Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

December 23^rd, 2017

11:46 PM

It was quiet.

Really, really quiet.

Impossibly quiet, really, especially for a house as full as this one. Two toddlers should be running around aimlessly, squealing in excitement over the smallest things, whether it was the toy they were playing with or the cartoon on the telly. The older set of twins should be sprawled out on the living room couch, arguing about who is getting the better gift for Christmas whilst simultaneously showing each other viral videos on their phones. Fizzy should be in the kitchen getting a head start on tomorrow’s desserts, dancing around with her mixing bowl to the holiday songs on the radio with flour covering her apron and hints of dough in her hair. Dan should be upstairs snoring, waking up once or twice and opening the door to grumble profanities at the younger ones for screeching too loudly. And Jay and Lottie should be sitting here, at the kitchen table with Louis, gossiping about everything and nothing at all, reminiscing of the past and dreaming of the future.

Except, that wasn’t the case at all, was it?

The only sound in the house besides Louis’ deep, anxious breathing was the clash of the spoon hitting the sides of his cup as he mixed his (already mixed) tea, little bits sloshing over the edge of the mug and onto the tabletop. If he listened really, really closely, he thought he could hear tires rolling over the salted ice down on the main street, that’s how quiet it was.

Louis didn’t remember a single time in his life that things were this quiet. He decided right then that he didn’t like it at all.

His mum thought it better that way, though. As much as Louis tried to convince her to stay with him, to be here for the magic, Jay insisted that the moment he was about to endure was too private for the family, too intimate for their prying eyes.

“You’ll thank me later,” she had said with a wink. “Hearing your soulmate’s voice for the very first time can be shocking and very emotional. The quiet will not only allow you to hear it clearly, but it will also give you space to process and adjust to the new feeling.”

“What if his soulmate is a shit singer, then?” Lottie asked, causing Jay to laugh loudly and Louis to flick her ear in mock annoyance. “Hey! It’s a possibility! Don’t know how you could have an ‘emotional moment’ with walrus noises pulsing through your eardrums.” She crossed her arms over her chest, sticking her nose up pointedly.

“Right, Lots, because your dad has the most beautiful singing voice in the entire world, right?” Louis grinned, rolling his eyes.

Lottie pulled the most serious face she could, choking down a laugh. “Dad is a lovely singer,” she barely got out before a grin broke out on her face, a couple giggles slipping through her lips. Louis just laughed with her, shaking his head.

“We all know that’s a lie,” Jay said, staring at her two oldest children fondly. “But it doesn’t matter how well or horribly they sing. They are your soulmate, remember? Just hearing them makes you feel something, no matter the sound. It’s a feeling you won’t forget.”

“Besides,” Louis started, sending a mischievous look to his sister, “Any soulmate of mine is bound to have a gorgeous singing voice, because they have to match my talent.” He waggled his eyebrows, earning him a laugh and a playful slap on the back of the head.

There was no use in arguing after that, his mother insisting time and time again that he would be grateful for the quiet and the space to think. So here he was, sat alone in an empty house just 5 minutes before his twenty-first birthday, waiting patiently for the voice that was supposed to flow through his head. It was surreal.

He thought about the stories he would hear growing up about people’s soulmate birthdays, some of them going right and others going very wrong. It was a rare occurrence for something to go wrong with your soulmate, but it did still happen. His own mother was a perfect example of that.

Jay had Louis before her 21^st birthday, so she hadn’t actually met her soulmate yet. At the time, she thought Louis’ dad was going to be her soulmate, but the moment he found out that she was pregnant, he bailed. When she turned 21 and heard Mark singing, she was so relieved that her soulmate wasn’t Louis’ biological father that she didn’t think of all the problems that having a child with someone else could cause.

Jay and Mark were smitten from day one. They fit together like puzzle pieces, anyone could see that, and Mark loved Louis like his own. But despite all of that, his family disapproved of him being with someone with a child out of soul-lock and refused to consider Jay a part of their family. They were nice to Louis, because it wasn’t his fault he was born, but Louis was never able to fully respect that side of the family. After all, they were the sole reason Jay and Mark fought all the time and in turn, despite being soulmates, ended up divorced. Now Jay was with Dan, despite her true love being alive and well, and although them being together is not illegal, it is immoral and the entire Tomlinson-Deakin Clan was given a hard time because of it.

Louis and Dan didn’t really get along, but even still he was grateful for the man. Without Dan, his mother would spend the rest of her life alone, and Ernest and Doris wouldn’t be in the picture at all. Louis kind of pitied Dan, even. The man had a soulmate once, one he never even got to meet. She died in a car crash, and the only reason he knew is because he heard it happen- she was singing. When your soulmate is singing, you can hear their surroundings and everything that they hear, in order to help you find them. Because of that, Dan has to live with the haunting sounds of his soulmate’s song replaying in his head. It’s horrible, really.

Some people are born with multiple soulmates, and if one dies or if you aren’t compatible with one, you can hear and find the other, but Dan wasn’t so lucky and neither was Jay. They both lost their one and only soulmates, and although they love each other and are grateful to have each other, there is no spark, no magic. Louis’ biggest fear was that he would one day have to settle the way his mom and Dan did.

With only one minute left until midnight, Louis was sweating bullets. His tea had gone cold, untouched besides the bit that was on the table from his violent stirring. He tapped the cool surface with his fingertips as he counted the seconds in his head, silently willing them to go by faster. His legs shook in anticipation under the table, and he found himself wishing his tea were a vodka red bull instead, just to calm his nerves a little. As 10 seconds hit the clock, his mind started racing.

What if he didn’t like the sound of their voice?

He’s gay- what if his soulmate is a female?

What if they’re deaf? How will they find him?

What if they’re mute?

What if they’re dea-

A singular beep chimes through the house, signaling midnight. Louis closes his eyes, holds his breath and listens.

A full minute goes by- nothing. Louis releases his breath, and it comes out shakily. His chest is tight with worry. He keeps waiting, not daring to move a muscle.

Ten minutes pass. Then twenty. Then Thirty. Soon, he glances at the clock and sees that it reads 1:45 AM - a full hour and 45 minutes of silence.

Louis can’t take anymore.

Pulling his cell phone out of his sweater pocket, he dials the only person he knows won’t yell at him for calling at this hour.

“Ello?”

“Zayn,” he breathes, a lump already forming in his throat.

“Lou! Happy birthday, mate, hope your day’s sick.”

“Yeah, yeah thanks,” Louis mumbles, his voice getting  thicker and scratchier as his eyes start to water. He hopes Zayn doesn’t notice.

He does.

“Oi! What’s wrong? It’s the big one, innit? You should be buzzin’ right now, able to hear your soulmate and all that.”

Louis sniffles, the first set of tears managing to slip out and stain his rosy cheeks. “That’s the thing, Zee,” He squeaks out, his voice slightly higher in distress. “I can’t hear anything! I- I think I don’t have a soulmate!”

“Louis,” Zayn coughs, and it sounds suspiciously like a chuckle, “Everyone has a soulmate. Hell, some people have multiple, remember?”

Louis furrows his brows in thought, pausing for a second before seriously saying, “I think mine’s dead.”

This causes his best friend to burst into laughter, much to Louis’ annoyance. Zayn all but cackles into the phone, laughing harder each time Louis mutters wanker or whines on the other side of the line.

“Lou, babe listen,” Zayn starts once his laughter is finally at bay. “You don’t always hear your soulmate right away, okay? That just wouldn’t make sense. Today is a special day for you, not for them! I mean, unless you had the same birthday- which I mean that would be weird but pretty cool actually.”

Louis is confused. “What do you mean?”

 Zayn huffs, “I mean that you might be older than them, and they can’t here you sing yet so they aren’t thinking about whether or not you can hear them. Or you could be younger and they’ve been hearing you for years and don’t realize you’re just now listening back. They could be in a different time zone even, Lou, or they could be asleep right now. Or maybe they just don’t sing very often! Y’know it took my mom and dad 3 years to find each other, because dad sings so rarely that mum couldn’t recognize his voice when she first met him?”

Louis let his shoulders relax a bit at his friend’s words. “Really?” he asked, still insecure about it.

“Really,” Zayn confirmed, and even though Lou couldn’t see him, he knew he was smiling. “Now go to sleep, old man, and stop your worryin’. Maybe you’ll wake up tomorrow to the sound of David Beckham singing in the shower.”

Louis blushed a bit, but giggled at the thought. “Thanks, Z. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” They said their goodbyes and hung up; a huge weight seemingly lifted off Louis’ chest.

Zayn was right, he was stressing out for nothing. There are so many valid reasons that he can’t hear his soulmate right now, so many reasons they wouldn’t be singing. Not everyone sings as much as he does, not everyone likes music. Surely his soulmate would, he hoped, but not everyone does.

Louis poured his cold tea into the sink, rinsing out his cup before heading upstairs to his bedroom. He stripped until he was in nothing but his pants and crawled under the covers, reaching over for the TV remote on his nightstand. He turned on the soft piano music that he always loved to fall asleep to when he was alone but turned it down a little extra tonight- just in case.

He sunk into his mattress and instantly relaxed, soon falling into a deep, peaceful sleep. He smiled into the pillow as he dreamt of David Beckham singing in the shower.

Chapter Text

2 Years Later

January 4^th, 2020

Louis woke up to somebody singing.

“I just want you close,

where you can stay forever

You can be suuuuuuree

That it will only get better!

You and me togeth-err

Through the days and nights

I don’t worry cause everythings gonna be all right

Yeah, people keep talking, they can say what they like

But all I know is everything’s gonna be all right,”

Groaning, he rolled out of bed, wincing as his feet hit the cold hardwood floor. He threw on the pair of joggers he’d discarded at the foot of his bed the night before, rolling the waistband a couple times so they sat at his hips rather than somewhere above his bellybutton. Not bothering with any other clothes, he opened his bedroom door, grumbling about the ungodly hour of the morning as the obnoxious singing got louder.

He made his way into the kitchen and couldn’t help but smile at what he saw. Zayn had his iPhone sitting on the kitchen counter, connected to the Bluetooth speaker in the living room which was loudly blasting Alicia Keys. He had a little chef’s hat sitting loosely atop of his raven-coloured hair, and he was shaking his hips to the beat of the song while also trying to flip his eggs without breaking the yolks. Louis laughed at the way his nose was scrunched in concentration.

“I honestly don’t know how Liam deals with you,” Louis jokes. “Your shit singing woke me up.”

As if on cue, Liam opened the front door to the small flat, popping his head in first and looking around before spotting his soulmate in the kitchen. His eyes brightened as he allowed himself to fully enter the apartment, but he stopped next to Louis with his hands on his hips and a playful glare on his face.

“His singing is NOT shit and you know it,” he stated, pouting a little.

“You’re his soulmate, it’s your job to say that,” Louis pointed out. As much as he hated to admit it though, Liam was right. Zayn had a beautiful singing voice, one that his soulmate should be honored to get to hear singing in his head nearly every day. Louis knows he would be.

Hell, He’d be honored to hear anyone singing in his head, if only once even.

He remembered his 21^st birthday like it was yesterday. He’d woken up to the sounds of his mum and Dan bickering downstairs, the sounds of Phoebe and Daisy trying to coordinate Christmas Eve outfits, the sound of Lottie’s hairdryer in use in the room next to him. What he didn’t hear, was singing.

He had tried his best to stay calm over breakfast, reminding himself to take nice, deep breaths as his mum asked him about his birthday so far. He explained with remorse that he hadn’t heard anything, trying not to get too worked up and remember what Zayn had told him. His mum reassured him that Zayn was probably right, comforting him throughout the rest of the day by telling him stories of family members and friends who didn’t hear their soulmate’s singing until days or even weeks after their special birthday.

Weeks turned into months though, and soon Zayn’s 21^st had come and gone. Louis was put off at how ashamed his best friend was when he accidentally woke up Louis up with his excited sobbing, him hearing his soulmate’s beautiful tenor just 7 hours into his 21^st birthday morning. He met Liam in an elective class that both of them just happened to be interested in the very next week. Nobody was surprised when Liam turned 21 and heard Zayn’s voice right back.

When months turned into a year, Louis had officially, 100 percent gave up. Lottie made it her job to constantly scold him for it, saying that he needed to be patient, but what did she know? She wasn’t even 21 yet. Fizzy thought that maybe his lover was deaf, or mute, and that fate would help Louis find them another way. Jay thought maybe they just didn’t like music, or that they were waiting for a special day to sing to their soulmate. Liam and Zayn had this crazy, elaborate theory involving accidents and comas and physical therapy, whatever. Louis didn’t listen.

He knew that he didn’t have a soulmate. And if he did at one point, he definitely didn’t anymore. There was no way.

So here he was. 23 years old, one year away from having his graduate degree, and the only one of his friends left unmatched. His eldest younger sister would have a match by the end of the year, and Zayn and Liam would likely be married by this time next year, but not him. Besides the occasional fuzzy, drunken club hookup, he’d be alone for the rest of his life.

Liam could tell what his friend was thinking without him even saying it. He placed a gentle hand on Louis’ shoulder and looked at him with his big, brown puppy dog eyes swimming with hope. “Hey,” he murmured. “One day your soulmate will say the same thing about your singing. I’m sure he already does.”

Louis just shrugged, not wanting to talk about it anymore. Just because he knew that he was going to be alone forever didn’t mean he was happy about it, and though he’d never admit it, he felt guilty that people who loved him like Liam and Lottie still held so much hope for his future, when he didn’t.

Liam noticed his friend’s doubt and was about to push further when Zayn, the lovely, lovely boy he is, decided to step in and save Louis from another awkward conversation-turned-argument.

“Lou,” he called, clearing his throat a little as he flicked off the stove and wiped his hands on his apron (which was yellow with little pink hearts all over it, and had definitely seen better days).  “I have to run to the hardware store to get some paint for that mural I’m starting next week, mind coming with? I could use a second opinion, and Li’s got double lecture and won’t be finished until after they’ve closed.”

Louis hated the Uni hardware store with a passion, but he loved Zayn and didn’t get nearly as much alone time with him as he would like. Having Liam around constantly was great, and he had grown quite fond of the lad the past couple years, but he despises being a third wheel constantly. He missed the days where he would come home to find Zayn passed out on the couch, a half-eaten piece of pizza on his chest and the title screen of Hairspray playing softly in the background. Now, Zayn doesn’t even sleep there unless Liam’s working late, or they’re fighting.

He glanced between his two friends, plastering a small smile on his face. “Course,” he said, nodding his head once in confirmation.

“Great,” Zayn grinned. “We’ll go after breakfast, then.”

****

Breakfast was long and awkward. Louis stopped paying attention, like, not even halfway through it.

Apparently, Liam’s Business Management Professor thought his last project pitch needed work. Liam Payne refuses to let anything of his be less than perfect, and with the project being due today he was ridiculously worked up at the thought of getting anything that wasn’t an A. Zayn, being the good, caring boyfriend he is, spent 20 minutes comforting the younger lad, another 15 listening to his pitch for the 36^th fucking time, and yet another 10 minutes hyping the project up.

Whilst his to best mates shamelessly snogged right in front of his eggs, Louis let his guard down for just a moment and allowed himself to think of what could have been. What if he had heard his soulmate’s voice? Would it be a guy, like he hoped? He’d like to imagine so. They would meet for the first time at that bakery down on the corner, the one that stays open super late and has books to read and Louis’ favorite tea. They would both be there at some horrendous hour, up studying all night, and both try to order the last batch of biscuits.

They’d bicker over it for a while, and eventually Louis would break and offer to split the batch. The stranger would thank him, and they would sit at the table in the back corner by the bookshelves making small talk. One of his favorite songs would start to play over the soft speakers in the background, and Louis would start to sing. The other would gasp in shock, and they’d start to sing too, and Louis would just know. They both would.

He would finally have someone to tell everything to, and he would. He would tell them about going to school to be a music journalist, but how he really wanted to write poems, or songs. He would sing to them all the time, constantly making jokes about them getting sick of hearing his voice but taking comfort in the fact that he knew they never would. He would write songs for them. He would be in love.

He deserved to be in love.

Eventually, Liam left for his lecture, breaking Louis out of his thoughts. Z cleaned up breakfast while Louis dressed, and then they were off.

For it being the very last day of holiday break, the hardware store was packed. People were bustling about with their trolleys overflowing, and checkout lines went well into the aisles, making navigating the store about as easy as navigating a maze. Louis put his hands (which were already covered by the sleeves of his slightly-too-large sweater, bless him) into the pockets of his joggers, trying to make himself as small as possible as he squeezed past people. He never understood how so many people could go shopping or do renovations just past the holidays; He thought of the way his family barely scraped by for the few weeks following Christmas and his birthday, despite not being the poorest, and couldn’t imagine how much some of these people made in a year for them to be able to upgrade their kitchen or repaint their children’s rooms just 2 weeks after they gave gifts.

After what felt like forever, they made it back to the paint section of the store. Thankfully, it was less congested back there, with only a worker and a couple stray people roaming the aisles. Zayn let out a small breath he was holding in, and Louis smiled and took one hand out of his pocket to pat his friend’s back lightly, knowing that Z was just as uncomfortable in the crowd as he was.

“Alright?” He asked his mate in a soft voice.

“Yeah,” Zayn responded, rolling his shoulders back to try to relieve some tension. “Yeah. Right, well, I have 3 colours that I’m required to use for this mural, so I am going to go ask the lad at the desk to mix those for me.” He nods his head to the service desk, where a blonde guy not much taller than Louis himself was chatting animatedly with a tall, curly haired brunette, his hand movements large and an Irish accent filling the area.

Louis nodded, subconsciously smiling at the hyperactive worker.

“I want you,” Zayn continued, “to go over there,” he points at a wall full of sample cards, displaying all the different paint colours. “And pick 3 more colours. And don’t make it easy on me, I want a challenge.” He smirked knowingly.

If he wanted a challenge, Louis would give him a challenge.

He marched right up to the wall before Zayn had a chance to say anything else. He looked at all the different colours, hues, and finishes carefully, taking in all of his options. He picks up a matte burnt sienna sample, giggling a little as he places it in his pocket. One down, two to go.

“Any particular project you’re working on?” an unfamiliar voice asks from next to him, startling him. The hand that was reaching for a purplish gray colour is now clutches to his sweater, just above his rapidly beating heart. He hadn’t even heard anyone come near him, he had been so focused.

He looked to the culprit. Standing there was a boy, a beautiful boy might he add, smiling at him sheepishly with rosy lips and big, perfectly white teeth and fucking dimples. Louis blushed at his own startled reaction. He takes a moment to assess the lad and recognizes his lanky (but muscular) figure and long, curly brown locks as the person who was chatting with Irish over at the help desk moments ago. He looked up into the taller boy’s eyes and couldn’t help but notice the way the big, bright emeralds seemed to be trailing up and down his own body- was he being checked out?

Louis coughed, realizing he had been staring but hadn’t said anything. The taller boy giggled, actually fucking giggled, running his long fingers through his curly mane almost nervously, pushing the hairs out of his face.

