Chapter Text
Louis is a lot of things but he’s not a coward. He doesn’t hide from things and he doesn’t deny the mistakes he has made. He’s come to terms with the fact that he is human and humans are nothing but flaws on endless strings of DNA. It has made a lot of things easier for Louis to come to such a fundamental realisation at such a young age. It made it easier to deal with the fact that his parents hadn’t survived the car accident had taken place only weeks away from Louis’ return home from his year long trip around the world. He’d left everything behind to travel on his own when he finished upper 6th form and it was a terrifying but exhilarating experience. His parents didn’t approve – they wanted him to start university straight away, but it was too crowded in Louis’ head. There was too much cluster. There were things that needed to be settled – things like Harry and the grades on his A-levels that barely made the cut. He didn’t leave to hide, he left in order to give himself a chance to think before he had to face the obstacles that were bound to hit.
He’d been sitting by a river in India just outside of Bombay when his phone rang, his aunt’s name displayed on the scarcely lit up screen.
“You need to come home.”
“I’m coming home in three weeks, it won’t be –“
“Louis. Your parents have been in an accident. I’m sorry.”
That was the moment when he suddenly felt alive, much too alive. The sounds around him were painfully loud and the river beneath his bare feet was suddenly wild as the waves crashed onto the barriers on land that were barely them it at bay.
So he went home to his sisters; to the house holding unwanted emptiness and to the remains of his family. But not for Harry. Not for Zayn or Niall and not even for Liam.
The moment he stepped off the airplane and made his way down hallways of the endless white walls with sweaty tourists pushing at him from all sides, was a moment of numbness. He didn’t feel anything, not even the beat of his own heart or the sound of his own intake of breath.
Serenity finally finds him when he is sitting in his parents’ house with numb hands against his thighs and Harry’s green eyes staring right at him. His aunt picked up his sisters only minutes ago, exclaiming that he should not have the responsibility of his sisters on his shoulders at the mere age of nineteen. He protested but his aunt is a firm lady with strong opinions that don’t go bypassed and there’s also the fact that he hasn’t seen Harry for more than a year. He wants – no, he needs – Harry to himself because he’s been yearning so long for things only Harry can give him. Things like lazy smiles, pretty words sung in whispers and if he’s particularly lucky, a kiss to his cheek.
“Can you sleep here tonight?” Louis murmurs.
Harry looks just as beautiful as when Louis left. Louis doesn’t want to notice but there’s more ink on Harry’s arms, tiny doodles that he can’t make out to be anything at all. Harry’s eyes might be greener, he thinks, and someone might have sprinkled gold dust into them.
“Of course.”
“How’ve you been?”
There’s a beat of silence where Harry clasps his hand around the pendant in the silver chain around his neck. It used to be a paper plan but now it’s a cross and the chain is longer. Louis wonders what it means, deciding it’s possible it has no meaning at all.
“Fine, Louis.” Harry replies calmly.
“Are you mad at me?” Louis whispers because he might as well deal with everything now. There’s no reason to let things catch on more, like the fact that he left Harry – and the other boys, as well – without much explanation or any kind information on how to contact him as he crossed borders in all of Asia.
“Why would I be mad?”
“Because I just left without saying anything.”
Harry glances down, catches his bottom lip with his teeth and sinks further down into the loveseat. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I get that you had to leave.” He says when he looks up again, eyes wide and honest.
So Louis doesn’t say anything, he simply stares at the wall behind Harry and he almost wants to cry because of the distance between them. There’s exactly two feet between the couch Louis is sitting on and the loveseat Harry is at, but there’s miles too. Roads, forests, cities, lakes and mountains that keep expanding in his mind. He still feels like he’s sitting by that river outside of Bombay and Harry is just a shallow voice in his head – it’s not like he hasn’t been exactly that before.
“You tired?” Harry asks.
