Work Text:
Louis knew every creaky floorboard in the Styles’ house. He knew how to unlock the back door with just enough pressure on the frame. He knew to duck under the third branch of the tree by the fence. And he knew, without a doubt, that if he knocked on Harry’s window three times, his whole world would open up.
So he did. And of course, the window opened.
Harry stuck his head out, curls a mess and smile already forming. “You’re gonna fall off that thing one day.”
“Yeah,” Louis whispered, already climbing, “but you’d catch me, wouldn’t you?”
Harry laughed, soft and sleepy. “Every time.”
The window clicked shut behind them, and then they were in the dark warmth of Harry’s bedroom, the smell of clean sheets and vinyl and spearmint shampoo wrapping around Louis like a second skin.
It was always like this. Quiet. Safe. Untouchable.
Until morning came.
Louis dropped his backpack on the floor and turned, already shedding his hoodie, already toeing off his shoes. “Did you finish that essay?”
Harry rolled his eyes and flopped back onto the bed. “You only ask me that so I’ll write yours too.”
“Yeah. And?”
Harry didn’t answer. Just held out a hand, that lazy smirk curling at his lips. Louis climbed onto the bed without thinking. And kissed him.
It was easy, now. At first it had been awkward, full of laughter and nervous hands and too many teeth. But now it felt like breathing. Familiar.
Harry’s fingers slipped under Louis’ shirt, dragging along his spine. Louis sighed against his mouth. “You know,” Harry murmured, “you’re not even pretending this is about homework anymore.”
Louis smiled, eyes still closed. “I haven’t even brought my books.”
Harry’s laugh was warm against his cheek. “God, we’re so fucked.”
“Speak for yourself,” Louis said, breath catching as Harry’s lips moved to his throat. “I’m doing great.”
They lay like that for hours, tangled in sheets and limbs, talking about music and books and plans they’d never actually say out loud. Like moving to London. Getting a flat with mismatched furniture and ugly mugs. Maybe Louis would be in a band. Maybe Harry would write about them.
And maybe, just maybe, they could be together without hiding.
“Do you think your dad knows?” Harry asked suddenly, voice low. Careful.
Louis stilled. Then shrugged. “If he did, I’d be dead already.”
Harry didn’t laugh. Just curled closer, like maybe he could protect Louis from it all. Like maybe love could build a wall thick enough to keep out the world. “I hate that we have to be a secret,” he whispered.
Louis swallowed hard. “I know.”
“I don’t want to be a secret.”
“You’re not to me,” Louis said quickly. “You’re everything.” And he meant it. God, he meant it.
They fell asleep like that. Louis in Harry’s arms, heartbeat in his ear. Safe. Home.
•••
The room was still dim with early morning light, the window cracked open just enough to let the cold in. Harry was asleep beside him, one arm slung over Louis’ waist, mouth parted, hair a mess. He looked stupidly peaceful. Like the world hadn’t touched him yet.
Louis didn’t want to go.
But it was safer this way, it always was. He couldn’t risk being seen slipping out of Harry’s room at dawn, couldn’t risk another round of questions from his dad that he didn’t have the strength to lie through.
So he untangled himself slowly, like it mattered. Like Harry might wake up and say, ‘Don’t go.’
But he didn’t. He just shifted slightly, pulled the blanket closer. Louis leaned down, brushed a kiss to his lips, then whispered, “See you tomorrow.”
He climbed out the window and ran home before anyone could miss him.
He didn’t see Harry at school the next day.
Or the next.
By the third day, Louis had stopped eating.
He called. Texted. Wrote out every awful thought that had clawed into his chest and left them folded in half in Harry’s letterbox. Walked past the house every evening, hoping for light in the windows, for movement behind the curtains.
Nothing.
By the end of the week, the house was empty.
Curtains gone. Lights off. A For Sale sign out front.
Like they’d vanished. Like he’d never been there. Like Louis had imagined the whole thing.
The letter came three days later.
His mum handed it to him in the kitchen without a word, her expression unreadable. The envelope was plain. No return address. Just his name on the front in handwriting that made his heart lurch into his throat.
He read it upstairs, alone. Knees pulled to his chest. Hands shaking.
_______
Lou,
I didn’t get to say goodbye.
They made me leave.
I begged them not to.
I love you so much.
I don’t want it to be over.
I hope one day we find our way back.
Yours forever,
H x
_______
Louis read it five times. Then tore it in half. Then taped it back together like it might fix something.
It didn’t.
He didn’t sleep for days. Didn’t speak unless he had to. He kept imagining Harry’s room empty, the sheets cold, the smell of him already gone.
He kept hearing that stupid whisper in his ear, ‘See you tomorrow’ over and over and over.
But tomorrow never came.
•••
10 years later.
Louis hated the word fiancé. It felt stiff. Pretend. Like a placeholder in a conversation where the details didn’t matter, but Amelia used it all the time. My fiancé loves black coffee. My fiancé supports Doncaster. Like saying it enough would make it feel true.
Louis just called her Millie.
She was kind. Sweet. Smiled at him like he hung the moon, even though he barely knew how to make her laugh. They’d met through mutual friends, bonded over similar childhoods and agreeable silences. Her family adored him. His mum thought she was the best thing that ever happened to him.
And somewhere along the way, this became the plan. A wedding. A house. A life he was supposed to want.
The rehearsal dinner was at some overpriced French restaurant her parents insisted on. Niall had texted earlier in the week:
Niall: can i bring a plus one?
Louis replied without thinking:
Louis: course u can. wouldn’t expect anything less.
He assumed it was a date. Some girl Niall had met at one of his music gigs. He didn’t care, honestly. He was just glad Niall would be there. Someone his, someone who still called him Tommo and gave him shit and didn’t treat the wedding like a royal event.
He was halfway through a glass of champagne when he heard Niall’s voice behind him.
“Oi, groomzilla,” Niall called across the restaurant, already grinning. “Don’t get too legless without me.”
Louis turned, ready to fire back some half-arsed insult, something about Niall’s tragic tie choice. But he never got the words out.
Because standing just behind Niall, framed by the warm lights and the clink of champagne glasses, was him.
Harry.
Ten years older. Hair longer, curls looser around his face. A jacket hanging open over a dark shirt. The lines of his body familiar even after all this time. And those eyes, green, soft, unmistakably Harry, fixed right on Louis.
The world shifted. Like the floor cracked under his feet and Louis couldn’t breathe.
His heart kicked so hard he thought for a moment he might actually be dying. The glass in his hand tilted. His fingers felt numb. He didn’t hear whatever Niall said next, something about work, or fate, or bringing someone along for the food. It all blurred into static.
Harry was still looking at him. That same expression he used to wear when Louis showed up at his window, equal parts hopeful and afraid.
“Lou,” Harry said, soft. “Hi.”
It hit him like a punch. Like all the air sucked out of the room and left only memory.
Midnight sheets. Whispered I love yous. The last kiss. That fucking letter.
Louis hadn’t thought of that letter in years. Not properly. He didn’t let himself. But now it was all he could feel, burning behind his ribs like wildfire.
His voice cracked, barely a whisper. “What the fuck.”
Harry blinked, a slight wince in his smile. “It’s been a while.”
Louis didn’t move. Didn’t speak. His pulse was roaring in his ears.
Niall, oblivious as ever, laughed. “You two know each other? Small world, eh?”
Harry didn’t look away. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “We do.”
Louis stared at him like he’d conjured him out of thin air. Like if he blinked, he’d vanish again.
“Excuse me,” he muttered, breath catching as turned and walked, fast, through the restaurant, out the front door, into the cold night air.
Because there he was.
Harry Styles. The love of his life. Ten years too late.
Louis didn’t even realise he was shaking until he hit the cold air.
He pushed through the restaurant doors and stumbled down the front steps like the ground had given way beneath him, vans scuffing against the pavement, breath fogging in the night air. He made it to the garden edge, behind some manicured hedges and a decorative little fountain, and started pacing, tight circles, sharp movements, his hand tugging at the collar of his shirt like he couldn’t get enough air.
Then it hit him. Hard. He turned suddenly, bent double, and threw up into the roses.
It wasn’t the food. Or the wine. Or even the room full of people waiting to celebrate the version of him that didn’t exist anymore.
It was Harry. It was Harry walking in like a ghost. Like a wish. Like ten years hadn’t passed and Louis wasn’t six days from marrying someone else.
He stayed there, hands braced on his knees, panting like he’d just sprinted a mile. His vision swam. His ribs ached.
Footsteps behind him. Quiet. Careful.
“Lou?”
His name in that voice shattered something in his chest, but Louis didn’t look up. “Go back inside.”
Harry didn’t move. “Are you okay?”
Louis barked out a laugh, raw and humourless. “Do I look okay?”
Silence.
Louis straightened slowly, chest rising and falling too fast, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy as he finally looked at him.
Harry stood a few feet away, the light from the restaurant catching in his curls, jacket hanging open like he’d left in a hurry. His face was pale, his eyes wide with something between worry and regret.
Louis stared at him like he was still trying to understand if he was real. Then, voice hoarse:
“What are you doing here?”
Harry hesitated. “Niall invited me. I didn’t know… I didn’t know it was your wedding.”
Louis blinked, eyes burning.
Harry took a breath like he wanted to explain, but didn’t. Instead, his voice softened. “Did you get my letter?”
Louis froze.
Of course he remembered. Of course Harry remembered. The last thing he ever said. The only thing Louis had left.
He nodded once. “Yeah. I got it.”
Harry’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “And?”
Louis looked away, blinking hard.
“And it broke me,” he said, voice rough. “I didn’t speak to anyone for days. I cried myself to sleep for months. I kept thinking maybe you’d come back. That one day I’d look out the window and you’d be there. But you never were.”
Harry’s eyes filled. “Lou…”
“I kept the letter under my pillow for over a year,” Louis whispered. “I read it until the paper fell apart.”
Harry stepped forward, slow and unsure. “I didn’t want to go. You have to know that.”
Louis looked at him, the curve of his mouth, the pinch between his brows, the familiar ache in his expression and opened his mouth to speak.