“Not me,” Louis finally manages to spit out. His voice sounded raspier than before, the words coming out thick like honey. He nods over to the help desk, where Zayn chatted happily with the Irish lad. “The one chatting with Blondie over there’s my roommate. He’s an art history major and is supposed to be doing this big mural downtown, so it’s my job to make it as difficult for him as possible.” He smiles cheekily, and the boy lets out a laugh. It’s more of a cackle, really, and it makes Louis laugh, too. He finds himself wanting to hear more of it.

“M’Harry,” the brunette says, still chuckling. “Blondie’s my roommate, his name’s Niall.”

“Louis,” Louis says, holding out a hand. “And that’s Zayn,” he nods to his friend.

Harry took Louis’ hand, giving it a firm shake. It is only then that Louis noticed that the taller boy’s nails were painted. He squints and leans closer without thinking, trying to see the colours and designs littering the fingernails. The taller lad pales, squirming suddenly as he gently removed his hand from Louis’ hiding both hands behind his back and shyly looking at the ground.

Oh.

Gulping, Louis looked into Harry’s eyes, giving the warmest smile he could muster up. “I really like your nails,” he said sincerely, causing Harry to blush under his gaze. “Do you mind if I use the colours for Z’s mural?”

After Harry excitedly helped Louis pick out paint samples that exactly matched his nail colours (a pretty bubblegum pink and a blue that looked startlingly like Louis’ own eye colour) the two made their way to the mixing desk, where Niall and Zayn were talking about classes.

Louis looked at them confused. “You two know each other?”

Zayn nodded, “Niall here is a first-year grad student. Psych. Him and Li had a few undergrad classes together, and he was in the class that I met Liam in as well.”

“Harry, who is this?” Niall asked curiously, but still looked at Louis with a friendly smile.

“Oh! Nialler, this is Louis! He’s a- well, actually, I don’t know what he does, but I take it he goes to the Uni too?” he mumbled shyly. It made Louis smile. Niall noticed.

“I’m a Journalism major, second year grad. How about you?”

“3^rd year undergrad,” Harry mumbled shyly. “Interior Design.”

Ah, he was an undergrad still. That explained why Louis never saw him before.

After the formalities, The four continued to talk while Niall mixed Zayn’s paint colours. They got on quite well, and that excited Louis. He needed more friends. Maybe if he had more he wouldn’t feel so alone all the time.

Niall was off the clock by the time all of Zayn’s paints were mixed, and he and Harry insisted on helping carry the large cans back to the car. After making it to the car with (thankfully) no spills (Harry had tripped and almost sent lavender coloured paint all over the lighting section of the hardware store, but thankfully Louis was there to catch his arm- and the still closed paint- just in time), the boys said their goodbyes.

Louis and Zayn hopped into the car, Louis rolling down the window to call to Niall as soon as Zayn started the vehicle.

“Oi!” He shouted, causing Niall and Harry to turn back toward him. “I’m throwing Zayn a birthday party next weekend at our flat,” He was talking to Niall, but glanced to Harry, making sure that he heard, silently hoping to see the lad again. “You lot should come by.”

Harry smiled, looking down at his feet as a blush rose to his cheeks. Niall, on the other hand, looked directly at Louis, positively beaming.

“Yeah, we’ll be there,” he said, before going over to Zayn’s window to talk through the details.

Louis zoned out of the conversation when a song he liked came on the radio. He turned it up a little, not loud enough to drown out the other boy’s conversation, but loud enough for him to listen happily.

“What am I supposed to do, when the best part of me was always you?

What am I supposed to say, when I’m all choked up and you’re okay?

I’m falling to pieces, yeah

I’m falling to pieces.”

He sang playfully, holding his hand out to Zayn as if serenading him Zayn just rolled his eyes and slapped Louis’ hand away, before going back to the conversation with a (now chuckling) Niall. Louis’ smile turned into a frown when he looked to Harry, who suddenly looked sick. Lou tilted his head a little, questioning the younger boy, who quickly shook his head and avoided Louis’ gaze.

Harry tapped Niall on the shoulder, mumbling a barely coherent excuse to leave before dragging him towards their car, not even letting the Irishman say goodbye. Niall looked back in apology and mouthed an I’ll text you to Zayn, before the pair got into their car and sped off.

Louis couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever see them again.

Chapter Text

Harry still remembered being young, being fearless.

Oh, how he missed those days.

He missed being 5 and visiting London for the very first time. He remembered thinking that everything around him was so big. Everything surrounding him made him feel so insignificant, so small. Harry liked feeling small.

He wished he could feel small now. Maybe if he were still small, the universe would stop pushing such big things onto him.

He remembered his hand always being in hers, her always leading the way. He felt small next to her, too. Felt small in the way his fingers clutched to hers, small in the way two of his strides was only one of hers.

He had fell and scraped his knee on the sidewalk that day in London, dropping his brand new ice cream cone in the process. He remembered trying not to cry, trying not to let it get to him. He pretended that he was okay, that he didn’t care.

She noticed.

She always noticed everything. And being big like she was, she took it as her place to take care of the small. So, she did. She gave him her ice cream cone, even though she had wanted it for herself. Ice cream was her favourite sweet.

She cleaned up his knee, too. He tried to show her that he was brave, that just because he was small didn’t mean he was weak. He cried as she cleaned his cut.

She called him brave anyway. She even helped him pick out a plaster.

He missed being 16, too. When he was 16 he was taller than her, even stronger than her, but she still let him be small. He had loved her for it.

He missed those days most of all, actually. The days where she would drive him around in her old, beat up Honda Civic. It was a ratty old thing, some days it barely made it down the road, but she loved it. It was the brightest, yellowest car you ever did see. She named it sunshine.

He missed them going shopping together, her telling him what she thought of each article of clothing he picked. She never judged him for the clothes he liked to wear, never batted an eye when he would dig around the woman’s section with her. He missed the way she would steal his clothes without asking. He missed the way she would stay awake with him unti the early hours of the morning, sitting at the kitchen table talking about the latest romance novel she read, tea in hand.

He missed the way she would ask him to sing for her.

It was just after his 18^th birthday when Harry turned big. Suddenly, nobody was having tea with him when he couldn’t sleep, nobody was cuddling him on the couch while they watched movies. Nobody was there to compliment the dinner he made, or to help him decide on which Uni to attend.

When he got through his cuts, nobody was there to call him brave.

There were no plasters.

Harry never, ever wanted to be big. He wanted to grow up, yes. He wanted to be independent and to study hard and to make something great of himself. He wanted to fall in love, fall hard, and he wanted to get married and start a family. He wanted all of those things, yes, but he could do all of those things and still be small. He could do those things and still be another unfamiliar face, another stranger in the city. He could be somebody’s dad, somebody’s boss, somebody’s lover and still want someone there to hold him at the end of the day, still want someone to care for him and be there for him.

The thought of being big for one more moment had been so tragic, so sickening to Harry.

But then he met Louis.

Louis, who was drowning in a hoodie that would probably fit Harry perfectly, with just the tips of his fingers showing.

Louis, who’s eyes crinkled when he let out that beautiful, full, bubbly laugh of his.

Louis, who looked incredibly soft with his smooth, lightly tanned skin and his chestnut-coloured fringe that Harry had wanted to run his fingers through so badly.

Louis said he liked Harry’s nails.

Harry liked Louis.

Physically, Louis was on the smaller side. In fact, Harry had a good 5 or 6 inches on the older boy. But Louis wasn’t small. He was big.

He was big in the way he talked, in the way that (despite his initial shyness) he was quite loud, and quick to make friends out of Harry and Niall. He was big in the way he looked after Zayn, subtly checking on the lad every few minutes and doing small things to make him happy. He was big in how observant he was, knowing Harry (a stranger) was going to trip before it actually happened and therefore was able to catch him, to protect him, before Harry did just by keeping watch. Louis was a protector, a caregiver, a fighter.

His voice was biggest of all.

It had scared Harry, the way Louis’ singing made him feel.

The way he sung shook Harry to the core, sending electricity through his entire body, causing goosebumps to sprout amongst his skin. His voice was light and airy, but also thick and heavy. It was smooth, like melted chocolate or caramel or honey or molasses or anything else sinfully sweet. But it was also rough and raspy, like sandpaper or sparkles, shattered diamonds. It was nothing and everything, a question and an answer. It was an anomaly, truly.

Of course, Harry might be biased. Just a bit. Honestly, Louis could sound like tires squealing or nails on a chalkboard and Harry would still think his voice is lovely, just because it belonged to him.

One thing he was absolutely certain of- he wanted to protect Louis at all costs. He wanted to hold the boy tight, to cuddle him close and make sure that nothing bad could ever touch him. He wanted to make sure the lad was never hurt, and if he was, he wanted to be the one to clean him up and put plasters on him, he wanted to be the one to take care of him.

Harry hadn’t known Louis for more than an hour, but he wanted to be the one to take care of him.

He wanted to be big for him.

He laid awake for the rest of the night, thinking of paint cans, plasters and sweater paws.

****

Louis couldn’t sleep.

He was trying, he really was, but it seemed so hopeless.

Each time that he closed his eyes, all he could see were emerald green orbs staring back at him. Every attempt at him drifting off ended with him startled awake, him hearing the imaginary sound of his name roll off of a near stranger’s plump, pink lips. Every time he tried to find a comfortable position in his usually very soft, warm bed, all he could feel was the cold, empty space that could easily fit another body.

Louis Tomlinson was a very confused man right now.

He wasn’t new to this, was the thing. He knew what crushes were, what flings were, what feelings were. After he’d given up on finding his soulmate he had tried dating around, thinking that maybe he would end up clicking with someone. He got along with a lot of his dates, maybe even liked a few, but at the end of the day he always ended up alone, never quite feeling right with anyone else.

But meeting Harry today? That felt different. That felt good. It felt right. He didn’t feel like he was talking to a stranger in the dark, dingy aisle of the bloody hardware store. He felt as if he were talking to a friend, someone he knew for years, someone he trusted. Everything else just slipped away, just faded into nothingness when Harry spoke. The younger boy had Louis’ skin on fire with just a simple handshake.

Louis knew that Harry wasn’t his soulmate. He knew that they were practically strangers, acquaintances at best. He didn’t care though. He didn’t care because for the first time in 23 years, Louis felt alive. Something started burning deep inside of him the moment he caught sight of that big, dimpled smile. It was something unfamiliar, something strange and even scary, but the thing is, he liked the feeling. He knew that he may never even see the brunette again… but he hoped that he would.

Hope.

That’s such a funny thing, isn’t it?

***

The week seemed to be truly dragging by, and by Thursday Louis thought he was going insane. Classes seemed to be dragging by, and the cold weather already made him feel more sluggish than usual.

The fact that he hadn’t seen Harry around campus at all this week didn’t help. The first couple days after meeting the boy, Louis swore he wasn’t going to go around campus and look for him. Because that would be weird, right? Wandering off and looking for the cute stranger from the hardware store? By Tuesday night, though, the older lad was restless, and took to clearing his head with nightly walks.

And if his roommate knew his nightly walks were just him circling almost the entirety of campus, he didn’t say anything.

Although he never saw Harry, he did run into Niall one evening. The two got to talking right away, standing in front of the English building going on about paint and classes and birthday parties. Niall was easy to talk to, and Louis could imagine himself being close with the 1^st year. 20 minutes went past like it was nothing, and Niall had to hurry to make his shift at the hardware store. So the two said their goodbyes, but not before exchanging numbers and promising to meet up at the campus pub on Thursday to continue their chat.

In the 4 years that Louis Tomlinson had been on campus so far, he never once stepped into the campus pub. There wasn’t really a reason for that, besides the fact that Zayn preferred clubs to pubs, and there were a couple clubs right on the edge of campus, only a couple blocks from their flat. The pub was outside of the opposite end of campus, where Louis didn’t go much.

Walking into the pub made Louis regret not checking it out earlier. It was pretty empty, but that was to be expected for 6:30 pm on a Thursday. But the bar itself was lovely. It had a mystical, woodsy vibe, with deep mahogany tables and vibrant, healthy plants placed strategically around the room. Small, circular tables sat in the center of the room, while rectangular booths lined the two side walls. The wall in the very back of the room was made of brick, and had moss growing all the way up it, entangled in fairy lights. The other walls boasted beautiful paintings that went with the theme. Soft, upbeat music played in the background, barely noticeable behind the laughter and chatter of a few customers.

Louis opted to sit at the bar, as he didn’t see Niall anywhere yet and figured the Irish lad would find him easiest there. A woman sat behind the bar, polishing glasses with a rag. He knocked on the wooden tabletop twice, causing the woman’s head to snap up. She scrambled out of her chair, placing her rag and the now spotless glass on the bar and making her way toward Louis. She stopped in front of him, her head tilted down lowly with long, brown strands of hair falling in her face as she stared at the bar, not meeting Louis’ eyes as she awaited his order.

“Hello,” he said simply, a small smile on his lips.

 “Hi,” she responded gently, still not meeting his eyes but lifting her head only slightly, brushing the stray hairs behind her ear.

“How are you, love?” Louis asked, unbothered by the shyness of the girl. Over the years he’s come to learn that many shy people aren’t actually shy at all, just uncomfortable, unheard or drowned out. There’s no need to be awkward or unfriendly just because someone is quiet.

The woman finally looked up at the endearing name, her big, brown doe eyes widening in surprise. She wasn’t used to people asking her how she was. She wasn’t used to anything, really, other than drunken men shouting at her- her soulmate included.

“I- I’m good,” she stuttered out, looking into the clear blue eyes in front of her. They were pretty. She liked pretty things. “And you?”

“Good, good,” Louis said casually, waving his hand a bit as if to say enough about me already. “Got anything good for me?” He smirked, nodding toward the bottles of alcohol displayed on the shelves behind her.

She chuckled a bit, blushing as she took a long strand of hair and twirled it around her finger. Louis recognized it as something Lottie did when she was staring at someone she thought was fit. I’m gay, pretty unfortunate isn’t it, love? He thought to himself jokingly, but said nothing.

“Well,” she said, her voice seeming to lower an octave as she leaned across the bar a little, closer to Louis. “I’m told I make pretty strong vodka mixes.”

Louis had to laugh at that. What could he say? He loved vodka. “A vodka redbull it is, then,” He winked. The girl blushed and hurried off to make the drink.

Niall plopped down on the barstool next to Louis’ just as the brunette finished making his requested drink.

“Louis!” he said happily, patting the older lad on the shoulder. As the brunette gently placed the vodka redbull in front of Louis, he added a gentle, “Hello, Eleanor. Alright?”

The girl blushed again, mumbling out a response and saying something about starting Louis a tab, to which Niall laughed, saying that the older lad’s drinks were on him tonight. Louis was about to protest, when a loud crash came from the kitchen, followed by a yelp.

“ELEANOR!” A voice all but growled, causing the doe eyed girl to flinch, hanging her head low as she scurried to the kitchen. Louis scoffed at the sound of the angry man. Bosses can be such dickheads.

“How’re you, mate? Alright?” Louis turned to Niall, taking a sip of his drink and sputtering a little. She wasn’t lying about her drinks being strong; He was fairly certain this was vodka with just a splash of redbull.

“Alright. Thanks for coming ‘round, by the way,” Niall said happily before pausing. “-We, We’re friends, yeah?”

Louis tilted his head curiously at the Irishman. Where did that come from? When he saw the worry on Niall’s face he straightened up, stopping himself from questioning it and instead nodding at the 1^st year. He had wanted to be friends, anyway.

“We are, yeah. Why, what’s going on?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“Well, I kinda was hoping you would maybe help me with something… you know Harry, right?” Ah yes, Harry. The ghost that’s haunted Louis mind for 5 days now, how could he possibly forget?

Louis felt his cheeks heat up as he shrugged out a, “I do, yeah.”

Niall didn’t even pause a moment before saying, “You like him, right?”

Louis coughed. “What?”

“You like him.” Niall didn’t even bat an eye. How would he possibly know that?

“I’ve only met him once, Niall. We are practically strangers,” he murmured, but for some reason this only made Niall laugh.

“Right. Well, he said the exact same thing, but I know for a fact that he likes you. So d’ya like him, or not?”

This new information took Louis by surprise. For one, Louis wondered why Niall didn’t ask about his soulmate, but he chalked that up to the lad either not wanting to disrespect Louis by asking about it, hearing the story from Zayn, whom he’d been texting all week, or simply not caring. For two, did Harry actually like Louis? Or, was Niall taking the piss to get Louis to help him with whatever he needed? 

Instead of answering directly, he had to ask. “Why do you say Harry likes me? Doesn’t he have a soulmate?”  Louis felt insecure even asking the question, but Niall just smiled and patted the boy’s shoulder, having all the confirmation he needed. 

The two sat in silence for a while, Louis finishing off his hardly-mixed drink while Niall took big gulps of the pint Eleanor had placed in front of him after she’d emerged from the kitchen teary-eyed. Eventually, it was Niall who broke the silence.

“H’s been acting weird lately. I’m worried.” He took another drink from his cup before he continued, looking at Louis pointedly. “It didn’t start until after he met you. It’s like he’s been lost in his own head. I thought it was because his birthday is coming up, but the other day he fell asleep on the couch, and I heard him murmuring your name. I think you left an impression on the lad,” Niall laughed.

“His birthday is coming up?” Louis said dumbly, not knowing what to say about anything else. Harry had been dreaming about him? Harry maybe liked him too? This was a lot to take in.

“Yeah, on February 1^st. That’s what I wanted your help with, actually, seeing you’ve been really on top of planning Zayn’s birthday.” Louis nodded for Niall to continue. “Harry doesn’t really celebrate birthdays, he hasn’t since I met him. I was hoping maybe you could talk to him, maybe convince him to celebrate this year, and help me plan it out. I know you don’t know him well but I feel like he would listen to you.”

Louis guessed he could do that, if it meant he got to know the boy with the striking green eyes a little better and got new friends out of it. Plus, everyone deserved a happy birthday, Louis thought that now more than ever.

“Okay,” he agreed easily, smiling at Niall. There was one thing that confused him, though. “Why are you so insistent on him celebrating this year, though?”

Niall laughed at that. “Because, you twit, it’s the big one! Duh!”

The big one?

Oh no, he doesn’t mean-

“Harry’s only 20?”

Chapter Text

January 10^th, 2020

10:37 am

Warmth. Pure warmth.

That’s what woke Zayn up on the Saturday morning of the party. Warmth, and the feeling of dozens of little kisses being pressed to his face. He stirred, turning his body ever so slightly to fully engulf himself in the heat that is his soulmate. He allowed himself to peak, opening one eye just slightly and being greeted by big, brown eyes, sleep-ridden pink cheeks and deliciously plump, pink lips curved into a smile. He snapped his eye shut again, trying not to giggle as he pretended to be asleep still.

Liam wasn’t having it.

“Hey,” Liam said, and Zayn didn’t need to see to know the boy was pouting. He could hear it. “I saw that! I know you’re awake now.”  

