Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The door shuts behind them with a soft click, but it might as well be a gunshot for how final it feels. The sound echoes in Louis’s head, reverberating through his bones.

The hotel room is dim, the curtains half-drawn, city lights flickering weakly through the gap.

The air inside feels thick—dense with something unspoken, something suffocating.

Louis stands frozen in the center of the room, his breath shallow, his fingers twitching at his sides. His heart is a hammer against his ribs, his pulse thrumming in his throat, he feels like he’s vibrating.

The words from the meeting still ring in his ears, a relentless loop he can’t escape.

A break.

Some time apart.

Space to figure things out.

It doesn’t feel real.

It feels like the floor’s been yanked out from under him, like he’s plummeting with no end in sight.

Harry moves first. He drops his bag by the door with a dull thud, like they’ve just come back from any other meeting, like their entire world hasn’t just shifted beneath their feet. Like everything isn’t crumbling.

Louis watches him, his chest tightening, his skin hot and prickling. He watches as Harry tugs off his rings, one by one, rolling them between his fingers before setting them carefully on the nightstand.

He watches as Harry nudges off his boots, the soft scrape of rubber against carpet deafening in the quiet room.

Every movement is normal. Casual.

Like this isn’t the worst fucking day of their lives.

Louis’s throat burns. His hands curl into fists.

“Are you—” His voice is hoarse, unsteady. He swallows hard, trying again. “Are you serious right now?”

Harry pauses, looking up mid-motion, his brows pull together slightly, confusion flickering across his face. “What?”

Louis gestures, wild and abrupt. “This.” His voice pitches higher, rawer. “You’re just—what? Kicking off your boots? Taking off your rings? Like it’s any other night?”

Harry exhales through his nose, straightening. There’s something unreadable in his eyes. “What do you want me to do, Lou?” His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it, something weary and careful, like he already knows where this is going.

Louis wants to scream. Wants to tear the room apart. Wants to shake Harry until he feels this the way Louis does.

Until he understands .

Instead, he just stands there, his chest heaving, his vision blurring at the edges.

Because Harry isn’t falling apart.

A breath shudders out of Louis, barely controlled. His voice is quiet, but there’s an edge to it, something sharp and dangerous. “That’s it, then?”

Harry pauses, hands still mid-motion of unbuttoning his shirt. “What?”

Louis exhales harshly, shaking his head. He paces to the window, pressing his hands against the glass, staring out at the city like it might give him answers.

“We just decided to put the band on hiatus,” he says, the word foreign and bitter on his tongue. “And you—” He turns around, gesturing vaguely toward Harry. “You’re acting like it’s just another night. Like this doesn’t fucking bother you.”

Harry sighs, rubbing at the back of his neck. “It’s not like that.”

Louis lets out a humorless laugh. “Then what is it like, Harry? Enlighten me.”

Harry meets his gaze, something unreadable in his expression. “I just… I don’t know. I’ve had time to process it.”

Louis barks out a laugh, but there’s nothing funny about this. “Oh, have you? Well, that’s fucking nice, innit?” He gestures wildly. “I’m glad you’ve had time to sit with it, to make your peace or whatever the fuck you’ve been doing while I—” He swallows hard, the words catching in his throat. “I have been trying to hold it together.”

Harry’s jaw tightens. “Don’t act like I don’t care.”

“You sure as hell don’t act like you do!” Louis fires back, stepping closer now, his pulse hammering in his ears. “You’re just standing there like this is fine. Like this isn’t the end of everything we’ve built for the last five years. How are you so fucking okay with this?”

Harry doesn’t answer right away. He just looks at Louis, and for a second, there’s something there—something raw and vulnerable—but then it’s gone, replaced by something more carefully controlled.

“I never said I was okay with it,” he says quietly.

Louis shakes his head, scoffing. “Right. Well, could’ve fooled me.”

The silence between them isn’t just silence. It’s thick, choking. It seeps into Louis’s skin, clings to his ribs like a weight he can’t shake.

Harry shifts, his body language careful, like he wants to say something but doesn’t know where to start.

Louis doesn’t give him the chance. He turns toward the window, arms wrapping around himself so tightly it almost hurts.

It’s not just anger simmering inside him.

It’s fear.

Raw, unrelenting, terrifying fear.

