Chapter Text
Six months should have been enough time to build a callous over the wound Harry left, yet here Louis was, perched on a stool watching the only person who had ever truly known him drift further into the periphery.
They were just friends now, a label that felt like a death sentence every time Liam or Niall used it to include them both in a group activity. Louis leaned his elbows on the wooden bar, his knuckles white as he gripped a fresh pint. A few feet away, Harry was glowing under the dim, amber lights. He looked infuriatingly good, his curls were a tad longer, his skin clear and that steady, soulful light in his eyes hadn’t dimmed even a bit since the day he’d stood in their kitchen and told Louis he couldn't watch him disappear into a bottle anymore.
To Harry, that conversation had been a desperate plea for a pause, a step back masked as a goodbye. He sat there sipping a single gin and tonic, internally counting the days until Louis would finally tire of the chaos and come back home to him. He saw Louis’s current state as a phase, a stormy season that would eventually break into the sun they’d shared since they were in high school, but Louis didn’t see a horizon, he only saw an exit sign. Every time he looked at Harry, he didn't see hope, he saw the boy who had found a breaking point and walked right past it. To Louis, the breakup was final, a confirmation that he was too much to love and too broken to keep.
The spiral tightened when the bartender, a tall guy with a calculated smirk and a silver nose ring, leaned over the bar toward Harry. It wasn't subtle, he was clearly lingering, his hand brushing the wood near Harry’s sleeve as he laughed at something Harry hadn't even meant to be funny. Harry offered a polite, dimpled smile, the kind he gave to everyone, but Louis felt the jealousy roar up like heat. It was a jagged, ugly thing that demanded to be drowned. He tipped his head back, draining his glass in three massive gulps. The burn of the alcohol was the only thing that felt honest.
"Whoa Lou, take it easy, yeah?" Niall said, reaching out a hand to steady Louis’s shoulder. "We’ve got the whole night ahead of us. No need to finish the keg in the first hour."
Louis didn't even look at him, he just signaled the flirting bartender, slamming his empty glass down with a sharp clack that made Harry’s head turn for a split second. "Another one… and a shot of tequila. Make it a double."
"Louis," Liam muttered from his other side, his voice laced with that disappointed dad tone that usually made Louis roll his eyes. "You’re already swaying, mate. Have some water."
"I'm fine," Louis snapped, his voice coming out harsher than he intended. He could feel Harry’s eyes on him now, heavy and worried, filled with that unbearable pained softness. Louis hated it. He hated that Harry still looked at him with love while keeping him at a distance. If Harry didn't want him, he shouldn't get to care about how much he drank.
The bartender slid the new drink across the wood, casting a quick, amused glance between the two of them before turning back to Harry with a wink. Louis didn't even hesitate. He grabbed the shot, the salt stinging a small cut on his finger, and downed it before the bartender had even turned his back. The world blurred at the edges, the noise of the pub becoming a dull roar and for a fleeting moment, the sight of Harry smiling at someone else didn't hurt quite as much. He reached for his pint again, ignoring the way Liam and Niall exchanged a dark, panicked look. He was going under and he was doing it in plain sight, hoping that if he went deep enough, he wouldn't have to remember the way Harry used run his fingers up his thigh under the table.
Eventually the crowd had thinned to a few stragglers and the boys were huddled near the door, pulling on their coats and adjusting their scarves against the bite of the night air outside. Niall stood firmly in Louis’s personal space, his hand anchored on his upper arm in a silent attempt to steer him toward the exit. He could feel the tremors in Louis’s frame, the way he was leaning slightly too far back against the bar just to keep his feet on the floor.
“Come on, Lou,” Niall whispered, his voice pitching low so the others wouldn't overhear the desperation. “You’ve had more than enough. My car’s right outside, I’ll drop you at your door and make sure you’ve got water. Let’s just go.”
Louis jerked his arm away, the movement clumsy and oversized. He let out a sharp, jagged laugh that didn't reach his eyes, which were glassy and fixed on a point somewhere past Niall’s shoulder. He could feel Harry’s presence near the door, lingering, keys clutched in his hand, his brow furrowed in that specific way that meant he was seconds away from intervening. The thought of Harry’s pity was more than Louis could stomach. He needed them all to leave so he could stop performing, or perhaps so he could finally disappear into the bottom of one last glass without an audience.
“I’m staying,” Louis announced, his voice loud enough to carry across the emptying room. He straightened his spine with a visible effort, though his shoulder clipped a hanging glass rack, sending a faint, melodic chime through the air. “I’m a big boy, Niall. I don’t need a fucking babysitter. I can get home on my own.”
Liam took a step forward, his expression weary. “Louis, the bar is literally closing. Just get in the car.”
