Chapter Text
~October 2014~
Three days ago, they were happy. Ridiculously so.
Three days ago they finished rehearsals early and gleefully headed back to their flat. Happy, in love, and thrilled at the prospect of having a few hours to spend together. After a few rounds of FIFA, they ordered takeaway and ate off of each other's plates whilst snuggled up together under a fluffy blanket with a bottle of champagne clutched between them.
They had no reason to open it. Just each other and time and that was enough. They were already happy, but the champagne made them positively giddy. Louis snorted bubbles out his nose at something ridiculous Harry said and that sent Harry spiraling into an even louder fit of giggles.
It evolved into a slightly drunken pillow fight, which ended with Harry's back pressed to the sofa and Louis slotted in between his legs grinning down at him. Feathers fluttered all around them as Louis stared down at Harry, smiling like he'd hung the moon and all the stars just for him. It felt like he was looking at his future. His forever.
They kissed, soft plush lips locked together, moving languidly, as if they had all the time in the world. Eventually, their kisses deepened and their bodies pressed closer together. Not long after, they fell into bed together, a tangled mess of limbs.
Harry pushed inside of him slowly, his bright green eyes never breaking contact with Louis’. Silent words passed between them. I love you. Louis’ body arched off the bed, pushing their bodies closer together. They moved together, as one, rocking deep and slow all the while staring into one another's souls. Always.
Breathless gasps and gentle moans filled the air as waves of pleasure crashed over them at the same time. They rode the crest out together until they finally stilled, sated and happy. They were so happy. That night, they fell asleep naked, bodies intertwined, gently holding on to one another.
Looking back, Louis wishes that he'd held on a little tighter.
Because that was only three nights ago and somehow everything has changed.
~~~
The room is a sad space, nothing more than a box with four gray walls. It’s small and sterile with no windows. There's a cluttered desk in the corner, stacked with messy piles of paper, and an uncomfortable looking chair tucked underneath it. It's probably some poor intern’s office, though figuring out who it belonged to hadn't ranked very high on Louis’ priority list when he found it.
Satisfied with the privacy it offered, he motions Harry through the doorway, careful not to touch him as, much to Louis’ dismay, touching seems to be off-limits. The space is smaller than he thought, so when their skin brushes against one another accidentally, Louis flinches as if he’s been burned. Restricting himself from touching Harry is actually proving itself painful. That’s why they need to be alone for this discussion. Louis needs answers. Deserves them.
Harry's been distant for days, but this latest bit, a mere five minutes ago? Flinching from Louis’ touch during rehearsals? Just the smallest brush against his elbow, meant to be a comforting gesture?
It hurt .
Louis is at a complete loss, frustrated and confused at the rejection. His head spun in circles, trying to come up with a possible reason for this abrupt change, but he keeps coming up blank. So Harry needs to explain himself before Louis loses it in front of the other boys and their team.
And this conversation can't wait any longer. Louis tried to talk to him the previous night, but Harry eluded his efforts. First by claiming to have back pain which required a long, hot shower. Alone. Then he quietly snuck off to bed without telling Louis. By the time Louis fell into the sheets, Harry was snoring quietly, body turned away from him and face turned into his pillow. He knew then that something was wrong because they never went to sleep without saying goodnight; even when they were apart, they made it a point to FaceTime so they could wish each other a good night’s sleep.
“What's going on?” A simple question. Louis instinctively knows that the answer won't be so simple.
“I don't—” Harry starts, then pauses, looking away before closing his eyes. Louis bides his time by staring intently at the blue veins barely visible on the pale skin of Harry’s eyelids, since Harry won’t look at him. This is all wrong. Louis has always had a bit of a sixth sense and he has always been able to read Harry. So not knowing what’s going on inside Harry’s head scares him.
“Haz?” His voice sounds small, even to him.
Harry's hands tremble by his sides. A chill rapidly fills the space between them, swirling its dark tentacles around Louis, gripping him like an unwelcome hug that he can't push away. He shivers from the cold anxiety threatening his bones.
When Harry's eyes open again, they dart around the room, still refusing to meet Louis’. But Louis can see them. They're dull. Almost lifeless. “I can't do this anymore. I don't.... I can't do this anymore. I'm sorry.” The last part is a whisper followed by a choked out sob.
White noise fills his ears as Louis’ heart takes off at an alarming pace. What does he mean? Surely Harry doesn't mean them? Because they're a sure thing. The ink on their skin tells him so.
“What do you mean you can't do this anymore, Harry? What the fuck does that even mean?” His hands yank at his shirt, stretching it away from his body, a hopeless attempt to pull air into his lungs again.
The white noise in Louis’ head grows louder the longer that Harry stares at his feet. So loud that it screams at him, shrieking , overpowering his senses. This can't be real. Cannot be.
“Don't make me say it, Louis. Please don't make me say it,” he pleads desperately. He finally looks up, eyes misty rain clouds.
He's sorry .
“’Fraid you're gonna have to, mate. ’Cuz I'm not picking up what you're throwing down.” His words are hostile daggers and Harry flinches visibly as they're hurled at him. “You’re gonna have to spell it out for me. That way there's no room for miscommunication.” Louis hates the words that drip from his lips, laced with venom, sounding so foreign. So unlike himself.