Because he doesn’t know who he is without this—without them.

And maybe that’s the difference. Maybe Harry already does.

Behind him, Harry moves through the room with an ease that makes Louis’s stomach twist. Like it’s any other night. Like nothing monumental just happened. Like they didn’t just sit in that stuffy conference room and watch their entire world slip through their fingers in real time.

Louis watches him through the reflection in the window. Watches as he kneels, unzipping his suitcase with steady hands. He pulls out sweatpants, then a t-shirt so familiar Louis feels like he might scream.

It’s old. Soft from years of washes. The faded logo barely visible now. Louis has seen him wear it a thousand times in hotels just like this, on nights just like this.

But this isn’t just another night.

Harry tosses the clothes onto the bed and disappears into the bathroom. The tap turns on, the steady splash of water filling the suffocating quiet.

A minute later, he reemerges, his hair damp, droplets catching on his jawline, sliding down the column of his throat.

Louis still doesn’t move.

Harry doesn’t hesitate as he tugs off his blouse, exposing smooth, familiar skin. His back flexes slightly as he pulls it over his head, muscles shifting beneath golden light. He tosses it onto the chair, reaches for his t-shirt, and slips it on without a second thought.

It’s so fucking normal.

Louis’s breathing turns uneven.

They just put the band on hiatus.

They just decided to step away from the only life they’ve known for years. And Harry—Harry is brushing his teeth. Pulling back the covers. Sliding into bed.

Like nothing happened.

Like nothing is ending .

Louis grips the edge of the dresser, nails digging into the wood. His pulse is a hammer in his throat, his stomach twisting itself into knots so tight he can barely breathe.

Harry settles against the pillows, scrolling through his phone, fingers moving in practiced, familiar motions.

Louis feels like he’s losing his mind.

Like he’s unraveling, thread by thread, while Harry isn’t.

On any other night, he would already be in bed beside him.

It would be effortless. Thoughtless. Like muscle memory. Like breathing.

He knows exactly how it would go.

Can feel it, like a phantom touch, like a dream he’s just barely woken up from.

On any other night, Louis would climb into bed, sliding under the covers like it was the most natural thing in the world. He’d turn to Harry, pressing close, fitting himself into the spaces he’s always belonged. Their legs would tangle, warm beneath the sheets. He would reach for him, fingers slipping beneath the hem of the t-shirt Harry just pulled on, skimming over familiar skin, tracing every dip and curve he knows by heart.

He would kiss him.

Soft at first, just a press of lips, a quiet hum passed between them. Then deeper, slower. Like they had all the time in the world.

He can see it so clearly it makes his chest ache.

He can feel it—Harry beneath him, warm and pliant, sighing into his mouth.

The way he’d let Louis push his shirt higher, pulling it over his head in one smooth motion, tossing it somewhere neither of them would care to find later. The way Harry would just let him —let him touch, let him take, let him have him the way he always does.

That’s how it should be.

That’s how it always is .

But not tonight.

Tonight, Louis stands a few feet away, frozen, his body heavy with the weight of everything he wants but can’t have .

His skin burns with the ghost of a touch that never lands. His fingers twitch with the need to reach , to fix it , to make it normal —to make it right .

But nothing about this is right.

Nothing about this feels real .

Because tonight, Harry doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t reach back. Doesn’t turn toward him, eyes warm and waiting. He just lies there, scrolling through his phone, acting like Louis isn’t standing in the middle of the room, unraveling.

Acting like they aren’t worlds apart.

Like Louis isn’t aching.

Like this isn’t the first night in years that he doesn’t want to crawl into bed beside him—because he does . God, he does . More than anything.

It just doesn’t feel like his place tonight.

And Louis doesn’t know what the fuck to do about it.

His fingers curl into fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms. His chest is too tight, his pulse hammering so hard it makes him dizzy. The silence is unbearable—pressing in, suffocating.

“How long?” His voice cuts through the quiet, sharp and raw, a blade between them.

Harry blinks, looking up from his phone, eyes unfocused like he wasn’t expecting Louis to speak. “What?”

Louis takes a step closer, jaw clenched so tight it aches. “How long have you known this was happening?”

Harry exhales, setting his phone down on the nightstand like he’s preparing for something. “We’ve all known for a while, Lou.”

