Chapter Text
Harry is in the middle of doing absolutely nothing when he sees it.
Which, unfortunately, means he has no distraction.
No stage.
No meeting.
No friends around to snatch his phone away and say don’t do this to yourself.
Just him, coffee gone cold on the table, sunlight pouring through the windows of his house, and a stupid notification he really shouldn’t click.
LOUIS TOMLINSON SAYS HE’S “VERY, VERY PROUD” OF HARRY STYLES
Harry snorts.
“Right,” he mutters to himself.
Because Louis says things.
Louis has always said things.
Louis, who once stood in front of seventy thousand people and joked into a microphone, Harry’s actually me husband, cheers for respecting our privacy.
Louis, who spent half of 2012 introducing Harry as the love of me life just to watch him go red.
Louis, who had once looked at a wedding venue in Italy online and gone—
"Could see us there, y’know."
Harry had laughed so hard he nearly cried.
"Us?"
"Yeah, you idiot. Since apparently we’re dating."
"Think you’d look nice in white."
"You proposing?"
"Maybe."
Then Louis had grinned that impossible grin and thrown a pillow at him.
Nothing serious.
Never serious.
Until it sometimes felt serious.
Until it felt dangerous to think about too hard.
Until they stopped joking about it.
Harry presses play.
Louis appears onscreen.
Older now.
Sharper somehow, but softer too.
Harry hates that he notices these things immediately.
The interviewer asks about him.
About success.
About Harry.
Louis doesn’t even hesitate.
"Still very, very proud of him," he says. "Taking over the world, definitely."
Harry stops breathing for a second.
It’s ridiculous.
Embarrassing, really.
Because proud shouldn’t hit him like that.
It’s just Louis.
Louis, who used to clap obnoxiously every time Harry managed anything remotely impressive.
"Look at him! Big star!"
Louis, who once made him a paper certificate that said WORLD’S MOST DRAMATIC SINGER after Harry cried over a bad review.
Louis, who—
Harry exits the app.
Nope.
Done.
Finished.
Absolutely not spiralling over this at thirty-one years old.
His phone buzzes.
Then again.
Then six more times.
He already knows.
Still, he opens Instagram.
Mistake.
Massive mistake.
The internet is on fire.
LARRY IS BACK??
“still good friends” YOU HEAR THAT?
HE SAID HE STILL KNOWS HIM???
Edits.
Compilations.
2012 clips.
Louis calling Harry baby as a joke.
Harry staring at Louis too long.
The old fake wedding interviews.
A twenty-minute TikTok titled:
THE HISTORY OF TWO IDIOTS WHO NEVER BEAT THE ALLEGATIONS
Harry groans and throws his head back against the sofa.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
He should log off.
He doesn’t.
Because then another clip surfaces.
Different interview.
Podcast this time.
Louis laughing lightly.
"I do still know him."
Harry’s stomach twists.
"I used to be in a band with him, we’re not in a band anymore so that’s what happens. But yeah, still good friends with him."
Still good friends.
Harry stares at the screen.
Friends.
Right.
Of course.
That’s what they are.
What they’ve always technically been.
Even during the weird years.
Even after the band ended and distance stretched wider than either of them knew how to cross.
There’d never been a breakup.
Couldn’t be.
Can’t break up when nobody ever admits what the thing was.
They’d just…
Drifted.
Texts becoming occasional.
Birthdays.
Christmases.
Album sounds sick mate.
Saw the performance, smashed it.
Hope you’re good x
Friendly.
Casual.
Painfully careful.
Like both of them knew there was something underneath but had silently agreed never to poke at it.
His phone buzzes.
Gemma: don’t.
Harry frowns.
Harry: don’t what?
Typing.
Gemma: text him because he said something mildly affectionate in an interview
Harry glares at the screen.
Harry:i wasn’t going to
Gemma: you literally texted me “he said he still knows me”
He throws the phone onto the sofa.
Traitor.
At 1:13 a.m., Harry is still awake.
Because apparently hearing Louis say I do still know him has cracked open something annoying in his chest.
Still know him.
Like Harry had wondered if maybe Louis didn’t anymore.
Not really.
Not the current version.
Not the quieter one.
Not the one who lives half in hotel rooms and half inside songs he doesn’t release.
The old Louis knew everything.
Knew when Harry was anxious before he said anything.
Knew he hated silence after arguments.
Knew he always stole chips off other people’s plates while pretending he didn’t want any.
Knew.
Harry opens their messages.
Last text.
Three months ago.
Louis: good job on the album. proud of u x
Harry had replied: thanks mate xx
Coward.
Absolute coward.
Before he can think better of it, he types.
Harry:saw the interview
Delete.
No.
Too eager.
Too weird.
He types again.
Harry: internet’s gone insane again
Send.
The typing bubble appears almost immediately.
Which is somehow worse.
Louis: haha saw that
Pause.
Then:
Louis:proper nightmare
Harry smiles despite himself.
Same old Louis.
Complaining while secretly finding it funny.
Another text comes.
Louis:did mean what i said tho
Harry stares.
Harry: which bit?
The typing bubble takes longer this time.
Long enough for Harry to regret asking.
Then—
Louis:all of it
And then, after a minute:
Louis:i do still know you, harry
Harry’s chest hurts.
In a quiet way.
In an old way.
Because maybe the problem had never been that they didn’t know what this was.
Maybe the problem was they’d always known too much and never said any of it out loud.
His thumbs hover.
Then type before fear can stop him.
Harry:you used to joke about marrying me all the time
Three dots.
Disappear.
Come back.
Louis:yeah
Then:
Louis:funny thing is i don’t actually think i was joking as much as i pretended i was
Harry stops breathing.