And then, “Babe?”
Louis flinched and Harry froze.
Amelia stepped out of the restaurant, arms folded loosely over her chest, worry clear on her face. She scanned the scene in front of her, Louis looking like he’d seen a ghost, Harry standing stiff and wide-eyed a few feet away, and smiled like she didn’t notice the obvious tension in the air.
“Niall said you weren’t feeling well,” she said gently. “Are you okay?”
Louis blinked at her, lips parted.
“I, uh, yeah. Just need some air.”
She stepped closer, her eyes briefly flicking toward Harry. “Didn’t realise anyone else was out here. Sorry if I interrupted.”
Harry smiled, tight and polite, his voice a little too smooth. “It’s alright.”
Amelia touched Louis’ arm. “Come back in when you’re ready? We’re about to do cake.”
Louis nodded, swallowing hard. “I’ll be in in a minute.”
She leaned up, kissed his cheek lightly. “Don’t be long.”
Then she smiled again, so sweet, so completely unaware, and disappeared back inside.
The second the door clicked shut, Louis crumpled.
Harry was already moving. “Lou, please…”
“I can’t do this right now,” Louis said, backing up a step. His voice was hoarse, thin, like he was choking on his own breath.
He turned before Harry could say anything else, wiped his face with the sleeve of his blazer, and walked back into the restaurant like his bones were made of glass.
Inside, everything was warm and golden. People were laughing. Glasses clinked. The pianist had started playing something light and jazzy that felt entirely wrong. Amelia was by the cake table, showing photos to her mother and the wedding planner, glowing with excitement.
It was surreal. Like walking into a life he’d rehearsed so many times he couldn’t tell if it was real anymore.
“Babe!” Amelia waved him over with a bright smile. “Come see this one, Mum thinks we should use it for the wedding program.”
Louis forced something that felt like a smile and crossed the room. He didn’t remember what the photo looked like. He nodded when she asked if he liked it. He kissed her temple on autopilot. He answered a few questions from a distant cousin about honeymoon plans with the voice of someone watching themselves from far away.
He could feel him.
Harry was seated at a table across the room with Niall and a few of the uni lads, quiet, his chair angled just slightly so he could see Louis. Louis refused to look at him. But he could feel it. Every time his eyes drifted near, every time he caught the outline of Harry’s hand resting on the table or the curve of his jaw in profile, it hit him like a wave.
His chest ached. His hands wouldn’t stop trembling.
“Cake?” someone asked. Maybe Amelia’s sister. He nodded. Took a plate but didn’t even taste it.
The speeches came next. God help him.
Niall was already tipsy by the time he got up to toast, waving his glass dramatically and grinning like he hadn’t noticed the emotional nuclear fallout happening across the table.
“This one,” he said, gesturing at Louis, “is the most loyal, stubborn bastard I’ve ever met. And I love him for it.”
The table laughed. Louis swallowed.
“I’ve known him since first year, and honestly, I always said the poor sod would probably marry a guitar or his football boots if someone didn’t step in. So thank god for Millie.”
More laughter. Amelia beamed. Louis caught Harry’s eyes for a second and felt his throat close.
Niall continued, voice softening a little. “But seriously… Tommo here, is one of the best people I know. And I’m proud of him. So, so proud. For building this life. For being brave enough to love someone out loud.”
Louis blinked. His hand clenched around his fork. Brave? God, if only he knew.
“To Louis and Millie!” Niall finished, raising his glass.
Everyone echoed it. Glasses clinked.
Harry didn’t raise his and Louis noticed.
After all that, he found excuses to move. To help clean up, to refill drinks, to stand a little too long at the bar pretending to decide between wines. Amelia was distracted, chatting with her cousins, and the rest of the guests were loosening up with dessert.
He was almost breathing again when Harry appeared beside him at the bar. Neither of them spoke for a second. Then Harry said, voice low, “I didn’t mean to ruin everything.”
Louis didn’t look at him. “You didn’t ruin anything.”
Harry inhaled sharply through his nose, like the words hurt. Maybe they did. “I don’t want to cause any trouble,” he said.
Louis turned his head just enough to glance at him. “You’re not the trouble here.”
Harry nodded. Quiet again. Then: “I didn’t even know what this was when I walked in. Just thought I was being dragged to some work friend’s thing. And then I saw you and…” He broke off. “It all came back.”
Louis closed his eyes for half a second. “Yeah.”
The clatter of laughter at the next table rose behind them. Cutlery on porcelain. Someone asked the pianist to play something “a bit more upbeat.”
Then Amelia’s voice called out from across the room: “There you are!”
Louis jolted like he’d been caught doing something wrong.
She walked toward them, cheeks flushed, holding her heels in one hand and her glass in the other. “I was wondering where you disappeared to.”
She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Want to come say goodbye to my aunt before she leaves?”
He nodded. “Course.”
He glanced back once as she led him away, just for a second. Harry was still at the bar, standing very still, eyes on the floor.
By the time they left, Louis was hollow.
The goodbyes were a blur. The hugs. The smiles. The promise to see everyone next week at the wedding. His cheeks ached from forced grins and polite thank-yous. The music had dulled to a background hum in his skull, the lights too warm, the air too thick.
And then, as they stood by the door, coats being handed out and guests lingering with leftover wine, Harry stepped forward and Louis’s stomach dropped like a stone.
Harry’s expression was unreadable, soft, maybe. Guarded. But his eyes met Louis’s with something that felt like a question. Amelia was turned away, laughing with her cousin.
“Congratulations,” Harry said, voice quiet but steady. “Really.”
Louis could barely get the word out. “Thanks.”
They shook hands. It was ridiculous, too formal, too forced, but Harry held on a second longer than he should have, and as he pulled away, Louis felt it. Paper. Slipped into his palm with a gentle press of fingers.
Harry didn’t say anything else. Just gave him a faint smile, one Louis wasn’t sure was real, and turned back toward Niall.
The paper burned in his hand the rest of the night.
He didn’t even look at it when they were in the car. He waited for Amelia to get buckled in as she was talking about the cake flavours and how well the evening went, how lovely Niall’s friend was, Harry, was it? Quiet, but very sweet.
Louis made a noncommittal noise. His fingers were still curled around the note in his pocket. But he didn’t pull it out. Not yet.
When they got home, she wrapped her arms around him and sighed into his chest. “Six days.”
“Six days,” he repeated.
She kissed him goodnight and disappeared into the ensuite. Louis stood in the middle of their bedroom, heart pounding.
Then he sat down on the edge of the bed, reached into his pocket, and pulled out the small, creased piece of paper. It was folded once. Neat. Familiar.
Inside:
If it’s still there for you too, call me.
-H x
And below that, a phone number.
Louis stared at it, breathing shallowly. Then he pulled out his phone. He didn’t type anything. Not yet. But he kept the screen open, just in case.
Sleep didn’t come.
Louis lay still in the dark for what felt like hours, staring at the ceiling. He could hear the gentle rhythm of Amelia’s breathing beside him, the rustle of the sheets when she shifted, the faint hum of traffic outside the bedroom window. But none of it grounded him.
Everything felt unreal. Harry had come back.
His Harry, who he’d mourned like a death, who had existed only in memory for a decade, who had left with nothing but a single folded letter and a bleeding heart, was here. In this city. At his rehearsal dinner. Saying goodbye with a look in his eyes that Louis couldn’t get out of his head.
He kept replaying it. The way Harry’s voice had cracked. The quiet devastation in his smile. The feel of the paper pressed into his palm, like a secret.
Louis turned over, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes.
He’d spent years convincing himself it had just been teenage love. Something reckless and intense, sure, but ultimately something you grow out of. Something you bury under new jobs and adult relationships and mortgage applications.
But seeing him again, really seeing him, it was like no time had passed at all. Like Louis had been walking around with half a heart for ten years and only just realised what was missing.
It didn’t matter that he was engaged. That the wedding was in six days. That Amelia was a good person. None of it mattered in the face of this truth that had always lived inside him:
Harry Styles was the love of his life and he didn’t know what the hell to do with that now.
It was after 2am when he gave up.
He slipped out of bed as quietly as he could, toes curling against the cold floor, and padded down the hallway to the living room. The house was still, lit only by the blueish wash of streetlight filtering through the blinds.
Louis sat on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, heart pounding. He pulled the note from the pocket where he’d hidden it earlier, unfolding it slowly.
He stared at the words for a long time.
His throat tightened.
He reached for his phone and typed in the number by memory now, because of course he’d read it so many times it was seared into his brain.
He stared at it for a moment. His thumb hovered over the call button.
What if Harry didn’t pick up? What if he did?
His chest ached. Everything ached, but he hit Call before he could talk himself out of it.
The line rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
Louis pressed the phone tighter to his ear, breath shallow. Then:
“Hello?” Harry’s voice was low, sleepy, confused. But unmistakably Harry.
Louis froze. His mouth opened, but nothing came out for a second. His heart was pounding like a war drum.
“Harry,” he said finally, voice barely above a whisper.
There was a beat of silence. Then Harry exhaled like he’d been holding his breath. “Louis.”
And just like that, he broke.
His face crumpled and he hunched forward, one hand over his eyes, the other still clutching the phone. A quiet, broken sob slipped out before he could stop it.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have called. I just, I can’t stop thinking about you…”
“No,” Harry said quickly, firmly. “No, I’m glad you did. I, God, I’ve been staring at my phone all night.”
Louis laughed, shaky and wet. “Me too.”
There was a silence then, soft and weighty. Harry spoke again, voice gentle. “Are you okay?”
“No,” Louis said honestly. “I feel like my life just fell apart and I’m not even sure if that’s a bad thing.”
Harry didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Louis wiped his face. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”
“You don’t have to know,” Harry murmured. “You just have to… come here.”
Louis closed his eyes. “I want to.”
“Then do it.”
“Right now?”
“Right now,” Harry said.
Louis let out a breath that felt like it had been stuck in his lungs for years. “Okay.”
He hung up. Stood. Found his keys. And walked out the door.