Louis lets out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. “Right. We’ve all known. ” He looks at Harry then, eyes burning. “So how many times did you lot sit around and talk about it without me?”

Harry’s brows furrow. “That’s not—”

“Just tell me, Harry,” Louis snaps, stepping even closer, his voice trembling with the weight of it all.

“Did you and the boys have talks about this before? Without me?”

Harry opens his mouth, then closes it. His throat bobs as he swallows.

And that’s all the answer Louis needs.

A sharp, humorless laugh bursts out of him as he drags a hand through his hair, his breath coming fast. “Fucking hell.” He paces for a second, trying— failing —to keep the rage in check. “I knew it. I fucking knew it.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Harry says, quieter now, like he’s trying to soothe him. Like it will work.

Louis spins around, eyes blazing. “Then what was it like, Harry?”

Harry sighs, sitting up straighter, his fingers digging into the sheets. “It wasn’t some big conspiracy against you, alright? We were just… talking. Trying to figure things out.”

“We?” Louis scoffs, his voice going sharp. “Who’s we? You, Liam, Niall?” He gestures wildly. “ Management? Everyone but me?”

“That’s not fair.”

Louis barks out another sharp laugh. “Oh, that’s not fair? No, what’s not fucking fair is you sitting there all calm like this isn’t— everything. ” His voice catches, raw and desperate. “Like I don’t even get a say.”

Harry scrubs a hand over his face, sighing like he’s exhausted. Like this is hard for him. “You did have a say.”

Louis nearly chokes on it. “ Did I? ” His voice is louder now, breaking at the edges. “Because it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it.”

Harry’s face crumples. “Louis.”

“Because I sure as fuck don’t feel like I did.” Louis lets out a broken laugh, shaking his head. “You sat there in that meeting, agreeing, nodding along, while I—” He presses a hand against his chest like he’s trying to hold himself together. “I was drowning, Harry. I was begging someone to say no. But no one did. Not even you .”

Harry squeezes his eyes shut for a second, “I know,” he says, low and urgent. “I know , Lou. And I should have—” His voice breaks slightly, but he keeps going. “I should have fucking held your hand under that table and told you I was scared too.”

He looks up at him then, and for the first time tonight, Louis sees it— guilt.

Harry exhales, his hands twitching at his sides, like he’s fighting the urge to reach for him. “But I—” He shakes his head. “I can’t lose you to this. I can’t sit here and watch it destroy you. I won’t .”

It slams into him like a punch to the gut, like something inside him is cracking wide open, like he was right all along and he wishes—God, he wishes —he wasn’t.

His hands shake. His heart pounds.

Harry exhales, shifting in bed like he’s trying to decide what to say next.

But then— instead of speaking, he moves.

Before Louis can react, Harry reaches for him, fingers wrapping around his wrist, then sliding down until he’s holding his hand. His grip is warm, steady—like he thinks he can ground Louis, like he thinks he can fix this just by touching him.

“Lou,” Harry murmurs, his voice softer now, gentle in a way that only makes Louis feel worse .

Louis stiffens, every muscle in his body locking up. He should pull away. Should shove Harry’s hand off and put distance between them before it hurts any more than it already does. But he doesn’t. He can’t .

Because despite everything—despite the betrayal burning in his gut, despite the way his whole world is tilting on its axis— this is familiar. This is safe.

And Harry— Harry —is trying to take that away from him too.

Harry tugs—just slightly, just enough to pull Louis closer, until he’s standing between Harry’s legs where he sits on the edge of the bed. Their bodies are so close now, heat radiating between them, but it feels wrong .

“I know you’re upset,” Harry says quietly, looking up at him, searching his face. His thumb moves in slow, soothing circles over the back of Louis’s hand, like that’s enough to settle the storm inside him. “I know this is hard.”

Louis swallows, his throat burning. His chest is so tight he can barely breathe.

Then Harry does it—stands up from the bed, leans in, his lips parting just slightly. He’s going to kiss him .

And something in Louis snaps .

He jerks his hand away like he’s been burned, stumbling back so fast he nearly trips over his own feet. “ Don’t. ” His voice is hoarse, his chest heaving. “Don’t fucking do that.”

Harry blinks, startled. “Lou—”

“ No .” Louis cuts him off, shaking his head furiously. His skin is burning where Harry touched him, but not in the way it usually does. Not in the way that makes him feel safe. This feels like a lie.