Zayn smirked. “Am not.” He could actually imagine the way Liam’s eyebrows were furrowing in his head.

“Are too!” Liam said a bit louder.

“Am not!” Zayn pressed back.

Suddenly, fingers framed around his torso and before he could get away, he was being tickled. Zayn shrieked, a stream of laughter ripping from his throat as Liam leaned in impossibly closer, his fingers firm and unrelenting as he repeatedly murmured are too’s into his boyfriend’s ear.

“I’m up! I’m up!” Zayn finally managed to gasp out, his breathing coming out in pants. His entire face was tinged pink from laughing so hard, and though he tried to look grumpy with his dark, furrowed brows and his hands clenched into fists, he was grinning madly.

He was adorable. Liam wanted to kiss him. So, he did.

“Good,” Liam stated, pressing a kiss softly to his boy’s cheek, lips lightly brushing the stubble on Zayn’s jawline. “Happy birthday, baby.”

Zayn sat up in the bed, shaking his head a little in fondness. “My birthday isn’t till Monday. You know that.”

“Yeah, but we are celebrating today, are we not?” Liam sat up too, turning so that they could keep eye contact as they spoke.

“We are, but still,” Zayn sighed, stretching his arms up above his head with a yawn before dropping one down to scratch the back of his neck, a thing Liam knew he did when he was anxious, or lost in thought.

“Did you not want to celebrate today?” Liam asked cautiously, trying to figure out what exactly was going through the older boy’s head.

“No, not it’s not that,” Zayn laughed. “You know I always want to spend time with you, and I love a good party, I just- I’m worried about Louis.”

Ah, yes. Louis had been acting different lately. Not a bad different, really, just very unlike himself, to Liam at least. To Zayn, he was acting like himself, his old self. The person he was before he turned 21. Which was great, really, honestly, except that Zayn didn’t understand why. Because nothing about his situation has changed, really, has it? He still was in the same classes, the same flat, the same shit job. He still didn’t have a soulmate, still couldn’t hear anyone singing to him. Absolutely nothing has changed, except-

“So there’s this guy, right?” Zayn started after a moment of silence.

“Well, that’s not what I wanted to hear,” Liam joked. Zayn gently swatted him on the shoulder.

“I’m serious, Li.”

“Alright, alright. So there’s a bloke.”

“There’s a bloke Lou met when we were getting the paints from the hardware store, right? And they got on, like, really well. And now Lou’s been acting all weird since then, and I’m fairly certain that’s why.”

Liam thought about it for a moment. “Do we know the lad?”

“Kind of. He is Niall Horan’s roommate.”

“Wait- Harry? Harry Styles?” Liam asked, and Zayn nodded. “Louis likes Harry Styles?” he asked again, to be sure, and Zayn once again nodded.

“Is there a problem with that?” he asked, and Liam sighed softly, almost dreamily, and shook his head.

“Not at all. Harry is a good lad. He and I had the same English class last semester, even though he is still an undergraduate. Proper smart, he is. All the other students gave him shit for his age though. Said he couldn’t possibly understand romance novels without ever dating, him being only 20. He proved those assholes wrong, though,” Liam scoffed at the ignorance of his former classmates.

Zayn paused.

“Harry’s only 20? He doesn’t have a soulmate yet?” He asked, and Liam hummed out a positive response, causing Zayn to pale. “Shit. This is bad, this is very bad. We have to stop Louis,” Zayn tossed the duvet off himself, moving to get out of bed. Liam grabbed his wrist to stop him.

 “What? Why in the world would we do that?”

Zayn huffed as Liam pulled him back into bed, leaning the older boy against himself.

“Because,” Zayn sighed, frustrated. Liam started rubbing circles on the back of Zayn’s neck with his thumb, trying to relieve some tension. “Louis is going to see that he doesn’t have a soulmate yet, fall in love with him and feel all happy and shit, and then Harry is going to turn 21 and meet his actual soulmate and dump Louis, and he is going to be more broken than he was before. I can’t just sit back and let that happen.”

This time it was Liam to sigh, grabbing Zayn by the chin and turning his face so they could make eye contact. “You can, and you will. You will not interfere; Do you understand me?”

“What? Why not?”

“Because Z, Louis is not nearly as fragile as you make him out to be. Maybe they hang out, and maybe he does fall in love and end up getting dumped. That is a very real possibility. BUT how do you know he won’t benefit from it?”

He paused, taking in Zayn’s confused face and laughing before continuing. “Darling, right now Louis doesn’t believe in love, not for himself at least. If he ends up falling for Harry, whether he gets broken up with or not, it may finally get him to see that love is still possible for him with or without a soulmate. This little crush might make our Lou brave enough to find love again.”

There was a pregnant pause, followed by Zayn chuckling.

“Louis does have a proper crush, doesn’t he?” he said, causing Liam to laugh.

“He does!” Liam agreed happily, before suddenly he turned, pushing Zayn down onto the bed and straddling him. “Y’know,” he said, lowering his voice. “I, too, have a proper crush.”

“Do you now?” Zayn said, his voice wavering and eyes fluttering closed as Liam began planting sloppy kisses in the crook of his neck.

“I do,” Liam mumbled against his boyfriend’s collarbone. “Beautiful, beautiful man. It’s his birthday party today, you know,” he pushed himself up enough to look into his soulmate’s eyes. “And I want to spoil the absolute shit out of him, but for some reason he keeps talking about other men in our bed.” He feigned hurt, trying his best not to smile as a shocked laugh fell from Z’s lips.

“Oh, just shut up and fuck me already,” Zayn said, leaning up just enough to capture Liam’s lips with his own.

And who was Liam to deny the almost- birthday boy?

***

Today was party day, and everything that could have possibly gone wrong for Louis, did.

Firstly, his alarm never went off (although he may or may not have forgotten to set it) and he was up doing homework until nearly 4 in the morning, so he didn’t wake up until almost 1 pm. He needed to wake up at like, 10 am.

Then, on his way home from getting the cake, he got break checked. He didn’t crash, and the cake didn’t get completely destroyed thankfully, but the frosting he paid so much extra to personalize got smeared everywhere, making the words Happy 23^rd birthday, Dickhead unrecognizable and the yellow, red and black icing he picked special smeared into an ugly poo brown.

The liquor store down the street was out of kegs, meaning Louis had to get several bottle packs of beer instead, which not only were more expensive, but also caused him to have to take 8 trips up the 4 flights of stairs up to his flat because the elevator was out. It wasn’t like Louis was out of shape or anything, but he did not expect party planning to be this strenuous.

Once he finally got everything else situated, it was five. The party didn’t start until eight, but he still had to decorate (his absolute least favourite part) and pick up the wings and pizza from the campus pizza shop by seven. He Turned on a random party spotify playlist and got to work.

***

Louis was just beginning to hang up streamers when there was a knock on the front door.

“Just a sec!” He called out as best as he could with a piece of tape in his mouth, scrambling off of the step stool he was using to try to reach the ceiling of the flat, and trying not to trip.

He looked down at himself, face flushing as he realized that he was only in his pants. See, the thing was, he wasn’t really expecting anyone to be this early. With Li and Zayn being out to dinner for at least another hour and Niall (Who had been steadily texting him since they met at the pub) having the closing shift down at the hardware store, he figured that he was on his own for the next hour or so, at least until his roommate got back.  And party planning was hard work, okay? The flat was too quiet even with the background music, and this decorating bullshit was making him sweat; So what if he found it more entertaining to blow up balloons and pin up string lights while being mostly naked? Sue him.

Another knock sounded at the door just as Louis was trying to shove his legs through the loose, black joggers he had left lying on the living room floor earlier. He grumbled out something that was hopefully coherent as he made quick work of tying the drawstrings around his waist.

He made his way to the door, hesitantly unlocking it while mentally going through the small list of people he invited and trying to figure out who, out of any of their friends, would be most likely to show up super early to a birthday party. When he couldn’t think of a single person, he started getting nervous at the thought of other people who could show up to his door on a Saturday evening to make his life more difficult. People like his landlord, who was probably tired of him and Zayn making different excuses to get out of inspection (as shitty as the flat was, they really couldn’t afford to get kicked out. Especially not over something as small as a gravity bong sat on their dining room table. After all, the thing was for decoration- well, mostly anyway) Or people like the police, who may be finally coming to reprimand Louis about the whole toad incident that happened just before the holiday break (It was just a prank! He swears!)

When he swung the door open, however, it wasn’t any of those people at all. In fact, it was the person he least expected to show up at his door, at least right now.

Harry, the boy from the hardware store.

Heh. Hardware store Harold.

Cute.

His long, curly brown locks were tied up into a bun, minus a few stray strands that fell out over the course of the day that gently framed his face. He was wearing a sheer, black, long sleeve button up with only the bottom two or three buttons done up so most of his torso, which by the way was covered in glorious tattoos, was exposed. His black skinny jeans may as well have been painted on, as they were so skin tight that Louis figured paint would be easier to remove (not that he was thinking of removing them anyway. Ahem. Shut up. Moving on.) His feet were donned in sparkly silver and blue ankle boots that would have been questionable on anyone else, but seemed to fit Harry quite perfectly.

He was just as lovely as Louis remembered. Ridiculous, sinful even, but lovely all the same.

Louis was a little obsessed, he thought.

He found his voice a little too late, blushing at the smug look the younger man was giving him. He had clearly been caught staring, blatantly checking out the guy on his doorstep. Once again, fucking sue him.

“Harry,” he said, mentally face palming at the way his voice cracked in surprise. Harry’s smile only grew though, with his dimples forming craters in his cheeks as his eyes shined brightly at the older boy.

“Louis,” Harry responded, clearly entertained. He was taller than Louis, and yet he still made Lou feel like he was looking up to him, staring at the boy with those big green eyes.

“Hi,” Louis said shyly, even giving off a small wave. When the fuck did he get so awkward? He coughed. “Didn’t expect to see you yet, party’s not ‘til eight.” He opened the door a bit wider anyway, completely contradicting his words by stepping inside to let the near- stranger inside. How did he even get his address anyway?

“Oops,” Harry shrugged, but he didn’t seem phased- or surprised, really- at all.

 Louis raised an eyebrow at him, to which he laughed, not quite that cackle Louis heard earlier this week, but not a giggle either. Louis took it as a win.

 “I like party planning,” Harry shrugged again. He was rocking on his heels with his hands fiddling anxiously behind his back. “I’m an interior design major, remember? I figured that maybe you could use some help decorating, and that if I helped maybe we could, uh, get some time to talk before everyone else got here. Y’know, just the two of us.” He blushed a bit before adding, “Nialler gave me the address, I hope that’s okay.”

Louis looked at the boy confused, but it was only a moment before realization hit him like a bloody freight train. Harry came all the way there, nearly 3 hours early, to spend time with him. To get to know him more.

Louis.

Not Zayn. Not Liam. Louis. Louis Tomlinson. Him.

Holy shit.

Louis tried not to get ahead of himself, tried not to overthink the fact that Harry came all the way over just to talk, even though he could’ve easily got his phone number from Niall, or waited until the party tonight. He came here, because he wanted it to be personal, and he wanted them to be alone.

He tried not to overthink, but he failed.

Surely Harry knew that Louis was over the age of 21, right? He had to know. Meaning, he had to assume that Louis has a soulmate. And even if he didn’t know, or if he didn’t care, that didn’t matter anyway, did it? Because Louis wasn’t even sure Harry liked men. Especially not strange, wild, damaged, soulmate-less men like himself.

Harry would turn 21 soon. He would turn 21, and he would hear someone’s beautiful voice singing in his ear, and then he would fall in love, and it wouldn’t be with Louis. It shouldn’t be with Louis, anyway, because Harry deserved more than damaged goods. He deserved a soul bond, a forever bond, not just a university crush. A pang hit Louis’ chest when he realized that what the younger boy needed would never be him. That they would never be more than friends.

Harry was off limits.

Louis found himself grinning anyway. And before he could stop it, “Sure, yeah, that’d be great. Make yourself at home,” spilled from his lips.

He was so fucked.

Chapter Text

Saturday, January 10^th

10:45 pm

Harry was drunk.

Harry was drunk and he was going to keep right on being drunk, because it made him happy while he was sad, and frustrated, and anxious and confused.

Harry was so, so confused.

And the reason for his confusion was laying right there in front of him, sprawled across Liam Payne on the couch with his head resting in Zayn Malik’s lap, Zayn’s It my Birthday, Bitches tiara tangled crookedly in his sweaty, knotted chestnut fringe.

Louis was also drunk.

And what a lot of people didn’t know is that Louis William Tomlinson is the most cuddly, clingy, pouty drunk that has ever existed.

Harry knew, though. Harry knew that about Louis, and so, so much more.

He knew that Louis was born on Christmas Eve and while most people would hate that, he loved it because it meant he pretty well always got to spend the day with his family.

He knew that Louis’ favorite color used to be red, but now he was thinking that it might be green. Harry had said that he liked those colors because he was a Christmas baby, to which Louis coughed awkwardly, let out a small laugh and eventually agreed.

In the few short hours they had spent together, he had learned a lot about the older lad. They had talked pretty much the entire time, and as awkward as both of them expected it to be, it went surprisingly well. After the first few moments, of course.

Harry laughed, remembering how shy Louis was when he first invited Harry into the flat.

“Make yourself at home,” he had said, motioning around his flat. It was a little smaller than his and Niall’s flat, but Harry took an immediate liking to it (Despite the clashing furniture and mismatched décor that would make any interior designer, not just Harry, shudder). It was all dark, hardwood floors, save for a large, shaggy gray rug covering the living room floor. There was a worn, black leather loveseat and an incredibly soft looking navy blue couch. An atrocious orange coloured recliner sat in the corner of the room, next to a small bookshelf and a crate full of records. There was a coffee table sat in the middle of the room, white but covered in comic book-style paintings. Photos of Zayn, Zayn and Louis, Zayn and Liam, the boys and their families littered the walls in the hallway that led to the bathroom and bedrooms. Terrible drawings were plastered on the fridge with magnets, all of them having Louis’ sloppy signature on them.

It felt like home to Harry.

Harry missed home sometimes.

“I like your place,” Harry said.

Louis blushed. “Thank you,” he muttered, so softly that Harry hardly heard it. “So, Harry-“

“Styles,” Harry Said, interrupting. “Harry Styles. I realized we never even went over full names at the store and now I’ve kind of just stormed your apartment, sorry,” he laughed, which made Louis laugh too.

“I don’t mind, Harry Styles.”

“Good, Louis-“

“Tomlinson,” Louis glanced up at Harry, light dancing in his eyes and a small smile on his lips. “Louis Tomlinson.”

“Louis Tomlinson,” Harry repeated. “Tell me about yourself.”

So Louis did.

Louis told him about the town he grew up in, Doncaster, a town not too far from the one Harry is originally from. He told him about his siblings, about his mum, and about footie. He told him about moving here with Zayn, whom he’d grown up with.

Harry told Louis about different things. Things like how he and Niall met at the campus pride festival the summer before his first year (he was touring the campus and stopped to see the festivities because he is, in fact, gay. Niall was running around in only short shorts and fishnet stockings, absolutely covered in rainbow paint, randonly asking if anyone needed a roomie), and how he knew Liam but never met Zayn before Sunday.

They talked about school, their degrees and why they chose them. They talked about difficult classes and cool professors and what they wanted to do after they finished school. And in the car on the way to pick up the food, they talked about food preferences, Harry’s love for cooking, and Louis’ growing skill in the kitchen (“I recently learned how to whisk!”). Louis didn’t notice the lack of music playing in the car. Harry didn’t mention it.

He didn’t mention anything about his family, hometown or any pre university hobbies, either. Louis did notice that.

There were other things that weren’t brought up on either end though. Like the way Harry had dragged Niall off at the hardware store, or the way both boys had been caught staring at each other for just a little too long.Harry didn’t bring up Louis’ soulmate, although the question had been lingering in his mind since the moment he laid eyes on the blue eyed lad. Louis didn’t mention Harry’s upcoming birthday either, though Harry did bring up the fact that he is still only 20 in passing.

Neither of them brought up the fact that both of them were positively crushing on each other, but from the looks Louis was throwing Harry across the room, and the blush that covered Harry’s cheeks each time he felt the burning stare of the blue eyes, that much was obvious.

***

Harry was drunk.

He was a pretty drunk, Louis thought, with his punch-stained red lips and his hair falling out of his bun. Sometime in the past couple hours, his shirt was discarded, laying on that horrid orange chair that Louis’ nan gifted him as a moving present nearly 5 years ago. His nails were painted black and silver, and although he didn’t seem too fond of the playlist, Louis caught him clumsily swaying back and forth to the beat on more than one occasion. His cheeks were a vibrant pink, and Louis couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol that was making him blush, or the stares that he was sending the boy.

Harry looked wrecked. Louis wanted to wreck him.

Wait, what? No.

No.

That can’t happen.

Louis wanted to give him a cuddle, he decided. Yeah, that’s better. Because cuddling can be a totally acceptable platonic action with the boy that Louis maybe thought was super bloody cute but could never ever have. Totally.

Louis scrambled off of the couch, where he had made himself comfortable on top of Liam and Zayn (and stolen Zayn's tiara). Those two loverboys. Cutest soulmates ever. Louis loved them. He decided to tell them as such.

“Couple of cuties. I love you guys,” he murmured as he stood up, only stumbling a little as he pressed sloppy kisses to Liam and Zayn’s foreheads before wandering off to find Harry. The two boys shook their heads, rolling their eyes fondly at their drunk friend.

Louis found who he was looking for in the kitchen, with Niall and a few other people from Zayn’s classes. Niall was propped up on the counter, legs crossed, hands moving animatedly as he told some story about the time he got locked in an Ikea and had to stay the night there. Harry was in the back of the small crowd, leaning against the wall with a cup of punch in his hand.

“‘Arry!” Louis slurred excitedly, trying to be quiet but judging by the looks he was given by the people listening to Niall’s story, he failed. Whoops.

Harry didn’t seem phased, anyway, smiling brightly at the blue eyed boy coming his way. “Loueh!” he called back, equally drunk, equally excited. “What’s up?”

Louis didn’t hesitate to run up to his new friend, throwing his arms around him. Harry went rigid in his hands, but slowly he allowed himself to relax into the hug. To be fair, Louis and Liam and Zayn had all warned Harry earlier that Louis was a very, ahem, touchy, sensitive bloke when drunk.

“Jus ssswanted a c-cuddle,” the boy slurred gently, patting Harry’s back gently. “Hope thash alrigh?”

And how could Harry’s heart not melt at the soft, snuggly man child in his arms?

“S’alright, mate,” Harry choked out, forcing himself to look anywhere but down at the lad cuddled up to his chest, trying to ignore/avoid the soft, warm feeling fluttering in the pit of his stomach from the gesture. His eyes landed on Niall, who was still telling the story, but also not-so-subtly looking at the two boys hugging, a wide grin on his face. Harry rolled his eyes at his best mate and gently pulled back from Louis, who’s lips immediately formed into a little pout, his bottom lip jutting out softly. Harry felt compelled to lean down and kiss the pout away.