The drive was a blur. Louis wasn’t even sure how he got there, he barely remembered the streets, the traffic lights, the left turn he almost missed.
His hands were shaking so hard on the steering wheel he had to pull over halfway there and sit for a full minute, forehead pressed to the steering wheel, breathing like he’d just run for his life.
It was a strange kind of fear, not the fear of doing something wrong, but the terrifying, breathless realisation that he might finally be doing something right.
By the time he reached Harry’s building, the early morning light was starting to creep into the sky. That soft, smoky grey that made everything feel unreal. Dreamlike.
He parked haphazardly, didn’t check if the door locked, didn’t fix his hair or look in the mirror. He just walked to the entrance, heart pounding loud enough to echo in his ears.
The stairwell smelled like dust and rain. His trainers were too loud on the steps. The air felt too still. His pulse was out of control.
When he reached the door, he hesitated. Only for a second. Then he knocked and it opened almost instantly.
Harry stood there in track pants and a hoodie, barefoot, curls wild, eyes wide and red-rimmed like he hadn’t slept either. Like maybe he’d been waiting right there the whole time.
And Louis didn’t think. Didn’t speak. He just lunged forward.
Harry caught him with both arms, stumbling back a step into the flat as Louis collapsed against him, clinging like he’d drown otherwise. His face buried in Harry’s neck, hands twisted into the back of his hoodie, body trembling.
Harry made a quiet, broken sound, half gasp, half laugh, and wrapped his arms around Louis so tight it hurt.
They stood like that in the doorway, the world spinning around them, the city waking up, and neither of them caring at all.
Louis didn’t cry at first. He couldn’t. He was too overwhelmed, too full of everything. Relief. Grief. Love.
But Harry did. Soft, silent tears against Louis’ temple, fingers gripping the fabric at his waist like letting go wasn’t an option.
After a while, Louis pulled back just enough to look at him and Harry reached up and cupped his face, thumbs brushing beneath his eyes like he was checking to see if Louis was really there.
“You came,” he whispered.
Louis gave the faintest, breathless laugh. “Of course I did.”
Harry’s mouth twitched like he wanted to smile, but it collapsed into something more fragile. “I didn’t think you would.”
Louis swallowed. And then it all shattered.
His face crumpled without warning, the tears hitting so fast he barely had time to suck in a breath. A sound escaped him, small, raw, punched out of his chest like something had broken loose.
“Hey, hey,” Harry said quickly, arms reaching for him again, but Louis was already there, crashing forward, burying himself in Harry’s chest like it was the only safe place on Earth.
“I missed you,” Louis sobbed, voice strangled and wet. “I missed you so much, H, I didn’t know how to breathe without you.”
Harry held him like he’d been waiting for this. His arms wrapped tight around Louis’s back, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of his head as Louis broke down against him.
“I know,” Harry whispered, voice shaking. “I know, baby. I missed you too. So much.”
Louis clung to him, fingers digging into the fabric of Harry’s hoodie, his whole body wracked with silent sobs. It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t quiet. It was the kind of cry that came from somewhere buried, ten years of silence, ten years of grief.
“I tried so hard to forget you,” he choked out. “I tried to be happy. I swear I did. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop loving you. I don’t think I ever will.”
Harry made a broken sound, something like a gasp or a whimper, and held him tighter.
“You don’t have to forget me,” he said. “I’m here now. I’m here.”
They sank slowly to the floor, right there in the hallway, knees folding awkwardly beneath them, arms locked around each other like they were afraid of being torn apart again.
Louis’s head dropped to Harry’s shoulder, tears soaking into the cotton there, breath hitching in his chest as Harry rocked him gently, murmuring soft, soothing nothings into his hair, “I’ve got you. It’s okay. I’ve got you now.”
Louis didn’t know how long they stayed there.
All he knew was the warmth of Harry’s body, the sound of his heartbeat, the quiet hush of his voice grounding him through every trembling breath.
Eventually, the sobs ebbed into sniffles. His breathing slowed. His grip didn’t loosen and Harry didn’t let go either.
“I’m sorry,” Louis whispered, voice hoarse. “I didn’t mean to fall apart.”
Harry kissed the top of his head. “You were never meant to hold it together alone.”
Louis exhaled shakily. “I’ve been waiting for this for so long.”
Harry pulled back just enough to look at him again. His thumb brushed gently under Louis’ eye. “Then let’s not waste another second.”
And when they leaned in, the kiss was soft. Slow. A reminder of what they’d missed.
•••
Harry’s bed was warm.
It smelled like him, cedar and laundry detergent and the faint trace of whatever he used in his curls. The sheets were soft, well-worn. The duvet was tangled around their legs, and Louis was curled into Harry’s chest like he belonged there. And for a little while, he really believed he did.
Harry’s fingers had stopped moving in his hair a while ago, their conversation dissolving into sleepy murmurs and gentle kisses. The last thing Louis remembered was Harry whispering “I’ve missed holding you like this” into the space behind his ear.
Now the room was quiet. Peaceful. Safe.
Louis drifted in and out of sleep, forehead pressed to Harry’s collarbone, one leg draped across his thighs, arms still wrapped loosely around each other.
He hadn’t felt this calm in years. He hadn’t felt like himself in years.
But peace is a fragile thing. And it shattered the moment his phone started vibrating against the floorboards.
Louis startled awake, brow furrowing. It took a moment to register the sound, muffled and insistent, coming from somewhere near the bed. He shifted slowly, careful not to wake Harry, and reached down blindly, fingers scrambling until they closed around his phone.
6:41am
Millie 💍 – 4 Missed Calls
New Message: Where the hell are you?!
Louis blinked, brain still fogged with sleep.
Then everything rushed in.
The rehearsal dinner. Harry’s eyes. The hug in the hallway. The sobbing. The kiss. The bed.
He sat up a little too fast, the duvet falling from his chest, his heart punching into his throat and Harry stirred beside him, arm tightening instinctively around Louis’s waist.
“Mmm?” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep. “You okay?”
Louis stared down at the screen, the words burning into his retinas.
Millie 💍- Where the hell are you?!
I woke up and you were just gone, Louis. Are you okay?? Please say something.
Harry sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. “What is it?”
Louis didn’t answer right away. He just held the phone out between them.
Harry looked. And winced. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Silence.
Louis swiped the message away and stared at the floor, stomach twisting. The panic hadn’t hit yet, but it would. It always did. He could already feel the edges of it creeping in.
“What do I even say?” he whispered.
Harry didn’t rush to answer. He just reached out and laced their fingers together again.
“The truth,” he said softly. “Whatever that is.”
Louis stared at their hands. At the place they were still connected, even now. Even after everything. “I don’t know what the truth is anymore.”
Harry squeezed his hand. “That’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”
Louis’s phone buzzed again. Another message, but he didn’t look. He just leaned forward, rested his forehead against Harry’s shoulder, and closed his eyes.
Because the world was awake now. And the clock was ticking.
Louis didn’t move for a long time. His phone buzzed again in his hand, but he ignored it, his forehead still pressed to Harry’s shoulder, his body aching in that warm, sore, after-everything kind of way.
Harry ran a hand slowly up and down his back, silent, waiting. Eventually, Louis sighed, pulling back just enough to look at him.
Their eyes met. Still soft. Still a little puffy. But clearer now. “I need to go,” Louis whispered, voice quiet but certain.
Harry nodded, lips pressing into a thin line.
Then Louis leaned in and kissed him, slow, sweet, the kind of kiss that said ‘thank you, I’m sorry, and please don’t leave again’ all at once.
When he pulled back, Harry chased the kiss just slightly, like he didn’t want to stop yet. Louis smiled, brushing their noses together. “I need to go home.”
Harry exhaled. “I know.”
Louis stood carefully, searching for his clothes in the dim light. His jumper was near the end of the bed, jeans draped over the back of a chair. He padded over, pulling the hoodie over his head, then reaching for his jeans.
Harry sat up slowly against the headboard, sheet slipping dangerously low around his hips, arms stretched behind him. And then he just… watched.
Louis was halfway through pulling up his jeans when he glanced up and caught the look.
He blinked. “You’re staring.”
Harry’s mouth curled into a smirk. “I missed you.”
Louis rolled his eyes, but his cheeks flushed anyway as he laughed under his breath and buttoned his jeans. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”
Harry tilted his head, eyes softening again. “I am so fucking lucky.”
And just like that, Louis felt that tightness in his chest again. The one that reminded him he had to leave. That he couldn’t stay in this soft, stolen morning forever.
He grabbed his phone, stared at the screen for a second, then tucked it into his pocket.
Harry stood and walked him to the door, bare feet silent on the floorboards. He reached for Louis’s hand again, gave it one last squeeze.
Louis turned at the doorway, glanced down, then back up at him. “I’ll text you.”
Harry nodded. “I’ll wait.”
They kissed again, quieter this time. Lingering. Louis pulled away first, just slightly, forehead resting against Harry’s. “Don’t disappear,” he whispered.
“I won’t,” Harry said. “Not this time.”
Louis stepped back, opened the door, and left.
The sunlight was brighter now. Too bright. The street too awake. But Louis didn’t look back.
Not because he didn’t want to. But because he knew Harry would still be there when he did.
The door was unlocked when Louis got home.
Not wide open, just that soft click, latch undone, like it had been opened and checked too many times through the night. As if she’d stared into the dark hallway waiting for him to walk through it.
Louis stepped inside quietly, shutting it behind him with more care than he ever had before. His trainers made barely a sound on the tiles. The house was silent, no kettle on, no music playing, no radio humming from the kitchen.
Just stillness. Until:
“Louis?”
Amelia’s voice came from the living room. Sharp. Not angry, worried. Tired. Stretched thin.
He turned the corner and there she was, sitting on the edge of the couch in her dressing gown, her hair pulled up messily, phone clutched in one hand like it had been glued there all night.
She looked up and froze. Her eyes scanned him, quick and cautious. Hoodie wrinkled. Hair a mess. Red around the eyes. Clothes from yesterday.
She stood slowly. “Where the hell have you been?”