“You don’t get to—” Louis gestures wildly between them, his hands shaking . “You don’t get to fucking kiss me like that. You don’t get to sit there all calm and—and act like this isn’t the worst night of my life.” His voice cracks, but he powers through it, voice sharp and raw. “You don’t get it , Harry. You don’t fucking get it .”

Harry looks wrecked now, like Louis has just sucker-punched him, but Louis doesn’t care .

He can’t afford to care.

“I can’t do this.” Louis mutters it under his breath, more to himself than to Harry. His heart is pounding, his skin too tight , his whole body coiled like a live wire. “I can’t —”

His hands are in his hair, gripping tight, his breath ragged. He feels like he’s going to explode.

He can’t look at Harry. He can’t .

He turns away, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, breathing hard through his nose, trying to shove down the emotion clawing its way up his throat.

He hears the sheets shifting, the soft creak of the mattress as Harry moves.

“Louis.” Harry’s voice is steady, but there’s something desperate under the surface. “Look at me.”

Louis shakes his head, staring at the floor like it’s the only thing tethering him to the earth. “I can’t .”

“Why?”

Louis lets out a harsh, humorless laugh, dragging a hand down his face. His eyes sting, his chest hurts .

“Because if I look at you,” he says, voice thick, shaking, “I’ll lose my fucking mind.”

Harry is quiet for a second. Then, gently, “I’m here. Talk to me.”

Louis scoffs, shaking his head. “Are you?” He turns to him then, eyes burning. “Because you sure as hell weren’t there when you lot were making decisions without me.”

Harry exhales. “That’s not fair.”

Louis’s jaw tightens. “Yeah? Well, life’s not fucking fair, Harry.”

“I know that,” Harry says, his voice sharper now, matching Louis’s intensity. He leans forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. “You think I don’t know how hard this is?”

Louis throws his arms out. “You’re acting like it’s fucking nothing! Like we didn’t just decide to rip this thing apart and walk away from it!” His voice cracks at the end, his breathing ragged.

“I’m not,” Harry says, firm. “I just—” He swallows hard, eyes flickering over Louis’s face. “I process things differently.”

Louis barks out a laugh. “No shit .”

Harry sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. “Louis, I care —”

“Do you?” Louis cuts in, his voice harsh, desperate. “Because it really fucking doesn’t seem like it!”

Harry’s eyes flash. “Of course, I do!”

Louis laughs again, sharp and bitter. “Then show it! ”

Harry stares at him, his lips pressing into a thin line.

After a beat, he exhales slowly, his voice quieter now, more measured. “Alright,” he says. “Then tell me.” He leans forward, looking Louis straight in the eye. “What do you think I don’t understand?”

Louis’s breath catches.

Harry keeps going, steady and insistent. “Explain it to me, Lou. Help me understand.”

Louis’s throat tightens, his pulse pounding. He can’t breathe past the lump forming in his chest.

Because the truth is, he doesn’t even know where to start.

His head is pounding, his throat is tight, and Harry is just sitting there—calm, steady, watching him like he’s waiting for Louis to hand over his heart and explain why it’s broken.

Louis wants to.

He wants to scream it in his face, shake Harry by the shoulders, make him feel it.

But where the fuck is he even supposed to start? How does he explain that this isn’t just about the band, that it’s not just about the hiatus —it’s about them .

About the way Harry is already slipping through his fingers like sand, and Louis doesn’t know how to hold on.

His hands tremble at his sides, his pulse roaring in his ears. “You really want me to explain?” he rasps.

“Yes,” Harry says simply, like it’s that easy. Like Louis can just open up his chest and let him see everything inside.

Louis lets out a harsh laugh. “Alright, fine.” He takes a step closer, throwing his arms out. “I don’t understand how you’re so fucking okay with this.”

Harry watches him carefully. “I never said I was okay.”

“Yeah?” Louis scoffs. “Because you sure as hell look it.”

Harry exhales, shaking his head. “Just because I’m not falling apart doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

“Well, congratulations,” Louis bites out. “Must be nice to be so fucking composed while I am losing it.”

Harry’s jaw tenses, but he doesn’t snap back. He just looks at Louis, his gaze heavy. “You really think I don’t care?”