Louis shakes his head, heat creating itself in the tips of his fingers because Harry is talking to him and there might be something along the lines of affection in Harry’s low voice.
“You should take a shower. I’ll make some tea.” Harry says and there’s a bit of nervousness lingering around the edges of his words. Louis wants to tear all the walls down, make Harry kiss him breathless and forget the fact that his parents are laying like cold, sickeningly blue dolls on metal tables in a morgue. The thing just is that he and Harry aren’t a couple and they have never been. Probably never will be either, Louis thinks. They are friends and they have been since the moment they spotted each other on the football field in their neighbourhood park. Some things will just never change.
Louis locks the bathroom door behind him and he can’t stop thinking about Harry because Harry is warm and familiar. He can feel Harry’s scent everywhere around him like his presence is lingering right beside him. Louis blinks against the water and unclenches his fists, trying to replay everything that happened before he left to see the world.
What’s clearest in his mind is the slight curl of Harry’s lips, when he told Harry about how in love he was with him. It was an expression on a person that would flinch, like the person was scared and in pain. But Louis told Harry he loved him and there should be a smile on Harry’s face – not a frown. At first Louis didn’t understand why Harry wasn’t ecstatic and not throwing his arms around Louis’ neck in joy. He sat in paralyzing stillness, watching Harry turn over a million rocks in his head, finally deciding that no, Harry’s not in love with Louis and even if there is a possibility, then he isn’t willing to jump.
As it turns out, Harry isn’t willing to jump for anyone. Not even for Louis, his best friend, who he trusts with his own life. Louis wants to jump though and he did, alone. He jumped the minute he was on the plane flying straight to Hong Kong, realising he was alone the minute he looked at the seat beside himself and noticed it wasn’t Harry with his mess of curls but an elderly woman with a red shiny purse tucked neatly between her thighs.
Louis sighs deeply, leans his forehead against the cold surface of the shower’s tiled wall and tries to not think about how difficult and complicated Harry is. He tries to forget all the theories he’s made up about why Harry isn’t willing to jump, to commit, to love. He tries to forget why Harry can’t talk about things that matter, why Harry tries to avoid everything that even has the slightest tint of seriousness to it. Nothing seems to fit though and Louis’ mind just ends up a mess of words that don’t even make sense. He rubs a thumb over his chest tattoo with the lettering “It is what it is” and another sigh escapes his lips.
Fresh and clean from the shower, he keeps his gaze averted as he walks down the hallway, avoiding all the family photos clinging to the walls because he’s not ready for that. It’s been a week since he came home and he still hasn’t found the strength to face the reality that now doesn’t include his parents. It’s not because he’s a coward, because Louis is not a coward. It’s because he feels weak, half blinded and he knows it’s okay to feel that way sometimes.
Harry is sitting in Louis’ bed with his feet propped up and his guitar positioned in his big hands. He doesn’t look up when Louis returns, merely shifts a little on the bed and shakes his hair out before sweeping his fringe to the side. Just one cup of tea is steaming on the bedside table. There’s a sun on it and Phoebe’s name is written on it in a childlike font.
“You got a text.” Harry says lowly, eyes never leaving the strings his fingers are carefully touching.
Louis throws the pile of dirty clothes he’s carrying on the floor, and grabs his phone on the drawer.
“Mr. Cowell is coming by tomorrow at 11. We need to discuss your inheritance. Sleep well, love. – Auntie.”
Inheritance.
Louis really can’t care less – why can’t Mr. Cowell just send him a letter? Is a meeting really necessary? He snorts to himself because lawyers will be lawyers and Mr. Cowell is probably going to charge Louis forty quid, just for that one hour meeting.
He forgets about heritages and greedy lawyers when Harry’s fingers suddenly start playing on the strings. There’s an odd moment where he forgets to breathe because he hasn’t heard Harry play for so long and he’s forgotten how much he has missed the soothing melodies Harry always plays.