Louis opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
“I woke up and you were gone,” she continued, stepping closer. “No note. No message. I called you six times. You didn’t answer. I thought…” She broke off, swallowing. “I didn’t know what to think.”
Louis blinked, throat tight. “I’m sorry.”
“Where were you?” She said, but he hesitated and her face twisted, something flashing behind her eyes. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I just,” he said quickly. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Try,” she said. “Because I’ve been up since four imagining you in a ditch somewhere, or… and now you come in looking like that, and you want me to just wait?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “I went for a drive.”
She didn’t respond right away. Her face shifted, something close to confusion, or disappointment, or maybe a sadness that hadn’t quite landed yet.
“A drive?”
Louis nodded. “Yeah.”
“At two in the morning?”
“I just… needed to clear my head.”
Amelia stared at him like she wanted to believe it. But she didn’t. She wasn’t a fool. She knew something was off. She just didn’t know what.
“Louis,” she said carefully, “if there’s something going on…”
“There’s not,” he cut in quickly. Too quickly. “I just… I’ve been overwhelmed, with the wedding, and family stuff, and work. I needed space.”
Silence stretched between them like wire.
Then, quietly: “You could’ve told me.”
Louis dropped his gaze. “I know.”
Amelia’s shoulders dropped slightly. Her voice softened. “I was worried.”
“I’m sorry.”
More silence.
Finally, she sighed. “I made tea before. It’s cold now.”
He nodded, unsure of what else to say.
“I’m gonna go shower,” she said, brushing past him.
Louis stood in the hallway, frozen. His hand was still wrapped around the paper in his pocket.
“If you still feel it too, call me.”
And now he had. And he hadn’t told her. Not yet.
He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the hallway wall. Because he knew, whether it was tomorrow or next week or next month, this lie wasn’t going to hold.
Not when his heart was already somewhere else.
•••
The morning sun filtered through the windows like nothing had changed.
Louis sat at the kitchen table in a hoodie and trackies, a cold piece of toast in front of him and a cup of tea that had gone untouched. His phone sat face-down on the table, but he hadn’t stopped glancing at it since he woke up.
Amelia moved around the house in a rush, curlers in her hair, bag on her shoulder, makeup half-done. She was glowing. Excited. Still trying to pretend things were fine after yesterday’s quiet.
He played along. Pretended the tension wasn’t crawling beneath his skin like static.
“I’ll be back this afternoon,” she said, slipping on her heels. “Final dress fitting, then coffee with Mum.”
Louis nodded. “Okay.”
She walked over, adjusting his collar like she still had a right to touch him, like she didn’t feel how stiff his body went under her fingers. She leaned in, kissed his cheek.
“You okay?” she asked, eyes soft.
He nodded again. “Yeah. Just tired.”
She hesitated for a moment. Then smiled. “Well. Four days to go.”
“Yeah.”
And then she was gone.
The second the door clicked shut, Louis picked up his phone. He stared at it for a beat, thumb hovering. Then he opened the thread.
Louis:
Can I see you?
The message delivered instantly. He didn’t even put the phone down. Just sat there, pulse tapping at his throat like a warning.
It buzzed seconds later.
Harry:
Always. Come over.
Louis breathed out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. Got up. Pulled on his trainers. Grabbed his keys.
He didn’t even think about the toast.
When he arrived, he didn’t hesitate, didn’t pace outside the door rehearsing what he might say. He’d already said what mattered, ‘Can I see you?’ and Harry had answered like he’d been waiting for the question.
Always.
The moment the door opened, Louis stepped forward, hands already reaching.
Harry looked stunned for half a second, eyes wide, lips parted like he’d been about to say something, but the words never came. Because Louis was already there, already curling his fingers into the front of Harry’s hoodie and pulling him into a hug so tight it was practically a full-body press.
Harry’s arms wrapped around him immediately, like instinct. Like muscle memory. Louis buried his face into Harry’s shoulder, breathing him in, soap, coffee, Harry, and then pulled back just enough to look at him.
And then he kissed him.
Harry groaned softly against his mouth as Louis pushed him backward into the flat, kicking the door closed behind them. Their lips barely parted, mouths moving in frantic sync like they were making up for all the years lost.
Louis kissed down his jaw, his throat, dragging his lips over the curve of his neck until Harry tilted his head back with a shudder.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” Louis breathed between kisses. “Can’t fucking sleep, can’t think, I just…”
Harry’s hands were already in his hair, tugging gently, his chest rising and falling like he was struggling to keep up. “You don’t have to explain. I know. I know.”
Louis let out a shaky laugh, pressing kisses along the line of Harry’s throat, tasting his skin like it belonged to him.
Then, without a word, he started undoing the buttons on Harry’s shirt, one by one, fast and fumbling, hands shaking with urgency.
Harry let him, stumbling backward as Louis walked him toward the bedroom, shirt half-hanging open, lips kiss-bitten and red. His pupils were blown. His hands moved to Louis’s waist, gripping his hoodie like it was the only thing anchoring him.
“Lou,” he whispered, breathless.
Louis kissed him again. “Please don’t stop me.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
They crashed into the bedroom door frame with a soft thud, laughing against each other’s mouths. Harry pulled Louis’s hoodie off in one smooth movement, letting it drop to the floor. Then his hands were everywhere, touching his chest, sliding down his sides, gripping his hips.
Louis kissed him hard, biting at his lower lip, breathing like he was drowning.
“I’ve missed this,” he whispered. “Missed you.”
Harry kissed him back like he believed it. Like he felt it. And then they were falling into bed, tangled and breathless, skin to skin, like they’d never forgotten how to do this.
Because maybe they hadn’t. Maybe loving each other like this was something they’d never unlearned.
They fell into bed with the grace of people who no longer cared about control.
Harry’s back hit the mattress first, shirt half-hanging from his shoulders, mouth parted as Louis kissed him like he was dying for it. And maybe he was. Maybe he’d been dying slowly for ten years and didn’t even know until now.
Louis hovered over him, breathing hard, gaze sweeping over Harry’s flushed cheeks, the rise and fall of his chest, the soft pink of his lips, already slightly swollen.
“I still can’t believe you’re right here,” Harry whispered, voice barely audible between gasps.
Louis kissed him slow, dragging his teeth over Harry’s bottom lip. “I never really left.”
Then he leaned back, tugged the rest of Harry’s shirt off and tossed it blindly across the room, his eyes trailing down the long, pale expanse of Harry’s chest.
He hadn’t seen him like this in years, but his body remembered every line.
He pressed a kiss just beneath Harry’s collarbone, then lower, mouthing at the soft curve of his ribs, the stretch of skin along his stomach. Harry arched, fingers threading through Louis’s hair, already sighing.
“You’re killing me,” Harry breathed.
Louis smirked against his skin. “Not yet.”
He slid lower, kissing down his stomach, then made his way back up, slowly, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses along Harry’s skin like a trail.
Harry’s hands were everywhere. On Louis’s back, his shoulders, buried in his hair, clutching like he was afraid this wasn’t real. Louis grabbed one of them, laced their fingers together, and pinned it above Harry’s head.
“Look at me,” he said, voice low and rough. “I wanna see you.”
Harry let out a sound that was almost a whimper, eyes glassy and wide.
Louis reached between them, slow and deliberate, stroking Harry through his underwear until he was squirming beneath him. “Fuck, you’re already so hard.”
“You’ve been teasing me since you walked in,” Harry groaned, hips canting up shamelessly. “Do something.”
“Patience,” Louis murmured, but he was already tugging Harry’s briefs down, already trailing his fingers along the inside of his thighs.
Then, contact.
Harry gasped, back arching beautifully, his head tilting back into the pillow. Louis watched every reaction, fascinated. Obsessed.
“This what you’ve been thinking about?” he asked, stroking him in slow, firm motions. “Me touching you like this?”
Harry bit his lip, nodding helplessly. “Since the second you left.”
Louis kissed his throat, his jaw, the corner of his mouth. “Yeah? Thought about me when you touched yourself?”
Harry’s voice was wrecked. “Yes.”
“Good.”
Louis didn’t rush. He kissed Harry slowly as he prepped him, one finger, then two, talking him through it, whispering how beautiful he looked, how tight he was, how fucking perfect. Harry clutched at his shoulders, breath catching on every soft exhale, pupils blown wide.
And when Louis finally slid inside him, slow and steady, Harry moaned loudly. Head thrown back, hands trembling on Louis’s biceps.
“Jesus,” Louis breathed, overwhelmed. “You feel even better than I remember.”
Harry’s eyes fluttered shut. “Please don’t stop.”
Louis didn’t.
He moved slow at first, rolling his hips, watching Harry fall apart beneath him. But when Harry wrapped his legs around his waist and pulled him deeper, when he whispered “Harder, Lou, please,” into his ear, something snapped.
Louis grabbed his wrists, pinned them down again, and started to fuck him hard.
Every thrust was punctuated with moans, gasps, please don’t stop, fuck and you feel so good, Lou. Louis pressed kisses to his neck, his chest, his mouth, he couldn’t stop touching him, tasting him, breathing him in.
He slowed again just to watch it. To feel it. Harry clinging to him, pink-cheeked and wrecked, whispering “I missed you” like it hurt to say.
Louis kissed his cheek, his temple, his mouth.
“I’m gonna come,” Harry whispered, voice barely there.
Louis grinned against his lips. “Come for me, baby.”
And Harry did. Eyes shut tight, mouth open in a silent cry, back arching off the bed like he couldn’t hold himself together. Louis followed moments later, burying himself deep with a groan and spilling into him with a soft, “Fuck, H.” against his neck.
They collapsed into the sheets, tangled together, sweaty and breathless.
For a long time, there was only silence, just their breathing, the soft rise and fall of their chests, the tremble of fingers still linked together.
Louis pulled Harry closer, lips brushing his hair. “I don’t know how I ever lived without this,” he whispered.
Harry smiled sleepily against his chest.
The room was quiet now.
Outside, the world carried on, cars passed, birds called, the hum of morning rising, but in Harry’s bed, time had folded in on itself.