Louis falters, his breath catching. His hands curl into fists.

“I think,” he says, voice shaking, “that if you cared as much as I do, you wouldn’t be able to sit there acting like this isn’t the worst fucking thing that’s ever happened.”

Harry flinches.

It’s barely noticeable, but Louis catches it.

For a second, neither of them speak.

Then Harry sighs, running a hand through his hair. “What do you want me to say, Lou?”

Louis lets out a choked laugh. “I want you to fucking feel it, Harry!” He takes another step forward, close enough to see the faint crease between Harry’s brows, the flicker of something behind his eyes. “I want you to be as fucking furious as I am! I want you to tell me this is a mistake, that we shouldn’t be doing this, that we should fight for it!” His voice is cracking now, the words tumbling out too fast.

“I want you to look at me and tell me you don’t want this to be over.”

Harry’s lips part slightly, but no sound comes out.

And that’s what does it.

Louis’s breath shudders out of him, and he stares at Harry, at the way his throat bobs, at the way his fingers tighten where they rest on his knees.

“That’s what I thought,” Louis mutters, voice hollow.

Harry stands abruptly, and Louis steps back on instinct, but Harry doesn’t reach for him this time. He just looks at him, his green eyes burning.

“You think this is easy for me?” Harry asks, his voice low.

Louis swallows, his heartbeat hammering in his ears. “Yeah,” he says, just to see what Harry will do. “I do.”

Harry exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair again. “Christ, Louis.” He shakes his head, looking away for a second before fixing his gaze back on him. “You don’t see it, do you?”

Louis clenches his jaw. “See what?”

Harry steps forward, his voice quiet but firm. “That I’m trying .”

Louis lets out a bitter laugh. “Trying what, exactly?”

Harry stares at him. “Trying to hold it together. For you. ”

Louis blinks. His stomach twists painfully, his breath catching in his throat.

Harry shakes his head again, dragging a hand down his face. “You think I don’t feel it? That I’m not just as fucking wrecked as you are?” His voice is hoarse, strained. “I’m just trying to keep us from completely falling apart before it even fucking happens.”

Louis sways slightly, feeling lightheaded.

“Jesus, Lou,” Harry murmurs. “Do you really think I want this to be over?” His voice drops lower, raw and unsteady. “Do you think I could ever want that?”

Louis doesn’t know what to say. His throat is closing up, his heart pounding against his ribs.

Because he hears it now. The cracks in Harry’s voice. The weight behind his words.

And it fucking terrifies him.

Harry’s breathing is uneven, his eyes still locked onto Louis’s. There’s something different about the way he’s looking at him now—less controlled, less careful. He’s fraying at the edges, his composure slipping.

“You really think I don’t care?” Harry says again, quieter this time, like he’s trying to understand how Louis could believe that. “You think I don’t feel this?”

Louis swallows hard, his pulse hammering. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

Harry exhales sharply, his hands clenching at his sides. “Christ, Lou.” He shakes his head, dragging his fingers through his hair. “You’re acting like we’re giving up, like we’re just walking away for no reason .”

Louis’s jaw tightens. “Aren’t we?”

“No, we’re not! ” Harry bursts out, his voice cracking. “Do you even hear yourself?” His chest rises and falls, his whole body tense. “Do you remember what it’s been like for the past five years? The shit we’ve been put through? The schedule, the press, the constant fucking pressure?” He shakes his head, disbelief flickering across his face. “We haven’t had a second to breathe since this started, Lou. And you know that.”

Louis stays quiet, his fingers curling into fists at his sides.

But Harry isn’t done.

“Do you remember how many times we’ve been sick and still had to go on stage? How many nights we’ve had two hours of sleep before another flight, another interview, another fucking show ?” His voice is raw, insistent. “You remember that time in Australia? When you passed out the second we got off stage? Or when I lost my voice in America, and they still made me sing?” He takes a step closer, his gaze burning. “You remember when they told you to shut down your Twitter because you were being too much ?”

Louis’s breath shudders out of him.

He does remember. He remembers all of it.

The exhaustion, the way his body would ache so badly some nights he couldn’t even sleep, the way management would pull them aside after interviews and scold them for things they didn’t even realize they’d done.