Ugh, stop. Be good.

Instead, he pulled Louis back by his shoulders, successfully putting a bit of space between them while also getting the older boy to look directly into his eyes. Louis blue eyes met Harry’s green ones, the pout on his lips still there but not as prominent.

“Do you wanna go sit?” Harry asked gently, nodding toward the living room.

Louis nodded. “Will you have a cuddle with me on the couch?” he asked shyly, almost pleadingly, rubbing at his eyes a bit. Louis was tired, and he just wanted someone to hold him a bit. Just until he could sleep, that's all.

Harry paused for a second, thinking. He looked from Niall, who was still sending glances toward them while finishing his story, to the crowd, which was slowly waning down as it got later into the night, to the living room, which was mostly cleared out, save for Zayn and Liam on the big couch and a couple (Ed and Cherry, Harry thought? He wasn’t sure.) making out on that dastardly orange chair. After a moment he nodded, a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Of course,” he said. He let Louis drag him into the living room, all but pushing him down on the loveseat. As he went to sit down himself, Zayn cleared his throat.

“Louis, what’re you doing?” he asked his roommate. He noticed how close the two boys have been most of the night, and it gave him an uneasy feeling.

“Having a couch cuddle with my young mate Harold, duh,” he looked at Zayn and laughed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Lou, I don’t think that’s a good id-“ Zayn was cut off, though, by a sharp slap on the thigh and a deadly glance, both coming from his soulmate next to him. He quickly shut his mouth.

“Continue on, Lou-Lou,” Liam said gently, smiling at the two. With that, Louis grinned, plopping down next to the curly haired design major already sat on the loveseat, and rested his head in his lap.

***

Harry was drunk.

But Louis? Louis was drunker.

And Zayn, knowing drunk Louis, should’ve seen this coming.

See, Louis had a high liquor tolerance, but he always, always went overboard. He always managed to surpass chill guy buzzing Louis and Tipsy, slightly stupid poor decision- making Louis and end up straight at Fuck I’m drunk, am I cuddly or horny? Louis. Zayn knew that Louis would take it that far, and he knew that the guy Louis deemed fit was going to be at the party, and he even knew that Liam wasn’t going to let him interfere with whatever was going on with the two. And yet he still sat back and watched Louis get this drunk, he still let this happen.

Why did he let this happen?

Louis and Harry were curled up on the couch, Louis head in Harry’s lap and Harry’s fingers effortlessly gliding through Louis’ straight, chestnut fringe, as if they had a mind of their own. The two were giggling constantly, their slurred words and laughter filling the room as they talked like they’ve known each other their whole lives. Liam looked on fondly at the pair, marveling at them as if they were some sort of painting, some masterpiece hung up high in the gallery. Zayn’s heart was about to fall out of his arse, honestly. He was already blaming himself for the pain his best mate was bound to endure from this.

The room got quieter and the giggles became more and more spread out. It was just Harry, Niall, Liam, Louis and Zayn at the house now. Niall was asleep, passed out on the kitchen island (Liam, bless his heart, snuck into the room to grab a spare pillow and blanket for the lad at least). Liam was snuggled into Zayn’s side; his eyes fluttering shut and being forced back open every few minutes from the sounds of Harry's cackles coming from the love seat.

Suddenly, Louis stood up from the loveseat, stretching his arms over his head with a wide yawn before turning slightly to grab Harry’s hand, pulling the younger, barely awake one off of the couch. Their fingers interlaced perfectly, like they were meant to be together, and although Louis and Harry didn’t seem to mind or even notice, Zayn sure did.

“Harry and I are going to bed,” Louis said. Zayn’s eyes widened. “Goodnight lads, see you tomorrow. Happy birthday, Zaynie.” He started down the hallway toward his room.

“Lou, wait!” Zayn all but shouted, causing Liam to shot up, startled. Niall stirred a bit on the kitchen counter, but he gripped the pillow tighter and was snoring again in seconds. The other two lads didn't seem to be paying attention, though, and continued down the hall.

“Don’t.” Liam said sternly to his boyfriend.

“How exactly do you expect me to just sit here, while my best friend shags the one person I have ever seen him fancy, when that person is going to be with someone else in a few weeks? I can’t do that to him, Liam!”

“You can and you will,” Liam said, not backing down.

Zayn wasn’t having it.

“You might be able to see him hurt like that Li, but I can’t. Not again. I won’t let this happen, I’m sorry. You didn't have to see him like that the first time.”

Before his soulmate could retaliate, Zayn was out of his seat, heading down the hallway to Louis’ room. He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes as he pushed the bedroom door open, well aware that he could be walking into something that he very much did not want to see.

“Lou, you can't just-“ he trailed off, his eyes flying open as he heard an all too familiar noise- snoring.

Harry and Louis were laying horizontally on Louis’ bed, side by side, fully clothed and on top of the covers as if they barely made it in there before they both passed out. They were snuggled close, legs entangled, ankles hooked together. Their fingers where still intertwined.

“He knows what he’s doing,” A voice mumbled into his ear, and Zayn let out the breath he had been holding in as he sunk into the body behind him. “Let him live his life, babe. Let him learn and grow.” Liam rested his chin on Zayn’s shoulder, cooing at the pair asleep on the bed across the room.

Zayn shut the door quietly, careful not to wake his friends up, before turning to his boyfriend.

“If this all goes to shit, I’m blaming you.”

Liam’s lips slowly turned up into a smile, knowing he had won this round.

“that’s a risk I’m willing to take, Love.”

Zayn just hoped it was worth it.

Chapter Text

In a quaint, two story house on a sub street off of Chester Rd in the village of Holmes Chapel, Cheshire, lived the Styles family.

The Styles’ were a cute little household. A lovely, vibrant couple with two beautiful children- A thirteen-year-old girl, and an eight-year-old boy. They were a fun, loving family, with the group constantly going on adventures and little trips, just making the most of their times together. They were very happy.

At least, that’s what the public thought.

Harry wasn’t so sure.

He was sat in her wardrobe, hiding. It was crowded and cramped in there, his still- growing limbs twisted and tangled awkwardly to fit in the unusual place. He didn’t mind it, though. If anything, he found comfort in the feeling of making himself small so that nobody could find him. He felt safe that way. He knew that she felt safer there, too.

He scooted over, pulling his legs impossibly closer to himself so that he could make room for her. She had decided to take a chance, making a run downstairs to grab something for the two to snack on, risking putting herself in the middle of the full-fledged fight going on in their living room just to make sure that he didn’t skip dinner tonight.

He was forever grateful for her. His best friend. His partner in crime. His saving grace.

His sister.

He heard a loud crash from the floor below him, along with a yelp. He briefly wondered if his sister was hurt, if he should abandon his spot of safety and risk being in the crossfire to see if she was okay. He would do that, for her. Because she would do it for him.

He doesn’t need to, though, because soon enough he heard familiar steps coming up the stairs, the floorboards creaking and echoes getting louder as they made their way up to the top floor. As the door to her bedroom creaked open, he could make out some of the chaos coming from downstairs.

The words ‘cheating’, ‘drunk’, ‘lying’, and ‘manipulation’ all floated through the thick, tension filled air in the home, circulating around like a bad smell just dying to escape. Those words sounded even worse than thought possible when they were paired with another: Divorce.

The shouting from below was cut off by the harsh thud of the bedroom door slamming shut and  all was quiet once more, save for the sounds of shuffling feet just outside of the wardrobe.

“Open up, H,” a voice said. “I need some help, my hands are full.”

He complied, opening up the door of the wardrobe little by little, letting the light slowly spill in and fill the empty space next to him. He looked up and smiled when he saw her.

She had somehow managed to make cheese toasties in record time. She was balancing the plate of them in one hand, while the other held a bag of crisps, with a carton of juice tucked in as best as possible under her arm.

Harry was quick to start grabbing things from her, allowing her to use her now free hands to climb into the wardrobe, across from him, and shut the door. They sat shin to shin, with her holding the bag of crisps and him holding the cheese toasties, passing the carton of juice back and forth between them. For a while it was only silence, besides the occasional crinkle of a bag, tip of the juice carton, or shallow breath.

They both froze at the sound of glass shattering downstairs. Then there was screaming, loud screaming.

They were both tired of the screaming. Harry much preferred the quiet. He missed it.

The screaming only got louder, the sound of things being thrown only getting more prominent as time went on. Harry didn’t know when exactly he had started to cry, but pretty soon he wasn’t able to stop.

“Hey hey hey,” she shushed him. “It’s okay, it will all be alright. We’ll be alright,” she whispered to him, reaching across to gently rub soothing circles into his shoulder. “Will you sing for us, H?” she whispered after a while, her voice barely heard around the commotion below them.

Harry nodded. She fed him, she hid him, and she let him be small, trying to keep his childhood as normal as possible. She took care of him and didn’t ask anything in return, except for this.

So, he sung.

Harry leaned up against his sister in the tiny wardrobe in the small bedroom upstairs at the end of the hall in that little two story house, and he sung, letting his voice drown out the sounds of his family falling apart downstairs.

***

Harry woke up with a start. His head was spinning, and he knew that if he opened his eyes right then, the room would be spinning too. His breathing was heavy, and he was disgustingly slick with sweat, but he couldn’t help it, it was so damn hot in there. He let out a groan, turning slightly and deciding on moving his hand to attempt to push the duvet down to the foot of the bed. But when he went to move, he realized his hand was already full, his fingers intertwined with someone elses.

He stiffened as memories of last night came flooding back into his brain all at once, nearly giving him whiplash. The decorating, the party, the drinking, Niall’s stories, the bloody music.

And, of course, Louis.

Louis and his shit decorating skills, and his laugh, and that plastic tiara that drove Harry absolutely insane. Louis and his cuddles, all pouty lips and rosy cheeks and big blue eyes. Louis and his words, his voice, his smell, his touch. Louis. Just Louis.

He had pretty well dragged Harry to the loveseat last night, excitedly explaining to his roommates that Harry had agreed to a couch cuddle. Harry had been worried that Louis’ soulmate would show up any second and be livid at the fact that the smaller boy had been cuddled up with him on the couch, with his head in his lap. Nobody else really seemed to be surprised or concerned about it at all, though, except for maybe Zayn. Harry would have to remember to ask Louis about his soulmate later.

Harry had liked his cuddle with Louis way more than he should have. He couldn’t help himself- who in their right mind could ever turn away a giggly, cuddly Louis Tomlinson? Surely he wasn’t the only one. In the end, it had all been good fun anyway. Louis radiated pure joy when he was drunk. The entire time spent on the loveseat was filled with great banter and belly laughs. Louis and Harry went back and forth telling funny Uni stories about their friends and roommates, Louis going off the rails a little bit and telling Harry stories about growing up. Harry retaliated with some horrible, horrible dad jokes, which Louis actually laughed at, shaking his head and groaning about how awful they were.

By the end of the party Harry had been so tired, but he really didn’t want to leave. Niall had already fallen asleep (his storytelling adrenaline wore off with the crowd and the alcohol hit him all at once) right on the kitchen counter, and Harry knew that waking the lad was not something he wanted to do, especially if he was drunk or hungover. Louis had been quick to ask Harry if he wanted to stay the night, jokingly promising not to try to make any moves on the younger boy or do anything that would make him uncomfortable, and of course Harry accepted. Given the choice between walking all the way across campus to your flat while clearly intoxicated or staying the night at a gorgeous male person’s house with your other friends, wouldn’t you do the same?

So now he was there, in this gorgeous guy’s bed, and he has absolutely no idea whatsoever if Louis even remembers letting him stay, or if he remembers anything from last night for that matter. Harry cringed at the thought of the older boy being straight, waking up after a blackout drunk night and finding himself holding hands with another man, who was sleeping in his bed. Or, he thought, Louis soulmate could walk in and see them like this and think he was cheating and break up with him. Or maybe they were engaged, and they call the wedding off because of this. Then Harry would be a homewrecker.

Harry never, ever could be a homewrecker. He couldn’t- he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

He had to get out of there, and fast.

He willed his head to stop spinning, silently sending out a prayer to any or every higher power that could even possibly exist that when he sat up, when he opened his eyes, he would not throw up all over his crush’s bedroom floor. He just wanted to get up without waking Louis up, grab Niall if he hadn’t already left, and get the fuck out of there as quietly as possible. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves as best as he could, and opened his eyes.

“Oh good, you’re up,” a soft voice said before Harry’s vision even came into focus, causing him to startle a bit.

He looked to Louis, who was sitting there all rosy cheeked and disheveled hair, slightly propped up by a couple pillows behind his back. Then, he looked to the room (which he hadn’t seen much of last night), which somehow managed to be chaotic, messy and still warm and homey at the same time. Finally, he looked to their hands, which were sat in between them, still holding onto each other. Louis must have noticed then, too, because he was quick to pull his hand away from Harry’s then.

Fuck.

Before Harry had time to panic about it more, Louis was speaking.

“I- uh, Sorry?” He started, glancing at Harry nervously with a small, bland chuckle. His face grew impossibly redder. “I woke up a bit ago and I thought you were still asleep, I didn’t want to move and wake you.”

Oh. That actually made sense.

But it almost seemed like to Louis it didn’t, because then he started to ramble. “I’m kinda glad you’re awake, though, I’ve really needed to have a wee for a while now. Not that you were bothering me or anything, in fact you’re welcome to go back to sleep if you need to, I-“

“Louis.” Harry cut him off with a laugh. “Go wee.”

“Right.” Louis bolted out of the bed, only going a little off balance as he made his way to the en suite bathroom. After a few moments he came back out, wiping his hands on his trousers and looking at harry cautiously, as if the boy would disappear in any moment.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, Harry cleared his throat.

“Thank you for, uh, letting me stay. Do you remember last night at all?” Harry asked shyly.

Louis thought about how to answer for a moment.

“Bits and pieces. Most of it, if I’m being honest. I’m sorry if I did anything to make you uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to be a bother,” he sounded almost sad about his actions, and well, Harry just couldn’t have that.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable at all,” he said honestly. “I had a really good night last night. Best in a while. You’re great at throwing parties, mate,” the last sentence rolled off Harry’s tongue weird for some reason, and he thought Louis noticed it too, but his eyes lit up at the compliment anyway.

“Really?” he said with a smirk.

“Really.” Harry agreed, smiling back.

They stood there for a second, just smiling at each other, until once again the silence got awkward. Harry decided to change the subject.

“God, I’ve got a bloody hangover,” He groaned a little exaggeratedly, causing Louis to chuckle.

“Same, mate. I was actually thinking of having a lie in, just crawling back in bed for a bit, maybe putting on a film.”

Harry took that as his cue to go.

“Ah. Well, uh, I’ll leave you to it then. Thanks again for letting me stay.” He moved toward the edge of the bed and started slowly getting up, watching his balance.

“Wait! You, uh, you could stay for a while- I mean, if you want. We could order in and maybe after a film or two your hangover will be gone. I wouldn’t want you to have to walk all the way home sick.” Louis was a nervous rambler. Harry thought it was kind of adorable.

“I, uh, Okay. Yeah,” Harry said almost immediately. Shit, what was going on in his brain? “I’m just going to use the loo really quick, if that’s alright,” he said, barely waiting for Louis to respond before heading into the master bathroom.  

He did his business, tried not to throw up everything he drank last night as he cleaned his teeth with his finger (he may have stolen just a little of Louis’ toothpaste) and splashed some cold water on his face.

 As he ran his fingers through his long curls (trying to unknot them without taking too long in the bathroom, he didn’t want Lou to be suspicious) he thought of all the reasons he should stay for the movie. One, he liked Louis, and even though he couldn’t actually have a thing with Louis, he would like to be friends with the older lad. Two, he was fairly certain his roommate was still passed out on the kitchen table, and once again, he was not waking him up. No way. He would wake up a sleeping bear before he did that. And more importantly, maybe if he spent more time with Louis, he would learn more about his soulmate. Not that that part mattered really, especially because they were merely friends. Still, Harry was curious.

When he got out of the bathroom, he laughed when he saw Louis curled up in bed, the opening credits of Mamma Mia frozen on the television screen hung up on the wall across from him. Louis glared at him defensively, but that just made Harry laugh harder, explaining that he loved the movie and was actually a huge ABBA fan. He left out the fact that he didn't listen to music anymore.

By halfway through the movie the boys were comfortably reclined next to each other, both propped up by pillows leaning against Lou’s headboard and their thighs nearly touching, they were so close together. They had ordered pizza before they started the movie, happily munching on it throughout the film and making small talk. Louis was definitely familiar with the film, making funny commentary on a scene before it even happened and smiling fondly when he caught Harry gently bopping his head along to the songs. They were getting on well, so Harry thought it would be as good a time as ever to ask Louis what he has been wanting to all day.

“So,” Harry started. “This is really fun. I quite like hanging out with you.”

Louis positively beamed as he said, “I quite like hanging out with you, too.”

Here goes nothing.

“I’m glad. I am a bit worried, though.”

Louis turned to him, concern evident on his features. “What? Why?”

“Because,” Harry cleared his throat nervously, hand subconsciously raking through his still-slightly-matted curls and focusing his eyes on the film. “I don’t want your soulmate walking in and thinking that you’re cheating on them or something. I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.”

Harry saw Louis stiffen slightly from the corner of his eye. That can’t be a good sign. Harry was surprised when Louis let out a strained laugh.

“Oh, is that all?” he asked, but didn’t give Harry a chance to answer. “That won’t happen, you don’t need to worry.” Louis’ tone of voice was worrying Harry, though. He turned to the older lad, fully intending to get to the bottom of this, but what he saw when he turned stopped him.

Louis was visibly shaking. He was the palest Harry had ever seen him, too. But even more so, Louis looked sad. Really sad, miserable even. It broke Harry’s heart.

Harry didn’t push farther, not yet.

Louis tried his best to act like everything was fine after that, going back to making comments on the movie and intentionally ugly-singing the songs, but it was stained, and it didn’t take a genius to see that the lad was lost in his own head. At the end credits, the older boy mumbled some lame excuse about napping to get rid of the hangover that Harry knew had been long gone, and all but pushed Harry out the front door with a vague Thanks for coming and a somewhat promise to text him soon.

Harry walked home with a very cranky Niall in tow, trying to figure out what the fuck  happened between Louis and his soulmate, and wondering what he could do to fix it.

Chapter Text

March 6^th, 2017

Nearly 3 years earlier

Harry woke up to the sound of water dripping onto the floor. He groaned, turning in his bed to face the opposite direction and placing a pillow over his head, trying to drown the noise out until it stopped.

Except, it didn’t stop. In fact, the dripping got more and more persistent, and soon the noise changed from water hitting tiled flooring, to water hitting an already formed puddle. He knew that he wasn’t the only one home; why hadn’t anyone else tried to stop it?

Curious, he crawled out of bed, rummaging through his dresser drawers for some basketball shorts to throw on his otherwise nude body. Once he found a simple black pair, he slipped them on, cautiously exiting his room and tiptoeing down the hallway.