Louis lay flat on his back, one arm wrapped tightly around Harry’s shoulders, the other hand tangled with Harry’s fingers on his chest. Their legs were a knot under the covers, bare skin warm against bare skin.
Harry’s breath was soft where it hit Louis’s neck, and his curls were damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead. He was quiet for a long time. Just tracing slow, lazy circles on Louis’s chest with his thumb. Like if he stopped touching him, he might disappear.
Louis didn’t speak either. He didn’t need to. He was here. With Harry. And that was the loudest thing he’d ever felt.
Finally, Harry tilted his head and whispered, “I love you.”
He didn’t say it dramatically. Didn’t even look up. He just said it like a fact. Like something he’d been carrying quietly in his chest for ten years and had only now unwrapped.
Louis’s breath caught. He turned his head to look down at him, eyes wide, heart thudding.
Harry finally met his gaze, expression open and terrifyingly soft. “I love you, Lou. I never stopped.”
Louis felt the words hit somewhere deep. Deeper than his lungs. Deeper than his bones.
It wasn’t the first time Harry had said it. But this time, it wasn’t a whispered goodbye or a desperate confession in the dark. It wasn’t something secret or forbidden.
It was real. And it was now.
He cupped Harry’s jaw, leaned in, and kissed him, slow and reverent, lips brushing like they were something sacred.
“I love you,” he whispered back, voice breaking on the edges. “So much.”
Harry closed his eyes like it physically hurt to hear it. His hand slid over Louis’s heart, palm flat against his chest and they didn’t say anything else for a while.
They just lay there, wrapped around each other, hearts exposed, breaths syncing.
Harry’s fingers still moved, slow and distracted, tracing gentle lines over Louis’s chest. But he wasn’t looking at him anymore. He was staring at the ceiling, mouth pressed in a tight line.
Louis felt the shift. That tension rising in the quiet. He turned his head. “What’s wrong?”
Harry didn’t answer at first. Just kept tracing. Then, softly, so soft it could’ve been mistaken for a breath: “Please don’t marry her.”
Louis froze.
Harry’s voice cracked on the next word. “Please.”
Louis closed his eyes.
“I know I don’t get to ask that,” Harry went on, voice trembling now. “I know you’ve built this whole life without me. I just…”
He sat up, wiping at his eyes before the tears could fall, his back to Louis now, curls a mess, spine tense.
“I can’t watch you marry someone else,” he said. “I can’t, Louis. Not after this. Not after… us.”
Louis sat up slowly, sheet falling from his chest. “Harry…”
Harry turned to him then, finally, and he looked wrecked. Eyes red, lip bitten raw, hands clenched like he was holding himself together with effort.
“I’m not asking you to promise me forever,” he whispered. “I’m not asking you to throw your whole life away for me. But if there’s even a part of you that still wants this, then please. Don’t marry someone else.”
Louis’s heart was in his throat. He reached out and pressed his hands to Harry’s jaw, thumb brushing a tear away before it could fall.
Harry leaned into the touch like he was starving for it. Like this, right here, Louis’s hands on his face, was the only thing holding him together.
Louis stared at him. Took in the freckles. The curve of his mouth. The way his lashes were clumped at the tips from blinking back tears.
And then he spoke. Soft. Careful. Honest.
“I don’t know how to fix this,” Louis continued. “Or what happens next. I don’t know how I’m supposed to untangle the life I’ve built around not having you.”
Harry blinked, tears brimming again.
“But…” Louis swallowed, his voice trembling. “I know I can’t pretend this didn’t happen. I know I can’t go back. Not now. Not after this.”
Harry let out a breath, like his lungs had finally relaxed for the first time all morning.
“I don’t want to hurt her,” Louis said quietly. “She’s a good person. She’s everything I thought I needed to be okay.”
He trailed off, eyes still locked on Harry’s. “But I wasn’t okay. Not really.”
Silence stretched between them.
Then Louis added, even softer, “I didn’t realise how numb I was until I saw you again.”
Harry made a soft, broken sound, and Louis leaned forward, resting their foreheads together. They stayed like that, breathing each other in, hearts thudding between them.
The hours slipped by like a secret.
They didn’t get out of bed. Didn’t eat. Didn’t check the time.
Louis lay sprawled across Harry’s chest, fingertips tracing lazy shapes into his skin, their legs tangled under the covers. Every so often, Harry would kiss his hair or his shoulder or just look at him, like he was trying to memorise this moment in case it all disappeared again.
They talked. About everything and nothing.
Louis told him about the time he played a gig in Brighton and tripped onstage mid-verse. Harry told him about a dog that used to visit his café every morning for toast crusts.
They didn’t talk about Amelia again. Not yet.
Harry kissed him every time he got too quiet. Like reassurance. Like punctuation.
And when Louis whispered “I thought I’d lost you forever”, Harry kissed him again and whispered back, “Not anymore.”
But eventually, the light outside changed. And so did the feeling in Louis’s chest. The world was still out there. Waiting.
He sat up slowly, sighing as he reached for his phone on the bedside table. Harry watched him silently, hand resting on Louis’s bare thigh.
Louis hesitated. Then, with his thumb hovering over the screen, he opened his messages.
Louis:
You home? Can I come round, just you and me?
Niall replied two minutes later.
Niall:
Yeah. Course you can.
Louis stared at the screen for a long beat. Then he dropped his phone into his lap and ran a hand through his hair.
Harry sat up beside him. “You alright?”
Louis nodded, but it was shaky. “I have to talk to Niall. He needs to know.”
Harry reached over and squeezed his hand. “He’s your best mate. He’ll understand.”
Louis gave a tight, crooked smile. “He brought you. He bloody delivered the drama.”
Harry snorted. “He’s a chaos gremlin. But a well-meaning one.”
Louis leaned over and kissed him again, gentle, lingering, filled with something too big to name. Then he stood up, gathered his clothes, and started to dress.
Harry didn’t stop watching him the whole time. And just before Louis left, Harry caught him by the wrist.
“Whatever happens,” he said softly, “I’m still here.”
Louis nodded. “I know.” And then he was gone.
•
Niall opened the door in socks and a hoodie, a half-eaten packet of Digestives in one hand and a furrow in his brow.
“Hey, mate,” he said, stepping aside. “You alright? You sounded a bit…”
Louis walked past him into the flat. “Yeah. No. Kind of both.”
Niall shut the door behind him and followed Louis into the lounge, dropping the biscuits onto the coffee table and sinking onto the arm of the couch. “Okay. What’s going on?”
Louis didn’t sit. He stood in the middle of the room, running both hands through his hair, then letting them fall helplessly at his sides.
“You remember how I told you about the person I was in love with when I was seventeen?”
Niall blinked. “The one you said your dad would’ve killed you over? That ended out of nowhere and messed you up for, like, years?”
Louis gave a small, joyless laugh. “Yeah. That one.”
Niall frowned. “Why?”
Louis took a breath, hesitated, and then said, “He came back.”
Silence.
Niall tilted his head. “He?”
Louis nodded, eyes flicking up. “Yeah.”
Niall stared. “Wait, he?” he repeated, voice going up an octave. “As in, he he?”
Louis winced. “Yeah and it’s, uh… it’s Harry.”
Niall’s jaw physically dropped.
“Harry,” he echoed, voice high and faintly horrified. “My mate Harry. From work. The one I brought to the rehearsal dinner?”
Louis nodded again, slower this time. “That Harry.”
“You’ve been in love with my plus one since you were a teenager?!”
Louis finally dropped onto the couch, rubbing his face with both hands. “Yes.”
“Oh my God.”
Louis let out a groan. “I didn’t know it was him. I didn’t know, Ni. Not until he walked in.”
Niall blinked furiously. “And then you threw up in a bush.”
“Yes.”
“And now what? Don’t leave me hanging like this is a bloody soap opera.”
Louis lifted his head. He looked wrecked. Soft around the eyes. Dazed. “Now I… I don’t think I can marry Amelia.”
Niall blinked. Then blinked again.
“Holy shit,” he muttered, sitting down properly now. “Mate. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”
Louis gave him a tight smile. “Yeah. That’s why I came.”
Niall just stared at him for a full thirty seconds.
Mouth open. Eyes wide. One hand slowly reaching for another Digestive like he needed the stabilising power of sugar and carbs to process what was happening.
Louis sat frozen on the couch, hands clasped between his knees, waiting for the fallout.
Finally, Niall blinked a few times and said, very softly, “So let me get this straight.”
“Here we go,” Louis muttered.
“You,” Niall pointed at him like he was identifying a suspect, “have been hung up on a guy since you were seventeen. The love of your life, yeah?”
Louis nodded cautiously.
“And that guy is Harry. My Harry. Harry who brings weird soup to lunch. Harry who wears flared trousers and talks about crystals. That Harry.”
Louis gave a helpless laugh. “Yeah. That Harry.”
Niall dragged a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ.”
Louis cracked a grin, but it faded quickly. “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t even know what was real. I thought I was hallucinating.”
“Right,” Niall said, nodding. “And instead of, I don’t know, telling someone, you left the dinner, threw up in the bushes, disappeared overnight and now you’re sitting on my couch saying you can’t marry your fiancée because you’re in love with a man I once saw cry over an Ed Sheeran song?”
Louis blinked. “What?”
“Never mind,” Niall waved it off. “Tell me everything. Start to finish. I want all of it.”
Louis sighed, leaned back, and closed his eyes for a second. “Alright. Buckle up.”
And then he told him.
About the mixtapes. The kisses behind the school gym. The nights sneaking out just to sit side by side under a shared hoodie on the football pitch.
About Harry disappearing without warning, the letter left in his mailbox, the years Louis spent feeling like something had been amputated and never fully healed.
“I stopped looking for him,” he admitted. “Stopped hoping. And then he walked into the rehearsal dinner like it was just some regular night.”
Niall was silent. Then: “Holy shit.”
Louis nodded. “Yeah.”
“And you’ve seen him since?”
Louis hesitated. Then nodded again. “We… spent the night together. And the morning. And most of the afternoon.”
