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“It’s been two years since I’ve seen your face.”
Louis looks up from the notepad he’s reading from, eyebrows raised in a silent question, only to see that his dog Clifford is looking back at him, thoroughly unimpressed.
“What do you know anyway,” Louis mumbles, turning back to his notepad. “You never even met him.”
He stares at the jumble of thoughts on the page that he’s been trying to organize for the past week, scratching that line out and then circling it when he immediately changes his mind. He throws down the pencil with a sigh and scrubs a hand over his face. At this rate, it’ll be another two years before he has a text worthy to send to Harry.
Harry. The love of his life.
They’d met in high school, drawn to each other like magnets in their first class on their first day of freshman year. That was all it had taken, 47 minutes of Earth Science with Ms. Watson, and they’d become best friends, joined at the hip – almost literally. Louis didn’t really understand the constant urges he’d had to touch Harry – a gentle hand on his waist guiding him in the hallways, legs thrown over his lap when they played video games, finger poking at his chest until Louis had his full attention at their table in the cafeteria – until much later.
Louis gets up to grab a beer and let Cliff out in the yard as he thinks back to that night. Someone, maybe Liam, had thrown a Halloween party that year. Louis had convinced Harry to go as a cheerleader, helping him find an outfit to borrow and sitting outside the closed bathroom door while Harry’s mom helped him shave his legs for the first time. When Harry had finally walked down the stairs to the living room where Louis was waiting patiently in his football player costume, Louis had been speechless. Harry was just so pretty in his short pleated skirt and tight sweater, accentuating his lithe body, with his curls finally just reaching his chin after the pact they’d made months before to grow their hair out together.
Harry’s shoulders were curved in and he was hugging the wall as he stood pigeon-toed in the foyer, waiting for Louis to say something. That was when Louis finally noticed the red nail polish and felt like he was about to burst with pride.
“Hey, you finally did it,” Louis said, reaching out and taking Harry’s hand, lifting it up to examine the bright red. Harry had only ever done one nail at a time before, usually scraping it off before many people noticed, and Louis had never seen him with a proper manicure. “It looks awesome, Haz.”
Then he looked up to see a crooked grin take shape on Harry’s face as he stood up straighter, flourishing under Louis’ attention like a flower in the sunshine. That was it. That was the moment that Louis realized he wanted to kiss those plump pink lips.
Laughing to himself, Louis opens the sliding door to let Cliff in. How he’d managed to orchestrate a couples costume for him and his best friend without realizing he was already in love with him is beyond him. And no one had bothered to point it out to him! Knowing him, he probably wouldn’t have listened anyway.
It had taken them a few more months to get there, awkward teenagers fumbling through the unknown to tearful confessions of love, but Louis wouldn’t have had it any other way. It had been perfect. They had been perfect. Sure, they were both stubborn and neither of them could ever let the other have the last word, making their fights last way longer than they should, but overall they’d been happy. They’d been a really good team, considering how young they were.
That is, until Louis fucked everything up.
Moving to the living room, Louis settles on the couch and puts on SportsCenter since he already knows he won’t be paying full attention to the TV. He waits for Cliff to jump up and sprawl across his lap before he unlocks his phone. He only needs to type ‘h’ into the search bar on Instagram before Harry’s profile comes up first in the results. He’d feel less pathetic about it if he thought Harry was doing the same thing, but he doesn’t. There are no stories to watch (there never are), so Louis scrolls through Harry’s feed for the millionth time.
It’s tempting to go back a few years to when Harry used it more frequently and his personality shone through. The lame puns that never fail to make Louis laugh, the candid shots of Harry with family and friends, some of whom Louis hasn’t seen in years. He doesn’t feel like seeing the photos of the two of them as a couple that Harry never bothered to delete, though. Instead, he starts with the most recent photos. They’re all professional and shot for work, but bits and pieces of the Harry he once knew are still there.
The nail polish is almost a constant thing these days. It’s never the focal point of his photos, but Louis notices it, the turquoise and light purple, even the occasional nail art. Louis could swear there’s a different fruit on each nail in one photo, a strawberry, what he thinks is a watermelon, and something green, but it hurts his eyes to squint at it very long, and he has too much dignity to ask one of his sisters about it.
Ah, yes. Dignity. Louis’ constant companion.
Aside from the large black dog currently licking a stripe up his face. That was the reason he got a dog after the breakup, actually. He’d been living on his own for the first time, and so lonely he could barely stand it. No matter how loud he played the TV or music, it always felt too still, too quiet, just him by himself. He’d needed a friend, and what he ended up with was an oversize dog with no sense of boundaries who can always tell when he’s sad and needs a bit of cheering up. Perfect for him, really.