“You’re acting like this thing is being ripped from us,” Harry continues, his voice quieter now, steadier. “But Louis, we are fucking exhausted. And if we keep going like this, it’s going to destroy us.”

Louis doesn’t realize he’s shaking until he wraps his arms around himself.

Harry’s voice softens even more. “You know it’s true.”

Louis’s throat is so tight he can’t speak.

“Tell me you’re not tired,” Harry murmurs. “Tell me you don’t feel it, too.”

Louis’s vision blurs, his nails digging into his skin.

He can’t say it. Because the truth is—he is tired. He’s so fucking tired. But stopping still feels like the worst thing in the world.

Because if they stop, then what? What happens to them?

Harry is still looking at him, still waiting for Louis to say something, but Louis can’t. His throat feels like it’s closing up, his hands shaking where they’re clenched around his arms.

Harry exhales, dragging a hand through his hair before letting it drop limply at his side. His shoulders slump slightly, like he’s finally letting himself feel the weight of it all.

“It’s not just the band, Louis,” he says quietly. “It’s us .”

Louis’s stomach twists painfully.

Harry swallows hard. “Do you know how many times I’ve wanted to hold your hand in public? Just—just reach for you without thinking? And every time, I had to stop myself because someone might see?” He lets out a shaky breath, eyes flickering over Louis’s face. “Do you know what that does to a person? To spend years loving someone and never being able to show it?”

Louis’s chest aches, something sharp and unbearable pressing against his ribs. He does know. He’s always known.

“I remember the first time they told us we had to stop,” Harry murmurs, his voice tight. “That it wasn’t good for the band. That we needed to tone it down .” His jaw clenches, his fingers twitching at his sides. “And I listened. Because I thought—I thought if we did what they said, if we just waited , things would get better. That one day, we’d be able to stop pretending.”

Louis sways slightly where he stands. He remembers that day, too. Remembers the sharp sting of humiliation, the way Harry had gone quiet for the rest of the night, curling into himself in the hotel bed, his back turned to Louis.

“But it never got better,” Harry continues, voice rough. “It only got worse.” He lets out a bitter laugh. “They made us lie about everything. They made us hide everything. And we let them.”

Louis’s nails dig into his arms. “We didn’t have a choice.”

Harry’s eyes snap up to his. “We were kids , Louis.” He takes a step closer, his voice rising. “We were fucking kids , and they treated us like we were nothing more than a product to sell. They told us what we could say, what we could wear, how we could act. They told me who I was allowed to be.” His voice cracks on the last word, and Louis’s entire body jolts like he’s been hit.

Harry swallows hard, his eyes shining. “I was sixteen,” he whispers. “Sixteen, and I wasn’t allowed to be myself. ” His breath shudders out of him. “What the fuck kind of life is that?”

Louis feels his own heart break, feels it shatter inside his chest. Because Harry’s right. Sixteen-year-old him didn’t deserve any of this. None of them did.

And Louis—Louis had been right there with him, just as trapped, just as helpless.

But looking at Harry now, seeing the way he’s finally letting it out, the way his walls are cracking, Louis realizes something:

Harry isn’t just exhausted.

He’s hurt .

Louis can’t watch Harry like this.

Not with his eyes shining, his voice raw, his entire body sagging under the weight of everything he’s been carrying for years. Not when he’s standing there, breaking apart right in front of him, and Louis knows he’s part of the reason why.

Then, finally, he lets Harry take his hand.

Guilt crashes into him, heavy and suffocating.

He shouldn’t have pulled away earlier.

Shouldn’t have let Harry reach for him only to push him back.

Because Harry does care. He always has. And Louis sees it now, clearer than ever.

Harry tilts his head, his voice dropping lower. “Please, Lou. Just—” His fingers twitch again, and this time, he lets them move , brushing against Louis’s hand, tentative and soft. “Let me hold on to you.”

Louis’s resolve wavers, his heart aching.

Because this — this —is what he needs.

Not some decision made in a boardroom, not a forced future he doesn’t recognize.

This .

Harry’s hand, warm against his, their breaths mixing in the small space between them.

He lets out a shuddering breath, his body still trembling.

So he does the only thing he can think of.

He moves before he can second-guess it, stepping forward quickly, his hands reaching out before his mind can catch up. And then—he kisses him.