“This is my excavation and today is kumran
Everything that happens from now on
This is pouring rain
This is paralyzed”
Harry’s voice is quiet, gravelly and slow as it tunes in with the simple melody that streams from his guitar. Louis makes his way to the bed silently and slides down next to Harry, nestles into his side right under where his arm is holding the guitar. He doesn’t care if it’s not what Harry wants – the closeness – but Louis really needs it. He doesn’t think he’s needed it more than this in his life ever before.
“This is not the sound of a new man or crispy realisation
It's the sound of the unlocking and the lift away
Your love will be
Safe with me”
Harry keeps playing but stops singing and the melody fades out eventually. Louis’ eyes are drooping, his gaze turning low and he notices that Harry is only wearing black boxers and a t-shirt in a deep green colour. He sets the guitar aside, careful not to jostle the blue eyed boy whose nails are digging into his side, then he shifts down so that he’s on his back and Louis follows suit but never loosens his grip.
Louis absorbs Harry’s heat, sucks it up like honey and shivers ripple through him on repeat when Harry’s thumb suddenly find its way to Louis’ cheek.
“I’ve missed you,” Louis says because he just can’t fucking help it.
“Missed you too, Lou.”
It warms Louis up completely to hear the nickname roll off of Harry’s tongue so easily. He thinks they might go back to how things were, that he might have another chance and that they might figure things out.
<>
Louis wakes up with his cheek attached to Harry’s hip and a hand cupping the back of Harry’s naked thigh. It’s a bit of a weird position but it feels warm and absolutely weakening, making an uncomfortable pressure to thunder at the back of Louis’ head.
He needs clean air, needs to breathe because everything around Harry lacks air and normal temperatures. Everything around Harry is heated, hazy and just blinding. It numbs Louis’ senses and empowers them at the same time and he really, really needs air.
He gets up and heads out, finding himself standing on the porch for a long time, just watching the street view from his childhood home. He’s not really thinking about anything, not even his sisters and he kind of feels guilty about that. He used to be good at taking care of everyone but himself, so much that it would sometimes become a disadvantage, except now he can’t even bring himself to worry about his sisters and their now questionable future. The only thing he can think about as a distraction from his parents is himself and the things he wished Harry would give him, convinced that he needs them for his survival to be ensured.
He returns to the bedroom after about an hour, but there’s no Harry, just a cold, full cup of tea on the bedside table. The cup with the sun and Phoebe’s name scribbled on it.
When twenty more minutes have passed he finally gathers energy to put on some clothes, choosing his favourite sweats and a soft blue tee. He finds Harry in the kitchen, his figure casting a long shadow on the cabinets from where he breaks the sunlight through the windows. He is bending over a pan with a frown on his face and with his jaw clenched in concentration.
“Morning,” Louis says, because it seems like the right thing to do.
Harry turns around swiftly and the frown is gone. Instead, in its place is a deepening dimple in his left cheek. But he’s not really smiling – Louis knows when Harry smiles and this is not a smile. “Morning, Lou,” He says and he can’t have been up for long because his voice is still fucked up with a sleep.
“Sleep well?”
“Yeah, except the part where I woke up to an empty bed.” Harry winks at Louis and returns to his work by the stove with his long fingers gripping a spatula tightly.
Louis’ breathing hitches, which he hopes goes unnoticed but it’s not like Harry would ever comment on it anyway so, really, his worries are useless.
They eat breakfast in a silence that is both soothing and nerve wrecking, keeping Louis on the edge of his chair and his gaze focused on the new gold speckles in Harry’s eyes. His attention goes elsewhere when Mr. Cowell arrives in a suit that is too long on his legs and too short on his arms. His attention goes straight to the paper Mr. Cowell immediately forces into his hand. His eyes feel heavy as they scan the sentences and the little picture in the bottom right corner of what looks like a cabin hidden behind crooked dark trees.
