and talk to me.”
He’s silent for a long time, trying to avoid Louis’ prying gaze. “Okay,” The younger boy croaks with green eyes that look so deep and glistening.
Louis lets his hand fall from Harry’s face and takes his hand instead, gently pulling him towards the couch again. He feels a bit vulnerable now with all the feelings he’s just laid out in the open, because it’s not something he does. He doesn’t love in powerful words and pleas and sweet compliments. He loves in snarky remarks, teasing comments and soft kisses to flushed cheeks. But this is Harry, and Harry needs to know, because he doesn’t always understand the sort of love that Louis gives. So he will tell him.
They sit down, close to each other and with their hands intertwined.
“Tell me about it,” Louis whispers softly.
Harry lets out a heavy breath and licks his lips. “Everything I remember before I turned seven is good things. Happy memories. I had a lot of friends, I took guitar lessons twice a week, my mum made enchiladas every Thursday, and on Sundays, the only day that my dad was off work, he’d help me practice playing guitar. We’d construct melodies and write words for them that never really fit. But they did fit somehow.”
He sighs and his fingers twitch a little in Louis’ hand. “But shortly after my seventh birthday, my parents started fighting, and when summer came around, they got divorced. I overheard a phone conversation my mum had with my grandma and she mentioned that I was adopted, she was crying too, and I didn’t really understand it at first, but I didn’t question it either. Anyway, my dad got a new girlfriend shortly after. In the following year, I met her a handful of times and around my eighth birthday, dad and her moved to Manchester for my dad’s work. I think they got married on a beach in Caribbean a few years ago.”
“My mum never really got over the divorce. She got this distant look in her eyes and stopped paying attention to me. She paid attention to other things like her stupid sitcoms and the wine cabinet. Instead, I made friends with a bad crowd around the age of twelve. They were a lot older than me and I’ve done things I probably shouldn’t have. Not at such an early age, at least. We moved to London when I got expelled from the third school, but it wasn’t because of that. She’d met a guy from London and he’d asked her to move in with him. I became nothing but a disadvantage to her and her new life, so I kept to myself and stayed out of her way. Last time I saw her was for my birthday.”
Louis squeezes the other boy’s hand and purses his lips. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t need sympathy, Louis. I’m happy now.”
“I know,” He mutters, “But Gemma isn’t happy. And I think that you could be even happier than you are now.”
Harry sighs and runs a hand through his hair.
“At least just talk to her. I promise I won’t ever mention her again if you just meet her this one time.”
Harry looks at Louis then and he looks tired, still utterly broken and with paleness that Louis wants to kiss away.
“Please, Haz, I’m fucking begging you. Don’t make me have to call her just to tell her that you don’t want to see her.”
Harry drops his gaze to their hands and lightly traces a pattern in Louis’ palm as the silence goes on.
“She’s – Harry, it’s family,” He whispers and drops his forehead onto the other boy’s shoulder, “Do it for me, then.”
Harry slumps then because he knows what Louis is talking about. He knows that Louis doesn’t have the liberty of this kind of choice – whether or not you want to see a family member so close. Half of it is gone now, floating around in space, heaven or whatever kind of world that exist after death that isn’t confined by any kind of atmosphere.
“Okay.” The younger boy says finally.
Louis sinks a lump and falls again Harry’s chest in relief. Harry just wraps his arms around Louis and kisses the side of his neck as if he is sealing the promise.
<>
It’s snowing the day that Harry is meeting Gemma, but the sun is still shining, making all the little snowflakes look like glitter falling from the sky. They are walking down the street, holding glove-covered hands and each other’s sanity. They have warm winter jackets on, beanies over their hair and scarves around their necks, and Louis feels so sated and warm like this. He almost thinks that if he should fall down and die this very instant, it would be with peace in mind.
He called Gemma a few nights ago to arrange where they could meet, and he knew that she was crying as they agreed on a cosy café a few streets away from their own flat. He really hopes that things go well today, not only for Gemma’s sake, but also for Harry’s, even though he’s convinced that he doesn’t need it to.
“Which café did you say it was?” Harry says, briefly glancing at the other boy.
“That small one the corner of Old Street with the Moroccan patterned stars hanging in the window. Forgot the name.”
Harry nods and visibly sinks a lump, eyes clouded and hand tightening around Louis’.
Once they reach the corner they stop walking and turn to look at each other. Harry’s attention is fleeting, gaze flickering between faces and cars and the twinkly lights that adorn the surrounding trees, but never looking at the windows of the café.
“Are you -… Are you gonna come in with me?”