Niall’s eyes bugged. Like, properly bugged. He blinked once. Then again. Then sat forward so fast the cushion made a startled puff under him.
“Wait, spent the night as in… like, talked and cuddled?” he asked, voice rising slightly. “Or spent the night as in, holy shit, Louis, did you fuck him?!”
Louis flushed instantly, eyes darting away.
“Oh my God, you did!” Niall slapped both hands over his face. “You shagged him! You shagged Harry fucking Styles!”
Louis groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Keep your voice down, for Christ’s sake.”
“Why?! Amelia’s not here! Who’s gonna hear me, the toaster?!” Niall flailed an arm in the vague direction of the kitchen. “Mate! What?! You left the dinner, disappeared overnight, and now you’re here telling me you and the mysterious lost love of your life had some sort of emotionally charged reunion shag?!”
Louis cracked a small, guilty smile. “It was more than that.”
Niall stared at him, waiting.
Louis looked down at his hands. Turned his phone over in his lap, then back again. Then he said, almost too softly, “He’s the love of my life, Niall.”
The words just… hung there. And Louis let them. Let himself say it out loud. Let it echo in the space between them.
“He always has been,” he added, looking up.
Niall blinked, eyes scanning his face like he was checking for exaggeration. For doubt. For even the faintest trace of uncertainty.
But there was none.
Louis sat there, exhausted and undone, and looked more sure of something than Niall had ever seen him.
“Jesus,” Niall said, barely above a whisper. “You mean that, don’t you?”
Louis nodded. “Yeah.”
“I mean, I knew there was someone back then. I remember you saying you were a bloody mess. But I didn’t realise it was him. I didn’t realise it… never stopped hurting.”
Louis gave a quiet laugh. “It’s not something you just get over, is it? First real love. Especially when it never got the chance to become anything else.”
Niall was silent for a moment. Then: “And now he’s back.”
Louis nodded again, voice barely holding together. “And now he’s back.”
Niall leaned forward, elbows on his knees, shaking his head slowly. “Fuck. This is so much bigger than I thought.”
“Tell me about it,” Louis muttered.
“I mean, I thought we were dealing with, like, cold feet and existential dread. Not the reincarnation of actual soulmates.”
Louis cracked a smile, but it faded just as quickly.
“I don’t know what to do, Ni,” he admitted. “Everything’s moving so fast. I feel like I’m standing on the edge of something massive and terrifying, and I don’t know if I’m making the right choices.”
Niall looked at him, expression softening. “Do you want to marry Amelia?”
Louis hesitated. “I don’t want to hurt her.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Louis swallowed. Then shook his head. “No. I don’t.”
Niall nodded, slow. “Then I think you already know what comes next.”
Louis looked at him for a long time. And for once, Niall didn’t say anything else.
He just sat there. Solid. Unflinching. Letting Louis sit in the truth without trying to fix it or fill the silence. “Okay,” he said finally. “Okay. So. What now?”
“I don’t know,” Louis whispered. “But I know I can’t pretend I don’t love him. Not again.”
Niall stared at him for a long beat.
Then, in a much gentler voice, he said, “Mate… you’ve never talked about anyone like this. Not Amelia. Not even close.”
Louis bit his lip.
Niall leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “So what do you need?”
Louis looked up at him. “I need time.”
Niall nodded. “You’ve got it.”
A pause. Then:
“But just for the record,” Niall added, “if you don’t end up with him, I’m stealing him for myself. He’s gorgeous. And he brought me a candle that smells like cinnamon.”
Louis burst out laughing, and for the first time in days, it didn’t feel like it might shatter him.
•
The door creaked open quietly.
Louis stepped inside, closing it behind him as softly as possible, like not making a sound could somehow stop reality from noticing he was back.
But reality had already clocked him.
Amelia’s voice floated in from the kitchen, bright and performative in a way that made his stomach twist.
“Oh, speak of the devil,” she said cheerfully. “He’s finally home.”
Louis winced before he even saw her.
He stepped into the kitchen and there they were: Amelia at the counter, chopping herbs like she was on MasterChef, and her mother seated neatly at the breakfast bar, clutching a cup of tea like it was court-mandated.
Both of them turned to look at him.
Her mum offered a polite smile. “Hello, Louis.”
“Hi,” he croaked, clearing his throat. “Didn’t realise we had company.”
“Just a quick catch-up before the wedding,” Amelia chirped. “Mum wanted to see the mood board.”
The mood board. Jesus.
Louis offered a weak smile and leaned against the doorframe, trying to school his expression into something vaguely normal. “Nice.”
“You alright?” Amelia asked, narrowing her eyes a little too carefully. “You’ve been gone all day.”
“Yeah, just needed to clear my head,” Louis said, voice too casual, too quick. “Went to see Niall.”
Amelia hummed, not quite buying it, but her mum was already standing and patting her daughter’s shoulder.
“I’ll leave you two to it,” she said with a smile far too gracious to be genuine. “I’ll see you Sunday, sweetheart.”
Amelia kissed her cheek. “Thanks, Mum.”
Louis gave a tight-lipped nod as she passed. He waited until the front door closed before exhaling through his nose and running a hand down his face.
Amelia turned to face him fully, arms crossed now. “Louis,” she said. Calm. Direct. Dangerous. “What’s going on?”
He blinked. “What do you mean?”
“You’re off. You’ve been off for days. You barely looked at me at the dinner, you disappeared last night, you left without a word this morning, and now you show up like we’re not supposed to be getting married in, what, three days?”
Louis opened his mouth but nothing came out.
She took a step forward, eyes searching. “If something’s wrong, I need to know. Because I’m not walking down that aisle unless we’re both all in.”
Silence.
Louis swallowed hard.
This was it, the edge of the cliff. And his feet were right there.
He looked at her. She was beautiful. Strong. Sharp. Fierce when she needed to be. And he was about to break her heart.
“I’m in love with someone else,” he said quietly.
The words hit the air like glass shattering.
Amelia didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stared at him like she couldn’t quite comprehend the shape of the sentence. “What?”
He swallowed. “I’m in love with someone else.”
She laughed. Sharp and stunned. “Since when?”
“Since I was seventeen.”
“Oh my God.” She took a step back, visibly trembling. “You’ve been in love with someone else the entire time we’ve been together?”
“I didn’t… I thought it was over. I thought he was gone for good.”
Amelia’s head snapped up. “He?”
Louis nodded once.
“Oh my fucking God,” she said, voice cracking now. “Of course. Of course it’s all making sense.”
“I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“Is it someone I know?”
He hesitated and she stared him down. “Say it, Louis.”
“It’s Harry.”
The silence was instant and terrifying.
Amelia stared at him, absolutely stunned. “Harry? Niall’s Harry? The quiet one from the dinner?!”
Louis nodded.
Amelia’s breath caught. “Have you seen him again?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes narrowed. “How many times?”
He hesitated. “Twice.”
And then, the quietest, most dangerous question of all, “Did you have sex with him?”
The room tilted and Louis looked down.
“Yes.”
Everything exploded. Amelia’s voice cracked open like thunder. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“I’m so sorry Mill...”
“You actually had sex with him?! After all this time?! You let me plan a wedding, you let me try on dresses, and the whole time you were just waiting to fuck your ex?!”
“It wasn’t like that!”
“Don’t you dare.” Her hands were shaking now. “Don’t you dare make this sound like some sweet, accidental reconnection. You chose to see him again. You chose to touch him.”
“I didn’t plan any of this!” Louis snapped, his voice finally breaking too. “He just… he showed up, and it was like the floor dropped out from under me. I didn’t know how to breathe.”
“Oh, poor you,” she spat. “Must be so hard being torn between your fiancée and your high school boyfriend’s cock!”
“Amelia.”
“No!” she shouted, eyes bright with angry tears.
Louis stood still. There was nothing he could say to make any of it untrue.
“You lied to me,” she whispered, her voice dropping into something colder, more dangerous. “Every moment since that dinner has been a lie.”
“I never stopped caring about you,” he said, desperately. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”
She laughed again, wild and wet. “And yet, here we are!”
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” Her voice cracked. “You ruined everything. Everything. And now what? You get to run off and be soulmates and write poems about some kid you haven’t seen for 10 years, like none of this ever happened?”
She stared at him, like she wanted to hit him. Maybe she would. Maybe she should, but instead, she turned. Walked to the living room. Grabbed her coat from the hook by the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To get the hell away from you.”
“Amelia, please.”
“No,” she snapped, spinning back. “You don’t get to plead now. You made your choice. Go write love notes. Go light candles. But don’t you ever pretend this wasn’t deliberate.”
And with that, she slammed the door behind her.
The sound echoed like thunder through the house. Louis stayed standing in the middle of the kitchen. Alone.
But for the first time in years, he could feel every part of himself again. Even the parts that hurt.
The house was quiet.
He stared at his phone. It was already unlocked. His mum’s number sat at the top of his favourites.
He took a breath. Let it out. Pressed call. It rang twice before she answered.
“Hi love!” came her voice, warm and familiar. “Everything alright?”
“Mum,” he cut in gently, voice shaking. “Can I come for dinner? With you and Dad?”
There was a pause.
“Of course,” she said, instantly. “Everything okay?”
“I just… I’ve got some news.”
Another pause. His mum always could read the tension in his voice like sheet music. She didn’t ask more.
“Alright, love. Seven? I’ll make that lasagna you like.”
Louis managed a small smile. “Thanks, Mum.”
She hung up with a quiet “love you,” and he set the phone in his lap, staring at it like it might combust.
His heart was thudding hard, but steady now. He was going to tell them. About Amelia. About the wedding. About Harry.
And this time, he wouldn’t flinch.
His childhood home smelled the same as always, garlic and basil, laundry detergent, faint wood polish.
His mum’s lasagna was already on the table when Louis stepped through the door, and the warmth of the kitchen did nothing to soothe the nerves coiled tight in his chest.
Their house hadn’t changed. The same crooked photo of him and Lottie in Year 6. The same chip in the countertop from when he’d dropped a whole dish trying to sneak out for a party. Even his dad, still sitting at the table reading the paper, looked unchanged.