“I’ve inherited a cottage in Scotland?” Louis questions, furrowing his brows, and his voice doesn’t sound nearly as panicked as he feels because he didn’t have any idea this place even existed.
“Yes. It belonged to your grandfather but was passed on to your father when he passed away. And now, well, it’s being passed on to you, Mr. Tomlinson.”
“How come no one ever told me about this?” Louis’ eyes search Harry’s for answers, although knowing Harry is just as clueless as himself.
“Your parents didn’t want you to know about it. I didn’t question their decision since that is completely personal business.”
“They didn’t even, like, leave a note or something? What the hell am I supposed to do with this house?”
“I’m sure they didn’t anticipate their death, Mr. Tomlinson. I suggest you drive up there, take a look at it and if you think it isn’t a place you would make use of, I think you should sell it.” The man places a set of keys on the table with a dead look in his eyes.
Louis blinks and already dreads the necessary trip to Scotland. He will probably end up going alone and he doesn’t think he can handle that.
“Also, I would like for you to make a decision about this house as well, since you are the only one of your siblings who is legal. When you’ve figured it out, contact me. You have my card, right?” Mr. Cowell looks intently at Louis, and Louis doesn’t feel even remotely close to being like the legal adult he appears to be. Mr. Cowell knows that, Harry knows that and Louis himself knows that.
“I have it.”
The older man gets up and Louis follows, grabs Mr. Cowell’s hand, when he outstretches it, and shakes it.
“I look forward to our next meeting.” Mr. Cowell says, already turning for the door.
Louis nods curtly and doesn’t even stay in the hallway long enough to watch the other man close the door behind him. He walks straight into his room and buries himself under the covers, trying to ignore the fact that his sheets smell like Harry’s skin. He has to grimace in order to keep the tears at bay when his nose dips into the pillow Harry used and his scent is so concentrated and strong and breathtakingly pure.
Harry doesn’t join him in the bedroom, probably because he doesn’t know what to tell Louis, probably because he doesn’t know which words would be comforting and probably because he doesn’t have a single answer to any of Louis’ many questions.
<>
Louis wakes up later when he feels the presence of someone and a shallow breath hits his cheek. He blinks his eyes open and frowns at the darkness that is now substituting the sunlight.
“You awake?”
It’s Liam’s voice and it makes Louis’ cringe because it’s so soft and familiar – so much that Louis just wants to wrap himself up in it like a fluffy blanket. Instead he shifts on the bed and brings the duvet past his head, tightening his grip.
“The boys are all here,” Liam says, ignoring the fact that Louis is actually hiding underneath the duvet, “Shit, Lou, I’m really sorry about what happened. I… I honestly don’t even know what to do, but I want to help you through this and I know the other boys want to too. We love you – so fucking much. We’d do anything for you,” He pauses and a wretched sound escapes his throat – half sob, half cough, “Even if that means picking Lottie up from dance class or the twins up from school or – I don’t know – babysit them when you need a break. I’ll do anything for you, Lou.”
Louis feels frozen and unable to pull the duvet down because he thinks that if he sees Liam’s tear stained expression with his eyebrows pushed together and his bottom lip sticking out, he might start crying for real.
“Niall brought you your favourite sandwich from Sam’s.”
“Okay,” Louis finally croaks out after a long moment of silence.
“You’ll come out soon?”
Taking a deep breath, Louis pulls the duvet down and his eyes find Liam’s eyes which are just as deep and brown as he remembers. He regrets pulling the duvet away though, because the moment it’s down, he feels Liam’s weight crushing down on him, holding him so tightly that it takes every amount of self-control for Louis not to just let the tears run freely. It’s so easier with Liam to feel everything that Louis feels because Liam doesn’t judge, doesn’t say the wrong things, doesn’t tell Louis what to do. He makes it so easy with his way of understanding everything and being so peaceful about it.