The further he got down the hallway, the closer he got to the noise. He realized that what he heard was not just a spill, but also the sound of water running. The dripping must have been coming from the bathroom.

The door was open just barely, but no lights were on in the room, which was weird. Harry started to get nervous, wondering if someone had broken in. He brushed it off quickly, though, figuring that he was just being irrational. His sister probably just left for the hospital early and forgot to turn off the faucet, causing the sink to overflow. No big deal.

The bathroom door creaked open with ease, and he flicked on the light. The first thing he noticed was an empty wine bottle, which, if he was honest, wasn’t a big surprise to him. Especially not with everything going on lately. But then he saw a second empty bottle, and then a third. His eyes followed the trail of empty bottles, and what they ended up on made his heart freeze in his chest.

His mother was sat, fully clothed, in the bathtub, with a fourth bottle of wine already three quarters of the way empty gripped tightly in her hand. Harry had heard stories from his friends, stories of how they came home to find their parents or relatives sat in the bathtub pissed beyond belief. However, two things about his story were very different than theirs. The first being that a month ago, he could have never even imagined seeing his mum off her face like this. Besides the holidays or an occasional glass of wine with dinner on an occasion, she didn’t like to drink.

The second being, in those other stories, the bathtub wasn’t full.

His mum looked a right mess, worse than Harry had ever seen her before. He wished that he never had to see her like that to begin with. Her dark brown hair was a frayed, frizzy mess, except for the ends, which were submerged under the water and sticking to her sweater. She had been wearing makeup before, he guessed, but the only remnants of it were tear tracks black from mascara and bright red, smeared lipstick staining both of her cheeks. She had dried saliva (or maybe vomit- Harry didn’t want to think about it) at the corners of her mouth.

She was shivering, Harry noticed then, despite the fact she was fully clothed. Her sweater, jeans and even shoes were, after all, submerged under the water. The faucet was running at its highest pressure and water was cascading over the side of the tub and onto the floor, which was already completely covered in water. His mum didn’t even seem to notice, and that’s what worried Harry the most.

She was looking at him, but it was as if he wasn’t there- like she was looking through him. The usual brightness he found in her eyes, the usual love and comfort, wasn’t there. It was like they were empty, lifeless, like someone came and took all of the color from her world and left her only shades of gray. She wasn’t being guarded or being open, and Harry couldn’t tell if she was lost in her thoughts, or if her thoughts had just disappeared. He decided that they had been stolen from her, that every single thing that his mother was had been taken, locked away in a box and sat on a shelf much too high for her to reach.

His mum was the strongest person he knew. She went through a lot of shit in her life, and still managed to make the most of things. He had never seen her break- not when his nan had passed, not when his father left them, not when the old tabby cat that she loved so dearly ran away. But this, this was breaking her.

He blamed fate, of course. For giving her such a shitty hand, for not allowing her to be happy and stay happy, for hurting something- someone- who she would do anything for. And in turn, making the people that he would do anything for hurt, too.

Harry was angry.

He was angry at the empty void that filled his mother’s eyes. He was angry at the house, for being so old and creaky and loud that he didn’t hear the water sooner. He was angry at the townspeople for their gossip and their pitying stares. He was angry at his sister, for leaving so early, for not waiting for him, for not being here for this discovery. Hot, furious tears welled up in his eyes and spilled over onto his cheeks, and he was mad about that too. He was angry with himself, with his life, with the world.

He didn’t have time to be, though. He had places to be today, things to do, and right now he needed to take care of his mum. He had to be big. Being angry would have to wait.

He turned the faucet off as quickly as he could, drying his tears with the back of one hand before reaching down into the cold, cold water to unplug the drain. Water immediately started to swirl down the drain and out of the bathtub, making a loud sucking noise. His mum didn’t even flinch; he didn’t even think she noticed.

He cleared his throat loudly, and nothing.

“Mum,” he said softly. Not a single movement. “Mum!” he called again, louder this time, but to no avail.

He huffed out a sigh and pulled at his hair frustratedly, before closing his eyes and taking a long, deep breath.

“I’m going to go get you a towel, okay?” He said to her, even though he knew she wasn’t going to answer. She blinked, once. He took that as a good enough response.

He walked out of the room, going back into the hallway to grab a towel from the linen closet. He grabbed a couple extra for the floor, not that he thought it would make much of a difference anyway.

When he got back into the bathroom, his mum hadn’t moved from where he left her. However, one thing had changed- she was crying. Fresh tears rolled down her otherwise emotionless face, and as much as it broke Harry’s heart to see her cry, he was relieved. Relieved because she was still there, if barely. She was there, and she was feeling.

Getting her out of the tub was no easy task. She wasn’t a large woman, but her clothes were heavy with water and the constant dripping made her hard to hold on to. It didn’t help that she was extremely intoxicated, her body dead weight and her arms and legs like noodles as she made no effort to help herself. Finally, he managed to get her out of there, sitting her down on the closed seat of the loo, panting a little.

“We need to get you out of those clothes, mum,” he said to her, of course getting nothing but a blank stare in response.  He gritted his teeth, patience running thinner by the second. “Look, I am very uncomfortable with the idea of undressing you myself, but I will do it if it gets you dry and keeps you from becoming ill.”

When he got no response he groaned, not at all hiding his distaste. He went to grab at the hem of her sweater, when her hands moved suddenly, brushing his away. Thank God.

He turned so she could undress in peace, handing her a towel to dry her wet, freezing skin. He grabbed her bathrobe, which was hanging on a hook on the door, and handed that to her too, hoping she was capable of dressing herself.

He heard her hiccup once or twice, and the sound of her heavy, soaked clothes plopping onto the ground confirmed that she was doing as she was told. He gave her a few more moments of privacy before turning around again, thankfully finding her clothed in her bathrobe. He helped her up from her spot, and after a lot of stumbles and near-falls, he managed to get her downstairs into her bedroom. He walked her to her bed, pulling back the blankets and setting her down before tucking her in and sitting by her feet. He sighed.

“If you go to sleep now, you might be sober enough to come down to the hospital later. I could come back and pick you up.”

He didn’t expect an answer, so the large whine and body-wracking sob that came from his mother’s mouth made him jump a little. She started full on bawling, her already shivering body shaking even harder with her cries.

“M’Not!” She managed to get out, sounding so frail and worn out that Harry wanted to plug his ears, it hurt him so much. He rubbed her back soothingly, desperate to at least calm her cries. He hated to see her like this, so sad and miserable.

“You have to, mum,” He murmured softly, but she wasn’t having it.

“C-can’t!” She shouted, blubbering streams of can’t and won’t go’s until she was hysterical.

“Okay! Okay,” Harry finally said, pulling her up into a tight hug, rocking them back and forth gently. “You don’t have to go. I just think that you will regret not being there, later on.”

“I can’t,” she mumbled again, into his shoulder.

“Okay,” he whispered, shushing her as he continued to hold her.

Eventually her sobs turned into sniffles and her eyes drooped shut. Harry laid her back against the pillows, waiting a few minutes for her breathing to slow before he assumed she was asleep. He got up as slowly as possible, careful not to shake the bed or bump her, and made his way to the door.

He was almost out into the hallway when he heard her stir. She whimpered softly, and Harry tried his best to will himself not to turn around, but he couldn’t help it. She sounded so broken, so lost. He had to be strong, be big for her. So he turned, looking his mother into her bloodshot eyes.

“Don’t go,” she whispered, but it was a beg, a plea. He frowned at her.

“Mum-“

“Don’t. Go.” This time she was firm, but he knew that it was just as much of a question as last time.

“I have to.”

“You d-don’t.”

“I do.”

“Stay.”

He felt himself getting angry again. He swallowed thickly, trying to keep his voice even.

“I’m going, mum. We all should be there. If you wouldn’t have went off and got pissed, we all would be there. I’m not missing this just because you were sad and made poor decisions.” He felt bad for saying such things to his mother, but it was true. He lowered his voice a little. “Gemma shouldn’t have to do this alone. Nobody should ever do this alone.”

“Harry, please-“

“-Get some rest, mum. You’ll need it.”

With that, he walked out of her bedroom, shutting the door. He tried his best to ignore the heart-wrenching screams from the other room, a mother begging her son to stay, to love her, to never leave her alone, especially not today.

He hurriedly went up to his room and got dressed, before heading back downstairs. He grabbed his keys off the kitchen island, also grabbing his mother’s so she wouldn’t try to drunk drive before leaving the house and locking the door behind him. He got into his range rover and started it up, backing out of the driveway and refusing to look at his home in front of him.

He sped off, feeling worse and worse the farther he drove away.

Only when he was out of the town did his eyes start to water.

Only when he was sure nobody could see, did he let himself cry.

And once he started, he didn’t stop.

Chapter Text

January 14^th, 2020

Present Day

Louis didn’t text Harry after he left the flat on Sunday.

He didn’t text him on Monday either, making some lame excuse to himself about how he had too much homework he needed finished to be texting cute boys. He spent the rest of that night watching reruns of Love Island.

Tuesday crawled by, and eventually Wednesday too. Louis picked up the phone to text the younger lad more times than he would like to admit, but every single time he ended up stopping himself. Both Zayn and Liam noticed the moping and the odd behavior of their friend. Liam even went as far as to ask Louis why he wasn’t texting the boy, to which Louis pouted in response, claiming that Harry was probably annoyed at the way he acted during the birthday party, so he was being respectful and giving him some space.

Everyone in the flat knew that was a blatant lie.

It was Thursday when Louis finally came to his senses. His broadcasting class that morning had been cancelled, and he didn’t have any other classes that day. His homework was finished, the sun was shining for once, and he was just plain bored. Zayn and Liam had left town on Tuesday, Zayn wanting to spend his birthday week at home with his family, which left Louis completely alone.

He could text Niall, he supposed, but that really wouldn’t make much of a difference. He knew that Niall was probably working or studying as usual, and that the moment he texted the Irish lad he would probably only get yelled at for avoiding Harry anyway.

That’s exactly what he was doing, though- Avoiding Harry. He didn’t even really know why he was avoiding the boy.

It wasn’t like he did anything wrong by asking about Louis’ soulmate, he really didn’t. He couldn’t have known about the older man’s unfortunate situation. Besides, they were becoming friends, right? All of Louis’ other close friends knew what happened, they all knew why Louis was alone, so why couldn’t Harry know? What stopped Louis from telling him? What made him react so poorly?

Louis frowned as guilt washed over him. He had pretty much kicked his new friend out of his house after he had invited him to stay, and avoided him all week for asking a simple, not even very uncommon question. And for what reason? Harry was a kind person. Everything Louis had seen of him so far was nothing short of caring, gentle and nurturing. Surely he wouldn’t judge Louis or not want to come around anymore just because he was a stray… Right?

Louis needed to text him.

He sighed, picking up his cell phone off the couch cushion and unlocking it. He went to his contacts and started scrolling down until he reached the one that said Harold and had the weird-creepy-smiling-cowboy and frog emojis next to it (It suits him, alright?) He typed and erased for different messages, before he finally convinced himself to send one.

L: Young Harold

He waited a few moments for a reply before turning off his phone, not getting one. He decided to make himself lunch, trying his best to pretend that he wasn’t disappointed.

An hour later (on the dot, not that Louis was counting or anything) He got a response. He all but skipped over to the couch where his phone was still laying, unlocking the screen with his fingerprint and going straight to messages.

H: Not my name, for the billionth time Lou

Louis smirked, imagining Harry rolling his eyes at him. It was cute, even in his brain.

L: Sure, whatever you say big guy

L: Hey wyd today?

H: Just finished my last class. So, nothing. Why?

Of course Harry types with full punctuation. Adorable.

L: because I’m bored duh

L: why else would I be texting u

H: Because we’re friends?

L:

He had a point there.

L: Touché.

Louis giggled. They were friends, weren’t they? He had made friends with Harry Styles. What a lovely friend to have. He was glad his awkwardness didn’t fuck it all up.

H: Did you, like, wanna come over?

H: I can make dinner, but we would have to go get some groceries first.

L: Depends, are you trying to poison me?

H: Heyyyyy! I’ll have you know that I am a master chef.

H: It will be good. Promise :)

He sent a smiley. A fucking smiley. Not a smiley emoji, an actual fucking colon and parenthesis smiley face. Louis let out a massive squeal, giggling in happiness at the fact that Harry Styles actually, genuinely exists.  

Over text, he pretended to keep his cool.

L: If you say so…

H: I say so.

Louis rolled his eyes.

L: Fine. What is the address, then?

He waited a few moments for Harry to send him the address, and he smiled when he saw that it was only a 15 minute walk from his flat. If he drove, he would have time to change his outfit and freshen up really quick and still make it there at a decent time.

L: Right, be there in 20 then

H: See you in a bit .xx

Louis ran off into his room to get ready, trying not to swoon over the X’s at the end of Harry’s text.

***

“What do you like to eat?” Harry asked. They were at the store, a little market that boasted Fresh, Organic goods and Gluten Free/Vegetarian/Vegan Options that Harry frequented. Harry wasn’t gluten free, or vegan, or even vegetarian, really, but he definitely preferred plants to meat and liked to shop at places that had options for him. That got him to thinking about foods that Louis’ liked to eat- did he have a diet? Allergies? An intolerance to anything? Any foods he despised? Harry was starting to panic a little bit. How was he supposed to make a dinner good enough for Louis?

Louis, who looked absolutely stunning today, by the way. His hair was somehow wild and styled at the same time, making it look like he just rolled out of bed and effortlessly ran a hand through the locks to get them to look like that, even though Harry could smell the fruity hairspray that louis used, breaking the illusion. He was wearing super tight, black skinny jeans with rips at the knees, and a white and red baseball style shirt that had the vans logo on it, paired, of course, with some black vans shoes.

Louis had gotten to Harry’s apartment five minutes early, and he had brought Harry a bottle of wine to go with dinner (Harry’s favorite kind, even, though it was impossible that Louis knew that. They had never even talked about the beverage). After a tour of the flat, which ended in Louis giving Harry’s decorating skills enough praise to make his whole face turn red, they agreed on taking Harry’s range rover to the store. Harry even let Louis mess with the radio on the way, going as far as to nod along to the Artic Monkeys song blasting through the car speakers. Something about only calling someone when they were high.

“Anything really, mate. I’m not very picky.” Louis responded, pushing the trolley into the next aisle. Harry was so lost in his head that he’d forgotten he’d even asked a question.

“Anything?” He asked again.

“Anything,” Louis agreed, but them he stopped, mid aisle, thinking about it. “Well, maybe not avocados. Have never been able to get over the texture of them, so I’ve really never liked them,” he paused again. “And- and maybe not carrots, either. But that’s only because I was obsessed with them growing up, I reckon I’ve eaten enough carrots for 2 lifetimes.” He laughed, and that made Harry laugh.

“So no avocados or carrots, got it. Anything else?” He asked, but Louis only shook his head.

Harry thought for a moment. What is something he could make that would impress Louis, but not take too long?

“Chicken fajitas sound okay?” He asked after a while. Everyone Harry had cooked them for praised them, and they took under an hour to make, which was ideal. Harry didn’t know about Louis, but he was starving.

Louis moaned softly at the suggestion, and Harry felt his cock twitch a bit in interest. He took a deep breath. They were friends. Friends. That moan wasn’t even a sexual one. Why did Harry want to hear it again and again?

“That sounds ace, Hazza. Really good.” Louis said as he tried to sneakily put a pack of biscuits in the trolley. He got away with it, too, Harry being too caught off guard at the nickname to notice.

Hazza?

“Oh, so I’m Hazza now, am I?” Harry said teasingly, and Louis flushed, realizing he had said the nickname out loud. How long had he been holding onto that? Since the party?

“Do you not like it?” he asked nervously, suddenly very interested in his vans, or maybe the trolley wheels.

Harry shook his head with a grin, “No, I do. Just different, as all. Wasn’t expecting it. Didn’t know you were the type to use nicknames.”

That was a lie. Anyone would be blind not to see the amount of pet names Louis used on a daily basis. It wouldn’t be that bold to assume that his friends all got nicknames, as well. He was quite the affectionate person, wasn’t he?

“Oh, come off it,” Louis scoffed, but he was smiling, a light blush still on his cheeks. “Nothing wrong with having special names for friends.”

See? Friends.

“Nothing wrong with it at all.” Harry agreed.

***

The boys bantered throughout the market, picking up the rest of the things they needed for dinner tonight, along with some stuff for other dinners this week, and a bunch of junk food that Louis kept managing to sneak into the trolley. He smiled sneakily, feeling successful at the fact that Harry hadn’t noticed.

Harry had noticed. He just hadn’t cared.

They were in line for checkout, almost all the way to the front, when Harry remembered that he didn’t grab peppers for the fajitas. Sighing, he turned to Louis.

“I forgot the bloody bell peppers,” he pouted. “Do you think you can stay here with the cart while I run and grab them really quick? Sorry.”  

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis waved his hand nonchalantly, seemingly unbothered at Harry leaving him alone for a moment. “Go on.”

Harry nodded, murmuring another small sorry and a thanks before scooting past the old woman with her trolley behind them and heading for the produce section of the store.

He was trying to find a shiny, firm, unmarked orange bell pepper when someone bumped into him. Harry dropped the bell pepper in his hand onto the ground at the impact.

“Sorry!” both Harry and the stranger said at the same time, as they both reached for the pepper. Then, they both froze, Harry’s salmon painted fingernails almost, almost brushing against her lime green-coloured ones. Harry’s blood ran cold as he spotted a familiar ring sat delicately on her pinky finger, the same amethyst ring his nan used to wear before she passed. And honestly, they weren’t strangers at all, were they?

At least, they hadn’t used to be. Harry thought that maybe they were now.

Both of their heads snapped up at the same time, recognizing each other’s voices even after almost 3 years of not hearing from the other at all. His face paled as he looked at her, looking as though he’d seen a ghost. He may as well have.

Her face did the opposite, a scarlet blush covering her features as she took in the man standing in front of her. The man that used to be her best friend, the light of her life, the person she shared everything with. Her baby brother.

Anyone looking a then would see the resemblance, especially now that they were both grown up. It was uncanny. Both of them had long hair of the same exact shade, porcelain skin and plump, rosy lips. She even had the same dimple, though she didn’t show hers nearly as often. They had the same lean, curvy body shape and same wide eyes, though hers were a warm shade of brown.

She was shocked to see how much he had grown over time. He was more muscular, maybe even taller, and covered in tattoos that she couldn’t ever imagine him getting. He had a hint of facial hair, though she figured he usually shaved. His sense of style has greatly improved, too, if his soft, green Gucci jumper and tight fitted jeans were anything to go by. She shuddered at the thought of the hideous purple trainers he wore until he was 17.

God, he had really grown.

She had missed him.

And yet, not even a phone call or a text came from either direction, not since what happened.

Realization seemed to have set in, because she suddenly was watching Harry’s face change from shocked, to confused, to angry. Very, very angry. And if he thought he was doing a good job hiding the hurt behind those eyes, well, he wasn’t.

She deserved it. She knew that.