Harry lets out a soft, startled breath, but he doesn’t pull away. He goes still for a second, like his brain is trying to process what’s happening, before his hands find Louis’s waist, his fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like he needs something to hold onto.

The kiss is messy, desperate—Louis pouring everything he can’t say into it. Every frustration, every ounce of confusion and pain, every moment of the past hour that felt like too much.

He grips Harry’s face, his thumbs pressing into his jaw, tilting him closer.

Harry exhales sharply against his lips, his hands tightening around Louis’s waist, dragging him in until there’s no space left between them.

Louis kisses him harder.

Because he needs this. He needs the press of Harry’s lips against his, needs the warmth of his body so close, needs the way Harry’s fingers clutch at his skin like he’s afraid to let go.

Because this— this —is them.

The part of them they were never allowed to have, the part of them they had to hide behind locked hotel doors and stolen glances. The part of them that makes sense, even when everything else is crumbling around them.

Harry makes a quiet, broken sound against his lips, and something inside Louis shatters .

He pulls back slightly, just enough to rest his forehead against Harry’s, his breath ragged.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his fingers trembling where they’re still cradling Harry’s face.

Harry swallows hard. “For what?”

Louis closes his eyes. “For pushing you away.” His voice cracks. “For—” He exhales sharply. “For all of it.”

Harry leans into him, his hands sliding up Louis’s back. “You don’t have to be sorry.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but it carries between them like a promise. “I get it, Lou.”

Louis lets out a shaky breath. He doesn’t deserve that. Doesn’t deserve the way Harry is still standing here, still choosing him, even after everything.

But Harry always has.

And Louis kisses him again, because he doesn’t know how else to say thank you .

Louis pulls back just enough to look at Harry, his fingers still resting against his jaw.

Harry’s eyes are still closed, his lips slightly parted, like he’s trying to catch his breath.

Louis swallows hard, his heart thudding against his ribs. He’s afraid of the answer— he’s so fucking afraid —but he has to ask.

“Do you really want this break?” His voice is quiet, but the weight behind it is unbearable.

Harry’s eyes flutter open, something unreadable flickering across his face.

Louis’s throat tightens. “Tell me the truth, Haz. No bullshit. No practiced lines for the cameras.”

His fingers twitch against Harry’s skin. “Just tell me if this is what you actually want.”

Harry exhales slowly, his hands still resting on Louis’s waist. He’s silent for a moment, like he’s choosing his words carefully.

Then, finally—softly—he says, “I don’t know.”

Louis stiffens. “What?”

Harry’s grip on him tightens. “I don’t know, Lou.” His voice is raw, honest in a way that makes Louis’s chest ache. “I think I do. I think it’s the right thing. But I also know that it’s fucking terrifying, and I have no idea what happens next.”

Louis’s breath shudders out of him. That’s not the answer he expected.

Harry looks down, his brows furrowing. “I know I don’t want to keep going like this ,” he murmurs. “Not if it means we’re all burning out. Not if it means we never get to just… exist as ourselves.” His voice wavers. “I want to know who I am outside of all this, Lou.”

Louis stares at him, his pulse pounding. He doesn’t know if he understands.

Doesn’t know if he wants to understand.

Because all he’s ever been is this . The band, the stage, the music, the boys .

Without it, who is he?

But looking at Harry now, at the way his shoulders are tense, at the way his fingers keep tightening and loosening against Louis’s hips like he’s afraid to let go—Louis realizes Harry is just as scared as he is.

And that fucking kills him.

Louis lets the silence settle between them for a moment. He can still feel the ghost of Harry’s breath against his lips, can still feel the way Harry’s hands tighten and loosen against his waist like he’s not sure if he’s supposed to be holding on.

And maybe he isn’t.

Maybe none of them are.

Louis’s voice is hoarse when he finally speaks. “How long?”

Harry blinks at him. “What?”

Louis swallows, forcing himself to look Harry in the eye. “How long ago did you start feeling like this? Like the band—the pressure—was suffocating you?”

Harry tenses, and that’s when Louis knows.

Knows it isn’t something new. Knows Harry’s been holding it in for a long time .

“Harry,” he presses, softer now. “How long?”

Harry exhales, his head tilting slightly as his eyes flicker away. Then, finally—“Since Zayn left.”