Louis wounds his arms around Liam, feeling wetness on his shoulder so he shuts his eyes tightly and pretends he’s somewhere else right now – somewhere where Harry is the one holding on to Louis for his dear life and not the other way around.
Liam pulls away with a smile that looks almost painful. He shuts the door with a soft click behind him and Louis rolls around a little, splays out his limbs. He could definitely sleep at least ten more hours because reality is much too exhausting.
In the kitchen he’s met with a sight that makes his heart clench in fondness because he loves these boys with all of his heart. Harry is perched on a chair in the kitchen with a pen between his fingers and notebook in front of him, Liam and Niall are setting the table for dinner and Zayn is sitting on the kitchen counter by the open window with a cigarette in his hand and lips that are visibly chapped.
“Hey, mate!” Niall half-shouts, “I brought sandwiches for everyone.”
And that’s what Louis likes about Niall because he never looks sad or has that knowing look in his eyes. He is always gleeful and oblivious, and that might be the key to happiness – being oblivious, or at least pretending to be. It’s working for Niall and Louis can’t help but smile back despite it almost feeling weird on his lips.
“Thanks, Nialler.”
Zayn on the other hand doesn’t really say anything. He just looks at Louis with hard eyes that know all too much, because Zayn might be quiet but it’s not because he doesn’t know anything and has nothing to say. Zayn knows stuff about Louis that Louis doesn’t even know.
Harry looks up briefly from his notebook but refocuses quickly, scribbling something eagerly.
When they’re seated at the dinner table, Louis hasn’t even taken a bite of his chicken sandwich before he blurts out, “I’ve inherited a house in Scotland.”
Niall stops eating for a second and then chews slowly, keeping his gaze trained on Louis. “Scotland?” Niall says in confusion.
“I don’t know, mate. Nobody ever told me of it before my lawyer shoved the contract in my hand,” Louis says, “It’s in the middle of some forest.”
“What are you going to do about it?” Liam wonders.
“Gonna drive up there and have a look at it. Then decide if I wanna keep it or not.”
“Can I come?” Niall asks, blue eyes lighting up so brightly that Louis almost has to squint a little.
“Yeah.”
“Can I come too?” Liam asks.
“We’re all coming with you, Lou,” Zayn says almost firmly and his eyes are far away, not lighted up and just there like Niall’s. “We can spend the summer holiday up there, write some music, get drunk…”
“Zayn’s right. We’re all going to split up after the holiday because of university,” Niall says, “It would be nice to spend some time together before that.”
“We could leave after the funeral tomorrow.” Liam suggests.
Louis nods, looks down at his plate and tries to stir away thoughts about the funeral tomorrow because that is something he really doesn’t want to think about, knowing that once he gets started it will never stop.
“Hey, um, Lou, there’s this thing…” Niall begins, eyes flickering between faces.
Louis stays silent, waiting patiently for Niall to continue whatever is on his mind.
“We, erm – well, you were gone and this new kid moved here, he’s in my music class, and he’s really great, Lou, he plays bass so brilliantly, like, he’s been playing since he was four years old –”
“Yeah, and?”
“Well, we offered him a spot in the band,” Niall said, “He’s a good lad. Really good.”
There’s a few seconds of silence, where Niall looks like he’s holding his breath and Louis feels something like a bad conscious thumping in his chest because he doesn’t remember a time where Niall of all people was ever scared to tell Louis something. He sort of almost regrets leaving.
“What Niall is asking is if Josh can come to the house too.” Liam joins in when the silence has lasted just a few seconds too long.
“Yeah… Um, you think you’d be okay with that?” Niall asks, carefully.
Louis looks at Harry for a brief moment for some sort of confirmation and Harry looks breathtakingly sincere with green eyes that seem to have no depth, so Louis nods and keeps his mouth shut.
“It’s a good idea,” Harry mumbles, and Louis can feel Harry’s gaze intensely directed to him. He feels the heaviness of it that makes it impossible to ignore. “We can drive in my car – it’s big enough to fit all of us.”