“Hi love,” his mum said, wiping her hands on a tea towel and pulling him into a hug. “You alright?”
He hesitated. Just enough that her brow creased.
“You don’t look alright.”
“I’m okay,” he said softly. Then added, “Can we sit?”
They gathered at the table. His mum passed the salad. His dad poured water. Louis sat down like he was strapping himself into a rollercoaster he couldn’t get off.
They were only a few bites in when his mum looked over at him again, concerned. “Louis, what’s going on? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Is everything alright with the wedding? With Amelia?”
He set his fork down. It clinked too loudly against the plate. “I called it off.”
The silence was immediate.
His mum blinked. “You… what?”
“The wedding,” he said, voice cracking just slightly. “It’s not happening.”
His dad’s eyes lifted from his plate. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
“Three days before the ceremony?” His mum’s voice was soft but stunned. “Louis, what? Why?”
He looked between them. Their familiar faces. His mum’s kind eyes. His dad’s ever-disapproving frown.
“Because I’m in love with someone else,” he said.
A beat.
His dad leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing. “You what?”
“I’m in love with someone else,” Louis repeated, firmer this time. “And I couldn’t keep pretending. I couldn’t marry someone who doesn’t have all of me.”
His mum’s hand came up to her chest, her voice barely above a whisper. “Who is she?”
Louis inhaled and exhaled slowly.
“It’s not a she,” he said. “It’s Harry.”
His mum blinked. “Harry…?”
“Harry Styles,” Louis said.
His dad straightened. “That lad you were glued to in sixth form?”
Louis nodded. “That was him at the rehearsal dinner. Niall brought him.”
His mum’s mouth dropped open. “That was Harry? I didn’t even recognise him.”
His dad was staring, like Louis had just started speaking another language. “You’re telling us you’re in love with your best mate from high school?”
“I’m telling you I always have been,” Louis said. “We were secretly together for two years before his family moved away. I never told anyone.”
“Jesus Christ,” his dad muttered, pushing back from the table. “So what, this whole thing with Amelia was just a lie?”
“No,” Louis snapped. “It wasn’t a lie. I cared about her. I just, I’ve been grieving Harry for ten years. I buried it, buried him, and I tried to move on. But he came back. And I can’t… I won’t ignore this again.”
His mum sat still, eyes wide. “So you’ve… been seeing him again?”
Louis nodded.
“And you just, what? Picked up where you left off?” his dad asked, voice tight.
“No,” Louis said. “We’re not kids anymore. But it’s still him. It’s always been him.”
There was a heavy pause. Then: “Did you sleep with him?” his dad demanded.
Louis flinched but didn’t answer. His silence was answer enough.
“Oh, brilliant,” his dad spat, standing up. “So not only are you ditching your wedding for some long-lost, teenage fantasy, but you’ve been running around behind Amelia’s back?”
“I ended it,” Louis said through clenched teeth. “I told her the truth. And I told her because it happened. Because I couldn’t keep living like this.”
His dad pointed at him, fury sharp in every movement. “You’ve embarrassed this family.”
His mum stood now too, firmer than before. “No. He’s being honest. That’s not embarrassing.”
Her voice was calm. Strong. Even as it trembled.
His dad scoffed, grabbing his keys off the hook by the back door. “You think this is brave? Running off with a lad you haven’t seen in ten years?”
“It’s not running off,” Louis said. “It’s coming home.”
“You don’t belong with him,” his dad snapped.
“I do,” Louis said. “I always did.”
His dad stared for a moment. Then stormed out, slamming the door so hard the salt shaker fell over.
Silence.
Louis sank back into his chair, breath coming in shallow bursts. His mum sat beside him, hand reaching across the table for his.
“I wish you’d told us sooner,” she said, gently. “But I see it now. The way you looked when you said his name.”
Louis looked up at her. His voice was barely there. “You’re not angry?”
“I’m disappointed you thought you couldn’t tell me. But I’m not angry.” She squeezed his hand. “I just want you to be happy.”
“I think I finally am,” he whispered.
She smiled through her tears. “Then go to him.”
•
The knock on the door was frantic. Uneven and desperate.
Harry was halfway through brushing his teeth when he heard it, and his heart stuttered in his chest. He padded barefoot to the door, toothbrush still in hand, and when he opened it, when he saw Louis standing there, flushed and panting and wild-eyed, he just blinked.
“You okay?” he asked, frowning.
Louis stepped inside without waiting. “I had to see you.”
Harry shut the door slowly. “What happened?”
Louis was pacing already. “I told her.”
Harry froze.
“Told who?” he asked, even though he already knew.
“Amelia,” Louis said, voice catching. “I told her everything. That I couldn’t marry her. That I was in love with someone else. With you.”
Harry’s lips parted, the toothbrush still dangling from his fingers.
Louis didn’t stop.
“And then I went to my parents. I sat down at that fucking dinner table and I told them everything. That we were together in high school. That I never got over you. That I’ve been living a lie for ten fucking years.”
Harry stared at him like he couldn’t quite believe he was real.
“I told them you were the reason I called it off. That I’m still in love with you,” Louis said, voice cracking now. “And my dad lost it, like I knew he would. Stormed out. Slammed the door like he always does when he can’t deal. But my mum, she listened. She held my hand. She told me to come find you.”
Harry swallowed hard, eyes shining.
“So I did,” Louis whispered. “I came straight here.”
Harry didn’t speak, he didn’t breathe. He just walked over to him, slow and careful, like Louis might vanish if he moved too quickly.
“You told them everything?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Louis nodded. “Yeah.”
“Even that we…” Harry paused, biting his lip. “That we slept together?”
Louis gave a small, wry smile. “Even that.”
Harry let out a shaky breath and reached up, his fingers brushing Louis’ jaw. “You really did it,” he said, like he couldn’t quite believe it. “You really chose me.”
“I’ve always chosen you,” Louis said. “Even when I didn’t let myself say it.”
Harry leaned in, pressed their foreheads together.
“I love you,” Louis whispered. “I’m not letting this slip away again.”
Harry smiled through the tears threatening to fall. “Thank god.”
Louis laughed, just a breath of it, and pulled him in close. They stood there, wrapped around each other in the middle of Harry’s flat. No wedding. No lies. No time left to waste.
**
Louis sat on the edge of Harry’s bed, a borrowed hoodie clinging to his bare chest, coffee going cold in his hands.
The flat was quiet.
Harry had padded off to the kitchen to make eggs or something, he’d offered, all soft smiles and rumpled hair, like Louis hadn’t just turned his entire world inside out.
Louis stared down at his phone. The screen was lit with notifications, messages, missed calls, tag requests, Amelia’s sister trying to FaceTime him for the third time that morning.
He hadn’t replied to any of it.
Outside, the sun filtered weakly through the curtains, throwing soft stripes across the bedsheets they hadn’t quite bothered to fix. Louis could still feel Harry’s mouth on his skin, bruises blooming at the base of his throat like flowers. Like proof.
His thumb hovered over the Facebook icon.
He opened it.
The blue and white screen felt louder than it should. He scrolled past a memory from years ago, Lottie’s birthday, grinning faces, the comment from his dad that just said “Nice shirt, son.” He swallowed and clicked Create Post.
He sat there for a long time, just staring at the blinking cursor.
Then Harry reappeared. “I burnt the toast,” he announced, setting the plate down beside him. “But in my defence, your face is very distracting.”
Louis didn’t smile. Just handed him the phone.
“Read it?” he asked, voice quiet.
Harry looked at the screen. The post was short, simple.
____
The wedding has been cancelled.
This wasn’t an easy decision, and I know it affects more than just me. I’m sorry to everyone hurt or blindsided by it. But I couldn’t keep living a life that didn’t feel like mine.
Sometimes life gives you a second chance at something you thought was gone forever and you have to take it.
Thanks for understanding.
LT x
_____
Harry blinked, visibly moved. “You’re sure?”
Louis nodded once. “Yeah.”
“People are going to talk.”
“They already are,” Louis said. “At least now they can talk about this.”
Harry leaned in, kissed his temple. “I’m proud of you.”
Louis hit Post.
The screen refreshed and just like that, it was out there.
No more hiding. No more pretending. Just Louis Tomlinson, recovering from a cancelled wedding and finally brave enough to chase what he really wanted.
He set the phone down, took a breath, and looked at Harry. “Alright then,” he said. “Let’s see what the fuck happens next.”
It didn’t take long.
The post had barely been up an hour when the fallout started trickling in, first with a tremble, then with a roar. Louis’s phone buzzed on the coffee table like it was trying to shake itself apart.
Amelia’s sister called four times. Her mum sent two texts, one after the other: “You should be ashamed of yourself” followed by “Coward.” He read them without blinking, then turned his phone face down and stared at the wall.
Harry, cross-legged beside him on the couch, set his own phone aside and gently reached for Louis’s hand. “You can turn it off,” he murmured. “You don’t owe them your peace.”
But Louis shook his head. “I’ve hidden enough.”
By midday, the wedding logistics group chat was in full meltdown, questions, disbelief, the occasional outburst of sympathy, and a voice note from one of Amelia’s cousins that Louis refused to play.
Even a girl he hadn’t spoken to since Year Eleven messaged him directly: “Wow. So it was true then?” And then, not even two minutes later: “You left her for Harry?!”
As if she hadn’t spent their entire sixth form secretly swooning over Harry with every other girl in Doncaster.
As if this wasn’t the most real thing Louis had ever done.
He didn’t reply. Not to her, not to the dozen others reaching out with concern and curiosity and not-so-subtle judgment. His mum rang twice just to check in. She didn’t ask for explanations. She just said, “Love you, sweetheart,” and that was it. His dad hadn’t said anything at all.
By evening, the group chat was silent. As if even they had exhausted their capacity for outrage. But the quiet didn’t bring peace, it brought the weight. The magnitude. The reality.
Louis stood in Harry’s kitchen, cradling a mug of tea he hadn’t touched. Harry moved quietly around the stove, sautéing garlic with practised ease, pretending not to notice how close Louis was to breaking.