“There’s a kebab shop around the corner that’s open late,” Louis shot back, his words beginning to slur at the edges. He fumbled in his pocket for his phone, nearly dropping it before shoving it back in. “I’ll eat, I’ll sober up and I’ll walk. It’s a free country, isn’t it? Or did I miss the part where you lot became my legal guardians?”
He looked past Liam and Niall, his eyes finally crashing into Harry’s. Harry looked like he was vibrating with the urge to speak, his lips parted, his heart practically visible on his sleeve. He wanted to scoop Louis up and carry him away from the smell of gin and the hollow bravado, but Louis just bared his teeth in a mockery of a smile, a silent dare for Harry to try and play the hero.
“Go on then,” Louis said, waving a hand dismissively at the group. “Piss off and let me finish my drinks in peace.”
Niall looked at Harry, a silent question passing between them, but Louis stepped back, deeper into the shadows of the bar, putting a barrier of stools between himself and his friends. He looked small against the backdrop of the darkened taps and stacked chairs, a stubborn silhouette refusing to give in. Reluctantly, seeing that pushing further would only cause a scene Louis wasn't sober enough to handle, the boys began to turn away. One by one, they trickled out the door, the cool air rushing in for a brief second before the heavy wood clicked shut, leaving Louis alone in the dim, stale silence.
•••
The morning sunlight was an assault, stabbing through the gaps of the unfamiliar curtains and pulsing in rhythm with the sledgehammer behind Louis’s eyes. He groaned, the sound catching in a throat that felt like it had been scrubbed with sandpaper and doused in vinegar. His tongue was heavy, tasting of stale tequila, and for a long moment, he kept his eyes squeezed shut, trying to piece together how he’d moved from the bar stool to a mattress that definitely didn’t smell like him.
He shifted his weight, intending to roll over and bury his face into a pillow, but his arm brushed against something warm. Something soft. Something that definitely wasn't a pillow. He froze, his heart hammering in a frantic, uneven beat against his ribs. He forced his eyelids open, blinking through the blur of a localised migraine and slowly turned his head. Beside him lay a girl. She was deeply asleep, her face tucked into the crook of her arm, a mess of blonde hair spilled across the white duvet. She was undeniably pretty, even in the messy sprawl of sleep, but the sight of her bare skin and the way the sheet was draped over her waist sent a cold wave of nausea rolling through Louis’s stomach.
Fuck.
The word echoed through his hollow skull, a jagged reminder of everything he’d just obliterated. He looked down at himself, seeing he was just as bare under the covers as she was. He scrambled for a memory, a name, a conversation, a moment of connection, but there was nothing but black holes and the hazy image of the bartender sliding him a double. He thought of Harry. He thought of the way Harry had looked at him in the pub, that devastatingly sad expression.
He sat up too fast, the room spinning as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. He spotted his jeans crumpled in a heap near a vanity, his shirt discarded like a shed skin near the door. He felt a sudden, desperate urge to bolt before she woke up, before he had to face the reality of what he’d done to his own chances. Had he really just set fire to the bridge he’d hoped he could eventually build back to Harry?
The silence of the apartment was Louis’s only ally as he gathered his things, his hands shaking so violently he could barely thread his belt through the loops of his jeans. He didn't look back at the bed, he moved like a ghost, easing the front door open and clicking it shut with a precision born out of pure panic. The morning air hit him like a bucket of ice water, but it did nothing to wash away the grime he felt coating his skin.
Back at his own place, he spent forty minutes under a spray of water so hot it turned his chest raw, but the scent of unfamiliar skin clung to him. After forcing down some toast that tasted like cardboard, the silence became too loud. He needed to hear a voice that wasn't his own berating him. He dialled Niall.
"You're alive then?" Niall’s voice was dry, the sound of a kettle whistling in the background.
"I fucked up," Louis croaked, sliding down the kitchen wall until he was sitting on the cold linoleum. He laid it out, the blackouts, the girl, the waking up in a bed that wasn't his. "I’ve ruined it. I’ve actually ruined it. If Harry finds out, that’s it. It’s over."
"Louis, breathe," Niall sighed, though his tone held a sharp edge of frustration. "Look, it’s messy, and honestly, you’re lucky you didn't end up in a ditch with the state you were in last night. You need to stop this before you actually kill yourself."
"But Harry…”
"Harry isn't here, Louis!" Niall interrupted, his voice softening but remaining firm. "You feel like you betrayed him because you’re still living in a world where you belong to him, but you don't. You broke up six months ago, remember? You’re single. You didn't cheat on him, you didn't break a vow, you just... you had a one night stand that you can't remember because you’re using a bottle to hide from your fucked feelings."