“H,” she breathed softly, the letter breaking on her tongue.

“Don’t.” His voice was like ice, and honestly that startled her. She had never heard him so cold before, especially not towards her.

I guess things were different now.

“Harry, I-“ she tried again, but he held up a hand, stopping her.

“I need to go,” he stated coolly, picking up the dropped pepper, polishing it on his shirt and storming away.

She didn’t follow. He wasn’t surprised.

***

Harry had been acting different since he left Louis in line at the grocery store. Not horrible, just quiet, sad almost. Louis didn’t like it.

He came back from the produce section looking as though he’d seen a ghost, all super pale and wide eyed and fidgety. He hadn’t said a word throughout checkout, besides when he was mentioning that he had reusable bags and didn’t need the plastic ones.

When they got out to the range rover, Harry hesitated a moment before handing Louis the keys. This scared Louis a lot, because not only was this Harry trusting someone he has only known the better part of a week and a half with his really nice shiny pretty fucking car, but he was also telling Louis that he wasn’t in a position to drive at the moment.

Louis helped Harry but the grocery bags in the boot, before he got in on his side. He waited patiently for Harry to buckle in before he started the car, some Dua Lipa song that Louis had taken a liking to blasted through the speakers. Harry visibly cringed at the noise, before tapping the center of the volume dial, turning off the radio altogether.

The ride home was silent and sad, with Harry leaning with his forehead against the window, picking at his fingernail polish, and Louis stealing worried glances at the younger boy. When they pulled into the parking lot at Harry’s flat and stopped the car, Harry didn’t waste any time unbuckling his seatbelt. Before he could get out of the vehicle, Louis grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

“Okay, what.” Louis said seriously, his cerulean eyes staring deeply into Harry’s emerald ones.

Harry sniffled. “What do you mean, what?”

“Literally what I just said,” Louis sighed, before softening his tone. “You alright? What happened?”

Harry looked away, eyes trailing to the flat building and staring so intently that Louis wondered if he was trying to teleport.

“I, uh, saw someone that I used to know in there,” Harry said, his voice sounding so soft, so fragile. God, he looked so sad. Louis grabbed Harry’s hand without thinking about it, rubbing his thumb gently over the back of it in hopes of comforting the younger lad.

“Yeah?” Louis almost whispered.

Harry gulped, the car being so quiet you could hear it happen. “Yeah.” If Louis noticed the way his eyes started to water, he didn’t say anything.  He simply gave Harry’s hand a little squeeze of reassurance. “I just wasn’t expecting it, is all.”

Louis looked thoughtful, waiting a couple minutes before he spoke again. The car was still running, humming lightly under them, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable.

He understood that Harry didn’t want to talk about it, and he would never make him talk about something he wasn’t ready to share. He was grateful that Harry even gave him any insight at all, just a sliver of understanding in the agony behind those green eyes.

He decided that while Harry wasn’t ready to share, he was.

He inhaled through his nose, exhaling out words so fast that he didn’t even think about them.

“I don’t have a soulmate,” he said, and it came out a little louder than expected, causing Harry to jump in his seat a little. Louis watched as the boys eyes traveled to his, a mix of emotion splaying across his features. Confusion, sadness, and there’s that one again- hope.

Harry shook his head, chasing away thoughts he left unspoken. Instead, he says, “Everyone has a soulmate, Lou.”  Not in a condescending way though, gentler. More understanding.

Louis laughed dryly. “I don’t,” he said.

Harry turns his entire boy to face him, even more confused than he was a few seconds ago. Louis starts to wonder if telling the younger boy was a bad idea, if this would fuck up. His chances of ever being friends with the curly haired lad. He wouldn’t blame him if he wanted nothing to do with him anymore.

Harry looked like he was getting ready to speak again, opening his mouth to say something, but he closed it again just as quickly, tilting his head ever so slightly to the side as if it would help make Louis’ words make sense.

“When I turned 21,” Louis continued, “I waited around all day for the sound of my soulmate. It never came.” He sighed, trying to keep his voice chipper but failing.

Harry nodded for him to go on.

“It was like that for weeks, months even. Me just waiting. I wouldn’t go out much, stopped listening to music so loud, and I sang every day so that maybe, if they were 21, they’d hear me and find me. But it just never happened, as you can see.” He shrugged. “My mum and her soulmate didn’t work out, and her new boyfriend’s soulmate died before they even met, so I figured I’m just one of the unlucky ones.”

“I don’t think so,” Harry said genuinely, grabbing lightly onto Louis’ shoulder.

 Louis just shrugged again, looking down into his lap with pink cheeks and watery eyes.

 “Look at me,” Harry instructed. Louis peeked up through his eyelashes, slightly surprised by the younger boy’s authoritative tone. “You are too kind, too smart, too lovely to not have a soulmate, understand?” A couple tears slid down Lou’s cheeks.  “And you’re fit, too,” Harry added softly, causing the shorter lad to let out a watery laugh and slap his arm playfully.

Louis sniffled. “Li said he thinks maybe my soulmate is mute, or hearing impaired, or just not ready to find me yet, but I don’t know. I don’t know anyone my age that hasn’t met their match yet. And I don’t know a single person who doesn’t like to sing, either.”

“You’d be surprised, Harry mumbled under his breath, shuddering slightly. “Niall isn’t matched yet, and he turned 21 months ago.”

Louis looked surprised. “Really?”

“Really,” Harry nodded, encouragingly. “Talk to him about it sometime, if you want. He is pretty open about it, honestly.”

Louis shut off the car before giving Harry a small smile. “Maybe I will.”

“Good.”

“Good,” Louis agreed. “Now are we both done being saps so we can make dinner? I’m starving.”

Harry laughed, and they were back to normal. The boys got the groceries from the boot and started carrying them up to the flat. And as Harry started to prepare for dinner, he forgot all about his surprise run in, too busy wondering if he was the only person in the United Kingdom who simply did not sing.

Chapter Text

Friday, January 16^th

7:42 pm

“Fuck, I need a pint,” is the first thing that Niall Horan said (well, shouted really) walking into his shared flat on Friday evening. He looked over to his roommate, who was sitting on the couch with his hair up in bun and glasses that he didn’t even need perched up on his nose, reading, and sighed exaggeratedly. “H, mate, is your nose ever not in a book?”

“Heyyyyy,” Harry whined playfully, “Some of us actually enjoy reading, thank you.” He glanced up from his novel to give Niall a pointed look, and it was only then that he noticed the state his best friend was in.

Niall was completely covered, and I mean from head to toe, in thick, mustard yellow paint. The smell of it was quickly filling up the small space of their apartment, making the air feel thick with chemicals. His hair was a matted, coloured mess, and his hardware store work shirt and absolute favourite pair of skinny jeans were, unfortunately, completely destroyed. His shoes were badly damaged too, only seeing bits of the red converse peeking out from underneath the yellow paint.

“Rough day?” Harry asked with mock sympathy, puffing out his cheeks as he tried not to laugh at his friend. He didn’t know how Niall was going to get those dark yellow stains out of his bleached blonde hair.

“You could say that.” Niall rolled his eyes, before giggling softly. “It was one of those rare times that me soulmate started singing, and she happened to start right as I was pulling some paint out of the mixer. Shocked the hell out of me, and next thing I know, splat- covered in paint.”

Niall and Louis’ situation had been different in that way. Niall could hear his soulmate, so he absolutely, one hundred percent, without a doubt had a match, but he couldn’t find her anywhere. It was driving him mad, honestly. He would spend hours studying at the library hoping that one day she would be there studying too. He would go into random stores that he’d never been into, even if he didn’t want or need anything, just to see if maybe she had been there too. He had every Sunday and every other Saturday off of work, and on the weekends he had both days off he would take all of his savings and take the train to different cities, wondering if he would find her there. Sadly, he hasn’t ran into her. Not yet, anyway.

Niall’s soulmate is a strange one. She rarely sings, maybe only once every couple weeks, and Niall doesn’t believe that she is looking for him when she does sing,  more likely she’s just doing it for fun. She has an accent when she sings, too, though Niall hasn’t been able to pinpoint where exactly that accent is from. Harry believes that she is younger than Niall and hasn’t turned 21 yet, and that’s why she hasn’t made a move to start looking. He hoped that was the case, at least, for his best friend’s sake. Niall sang every night a midnight, hoping to hear her sing back in response, but it never happened.

Niall loved her already, anyway. He got so excited whenever he heard her- clearly, a little too excited this time.

Harry finished the page he was reading before folding down the corner of it and closing the book, setting it down on the coffee table along with his reading glasses. He got up from the couch, stretching his arms up in the air with a big yawn and rolling his head slightly back and forth to crack his neck. He turned to his mate and smiled, licking his lips and swinging his hands together in a clap.

“Right then,” he said cheerfully. “What was that about needing a pint?”

***

It was just after 8 when Louis got the text. He had been sitting in the kitchen in nothing but his pants and an oversized tee shirt, trying to figure out whether or not he should attempt cooking for himself (there was still stains on the ceiling from last time) or order in for the fourth time this week. He had ordered in every day this week besides the day that Harry cooked for him, and honestly after those amazing fajitas he didn’t think he could ever eat normal takeaway again. And Zayn and Liam were back from their trip, but Zayn was staying at Liam’s flat for the night, so asking one of them to cook was not an option.

His phone dinged just as he was getting out a pan and silently praying that the eggs he was about to attempt wouldn’t be incredibly burnt or raw and capable of giving him food poisoning.

H: Pub tonight?

H: Niall is coming, feel free to bring Liam and Zayn along too

Louis let out a small cheer, thankful that nobody else was in the flat to hear his excitement. He was mostly just happy that he had plans, and that he no longer had to cook because he could eat at the pub. But, he also might have been just a teeny tiny little bit excited to see Harry again. Maybe. Even if it had only been two days.

He was hopeless. Pathetic, even. Bleh.

He texted Harry back immediately with a confirmation, not even bothering to wait a couple minutes or pretend that he was only considering it. He needed a pint, and he missed his friends, okay? He shot a text to Zayn as well, who told him that for once, him and Liam hadn’t had any evening plans and that they would meet him at the pub.

Louis cheeks hurt from smiling as he rushed to get ready for a night out.

He pulled up to the pub him and Niall first met up at a few minutes later. He looked around the small parking lot, not seeing Niall’s car or Harry’s range rover, but spotting Liam and Zayn’s car in the corner. He parked directly next to them before shutting the car off, fixing his hair in the mirror yet again before getting out of the car and heading inside.

He spotted his friends immediately. They were sat at one of the u-shaped booths toward the back of the pub. Harry spotted him first, his eyes lighting up as he spotted Louis from across the room. He was wearing this light pink oversized sweater and his signature skinny jeans, and Louis smiled when he noticed that the boy, like him, was wearing black vans. His curls fell effortlessly over his shoulders, and Louis briefly wondered how Harry managed to look so warm and soft and perfect without even trying.

 Liam and Zayn were sat across from him on the other side of the table, and Niall was in between. A pitcher was already half empty on the tabletop, all of the boys nursing a pint except Liam, who Louis assumed was the voted designated driver for the night.

Harry waved Louis over, to which Louis held a finger up, going towards the bar instead. He was starving, and nothing sounded better than a burger and some chips right now. He waited patiently while the barmaid finished taking care of the customer before him, whistling softly to the song by the Script playing on the speakers in the background.

The barmaid stood in front of him, and Louis recognized her as the same girl from last time. Her long brown hair was done into a braid this time, though, and she had a pretty nasty cut on her forehead. Louis found himself frowning as he looked at it, but quicky averted his attention from it before he could be caught staring.

“Hello! Eleanor, right?” He asked her, and she smiled at him, nodding excitedly.

“That’s me,” she squeaked, blushing slightly before looking up at him through her lashes. “And you’re Louis?”

“I am,” Louis agreed.

“You are,” she sighed, happy that she remembered the lovely man’s name. She had hoped she’d seen him again. Louis didn’t know that, though.

Louis didn’t know a lot about Eleanor at all, actually, but Eleanor definitely knew about him. She knew that he had sat 3 rows in front of her in her 7 AM creative writing class last year. She knew how he looked and sounded when he was sleepy because of that. She knew he was the class clown and yet he somehow managed to be the teacher’s favourite as well. She knew his birthday was over the holidays, and that he was originally from Donny, and that he had lots of siblings that he loved to write about.

She knew other things too, because she was observant, especially when it came to him. She knew that she wanted to bathe in the blues of his eyes and curl into a ball and hide in the sometimes-there-but-not-always dimple on his cheek. She knew that he had different laughs for different occasions. She knew that he valued the people around him.

She was pretty certain he didn’t have a soulmate, either, because he never wrote about someone or mentioned someone. She never saw him out on campus prancing around and holding hands and stealing kisses with someone special. But then again, she did have a soulmate and she was never seen prancing around and stealing kisses, either.

Fuck soulmates.

“Here all alone?” She asked, making it sound light and conversational when really it was anything but. Was he finally meeting someone?

“No, my friends are over there,” he laughed, nodding to the booth in the corner, where Niall was cackling loudly and Harry (who was blushing a furious red) was doing his best to clean up spilled beer off the table before it leaked onto the ground. Liam and Zayn were curled in on each other, chuckling amusedly at the other two. Louis smiled fondly, shaking his head at the lot of them.

“Right,” Eleanor smiled tightly. “Well, what will it be then?” she asked almost snappily, her voice sounding a bit short out of nowhere.

“Just a burger and some chips, please,” he said slowly, an unasked question laced in his voice. What was her problem?

She seemed to snap out of it, though, when a man emerged from the kitchen and started coming toward her. He was a bit taller than both her and Louis and on the lankier side, like Harry. His brown hair swept just under his ears and tickled the sides of his neck, and though his brown eyes were set into a furious glare, his features softened slightly at the sight of his barmaid.

They were soulmates, Louis decided.

“Eleanor,” the man called in almost a scolding tone, stopping abruptly in front of her with his hands on his hips. “Did I just hear you raise your tone at this customer?” He asked, and Eleanor’s head immediately dropped in shame. Louis felt bad for her.

“I’m a friend,” he said, not thinking about it. “It’s alright, she didn’t mean any harm. I’m Louis, by the way.” Louis smiled and held his hand out across the bar for the man to shake. The man stared at it for a few moments before taking it, his grip just a little too tight.

“Max,” he stated bluntly, before dropping Louis’ hand and turning to Eleanor, nose raised in the air slightly. “And friend or not, if you’re ordering here you should be treated respectfully. I will not be hearing that attitude again, right Eleanor?”

Only then did Eleanor look up, cheeks flushed in embarrassment. “Uh, right.” She said. “Sorry, Louis. I’ll add that to your tab and Max will get started on your order right away.” With that, she scurried off into the kitchen with her soulmate trailing behind her.

Louis went off to greet his friends, silently hoping that Max wasn’t going to spit in his food.

***

Harry was falling in love.

At least, that’s what Niall thought.

And really, Niall was usually right about these kinds of things. He had considered himself a love expert, after all. A love cupid, the glue that holds the couples together, captain of the ship on the sea of love, that was totally his brand, his aesthetic. He should get it trademarked.

No, but seriously, Niall was really starting to wonder about the boys. They had been so touchy all night, and like, he knew Louis was a cuddly drunk, but this was different. Before Louis even had a single sip of his first drink he had his arm slung around Harry’s shoulders, pulling him in closer. And the younger boy- he didn’t even hesitate or think about it at all. In fact he blushed, actually blushed and just scooted in closer.

By the time Louis finished his second drink, he had one hand on his (delicious looking, Niall was slightly jealous) burger and the other on Harry’s upper thigh, just resting there as if it always had. Harry wasn’t being a stranger either, though. Before Louis got there, he was all Harry kept talking about, and when he met them at the table Harry pulled him into a hug that lasted a just a little too long. Not to mention the intense- actually kind of creepy- stares the curly one was sending toward the older lad all night.

Niall could tell that Liam and Zayn noticed it, too. The way those two kept exchanging looks with each other after Harry laughed a little too hard at something funny Louis said or Louis not so subtly peeked at the butterfly tattoo just barely visible through the unbuttoned section of Harry’s shirt said it all.

And really, Niall wanted to be happy about it. He didn’t want to be concerned or hesitant about the two boys being so close. Harry had told Niall about Louis’ soulmate situation (with Lou’s permission, of course, he isn’t a monster) and of course Niall felt bad for the boy. But that didn’t stop him from wanting to protect his best friend, his roommate, from the guilt he is going to endure if he fucks around and falls in love, only to have to break a nice lad’s heart when he meets his real soulmate.

It’s hard to remember that Louis isn’t the younger lad’s soulmate, though, when Harry is looking at him like he is the whole damn sun, and maybe the moon and the stars and the clouds, too.

He can’t help but think that Louis won’t be the only heartbroken one at the end of this.

But he lets it happen anyway, even though he’s scared, even though he hates the sinking feeling in his guts, because he hasn’t seen Harry his happy in the whole time he has known him, and he is not one to get I the way of happiness. He will just have to remember to be there for Harry, be there to hold him and to help him pick up the broken pieces when this all goes to shit.

“Dance with me,” Harry loudly whispered in Louis’ ear, causing a giggling Louis to nod. The two stumbled out of the booth and onto the makeshift dance floor (an empty area where Eleanor had pushed all the tables out of the way earlier when another couple had asked to dance), where Liam and Zayn and a couple other couples were already swaying back and forth to some cheesy 90’s love song.

Niall watched them clumsily sway along for a few beats before the song changed to some up tempo early 2000s clubbing song that made Louis squeal in excitement and start singing playfully to Harry. He had a lovely voice, honestly, and it was a shame that nobody got to hear it in that intimate soulmate way.

The two lads were terrible dancers. Absolutely horrible. Harry was all loose, flailing limbs, and Louis was all ass, but they seemed to be having fun and that’s all that really mattered. They got closer and closer together, with Louis still singing to Harry and Harry even drunkenly lip syncing a little here and there. Soon they closed the distance between their bodies, grinding on each other. It started out as light and playful, but soon the song changed and so did the rhythm and so did the playful look on their faces, turning serious and dirty and lustful.

Niall looked away, feeling uncomfortable watching his two friends nearly getting off like that.

Zayn came to the rescue, thankfully, calling out to the boys that it was nearly time to go soon, as it was storming outside and they wanted to leave before the roads were too icy.

Liam offered to let Niall and Harry stay the night at theirs, though, to which Harry answered yes immediately. And then Niall said yes, too, so he could keep an eye on his younger roommate. Besides, he quite liked his new friends.

It took Liam nearly 40 minutes to get them back to the flat, a trip that usually would only take 10 to 15. You could hardly see anything, with the snow coming down so fast, and Niall had a feeling they’d be snowed in soon.

By the time they walked into the flat, Zayn had had to blurt out random facts four or five times to stop Louis and Harry from almost kissing, Liam was giving his soulmate stern looks, all whilst Niall was praying that his friends wouldn’t end up shagging that night.

But if the look Harry was giving Louis was anything to go by, he was fucked. Literally.