“It’s a lot,” Harry said finally, soft and careful.
Louis didn’t answer. He stared at the steam curling from the kettle, trying to imagine the life that would’ve followed if Harry hadn’t come back. White flowers. Vows that meant nothing. Amelia in her dress, radiant and entirely wrong.
After a moment, he said, “I’m not proud of how it ended with her. I didn’t want to hurt her.”
Harry set down the wooden spoon and turned to face him. “I know.”
“But I’m not ashamed either,” Louis added, lifting his eyes. “I’m not ashamed of this.”
Harry stepped closer, wiping his hands on a dish towel before reaching out. “You don’t have to be.”
Louis nodded once. That was enough for now.
**
Two days later, they were walking down the high street when a voice cut through the air like a blade. “Oi, Tommo! Can I still keep the toaster or what?”
Louis turned toward the sound. Across the road stood one of Amelia’s cousins, Luke, he thought, smirking like he was auditioning for some sad little sitcom. Harry stopped mid-step beside him, stiffening, clearly ready to hurl something sharp in return.
But Louis just smiled, bright and easy, like it didn’t twist something in his gut. “Keep it,” he called. “Heats things up faster than your family ever could.”
Harry burst into surprised laughter. Luke faltered, his smirk slipping as he turned back to his mate and mumbled something under his breath.
Louis and Harry kept walking. Heads turned as they passed, people whispering behind coffee cups and over shop counters. Louis heard his name once, then Harry’s, followed by a scandalised wedding and a not-so-subtle “I told you so.”
Louis held Harry’s hand tighter.
Because for the first time since he was sixteen, he wasn’t hiding. And yeah, it was terrifying. The whispers, the stares, the judgment, it was all loud and all-consuming.
But loving Harry out loud felt louder. And it was worth everything to him.
The café they stopped at was tucked into the corner of the high street, all mismatched chairs and fairy lights dangling in the windows. It was quiet for a Saturday, save for the low hum of conversation and the hiss of milk steaming behind the counter.
Harry picked the table by the window, sliding into the booth with his sunglasses pushed up into his curls, grinning like they weren’t minor celebrities in a town desperate for gossip.
Louis was slower to sit. It still felt surreal, being here, like this, in the open. But he did it. He sat. And when Harry reached for his hand across the table, he didn’t flinch.
The server recognised them immediately. She didn’t say anything, just smiled too wide and walked away fast, but her eyes had gone comically round when she spotted their joined hands.
“Subtle,” Louis murmured, pulling his beanie lower over his forehead.
“You didn’t move your hand,” Harry said, a little pleased.
Louis cracked a smile. “I’m a sucker for rebellion.”
They ordered, just toasties and iced coffees, nothing fancy, and settled into a kind of calm Louis hadn’t felt in days. The sunlight hit Harry’s face in all the ways it used to, softening the edges, lighting him up from the inside. Louis watched the way he stirred his drink, the way he kicked off his shoes under the table and curled one foot beneath him.
It was ordinary. Intimate. Ridiculous, maybe, but it felt like they’d earned this.
Then Louis’s phone buzzed on the table. He didn’t think much of it until he saw the name on the screen.
Amelia.
He stared at it for a moment, not moving. Harry noticed the change in his face immediately.
“You don’t have to…”
Louis was already opening it.
The message was short. Sharp. Surgical.
Amelia: Are you seriously parading your fucking boyfriend around our hometown like you haven’t just left a crater behind? God, Louis. I thought you might have the decency to stay quiet for five minutes.
His stomach twisted. He could feel heat crawling up the back of his neck. His fingers gripped the phone a little too tightly.
Harry was watching him now, carefully. “Lou?”
Louis didn’t respond straight away. Just turned the phone so Harry could read it. Harry frowned, lips pressing into a tight line.
“Do you want to leave?” he asked quietly.
“No,” Louis said, too quickly. He took a breath. “No, I don’t. I want to eat my sandwich with my boyfriend and not feel like I’m doing something wrong.”
Harry blinked, stunned for a second, then his cheeks flushed pink as a slow smile tugged at his lips.
“You called me your boyfriend,” he said, voice soft and a little breathless, like it hadn’t quite registered until now.
Louis blinked. “Did I?”
Harry nodded, smiling wider now. “You did.”
“Oh.” Louis glanced down at his plate, suddenly shy. “Is that… okay? I mean, we haven’t like, talked about it, or anything, I just…”
Harry was already reaching for his hand again. “It’s okay.”
Louis looked up. Harry’s eyes were shining.
“It’s more than okay,” Harry said. “I’ve been calling you that in my head since the moment you knocked on my door the other night.”
Louis huffed a laugh, a little crooked and embarrassed, but his whole face lit up like someone had flipped a switch inside him. He tightened his fingers around Harry’s and gave a small, lopsided smile.
“Alright,” he murmured. “Boyfriend it is, then.”
Harry ducked his head, grinning down at their hands like he couldn’t believe this was real. Like he was still half-expecting it to be a dream.
And outside, the world could rage all it wanted. Amelia could fume, Facebook could combust, and the whispers could spread across Doncaster like wildfire, but right here, right now, in this tiny café with sticky menus and mismatched mugs, Louis felt something he hadn’t in years.
They finished their lunch slowly, hands intertwined on the table between them, trading soft smiles and toe nudges and the occasional dopey, “I can’t believe you’re really here” look. The café had quieted, the afternoon sun bleeding gold through the windows, and when they finally stood to leave, Louis didn’t let go of Harry’s hand.
“Come on,” he said.
Harry tilted his head. “What?”
“I wanna take you somewhere.”
They walked in comfortable silence, past the old bakery that still smelled the same, past the petrol station where Louis had stolen gum as a kid, past the newsagent that used to sell him copies of Kerrang! with Harry’s favourite bands on the cover. And then they turned a corner, crossed a road, and ducked into the park.
Harry recognised it instantly. “Wait!”
Louis just smiled. “Yeah.”
It hadn’t changed much. The trees were taller, maybe. The playground had a fresh coat of paint. But the layout was the same. Winding path. Rusted bench. That patch of open grass near the creek. The smell of dirt and pollen and damp leaves.
Louis led him off the path, through a gap in the trees that only locals, or kids with secrets, knew how to find.
The clearing opened like a breath held too long, and there it was.
The tree.
Massive and gnarled and stubbornly alive, roots twisting like ancient veins through the ground. Its trunk had thickened over time, bark splitting in places, but the carving was still there, faint, weathered, but visible.
L + H
Scratched into the wood in teenage scrawl. Slightly uneven. A little too deep in places.
Harry froze. “Oh my god,” he whispered.
Louis watched him, heart pounding. “I used to come here,” he said quietly. “After you left. I used to sit here and pretend you were gonna walk out of the trees again like nothing had happened.”
Harry turned slowly, eyes wide and glassy. “You remember carving that?”
“Course I do.” Louis stepped closer, brushing his fingers over the faded letters. “You were so dramatic about it. Said something like ‘This way, if we turn into ghosts, at least we’ll still be here.’”
Harry let out a watery laugh. “That does sound like me.”
Louis smiled, but it faltered at the edges. “I used to be scared someone would find it. That they’d know. But now…”
He turned to look at Harry. “Now I want everyone to know.”
Harry moved first, stepping into Louis’s space, curling his hands in the collar of his jacket and pulling him close.
They kissed under the tree like they were seventeen again. Like nothing had ever come between them. Like ten years hadn’t passed.
Harry whispered something into Louis’s cheek, something that sounded like “I missed this” or maybe “I missed you”, but Louis didn’t ask for clarification. He knew.
They sat together in the grass, backs against the base of the tree, legs tangled. Harry had one arm wrapped lazily around Louis’s waist, the other resting palm-up on Louis’s thigh like he couldn’t bear not touching him.
Sunlight dappled through the branches, warm against their skin, and the whole park was hushed like it was holding its breath for them.
Louis leaned in to kiss him again, slow and aimless, the kind of kiss that didn’t need a reason. Harry hummed softly, lips curving into it, and let himself melt right back into Louis’s arms like he belonged there.
Because he did.
They kissed like they were still sixteen. Kissed like no time had passed. Kissed like they had to make up for every second they’d been apart.
Louis’s fingers crept under Harry’s shirt, brushing warm skin, fingertips skating over the ridges of his spine. Harry sighed into his mouth and tilted his head back slightly, exposing his throat. Louis bit down gently, then kissed the spot like an apology.
“I still can’t believe you’re real,” Louis whispered, lips brushing Harry’s jaw. “Like, actually here. In Doncaster. In front of me.”
Harry chuckled quietly. “Not a ghost, I promise.”
Louis didn’t laugh. He pulled back just enough to look at him, searching his face like he was trying to memorise every detail again. “Where do you think we’d be, if…” He stopped, jaw tightening. “If you hadn’t left?”
Harry blinked slowly. “I think about it all the time.”
Louis nodded, throat thick. “Maybe uni together somewhere. You studying something clever and artsy. Me pretending to care about sport management.”
Harry smiled, tired and fond. “I would’ve made you playlists for every exam.”
Louis huffed. “You used to do that anyway.”
“Yeah,” Harry said softly. “But now there’d be ten years of them.”
Louis’s gaze drifted up to the tree canopy, blinking hard. “You reckon we would’ve made it?”
Harry didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“Even with the pressure? Our dads? Everything?”
“I think,” Harry said, reaching for his hand, “we would’ve found a way. Because I’ve never stopped loving you, Lou. Even when I tried. Even when I thought I had.”
Louis squeezed his hand like he might fall apart otherwise. “Ten years,” he whispered. “Ten fucking years.”
Harry leaned in again, forehead pressed to Louis’s. “We’re here now.”
Louis’s voice cracked. “Yeah.”
And that was enough.
So they stayed there a little longer. Pressed into each other, lips brushing. Harry ran his fingers through Louis’s hair, and Louis tugged Harry into his lap and whispered soft nothings into his shoulder. They didn’t speak much. They didn’t need to.
The tree above them didn’t judge. It simply stood. Quiet. Steady. Proof that something carved with love could weather storms and still remain.