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    Summary

    Harry feels nauseous when he opens his mouth. "Hey. Um, hi. It's me," he mumbles before realizing with a jolt that Louis might not have his number anymore. "It's Harry... Styles," he tacks on, screwing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. This was a terrible idea.

    There's silence on the other end for a long time. Harry understands. He shouldn't have called. He tries not to let the static swallow him whole.

    "I – yeah. Hi," Louis finally answers, slowly, awkwardly. "I um. Sorry. I heard about your accident. You're alright?"

    Or, the one where Harry hasn't spoken to his best friend in sixteen months and can't remember why.

    Language:
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