"What if he’s waiting for me to get better," Louis whispered, his voice breaking. "And I just went and did the one thing that’ll prove I’m getting worse?"
"You need to get better because you want to be better, not just to be a version of yourself that Harry wants," Niall said. "But stop punishing yourself for being single. You’re allowed to move on, even if it feels like shit right now. Just... please, mate, no more tequila for a while, yeah?"
The tension in Louis's chest eased just a fraction, the heavy silence on the line finally being punctured by Niall’s characteristic timing. "And also…" Niall started, his voice shifting from the concerned friend register into something more familiar and teasing. "A girl, Lou? Really? Ew. I honestly thought we were well past that stage of your life. Like, years past it."
Louis let out a dry, startled laugh, the sound echoing off his kitchen tiles. It was the first time he’d felt his lungs actually expand all morning. "Shut up, Niall. I was off my face. Clearly my internal compass was spinning in circles."
"Spinning in circles and pointed toward a woman? That's a serious malfunction, mate," Niall joked, though there was a small, relieved smile in his voice now that Louis wasn't sounding like he was on the verge of a total breakdown.
"You’re one to talk," Louis countered, leaning his head back against the cupboard. "You spend half your life chasing girls. Why is it gross when I do it, but perfectly fine for you?"
"Because, apart from Harry, you’re the gayest person I know!" Niall exclaimed, indignant but laughing. "You’ve been Harry-sexual since we were sixteen. Watching you try to navigate a one night stand with a woman is like watching a cat try to fly a helicopter. It’s just not anatomically or spiritually correct."
Louis shook his head, a genuine smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth despite the pounding in his temples. "I'm versatile, Ni. I contain multitudes."
"You contain tequila and bad decisions," Niall corrected quickly. "I’m straight, but the point is you aren’t. Or at least, you haven't been since the dawn of time. If you’re going to have a crisis and move on, at least stay in your lane. Don't go confusing the poor girls of London just because you’re sad about a boy with curly hair."
Louis laughs loudly again, “Okay lad, noted.”
"Good," Niall said, the sound of a rustling packet coming through the speaker. "Keep it noted. File it under things we don't do when we’re grieving.”
Louis let out a long, shaky breath, the laughter finally clearing some of the brain fog. "I'm going to go back to sleep. A proper sleep this time, in my own bed, where everything makes sense and nobody has boobs."
"Best idea you've had in twelve hours," Niall replied. "Call me when you wake up. And Louis? Drink some water. A lot of it. You probably look like a dried up raisin."
"Thanks, Ni. Love you."
"Love you too, you fucking idiot."
Louis hung up and let the phone drop onto the floor. He stayed there for a moment longer, staring at the sunlight hitting the kitchen tiles. The guilt was still there, sitting like a heavy stone in his gut, but the sharp, panicked edge of it had been blunted. Niall was right, they were broken up. The world hadn't ended, even if it felt like he'd just rewritten the script of his life in a way he never intended. He dragged himself up, his muscles aching, and crawled back into his own bed. It didn't smell like anyone else, which at first made him feel a wave of relief, before a slight sadness crept in. He wished it smelled like Harry.
As he drifted off, his last thought wasn't of the girl or the bar, but of the way Harry’s nose would scrunch when he was trying not to laugh, a memory he still wasn't sure he was ready to let go of, no matter how many bad decisions he made to try and drown it out.
•••
The following week, they all gathered for a games night at Liam’s. The atmosphere in the living room seemed pretty normal, filled with the competitive energy of a heated round of Mario Kart, but Louis felt like he was hovering outside his own body. He had spent the last hour perfecting the art of looking busy, fiddling with his controller, getting up for water he didn't drink, and strategically positioning himself behind Niall whenever Harry so much as glanced in his direction. Every time Harry’s deep voice joined the laughter, Louis felt a fresh spike of nausea. He kept seeing that flash of blonde hair from the week before, a sign of his own betrayal flashing in his mind.
He was heading toward the kitchen for the fourth time when a hand caught his elbow in the narrow hallway. The touch was light, but it burned. He knew that touch. He knew the weight of it, the way it always made him feel grounded, until now. Now, it made him feel like a criminal.
"Louis," Harry murmured. He was standing too close, smelling like that strawberry soap he’d used since they were eighteen. "Talk to me. You haven't looked at me once tonight. You’re acting like I’m a stranger."
Louis kept his eyes fixed on a framed poster on the wall, his jaw locked so tight it ached. "I'm just tired, H. Don't make it a thing."
"It is a thing," Harry insisted, his voice dropping an octave, filled with that calm, steady patience that usually broke Louis’s defenses. "You’re standoffish, you’re flinching every time I move. If I did something to upset you at the pub, just tell me. I was worried about you, that’s all."