“Perfect.” Niall says, smiling again.
And then that is that.
<>
Louis feels weird and on edge as him and Harry sit in his car, all packed up and ready to go pick up the other boys. It’s just past noon and he was in a black suit only up until an hour ago. He can still smell the scent of roses around him and he can still see white caskets before his eyelids – white caskets, stained with dirt. He thinks that that image may be engraved in his mind forever – that image and the image of his sisters with wet napkins in their small hands, wearing pretty black dresses along with sad eyes that doen’t know where to look.
It helped that Harry was there and Louis revelled in the fact that they were holding hands like they did before Louis left. It wasn’t in a romantic way; it was just to show that he cares because Harry is often better at small touches rather than words. He’s only good with words when they’re accompanied by a melody that can back it all up, that can fill the silence he always cringes away from.
“You ready for this?” Harry asks, his pale hands gently gripping the steering wheel.
“Yeah,” Louis nods. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Harry doesn’t say anything to that but turns the key in the ignition and the engine roars to life. Louis leans against the seat and watches the trees fly by in a speed that makes his eyes feel sore. He greets the other boys quietly when they get in the car and pretends not to notice that Liam still looks like he’s crying. He doesn’t think he can handle watching more red-faced, glossy eyed faces with quivering lips. Not for a very long time.
Josh greets Louis politely; he has a face that is noticeably young and holds large eyes flaming with curiosity. He sort of reminds Louis of himself when he was younger and it makes his hands itch.
They drive for three hours straight before they all feel like it’s too crowded in the car. Zayn is pacing the parking lot with hands that are slightly trembling and a cigarette tucked between his lips that he is desperately sucking poison from. Niall, Liam and Josh skid off to the supermarket to buy the things they realised they have forgotten – things like corn flakes, Nutella and toothpaste. Harry on the other hand just wanders aimlessly in the nearness of the car with his hands in his pocket and curls hiding his eyes effectively. Louis sits on the hood of the car, stubs his shoes against the asphalt and pretends not to be looking when Harry catches his stare.
They drive for another two hours through which Niall drinks six and a half juice boxes, Zayn sleeps with his hands clenched angrily at his seatbelt, Liam tries to start a conversation with Harry multiple times without luck, Josh listens to music on his iPod and Louis just stares out the window, feeling a bit lost. They stop the car because Niall needs to pee and Zayn wakes up immediately at the chance of inhaling more nicotine. Liam stays in the car with Josh because he doesn’t like watching Zayn smoke.
Harry gets out and opens the trunk to grab his guitar. He drags Louis to the bench that’s located in the shadow of an oak tree. Louis' heart beats soundly in his chest because Harry is so close and he thinks Harry might talk actual words to him.
“You want me to drive for a bit?” Louis asks.
“No, it’s alright,” Harry answers lowly, “I can drive the last three hours.”
Louis nods, picks at the white paint on the bench that is coming off.
“What was your favourite place?”
“Hm?”
“When you were travelling… where did you like it the most?”
Louis looks at Harry curiously, and Harry just half-smiles at him, batting his eyelashes briefly.
“I don’t really know. Every new place had a new kind of beauty to it.” Louis says but his throat aches because it’s all white lies and he really wants to say that it’s here with you. He just can’t because Harry doesn’t agree, doesn’t want that kind of confession to lay down on his shoulders.
“I wish I could’ve gone with you.” Harry mumbles.
Louis forgets to breathe as he imagines Harry in sunglasses and a backpack slung over his shoulder, walking beside him through the streets of Quezon City in the Philippines with a sun that is burning their skin so easily that they don’t even notice. So he doesn’t say anything – he can’t.
“I really missed you when you were gone, I… I was worried – didn’t think you’d ever come back.”
“I’ll always come back, Haz.”