After scrolling mindlessly for a few more minutes, smiling when the pearl necklace makes its first appearance, Louis tosses his phone aside. He’s always been too proud to crack and make the first move after breaking up with Harry. He’s only recently been able to admit to himself that it was all a mistake.
They’d gone to college together, a large state school that had good programs for both of them so neither of their moms made much of a fuss about applying to other schools and exploring options or anything like that. It was only when graduation loomed on the horizon and Harry was accepted into the program across the country that he hadn’t even told Louis about at first that the cracks started to show. Not for Harry, he of the old stubborn blind faith. But for Louis. He started listening when people made offhand comments about how long distance never works. He started to wonder if he would be holding Harry back if he asked him to stay – or if he tried to follow him. And for the first time, he was scared. Scared of trying to hold onto something that was no longer there, scared of Harry waking up in five, ten, twenty years and realizing he’d made the wrong choice. Scared of everything.
So he’d broken up with the only person he’d ever loved. Because he was afraid of losing him.
Even though he hadn’t known at the time how stupid that was, Harry did. They’d argued for hours, the worst fight they’d ever had. He’d never seen Harry that angry before. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Harry had ripped off the ring that Louis had given him and thrown it in his face, but instead he’d thrown a glass at the wall, shattering it and leaving Louis to pick up the pieces.
Harry had been right. About everything. They were young, but not so young that they couldn’t know what they wanted. And Harry had wanted him. And he’d totally blown it. He’s spent the last couple of years trying to make peace with his decision, thinking it was too late.
But then he’d learned that Harry moved back to town.
And, well. He has to at least try. If nothing else, he has to tell Harry that he was right. Even if Harry wants nothing to do with him, then at least Louis will have a chance at closure, a light at the end of the tunnel. Because he’s never really been able to move on. There’s been a few dates here and there, mostly setups arranged by his coworkers who never met Harry and therefore can’t understand that no one will ever measure up to him. Not for Louis, anyway.
“What do you think, boyo?” Louis says aloud, ruffling the mop of fur on Clifford’s head. “Should stop fucking around and just text him, yeah? Yeah.”
Louis picks up his phone. He doesn’t need the notepad in the kitchen, he’s practically got the page memorized. And anyway, Harry can always tell when he’s not speaking from the heart.
Haz. Hope this is still your number, or else some stranger is about to get very confused. I’ll get right to the point. You were right, and I was wrong. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I don’t deserve another chance, but I’m asking for one anyway. Can we talk? This is Louis, by the way
Louis rolls his eyes at that last part, but hits send before he can second guess himself. He bites his thumbnail as he watches the screen, hoping against hope that those three dots that indicate Harry is typing will pop up.
They don’t.
Well. Shit. He tried. That’s what counts. Louis picks up the TV remote, thinking about what he could binge on Netflix to take his mind off of things, when the phone buzzes.
When? Where?
Louis huffs a laugh at the stark reply. It’s just so Harry to give no indication of what he’s thinking like that. Fuck, Louis loves that petty motherfucker. He loves him so fucking much.
Two endless, soul torturing days later, Harry is sitting across from Louis at the small table in his kitchen. He’s been quiet since he arrived, has barely cracked a smile, and Louis is getting nervous. He’d thought that Harry even agreeing to meet with him was a sign that there was a chance, but the way Harry is acting is making him doubt himself.
“I’m glad you came,” Louis manages after several minutes of uncomfortable silence. His heart is thudding in his chest, and his armpits are damp with sweat. “I thought that…”
He trails off when Harry wraps a large hand around his mug. He hadn’t noticed it before because Harry’s hands were crammed with rings, at least one on every finger, and he’d paid more attention to the chipped black nail polish at first. But it’s still there, on the same finger he always wore it on. A simple silver band, the letters spelling out PEACE having faded after all these years, but still there.
It’s been years. Louis has changed, Harry has undoubtedly changed. But he knows Harry better than anyone else in the world, and he knows what it means that Harry is still wearing that ring.
He’s got a chance.
Harry raises his eyebrows. “You just thought?”
God, he missed that voice. Deep, rumbly, perfectly suited for Harry’s speech, which tends to be on the slow, hesitant side. Louis stretches his arm across the table, resting it so that his hand is palm up.
“I just thought that maybe we could finally have the conversation that I wish we could’ve had before.”
Harry shudders a breath, closing his eyes for a moment before blinking them open to meet Louis’ gaze, searching his eyes.
Louis prays whatever he’s searching for, he finds it.
Then Harry reaches out and puts his hand in Louis.’ The corner of his mouth finally quirks up into a small smile.
“I’d like that, Lou. I'd really like that.”