But what comes next? The words that follow? He hates those a thousand times more.
“I'm not in love with you anymore.” A single tear trickles down Harry's cheek. The room is deathly quiet, while Louis’ head is anything but. It screeches loudly like a wounded animal, thrusting Louis headfirst into what he would effectively describe as his worst nightmare. He's torn between wanting to kiss Harry's tear away and wanting to shove him backwards until his back hits the wall, until he takes the words back. He wants to wake up from this terrible dream so that the words are effectively erased, so that Harry never said them.
This isn't real. Except it is .
“ You don't…” Louis can't say it. Won't say it.
“No.” Tears stream freely down Harry's face and that doesn't seem right. It's not fair. He's ripping Louis heart from his chest so why is he the one crying? He wants to scream, to admonish him for having the nerve to steal Louis’ emotions which he rightfully feels. But more than that, he needs to know.
“Were we real, Haz? Did you ever?” Louis can’t reconcile what he thought they were just three days ago to what Harry's telling him now. Had it been one-sided this whole time?
“Yes.” Another broken sob escapes from Harry. “We were real.”
It doesn’t reassure him. Louis can no longer believe anything he says.
“I'm sorry, Lou. I'm so, so sorry.” And then he flees. The door to the room is flung wide open and the space where Harry was just standing is now empty. The vacancy is suffocating.
Anger fades quickly, making space for the most intense pain Louis has ever known. There's no air. Louis tries to breathe, but can't.
Harry's sorry. He doesn't love you anymore.
The walls of the room threaten him, inching in closer and closer.
He's sorry .
The walls are on him now, throbbing, squeezing and turning the world black. And Louis lets it happen. Sinks to the ground in slow motion, desperate to escape this hell.
Surely feeling nothing will be better than this . This indescribable pain. He curls into a ball on the floor thinking that if he holds himself a little tighter, that it will stop, that he can make it stop.
It doesn’t work.
He's sorry .
It’s not enough.
The floor feels cold against his face. It's wet, but perhaps that's because he's crying. He doesn't get the chance to find out because the world goes dark.
~~~
“Louis.”
The voice sounds far away and Louis’ eyes hurt. They won't open. His body hurts too.
“Louis.” That voice is calling his name again as a warm hand presses against his cheek. Still, Louis lays there. In pain. Confused.
Until it hits him. Harry. Harry doesn't love him anymore. Louis hears someone sobbing and it takes a few seconds for him to realize that the someone is him.
“Oh, Louis.” It’s that voice again. He knows that voice. Liam .
He doesn't open his eyes. Even if he could, he doesn't want to. Doesn’t want to see the pity he can hear in Liam's tone. Instead, he lets Liam pull him into his lap, stroking gentle circles along his back as Louis continues to sob into his neck.
Harry doesn't love him.
Everything hurts.
~~~
Heartbreak is a funny word. Because his heart isn't broken. Not really. It feels more like it's been shredded. Like he's gone ten rounds with a machine gun, his heart left in tattered pieces. Each one of them now a jagged fragment left behind with the soul purpose to puncture the rest of his organs. It burns like acid bubbling inside of him. He clutches manically at his chest through his shirt, wishing he could rip his heart out himself in order to stop the pain.
He's been staying at Liam's for the last two days. It's not like he can go home, after all. They live together. Lived. Shared a flat, shared everything, their lives so intrinsically twisted together that Louis fears he’ll never be able untangle himself. They were going to get married one day. They’d talked about it, had even purchased rings.
He hasn't left the guest room, specifically the bed, except to use the bathroom. And considering he hasn't had anything to eat or drink since that day, he hasn't had to go that often .
The blankets are pulled up over his head, cocooning him in a protective fort. It's warm inside this bubble, but it's starting to smell bad. He should take a shower, but that would require moving, so.
It's only a matter of time before Liam enlists Zayn to help him physically shove Louis under the showerhead. He's heard Liam muttering helplessly under his breath each time he comes to check on him, knows how worried he is. And he wishes he had the strength to care.
But he doesn't. Nothing matters. Nothing except this raw, visceral pain that threatens to drag him under again.
He's crying again, the pillow wet beneath his cheek. And he prays to be released from this hell. Which is exactly what this is. Hell.
Crying is exhausting. His eyes burn and his body is so tired, he thinks he might actually be able to sleep through all of autumn. And to be honest, that seems like an excellent plan.
He’ll just sleep until it doesn't hurt anymore. Until he wakes up no longer in love with the cheeky boy with the curls. Until he can no longer feel the ghost of his touch. Until he can no longer see how bright Harry’s eyes shine as Louis pushes inside of him.
Until he forgets.
Louis prays for sleep as his body shakes against the mattress, holding in his sobs, lest Liam hear him.
His legs feel like they've been weighed down, arms feel like heavy bricks, eyes feel like they've been scrubbed with sandpaper and don't even get him started on his heart.
He couldn't move if he wanted to.
Not that he wants to.
Louis lets himself cry until the blackness beckons him again. Once he’s numb enough, he slips into a fitful sleep. Perhaps when he wakes up, he will have forgotten.
~~~