“I know.” Harry says so quietly it’s barely a whisper. There’s a beat of silence that is only interrupted by hushed whispers from Niall and Zayn in the parking lot before Harry scoots over and wraps his arm around Louis, the guitar awkwardly sliding down his side to make room. The blue eyed boy exhales deeply through his nose and willingly tucks himself in.
He thinks he might have lied twice to Harry because he will always come back, but he doesn’t feel back right now. A piece of him is still by the river in Bombay with cobber coloured dirt on his hands. He’s worried he might never return to himself, worried he might feel like this for the rest of his life – beside himself, overheated and blinded by everything that breathes and shines.
Harry’s fingers flutter over the strings with such delicacy that it makes Louis want to yank Harry’s hand away and replace it on his cheek. Instead he starts humming along to the melody and his heart skips a beat when Harry smiles at that. Suddenly, once he’s got a feel of the melody, Louis starts singing words out too. Words that he doesn’t know what to make of.
“I have buried you
Every place I’ve been
You keep ending up
In my shaking hands”
He doesn’t sing more than those few words because his throat suddenly feels thick and the melody Harry is playing is so accurate that it hurts everything inside him. Another moment passes where Harry just plays, but Louis has had enough and it takes him less than five seconds to be seated inside the car again. He’s not in the front seat anymore either – he’s nestled himself up against Liam who whispers a question that goes unanswered but Liam doesn’t push it any further.
They drive the last four hours only taking a break when Zayn’s fingers starts trembling again for his dose. It’s a break of ten minutes and Louis keeps his eyes closed tightly, seated in the car, so he doesn’t have to look at Harry.
He opens his eyes again and lifts his head from Liam’s shoulder when the road suddenly bends into a forest. There’s a green sign on the side of the road with the words “Galloway Forest Park” in white font. Harry fumbles with a piece of paper where he neatly wrote down the address and Zayn unfolds a map, murmuring something about taking a turn in a few kilometres. Louis keeps his eyes glued to the view, trying to memorize everything so he can retell it to his sisters.
It feels like these foreign roads are endless because they just keep driving, getting further and further out until it’s a single road and they haven’t seen another car for twenty minutes. There’s big, green trees everywhere, covering the view of the darkening blue sky above them and it makes Louis feel a bit claustrophobic.
At a point they all begin to get worried that they might be lost, but then the road turns and lights up because the trees are clearing. Shortly after the road starts lighting up, a house comes to view. It’s big and built of dark wood that looks like it has needed an oil treatment for the past ten years. There’s no drive way, just large areas of green grass surrounding the house and then lots and lots of trees.
There’re big, messy letters carved into the front wall of the house and Louis has to turn his gaze away for a second and look at Harry instead because it feels like his parents are still here, and that this place contains all their secrets. He might not be ready to unveil them – not yet, at least.
“Why does it say ‘Emma’?” Niall asks with a voice that is laced with innocent curiosity, when they’ve gotten out of the car.
“I have no idea.” Louis replies and he watches the trees sway with the wind for another minute before he pulls the keys for the house out of his pocket, takes one last breath and aims for the door to unlock it.
He steps inside with adrenaline pumping through his veins, feeling Harry following right behind him. They walk into a big living room with low cushiony couches and fur blankets located in front of a fireplace that needs cleaning. The kitchen is a relatively normal size with panels in dark wood and a large heavy looking dinner table surrounded by chairs that has patterns carved into them. There’s a long hallway with a lot of doors – two bathrooms and five rooms. It’s all furnished and four of the rooms are with beds and closets, but the last room looks like an office with lots of books, stacks of paper and paintings on the walls. Louis decides he can’t look at that right now, because he doesn’t have the energy to go through more emotional torture today.
He walks into one of the bedrooms and decides that he it’s where he wants to spend he night. There’s a queen sized bed with dark green and white sheets, a built in closet and wide windows with a door that leads outside to a small patio. He seats himself on the bed and gets out his phone, checking for any missed calls. There is none, just a text from his aunt wishing him a good trip.