Louis gives a small smile and presses a glove covered hand to the other boy’s cheek, slightly caressing his cooled skin. “I think it’s best if it’s just the two of you.”
Harry closes his eyes and breathes out heavily, concentrating on Louis’ warm presence. “Okay. Okay, it’ll be fine.”
“’Course it will.”
Louis feels better then and he finds himself really smiling now.
“I’ll pick up some dinner on the way home, yeah?” Harry says fond eyed and quiet.
Louis nods, “Good luck, babe.” He stands on the tips of his toes and kisses Harry’s lips, trying to channel all his support and love into it.
Harry stares at Louis for a moment, as if he’s contemplating something, but then he nods slightly to himself and turns around to go into the café.
Louis stands outside for a bit, trying to get a glance through the windows, but the light reflection is bad and there are people covering his view. He changes his angle to get a better look, and gets his eye on Harry. He’s approaching a table by the far wall. Louis catches the sight of Gemma then, and she’s smiling widely as she gets up from the chair and throws her arms around Harry’s neck. He staggers back and for a few seconds it looks like he doesn’t know where to put his arms, but then he wounds his arms around her, crushing her to his chest. They turn a bit in their embrace and Louis can see that they’re both smiling.
He sticks his hands in his pockets and tugs his beanie down, feeling happiness well up in him because this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
<>
There are twinkling lights set up in their entire flat because Harry thought it would be nice – for Christmas, for Louis’ birthday and to watch from the couch as their eyes fall shut at night. Louis didn’t really want anything for his birthday, knowing that it’s Christmas Eve and there are a lot of other things to focus on, but Harry wouldn’t have it. So there’s people in their flat, laughing and chatting, and the Christmas Eve dinner is switched out with a wide range of liquors and a huge punch bowl.
Zayn is by the window talking to his separate group of grungy friends that Louis never really learned to get along with, but they’re all here and they brought presents, so he appreciates it more than words can say. Liam is in the couch area with some other people, listening to Niall telling some big, dramatic story. Niall is already slurring a bit but his eyes have never been brighter, and there’s a pretty brunette girl blushing every time his gaze lands on her. Josh enrolled at the University of Cardiff and it is a three hour drive from London, so things with them kind of faded out. Louis is not sure how Josh is doing, but he was never really friends with him like that anyway. He takes Niall’s happy mood as a cue to stop worrying about it.
Harry, as always, has his hand fisted in Louis’ shirt to make Louis stay with him. It’s not because he’s being clingy or horny or anything like that. No, it’s because of Nick Grimshaw and his clique. Louis has no fucking clue where Harry met these C-list celebrities, but there’s about seven of them here in Harry and Louis’ shitty flat, and they’re all dressed in a mix of Gucci and luxury vintage. Kind of ridiculous, if you ask Louis.
He eventually escapes from Harry and the Grimshaw-clique and watches the party evolve with satisfaction. There are all kinds of happiness shining out of everyone's eyes. He's not sure if it's just a Christmas spirit that is lurking, but nonetheless, the people crowding his and Harry's flat seem utterly happy. Louis is chatting with some of his mates he used to play football with back in school when Gemma bursts through the door with wide, glistening eyes and flushed winter cheeks. She has never before resembled Harry so much. Louis excuses himself from the conversation and aims in her direction to greet her welcome.
"Louis! I'm so sorry, we were so busy at work, my boss wouldn't let me off and traffic was being a right twat," She says, the words rushing past her lips, as she throws her arms around him. He staggers back a step or two, surprised at her sudden affection, but he smiles to himself and hugs her back.
"Don't worry about it. You didn't miss anything." He laughs.
"Happy birthday, Louis," She says instead, voice slightly muffled by the collar of Louis' shirt.
"Thanks, Gemma."
"I'm so happy that you invited me here." She's whispering now, and Louis almost shivers because he can feel all the emotions her tone of voice is laced with.
"Always," He replies slowly, "Harry's been waiting for you."
"Yeah?" She says, pulling back.
Louis nods and grins at her. He helps her get her coat off and takes her present with gratefulness. He leads her to Harry and he will never forget that moment. Gemma is walking with confidence but Louis notices the little shakes in her ankles as the soles of her Oxford shoes hit the floor. Harry is looking away but something must change in the air because his gaze flickers around and falls upon his sister. His whole face cracks into something else. Something golden and rare. Something that needs to be handled with care. He immediately wraps her up in his arms and the tension in her shoulders releases the same time that a single tear drop from Harry’s eyes falls onto her bare shoulder, and it’s the same time that a silent acceptance has finally come through.