The word worried snapped the last thread of Louis’s composure. The guilt curdled into a sharp, defensive anger, the kind he used like a shield when he felt most vulnerable. He finally looked up, his blue eyes icy and bloodshot. "Why do you even care, Harry?" He snapped, his voice sharp enough to draw blood. He stepped back, wrenching his arm away. "Seriously. You’re the one who walked away. You’re the one who decided you couldn't handle me, so why are you hovering? Why are you analysing my body language?"
Harry flinched as if he’d been slapped, his green eyes widening. "Louis, I didn't…”
"We’re broken up!" Louis hissed, the words tasting like copper. "It’s been six months, so you don't need to be my keeper anymore. You don't need to worry about me, and you definitely don't need to ask why I’m not looking at you. Just go back in there and play the game."
The hallway went silent, the muffled sounds of Niall shouting at the TV in the other room feeling miles away. Harry’s expression shifted from confusion to a deep, raw ache. He looked smaller suddenly, the bravado of his temporary break theory crumbling under the weight of Louis’s vitriol.
"Because I…” Harry said softly, his voice trembling just a fraction, "because I care about you. I didn't think that part was up for debate, Lou." He stayed there, waiting for Louis to say something, to take it back, to see the pause button Harry was still desperately holding onto, but Louis just turned his back, unable to let Harry see the tears gathering in his eyes or the shame that was currently screaming louder than his heart.
Harry finally turned and went back to the living room. He sank back onto the couch, the colorful, frantic light from the TV screen washing over his face and making him look pale. He stared at his hands, his fingers twisting a loose thread on his jeans.
"You alright, H?" Liam asked softly, muting the game. The sudden silence in the room felt heavy, amplified by the sound of Louis clattering around in the kitchen, clearly making as much noise as possible to avoid coming back in. Harry just nodded weakly, his throat working as he swallowed back the lump forming there.
"Yeah. It’s just... I love him so much. It hurts to watch him like this. He’s so angry, and he’s hurting, and he’s just pushing everyone away. I don't know how to reach him anymore."
Liam leaned over, squeezing Harry's shoulder in that steady, grounding way of his. "I know, mate. It’s hard seeing him spiral. We're all worried."
Niall, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, sighed and set his controller down. He looked between the kitchen door and Harry, his expression torn. He knew what Louis had done, and he knew how much that would shatter the fragile pedestal Harry had placed their relationship on.
"Harry," Niall said, his voice unusually serious. "We all know how important you two were. Are. It was a massive relationship, for both of you. You grew up together, but it’s been six months of this back and forth, and you’re just standing still while he’s... well, he's doing whatever he's doing. Maybe it’s time to actually think about moving on."
Harry’s head snapped up, his green eyes flashing with a sudden, sharp clarity that cut through the sadness. "What? Moving on?"
"I just mean for your own head, H," Niall added quickly, holding up his hands. "Just to find some peace."
"I’m not moving on, Niall," Harry said, his voice low and fiercely certain. He looked at his two best friends like they were speaking a language he didn't understand. "I’m not looking for peace if it doesn't include him. He’s the love of my life. This isn't just some guy I dated in uni, this is Louis. I’m just waiting for him to find his way back. I'm not going anywhere."
The conviction in his voice was so absolute it made Niall wince. It was a terrifying kind of devotion, the sort that didn’t leave room for reality to breathe. Niall looked at Liam, who looked just as helpless, before turning back to Harry.
"If that’s true, Harry," Niall began, picking his words carefully as he leaned forward, "then why did you do it? Why break his heart, why pack your bags and move out of the flat? If you’re just sitting here waiting for him to come back, why’d you leave in the first place?"
Harry ran a frustrated hand through his curls, his rings catching the light. "You don't get it, Niall. You weren't there for the nights when he wouldn't come home until 4am or the days he couldn't get out of bed because he was coming down from whatever he’d taken the night before. I was drowning trying to keep him afloat." He took a shaky breath, his gaze fixed on a spot on the carpet. "I thought if he saw that his lifestyle was actually costing him our relationship, he’d sort himself out. It was supposed to be a wake up call. I thought he’d realise he wanted me more than he wanted… anything else."
Niall let out a long, heavy sigh, the secret of Louis’s recent morning still burning a hole in his pocket. He looked toward the kitchen, where the silence was almost louder than the shouting from before.
"H, look at him," Niall said, his voice dropping to a somber whisper. "He’s still drinking, he’s still smoking himself to death. If anything, he’s leaned into it harder because he’s convinced it’s over. I think you’re waiting for someone who thinks he’s already been buried."
Harry shook his head stubbornly, a tear finally escaping and tracking down his cheek. "He just needs more time. He'll see it, he has to."