It’s dark outside now, the clock just having passed nine in the evening and he strips off so that he’s only clad in boxers and a tee. The blue eyed boy slips under the covers and keeps his eyes closed until he suddenly hears someone barge through the door, making a lot of noise – bags being shuffling around hastily. It’s Harry with wild curls haloing his face and flushed cheeks, and when he sees Louis, he stills his movements, sets down the bags and his gaze drops to the floor.
“What are you doing?” Louis mumbles through stiff lips.
“Your bags, um, I’m just carrying them in,” Harry glances frantically around in the room and Louis is too tired for Harry’s games right now, so he just closes his eyes again and turns his back to the other boy.
“Thanks.”
“You gonna sleep now?”
“Mhm.”
“Do you need anything else?”
There’s a painful feeling pressuring his chest when he mutters “no” because that is just another lie he’s shoving in Harry’s face to protect himself from Harry’s rejection, which might be a coward move but he just can’t bring himself to care right now. He wants to say that he needs Harry to embrace him with everything he’s got, kiss bruises onto his skin and whisper the words Louis wants to hear, but Louis’ not allowed to say that. He already knows that Harry will never want anything like that.
There’s silence for several minutes and at a point Louis thinks Harry might have slipped out so silently that he didn’t notice, but then there’s a sudden movement and he can sense Harry crossing the space in the room. The bed dips when Harry sits down languidly, peeling off his jeans and tossing his button up on the floor. Then the duvet lifts and he can feel Harry’s coolness radiating only a few centimetres away from him. Louis shivers and curls into a ball, fighting to keep his mind clear.
There’s nothing but the sound of heavy breathing in the room and it’s not Louis’ breathing because he’s so quiet right now he’s starting to feel a bit dizzy.
“Louis?”
Louis turns around quickly to be faced with green eyes that fucking shine in the dark.
“What?”
Harry doesn’t say anything, only furrows his brows a little as he shifts closer, so close that his curls touches Louis’ forehead. The green eyed boy stares at Louis for a long time and eventually his hand finds its way to cup Louis’ cheek that is icy cold. The touch brings a flood of heat through Louis and he rubs his feet against each other just to do something. Harry’s gentle fingers keep caressing Louis’ cheek, lightly touching at the corner of his eye where the eyelashes meet.
“You’re golden like sunlight, Lou,” Harry whispers, voice gravelly and deep, “So beautiful.”
A blush creeps to Louis’ cheeks that he doesn’t even try to hide because the walls have already been torn down and Harry knows everything there is to know. Their noses are almost touching and Harry’s other hand is crawling over Louis’ skin to wrap around Louis and pull him closer. Louis feels like his head is full of dynamite and it’s absolutely dizzying because Harry is closer than ever before, and his scent is fucking intoxicating in a way that can never be healthy.
Harry is singing words under his breath that Louis can’t bring himself to listen to because his mind is too crowded with wants and needs and something along the lines of hopefulness. Eventually Harry’s hand disappears, leaving the blue eyed boy’s cheek cold for a moment before Harry’s plump lips are touching the skin there. Louis feels paralyzed and motionless like the kiss is poison that sinks into his skin, so he tries to keep his eyes closed and to breathe evenly, thinking that surely Harry has noticed the alarmingly big effect he has on Louis.
When Harry pulls away there’s a fragment of a second where Louis thinks he’s about to aim for Louis’ lips instead but then it’s gone before Louis can even blink. Harry closes his eyes, lies on his back and pulls at Louis’ hand, urging Louis to place his head under his arm. So he does, because how can he not? How can he not just take everything that Harry has to offer? It’s like running back through the fire despite knowing there’s absolutely nothing there that’s left for him to save, because there was never anything there in the first place.
Harry falls asleep shortly, but then the moonlight creaks through the curtains, and Louis never really does.