Chapter Text

“Do you think that they’re going to fuck?” Niall blurted out of nowhere, breaking the comfortable quiet resonating over the flat.

He was laying upside down on Louis and Zayn’s loveseat, staring absently at the ceiling while his brain formed approximately one million thoughts per bloody second. And it wasn’t like he understood why he was overthinking either- Niall was probably the most carefree person in the entire world, honestly, and though he had always cared a lot about his family and his friends, he never really worried about things the way that he was worrying right now.

And what for? Because a couple of intoxicated friends decided to share a bed tonight?

Well, maybe he could blame his sudden anxiety on the fact that this was Harry he was talking about. Harry, who was his roommate, his very best friend, the closest thing to family that he had here. Harry, who likes keeping freshly cut flowers in the flat and cooks healthy meals for him and does all the washing without even being asked to and lets Niall cry to him when he is homesick and is secretly afraid of the dark.  He could blame his overstimulated brain and his heightened anxiety on the fact that this was his person we were talking about, and Harry was sensitive sometimes, and so Niall felt the overwhelming urge to care for and protect the boy- because he was too innocent and pure to know how to protect himself.

Except, that wasn’t really the case at all, if he was being serious.

Because, really, Harry was pure and was Niall’s person, that much was true, and he could be a bit sensitive at times, yeah. But one thing Harry Styles can do is hold his own.

He might be afraid of the dark, but he wasn’t afraid to travel all around those different countries on his own. He might be innocent and pure, but he was also the lad who spent a week behind bars for holding his ground at a protest even after the police came on the scene. Harry was the person who dropped his absolute favourite elective because his professor was a giant homophobe, and he was the person who confidently volunteered to pose in the nude for the art students to draw. And one time- at a charity footie match that Niall and Harry decided to join together (even though Harry is shit at footie)- he pantsed the guy that had tripped Niall and that caused him to sprain his ankle earlier that night.

Harry Styles was a lot of things, that was true, but if one thing was for certain- he wasn’t weak.  He may seem small or frail sometimes, but whether Harry believed it or not, that just wasn’t the case. He was a big boy; He wasn’t in need of someone to take care of him, and Niall knew that better than anyone. Which is exactly why Niall had never felt the need to worry about the lad.

So why did he now?

He just stared up at the textured ceiling, silently trying to will the very air above him to stop his worrying, or at least give him an answer as to why he was worrying over something so simple. The ceiling didn’t give him a response, but Liam did.

“Well, if they do, Nialler, it would really be none of our business, now would it?”

Zayn- who was sprawled out on the larger couch across the room playing some game on his phone- groaned loudly at his boyfriend, the foot splayed over the armrest twitching slightly in displeasure. “That’s bullocks, Li, and you know it.”

Niall nodded his head, agreeing with Zayn whole heartedly, but Liam wasn’t having it.

“How?” the brown-haired boy asked, eerily calm as he flipped through channels on the telly, not bothering to look up at either of the other boys.

Zayn scoffed, “How?”

But Liam didn’t miss a beat.

“How, Zaynie, are the things that our mates do with each other’s cocks any of our bloody business?”

It was still for a moment. Niall’s eyes were wide from the bluntness of the seemingly gentle boy’s blunt words, and Zayn was still playing on his phone but he had a noticeable eye twitch going on. The sudden change of the tube channels and the occasional, muffled sound of Louis and Harry giggling from the bedroom were the only noticeable sounds in the home, and nobody was sure if that made the conversation better or worse.

“They live with us, Liam,” Niall said suddenly, his voice low and gentle yet still somehow defensive. “That is plenty reason for it to be our business too, innit?”

Ah, but it seemed like Liam was expecting that answer, because Niall’s sentence was followed by an immediate dry laugh.

“I’ve been shagging Zayn for months now, and Louis lives with us. But, he doesn’t know when or where or how many times a day we fuck. He doesn’t know our kinks or what positions we do it in, not unless we make it known. And I don’t think I remember a time where he has ever asked us about it, either, not in a serious way. Not even when he sees us leave the bathroom together or hears us in the bedroom the night before. Why? Because he very well knows that it’s none of his business.”

Liam gave up his television search instead wandering off into the hallway to grab some spare pillows and blankets from the linen closet for Niall. He returned to the living room with them, handing them to the blonde (actually, kind of mustered yellow) haired lad before walking over to the larger couch where Zayn laid and offering out a hand to pull him up. Zayn stared at it for a moment before sighing, taking it and being pulled up so he was standing, looking his favourite person in the eyes.

“That’s different, love,” he mumbled softly. “We are soulmates.”

It’s meant to be a logical statement, one to throw Liam off just a bit and to get him to understand how absolutely dangerous this arrangement could be if one of their friends were to fall for the other. Liam was the king of logical, really. He was the always the one to keep a level head, always the one to worry about the right things and not overthink about the wrong ones. He was the kind of person who did their homework early so he had the weekend free, who went to the gym every morning to wake himself up and start his day healthy, the kind of person who thought things through before making big decisions, because that’s just who he was. He was logical.

But Liam wasn’t being logical at the moment- not when it came to Louis. Because, well, Louis Tomlinson has had enough heartbreak from logical explanations and reasoning, he doesn’t need any more. So Liam promised himself that he would be something- someone- just a little more spontaneous for Lou. Someone who believed in a little more luck, in a little bit of magic. He may not have been very logical for his friend, but he was being very hopeful for the lad.

So he just smiled at the gorgeous man stood in front of him that he loves so very dearly, and he smiled at the blanket clad bundle of Irishman curled up on the cozy little loveseat. And he lets his guard all the way down and he says fuck it all to logic and completely tosses it aside, throwing it out the window and letting it fall all the stories down and pummel impossibly fast onto the pavement below as his voice gets heartbreakingly soft as he gently hums and says:

“And who are we to say that they aren’t proper soulmates?”

And just like that, Liam Payne is off to bed.

Just like that, Zayn Malik is out in the balcony, feeling much too sober to just have spent a night out at the bar, chain smoking until his lips are blue and his fingers are numb from the winter cold.

And Niall Horan? He’s in the middle of it all, still staring blankly at that damned ceiling and wondering if he should allow himself to think that Liam could be right, or if he was going to be the very reason that Harry Styles crashes and burns.

***

Roses are his cheeks

His eyes are very green

He has the smoothest, milkiest skin that I’ve seen.

His voice is so slow

His thighs are so thick

He’s got a small arse but probably has a big-

Louis was tipsy, okay? He’s tipsy and giggly and warm and happy and also maybe probably going a little bit crazy, just a little bit. Because Harry Styles had danced on him tonight. And not just a playful dance, either.

He hadn’t meant for things to get that out of hand, he really hadn’t. He was just playing around, swaying his hips to that party song he’d known since primary school. And of course he was feeling a bit lovey, as he usually did when he was drinking, and so he really could blame the alcohol on him pulling harry just a tiny bit closer, just so their torso’s were aligned.

 The height difference and the way their hips were moving in sync had Harry’s thigh deliciously brushing up against Louis’ groin every other second. The friction was good, really good, and the way Harry was looking down- directly into Louis’ eyes- with his hair a tangled mess and his forehead all sweaty and his face flushed pink was even better.

Louis didn’t notice the way that his cock was filling up until it was literally throbbing, twitching uncomfortably in his skin-tight jeans. He was buzzed, yeah, but not nearly drunk enough to not be embarrassed about his sexual desires, so he blushed and broke eye contact with Harry. He was going to pull away, he was going to go back to the table and sit with Niall and he was going to order a stronger drink to chase away his humiliation. And then maybe later he would go home and maybe sext hot Luke, the one in the open soulmate relationship, and have a wank or two or three or however many it took to get that image of Harry dancing on him out of his mind.

But Harry had other ideas.

When Louis went to pull away Harry pulled closer, grinding his hips harder against the older lad, causing a much too needy whimper to escape Louis’ lips. It was only when he was ready to actually pass away from humiliation that Louis noticed the very hard thing of Harry’s pressing up against his stomach. The very big, very hard thing.

He could have came in his pants right then and there.

But he didn’t, because what the fuck was going on in Harry’s brain right now? Wasn’t he like, supposed to be saving himself for his soulmate or something? What if he was too drunk to know what he wanted, to know any better?

“Hazza,” he had said, barely gasping it out as the younger boy grinded up against him perfectly. “H, y-you’re drunk.”  

But Harry kept right on grinding on him, biting down on that plump, pink lower lip of his as he looked down at Louis, trying (and failing) to stop the husky little whimpers and breathy moans escaping his lips.

“Harry, babe-“ Louis had pleaded once again. He was slowly losing his will to fight, the idea of pulling the younger lad closer closer closer seemed to be much more realistic.

“Lou,” Harry gasped into the older boy’s ear and oh dear god, he was going to be the death of Louis. “M’not that drunk, Lou. We had the same amount to drink and I’m bigger than you. I know what I’m doing just- fuck, please don’t stop.”

It took a moment for Louis to realize that Harry said he wanted it.

He wanted to be this way, to be this close with Louis.

He liked Louis.

And fuck, did that hit Louis like a ton of bricks. Harry was here, grinding on him, moaning his name, begging him not to stop the friction because he liked him. He liked Louis. And Louis really, really liked Harry.

So he didn’t stop. He didn’t stop and neither did Harry, and soon their bodies were melded so close together you couldn’t really tell where one ended and the other began. And it didn’t feel wrong, in fact in that moment nothing felt wrong. It didn’t feel like Harry was taken or like Louis was soulmateless or like Niall was giving them worried looks from across the room, it just felt good. It felt right. It felt like there was nobody there but them, like nothing in the world mattered but Louis and Harry and LouisandHarry.

Louis was about ready to lead Harry off into the bathroom, and Harry was about to let Louis take him there, when their friends announced that they were ready to go home. Luckily for both of them, Liam offered for Harry and Niall to stay the night, to which Harry immediately obliged.

The ride home took much too long, due to the fact that it started snowing and the roads were icy. It was sobering, really, and Louis’ sexual frustration started to be replaced by nerves and anxiety. He was suddenly very worried about Harry, about Harry’s soulmate, about him ruining Harry’s soon to be relationship with his soulmate. He was afraid that he was taking advantage of the lad’s tipsy mindset, taking advantage of the fact that he was young and horny and single for now, forcing the younger lad to make decisions that he did not want to make.

But when he looked at Harry next to him, all he saw was the younger lad staring back at him, his gaze flicking from Louis’ own eyes down to his lips, and back up again. He would smirk at Louis, and his hand would somehow end up on the older boy’s upper thigh, his fingers tracing tiny circles that made Louis squirm and giggle. Sometimes, if he stared long enough, he subconsciously would start to lean into it, the space between the two getting smaller and smaller until one of their other mates would laugh or cough or say something and it would snap the lads back to reality.

When they had finally got to the flat, Harry all but ran to Louis’ bedroom while Louis bid the other three boys goodnight, making a quick excuse as to why him and H are sharing a bed when there are 2 perfectly good couches before practically running into the room himself, slamming and locking the door behind him.

Which lead up to now, where a very tipsy, very happy Louis was ogling at a very tall, very gorgeous, nearly naked Harry. In the time it took Louis to get to the bedroom, Harry had managed to strip to only his pants, which were tight, black and hanging obscenely low on his hips. Louis gulped loudly, his body begging for air that his mind just couldn’t remember to give, and forced his eyes away from the adonis that was, for the second time this month, standing on the other side of his bed.

“Ready for bed, Haz?” Louis murmured, his words barely understandable because his throat was so thick and hoarse. He pulled his shirt off and threw on an old, holey set of joggers before pulling back the duvet and crawling into bed.

Harry said nothing, just crawled into bed from the other side, scooting in closer and closer until his thigh was pressed up against Louis’. The room was quiet for a while, and Louis was starting to think that Harry fell asleep when the younger lad finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

“So you like me.”

Louis sighed shakily, opening his eyes and looking straight up at the ceiling. “So, I do.”

Silence.

“I like you,” Harry said after a while, almost thoughtfully. He turned onto his side to face Louis.

“You shouldn’t.”

“But I do.”

“But you shouldn’t,” Louis said again firmly yet somehow still gently, turning onto his side and finally looking at Harry. Their bodies were aligned perfectly, only centimeters apart, and their noses were almost brushing now.

“But I do,” Harry said again, stern this time. He was looking directly into Louis eyes, and as much as the older boy tried to find hesitation, there was none.

“You can’t, H,” Louis sounded defeated. “We can’t. You have a soulmate!” He poked Harry in the shoulder, as if that would help him prove his point. But Harry just grinned, a big goofy, beautiful grin, and shook his head.

“Not yet I don’t.”

Louis groaned, flopping back down onto his back and waving his hands in the air exaggeratedly. “But. You. WILL,” He drew out, causing Harry to giggle.

“So will YOU,” Harry said seriously. “You just don’t have one yet. And since you don’t have one yet, you haven’t had a problem fooling around with other people, correct?”

Another sigh. “Harry, you’re-“

“don’t you dare say I’m drunk. I’m not. I promise. Just answer the question.”

Silence, then-

“Correct,” Louis said. “But that’s different, H. I don’t know that I have a soulmate, you know that.”

“I do,” he nodded in agreement. “But you also don’t know that you don’t, not really. So I don’t see how this is any different.”

Louis let out a single syllable Laugh, nearly a scoff. “It is.”

“It isn’t.” Suddenly Harry was climbing onto Louis’ lap, straddling him and looking directly into his eyes. “Look, you and I both know that you can’t truly, actually fall in love with anyone but your soulmate. And we also both know that nobody wait’s till they find their soulmate to have sex anymore. So…”

“So..?”

Harry grabbed Louis behind the neck and pulled himself down, brushing his lips against the shell of the older boy’s ear. “So, teach me.”

Now Louis was confused. “Teach you what?” He pulled back a little to look into those big green eyes, which were currently being rolled at him. Rude.

“You’ve slept with a few different people. I haven’t, you know, done things with anyone. You know what you’re doing, we obviously like each other and- if I’m honest - I don’t even know how to suck dick and yet I’ve still wanted yours in my mouth since you walked into the pub tonight. So, teach me. The sexy stuff. Show me how.”

“Teach you?” Louis choked out, and god, how could he say no to that?

“Teach me,” The boy on top of him murmured, and then his lips were on Louis’.

And Louis just- he’s kissed, like, a lot of people. He’s kissed inexperienced people, very experienced people, people older than him and people younger than him, He’s kissed people from different countries and different religions and different ethnicities. He’s kissed people he dated and people he merely fucked, even some people who he just danced on a bit. He’s kissed friends, and somewhat- partners, and even a few strangers. But he has never, ever had a kiss feel like this one.

It was like Harry’s lips were made to be on his, the pair slotting together softly at first, then rougher, fitting together perfectly as if they truly belonged. And as unexperienced Harry claimed to be, he knew exactly how to move with Louis, almost as if they were sharing a brain. And, shit, Louis felt tingly- that was new. It was as if there was electricity jolting though his body, but it felt good, so good. It felt right.

Harry had a hand on Louis’ cheek, the other hand still wrapped around the back of Louis’ neck, pushing them impossibly closer together. His tongue jutted out, ever so softly licking Louis’ bottom lip, asking for permission. Louis’ body responded before his mind did, opening his mouth and granting Harry access. Harry’s tongue licked into his mouth so smoothly, clashing against his own so sensually that it all but forced a moan out of Louis’. There was no way he hadn’t done this before.

Louis pulled back slightly so their lips were just barely brushing. “You’ve kissed before.”

A surprised laugh bubbled through Harry’s lips, which vibrated Louis’ ever so slightly. “Of course I’ve kissed before, you twit. Just not much else.”

He wasted no time in pressing his lips back to Louis’, his tongue pressing back into the older boy’s mouth and battling him for dominance. Louis felt his cock get heavier as Harry licked into him, his hips slowly starting to rock in rhythm with the movement of their mouths. Harry definitely noticed Louis hardening beneath him, whimpering a little into Louis’ mouth and rocking down on him harder.

Louis let his hands travel up Harry’s back, eventually landing in his hair on the nape of his neck. Experimentally he pulled, and just like he was hoping, Harry moaned, all raspy and deep and so, so pretty. He smirked into the kiss, lowering his hands again to sit on Harry’s bum. Then, he flipped.

Harry landed on the bed with a surprise gasp, successfully letting Louis- who was now towering over him right between his spread legs- to lick into his mouth. Harry’s underwear was painfully tight, his cock straining up against the thin fabric, and he subconsciously thrusted up, looking for friction. He whined into Louis’ mouth when he found none, Louis sitting too far up for their torsos to meet.

“Lou, Please,” Harry whined, his hand moving down and slipping into his own boxers. Almost immediately, Louis grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand out of the boxers and away from his cock, which was already leaking precome through the fabric of his pants. Harry whimpered harder at the motion, his eyes watery and looking close to tears. “N-need to be touched. Please,” he pinned on again, begging.

“Shh,” Louis hushed him gently. “You’re okay, darling, let me take care of you, yeah?” He pulled back a little bit more, bringing a hand to Harry’s face and stroking his cheek gently with his thumb.

 The younger boy nodded frantically, his hair splaying out against the pillow beneath him. He looked beautiful like this, Louis thought, with his lips all swollen red and his watery eyes and flushed cheeks. He really wouldn’t mind seeing the lad like this more often.

He started peppering kisses on Harry’s cheeks, on his jaw, down his neck as his hands wandered down to the elastic waistband of his boxers. He slipped his thumbs under the band, teasing the skin there with small, gentle circles, causing Harry to buck up and Louis to pin him down again. He sucked and nibbled at the spot below the green-eyed boy’s ear, causing him to absolutely keen, his legs starting to shake. Louis chuckled lightly at the lad’s enthusiasm, but honestly, he wasn’t much better, nearly coming in his joggers just from teasing the beautiful boy beneath him.

“Can I take these off?” He asked snapping the band of Harry’s boxers and causing the boy to moan yet again. Did he sense a bit of a pain kink?

Harry mumbled out a barely coherent affirmation, lifting his hips excitedly so Louis could tug the pants down. Louis pulled them off slowly, Harry’s cock springing up and lightly slapping up against his stomach, all read and heavy and leaking. It was big, bigger than what Louis even thought it would be, and suddenly all he wanted to do was wrap his lips around it. He wouldn’t, though, not yet. Both boys were so close already after all the dancing and grinding earlier that night, and he wanted his first blowjob with Harry to be long and memorable.

Instead, he pulled off, getting completely off of the bed and leaving Harry very confused and looking suspiciously close to crying. Before he had a chance to, though, Louis was tugging off his own joggers and pants, taking his own member in his hand and stroking it a couple times, sighing in relief at the contact. Harry’s eyes widened and suddenly he was sitting up, looking very nervous.

“Are we…” he started to ask, trailing off as his eyes trailed down Louis’ body, his cock visibly twitching against him.

“Shagging?” Louis asked. Harry nodded. “No, not tonight. Is that okay?”

Harry let out a breath, his shoulders relaxing a little as he started to lay back down, nodding again. Louis climbed back onto the bed, straddling Harry once again.

Before Harry could question what Louis was doing, the older boy started grinding down on him, their cocks rubbing together instantly causing them both to gasp. Louis placed his hands on Harry’s hips, pushing them up towards him as he rolled his hips down to meet the movement. Harry’s hand’s intertwined behind Louis’ neck, his hips eventually moving on their own accord, rolling upward to meet Louis’ downward thrusts. Louis pulled him closer so their torsos were pressed together, not an inch of space between them.

“That’s it, H,” Louis praised, gasping at the heavenly friction between them. “You’re doing so well, love. F-feels so fucking good.”

“S-s-so G-good, Lou,” Harry repeated back, his breath coming out in shallow pants. His eyes were clenched shut, his lips permanently parted open. His legs were shaking more and more, too, and Louis knew he was close. “Almost- Ahh! N-need more, please, more,” he begged between raspy groans.

Louis couldn’t agree more.

He reached between them, wrapping his hand around both of their cocks and moving up and down, wanking them both at the same time. Harry let out a gasp, burying his face in the crook of Louis neck as a strangled sob left his lip, his entire body shaking. A couple more strokes and he was through, coming in streaks between his and Louis’ body, the older boy’s name falling from his lips over and over again.

Harry’s pretty cries and the way his cum lubed up Louis’ cock sent the older boy over the edge just seconds later, pressing his soft moans into Harry’s skin. They both fell back onto the bed, panting as the finally separated with cum smeared across both of their torsos.

“That was-“ Harry gasped out minutes later, sounding totally wrecked.

 Louis was proud that he caused that. He couldn’t help it.

“Yeah,” he responded, honestly sounding just as bad, if not worse, than Harry.

There was a pause, before Harry said, “We still friends?”

Louis let out a breathy laugh, his hand reaching blindly to grab Harry’s. “Yeah, we’re still friends.”

He could hear Harry’s smirk. “Told you it would be fine.”

“Yeah, yeah, come off it.” He said back, but he was smiling too. “Now let me go get a flannel, we’re both a mess.”

Harry groaned, pulling at his hand. “Don’t go. Please? Don’t want you to leave.”

And of course, Louis couldn’t tell him no. So Louis and Harry wiped down with Louis’ soiled shirt, and they crawled under the duvet and they fell asleep.

And if they woke up with their legs tangled and missed drops of cum dried on their chests, that was nobody’s business but theirs, now was it?

Chapter Text

March 6^th, 2017

Breathe in.

Step. Step. Step.

Breathe Out. Step. Step. Step.

In, step, step, step.

Out, step, step, step.

Harry focused on his breathing as he walked closer and closer to the hospital.  The rain was starting to let up a bit, what once was a downpour now a light trickle. He watched the raindrops gently splatter against the pavement; he watched the wet soles of his shoes leave footprints with each step. He looked everywhere except up, avoiding the dreaded building in front of him.

He knew that if he looked, he wouldn’t enter, but turn around and go home. And that was something he just couldn’t do, no matter how bad he wanted to.

Harry had to be there for Gemma- and, more importantly, for Robin.

The sound of the automatic doors opening caused his head to snap up, his nose being hit with the pungent smell of disinfectant. His eyes glazed over as he adjusted to the lighting, the white tiled flooring and white walls a stark contrast to the cloudy, gray sunless sky. He took notice of the way his footsteps were leaving mud tracings, but shrugged it off, knowing a cleaner would be through with a mop any moment now. He had this place down to a science- after spending so much time here, he knew the daily functions like the back of his hand.

The front desk in the main waiting room was empty, as it usually was this early on weekday mornings. Everyone else should be just waking up, maybe getting ready for school or heading off to their jobs. Harry had always been an early riser; he always found solace in waking up before the sun. He would jog down the street to his local park, sitting on a blanket on the grass drinking the thermos of tea his mum had always packed him whilst watching the sun come up. What used to be his favourite part of the day was now the part he hated the most.

The receptionist at the desk was rambling to Taylor, Harry’s favourite nurse and closest thing to a friend at the hospital. Her body relaxed slightly as Harry caught her eye, and she sent him a large, lipstick covered smile, which he returned with a small smile and nod of his head.

“- It is a promiscuous colour and will upset all of your patients, Taylor! You’re a very smart girl, you of all people should know that lipstick violates the work dress code!”

“I’m sorry Margaret, but I’ve read the dress code very thoroughly and I haven’t found anything against my lip-“

“Good morning, Margie!” Harry feigned cheerfulness, taking it as a good time to interrupt their conversation. He looked from the receptionist to his friend, sending her a reassuring smile. “Alright, Tay?” he asked, and she gave him a grateful nod, lowering her head to cover her blush.

“Harry!” Margaret said happily, beaming at the young lad and dropping her previous conversation. “Here for a visit? Let me get you a pass.”

Harry nodded at the older woman, sending her a small thank you as she began to write up a visitor’s pass for him. He and Taylor watched as the woman scribbled ICU at the bottom of the slip before handing it to him. Before she could say anything else, Taylor cleared her throat.

“I’m heading that way too. I’ll walk with you,” she said, patting Harry’s shoulder twice before walking ahead of him, motioning for him to follow even though he’s been there dozens of times.

They walked throughout the main floor, past x-rays and labs and around a corner to the elevators, where they stopped. Taylor pressed the button and then put her hands behind her back, rocking back and forth on her heels and looking straight ahead. Harry looked straight ahead too.

“Thanks for saving me from Margie,” she murmured, still staring straight ahead.

Harry shrugged, not looking at her either. “It was nothing. You know she’s a bit old fashioned, just ignore it.”

Taylor rolled her eyes. “Old fashioned is an understatement. Last week she criticized my American slang words. This week it’s my lipstick. I can’t imagine what it’ll be like if she finds out that I have a girlfriend.” She laughed lightly, finally sparing Harry a glance. He said nothing, just smiled tightly and gave a small nod in acknowledgement.

The elevator doors opened with a ding. Taylor peeked in, making sure it was empty, before walking in, grabbing Harry (who was lost in thought) by the arm and pulling him inside with her. She pressed the button that closes the doors so nobody else would get in, and instead. Of pushing the button that leads to the 4^thfloor, she pressed the hold button. She looked at Harry expectantly.

He blinked.

Taylor let out a frustrated grunt, smacking her forehead lightly with the palm of her hand. “Okay, what is wrong with you?” she said, her voice getting higher throughout the question.

“What do you even mean?” Harry asked in response, a scandalized hand on his chest.

“What do you mean what do I mean? What I just said!”

“I’m confused,” Harry groaned, sliding down the side of the elevator to sit on the floor, placing his head on his knees. Taylor sighed.

“I mean you’re acting… normal?” She said, sitting next to him.

“Okay?”

Another sigh. “Too normal, Harry. Today is a hard day, and we all know it. Nobody expects you to pretend to be fine, nobody needs you to act tough today. Not me or any of the nurses, not Dr.Flack, not Gemma and not Robin either. We are all here for you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

It was quiet for a moment after that. Harry’s eyes started to water on their own accord, and he stared at his lap, fiddling with his thumbs and refusing to blink to avoid letting the tears spill over. Taylor got up to release the hold on the elevator, assuming that this conversation was now over. Before she pressed down on the button, though, Harry spoke again.

“I found mum completely pissed this morning. Fully clothed in the full bathtub, shaking from how cold the water was. I don’t know how long she was sat in there,” he let out a wet laugh, shaking his head and still staring at his hands. “Gemma wasn’t home, she’s probably already here, so I had to care for mum. And, like, the whole time I was, all I kept thinking was how angry I was at her- for not being the adult, for not coming to visit her husband, for making Gems and I do this alone.”

“Oh, Harry,” Taylor said softly, bending down to take his hand in hers and squeeze it.

He just shook his head, finally looking up at her. The tears were going down his cheeks now, flowing effortlessly as he tried to take deep, even breaths.

“But when I left, I realized it wasn’t her I was mad at- It was me. My mother is losing a husband, and I am losing her in the process, along the closest thing to a father I have ever had. And it is all on me, Tay. I did this to him.”

------

“Chiquitita, you and I know

How the heartaches come and they go and the scars, they’re leaving.

You’ll be dancing once again and the pain will end, you will have no time for grieving.”

Harry sang along to ABBA, his record player sat on the dining room table. He was at the hob, flipping enough pancakes to feed an army with furious, hot tears trekking down his face. It had been a very, very bad day, and all he wanted to do was cry, sing, and eat so much sugar that his brain would turn to mush so he could forget.

“Chiquitita, you and I cry

But the sun is still in the sky and shining above you,” Harry belted out as he plated some pancakes and poured some more batter down in their place. He heard the sound of the front door shutting over his music.

“Let me hear you sing once more like you did before, sing a new song Chiquitita,” A loud, playful voice carried over the music. Harry didn’t bother looking up from his pancakes as Robin entered the kitchen.

“Try once more like you did before, sing a new song Chiquitita!” They sang together, repeating it once more as the song ended. Robin gently lifted the stylus from the vinyl, stopping the music before he turned the machine off.

“Bad day?” He asked, sitting down at the table and loosening his tie.

 Harry took the final pancakes off the hob, turning it off and putting the fresh ones neatly on the top of his stack.

“How’d you guess?” He asked as he took out two plates and two forks, gently placing four pancakes on each plate. He walked to the table, setting one plate down in front of Robin and handing him a fork and then setting his own plate down, turning to go grab the maple syrup and the strawberries he had cut up beforehand.

“Vengeance pancakes,” Robin responded as if it was obvious. He pushed his fork into the fluffy stack, cutting off a piece of pancake and showing it into his mouth, chewing slowly. “Yup. Tastes like teen angst.”

“Sorry,” Harry murmured, sitting down at his own plate.

“Nonsense,” Robin laughed. “Nothing a little syrup can’t fix. Now, tell me what’s wrong.”

Harry proceeded to tell Robin about his horrible day at school. He had been seeing this girl, Kendall, for a while now. She was very popular and all the other boys thought she was pretty and dating her was supposed to make Harry happy, but it just didn’t. He just wasn’t into her the way the other lads were. He thought that maybe it was because he refused to have sex with her. So this morning, when he picked her up for school and she once again tried to come onto him before class, he didn’t stop her. He thought maybe having sex with the girl would solidify his feelings for her.

But- it didn’t. If anything it just made him more confused, and made things worse in general. Because no matter how much she kissed him or how hard she grinded down on him- he just wasn’t into it. He couldn’t even get hard, let alone reciprocate her actions. His lack of boner must have really made her angry, because she scrambled off of him, calling him a freak and telling him that she would make sure nobody would ever date him again.

He apologized profusely to her, explaining that he’d never- you know, done things- with anyone before and that he was new at this, but it didn’t matter. As if his body not responding didn’t humiliate him enough, Kendall just had to go and tell the whole school that he was a tiny, limp-dicked virgin freak who didn’t know a pretty girl when he saw one. He spent the entire day getting bullied at school, some people going as far as to shove nasty notes in his locker or ‘accidentally’ spill food on him on their lunch break.

“Sounds like a bunch of dickhead teenagers to me,” Robin said gently, causing Harry to laugh a little. “But Harry, do you think that maybe she had a point there?”

“About what?” Harry scoffed. “Me having a small cock? Or, me being a freak because I’m almost 18 and still haven’t had sex?” He let his head drop to the table with a thud, groaning lightly in frustration.

“Enough of that,” Robin said sternly, placing his hand on Harry’s arm, hoping to get him to look up. He did. “I mean- I meant the part about not knowing a pretty girl when you saw one.”

Now Harry was confused again. “But I DO know a pretty girl when I see one. I think Kendall is pretty, and I think Gemma’s boss at the nursery is pretty, and the guest teacher we had the other day, and Jennifer Aniston. I just, I don’t know. I don’t want to sleep with any of them.”

“And that’s perfectly acceptable, Harry. But why?”

“Why?”

“Why don’t you want to sleep with any of them?” Robin asked, smiling gently.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Because vaginas are gross, Robin!” He said immediately, not thinking about it. Wasn’t it obvious?

Robin full on grinned now, knowingly. Harry looked at him, confused for a moment before it hit him. His eyes widened, a blush tinting his cheeks bright pink as he looked into his stepfather’s eyes.

“I couldn’t sleep with her because I- I think vaginas are gross. I don’t like them.”

Robin patted his arm softly. “You don’t like them. That’s okay, H. Do you like men? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Harry blushed impossibly darker. “I- I don’t know? Maybe? I think I might have a thing for David Beckham… am I gay?”

“Do you think you are gay?”

“I-I don’t know. Maybe? Or maybe I’m bi or pan? I, um, I have thought about it for a while actually, and I don’t think I am straight, but I’m not sure what I am either…”

“You don’t have to have a label, Harry. It’s okay to explore a bit while you figure it out, and it’s okay if you never do figure it out, or if you do and still decide not to label. You don’t owe anyone an explanation for your sexuality, because it’s really nobody’s business but your own. You don’t have to explain to anyone you don’t want to. Not me, or Kendall, or your sister or the lads, not anyone. Just be you, okay? Be proud of who you are.”  Robin stood up, coming around the table to pull Harry into a hug.

Harry closed his eyes as Robin squeezed him tightly. He felt like a weight was off his shoulders, one he didn’t even know was there. Robin knew him better than anyone, besides maybe Gemma. He was kind and smart and always there when Harry needed him. He was genuinely the father Harry always wished he had.

“Thank you,” Harry murmured into the older man’s embrace. “Love you, best stepdad ever.”

“Love you too,” Robin laughed lightly, pulling Harry back by the shoulders to look into his eyes. “Be sure to tell your mum that last bit though, when we get back.”

“Back? From where?” Harry asked as Robin let go of him, heading towards the front door once again. He stopped and turned toward the younger boy, winking at him before grinning.

“We can’t have vengeance pancakes and deep conversation for dinner without having celebration ice cream for dessert!”

---------

Harry woke up to a hand on his shoulder.  He jumped a bit, startled, before he realized where he was, the way-too-clean, way too white ICU lobby bringing him back to reality.

He and Taylor walked in together after their serious talk in the elevator. It was awkward, as neither of them really knew what to say after Harry’s little confession/breakdown, and Harry was grateful when she finally released the emergency break and allowed the elevator to move again.

When he got up to the ICU, he had expected to see Gemma curled up in her usual chair in the corner, the blanket she bought to keep behind the front desk draped over her whilst she read whatever book series she was into now or did some revising. She was always busy doing something, and no matter how early or how late she stayed there, she refused to sleep in the ICU. She always said that it gave her haunting memories.Harry didn’t understand what she meant by that then, but he most definitely does now, after his accidental nap.

She wasn’t in her corner chair, though, or any other chairs in the ICU lobby at all. Harry went to the front desk, asking if she had checked in yet, and she had just two hours before- but she had checked out again, just minutes before him and Taylor came out of the elevator.

Harry offered to run back downstairs to look for her, but Taylor refused to let that happen.

“I’m sure she just went to grab food for you guys,” Taylor had said. “I’ll go see if I can catch her. You, sit down and rest for a moment. Today is going to be a long day, you’re going to need it.”

With that she all but shoved him into a chair and raced past the elevators, going straight for the stairs.

Now, nearly 30 minutes later, she was waking Harry up- with no Gemma in tow.

“Tay,” Harry breathed, voice raspy with sleep. “Did you find her?” He looked around for his sister, hoping maybe she was talking to someone at the front desk or getting a drink from the vending machines or something. She wasn’t.

Taylor looked paler than usual, and a little clammy. Her red lispstick was wiped off already, though her lips were still stained pink from it. Her messy bun was disheveled, stray hairs sticking out everywhere.

She looked afraid.

“She, uh, she left, Harry.”

“She’s not here?”

Taylor shook her head.

“Oh. Okay. Well maybe she went to get food or something, or went to check on mum. Or maybe she was upset and went for a little drive. That’s alright, we can just start when she gets back, right?” Harry asked, trying to sound calm but talking faster than normal.

Taylor was looking anywhere but Harry’s eyes, her own blue eyes suddenly glossy and looking suspiciously teary. And that’s when Harry realized- there was something he wasn’t being told. There was something he was missing.

He started to get frustrated at the girl in front of him, and he moved to stand up to go look for his sister himself. But before he could get anywhere, Taylor was pushing him to sit back down. She gulped loudly, finally willing herself to look into his angry, green eyes.

“Harry, she- it’s done. She’s gone. I’m so sorry-“

“What are you even talking about?” Harry cut her off. What did she mean, it’s done? She can’t mean-

“She did it, Harry. She did it by herself. I’m so sorry, I looked around the whole hospital for her and I only found out when one of the other nurses pulled me aside and-“

Taylor was still talking, but Harry wasn’t listening. She couldn’t have done it herself, she just couldn’t have. They were supposed to do this together, all three of them, and when mum backed out Harry and Gemma were supposed to still have each other. Gemma is a good sister, she is kind and caring and selfless and- she wouldn’t do this, not to him.

“No,” He whispered, mostly to himself, getting up despite Taylor’s protests. He shook his head at her - or at himself, he didn’t know – and started walking. He walked past the elevators, past the vending machines, past the front desk and through the double doors leading into the ICU. HE ignored the footsteps behind him, ignored the calls of Taylor and of the front desk nurse and of maybe possibly security, he couldn’t tell anymore. Nothing felt real.

He started to run.

He ran down the hall, taking a quick left, then a right and another, until he was in the small, quiet hallway he had been in so many times. His eyes got wetter and his vision got blurrier as he passed room numbers 114, 116, 118, 120. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t feel the tears tracing down his cheeks, couldn’t even think as he stopped at the room he had been in so many damn times- room 122. Footsteps were closing in on him now, but before they could stop him, before they could push him back or take him away or tell him not to, he pushed open the door.

And he found nothing.

There was no heart rate monitor, no beeping filling in the room. No oxygen tubes or catheters or blood pressure readers or any of the other machines he saw every day. The tv wasn’t on, playing some daytime talk show or the music that Gemma loved to leave on to make the room seem brighter. There were no flowers or smiley faces or tic tac toe games drawn on the whiteboard next to the bathroom.

The bed, the bed that Harry had spent hours, days, weeks next to, crying and telling stories and joking with Gemma and doing homework and reading and so, so much more- was empty. The bed that had held one of Harry’s favourite people, his father figure, his best friend- was now just crisp, white sheets and hospital pillows.

Gemma was gone. And so was Robin.

Harry’s world collapsed right then and there, and he crumpled onto the cruel, white hospital tiles. Someone caught him- Taylor, he presumed- but it wouldn’t have mattered if she did. Everything he knew was gone, everything he loved had been a lie.

“How could she do this?” He choked out. “How could she just- just- take him off life support, without me? How could she kill him without letting me say goodbye?”

“Harry,” Taylor said, but her voice was wavering. “Harry, you have to call you sister. You have to talk to her.”

“No,” Harry said immediately, voice dark. “No, she’s not my sister anymore. I’m never talking to her again.”

Little did he know, he would never have to. She was already gone.