Louis feels his stomach drop.

Harry licks his lips, his fingers curling against Louis’s sides. “I think that’s when I realized…” He hesitates, inhaling sharply. “That leaving was an option. That if it all became too much, I could just—go.”

Louis’s breath stutters in his chest.

He remembers the day Zayn left.

Remembers the silence in the car when the news dropped. Remembers the panic in his own chest, the way his hands had shaken at the thought of losing any of them.

He never once considered it a choice.

But Harry had.

“You never said anything,” Louis says, his voice tight.

Harry lets out a small, humorless laugh. “And what was I supposed to say, Lou? ‘Hey, I think I might want to leave too’?” His fingers flex against Louis’s skin. “You would’ve hated me for even thinking it.”

Louis shakes his head. “That’s not—” He exhales sharply. “I wouldn’t have hated you.”

Harry gives him a look. “Be honest with yourself. Back then? When we were all barely holding it together after Zayn left? You would’ve fucking resented me.”

Louis doesn’t say anything, because maybe Harry’s right. Maybe back then, he would have resented him.

But now? Now, all he feels is an unbearable ache in his chest, knowing that Harry has been carrying this alone for so long.

Louis exhales shakily. “So you just—what? Kept going?”

Harry nods slowly. “Yeah. Because I love this band, Lou. I love the music. I love performing. I love—” He stops, his throat bobbing. “I love you.” His voice is quieter now. “I love all of you.”

Louis’s chest tightens.

Harry sighs. “But I kept thinking about Zayn. How he just left . How he made the decision for himself, no matter how much it hurt the rest of us.” He meets Louis’s gaze again. “And I realized I could do the same. I just… didn’t know if I wanted to.”

Louis’s pulse pounds in his ears. “Do you want to?”

Harry exhales, looking at him with something unbearably soft in his eyes. “I don’t want to leave you .”

Louis’s breath hitches.

Harry presses his forehead to Louis’s, their noses brushing. “But I don’t know if I can keep doing this forever.”

Louis closes his eyes, pressing his hands against Harry’s back, grounding himself. “Then don’t.” The words leave his mouth before he can stop them.

Harry pulls back slightly, blinking at him. “What?”

Louis forces himself to look at him, really look at him. “If it’s killing you, don’t do it.” His voice shakes, but he means it. “I don’t—I don’t want you to be miserable, Haz.”

Harry studies him for a long moment. “What about you?”

Louis swallows hard. “I don’t know.” And that’s the honest truth.

Because he doesn’t know who he is without this band. Doesn’t know what life looks like beyond One Direction .

But what he does know is this:

He can’t stand the thought of Harry hurting like this anymore.

Harry watches Louis carefully, his green eyes searching, scanning his face like he’s trying to pick apart every thought running through his head.

Then, quietly, he asks, “Why is this so hard for you?”

Louis tenses. He doesn’t answer right away.

Harry exhales, shifting slightly. “I mean it, Lou. Why is the idea of a break killing you?” He pauses, his voice softer now. “You have everything. More than most people will ever have. You’ve got enough fame to open any door, enough money to never work again if you don’t want to.” His fingers twitch where they’re still touching Louis’s waist. “So why does it scare you so much?”

Louis swallows. “It’s not that simple.”

Harry tilts his head. “Isn’t it?”

Louis exhales sharply. “No.” He pulls away, running a hand through his hair. “It’s never been that simple for me.”

Harry watches him, waiting.

Louis looks down, staring at the floor, feeling like something inside him is unraveling. “This band—this whole thing—it saved me, Haz.” His voice is tight. “I was some nobody from Doncaster. I had nothing. No idea what I was gonna do with my life. And then—this happened. And suddenly, I mattered .” He lifts his head, meeting Harry’s eyes. “This band gave me a purpose. It made me somebody .”

Harry’s face softens, but Louis doesn’t let himself stop now.

He shakes his head. “So yeah, I could walk away. I could take the money, the connections, all of it. But then what? Who am I without this?” He lets out a humorless laugh. “You say I could open any door, but I don’t even know what the fuck I’d be walking into.”

Harry is quiet for a moment. Then, softly, he says, “You’d still be you .”

Louis scoffs, shaking his head. “That’s easy for you to say.”

Harry frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Louis exhales heavily. “It means you’re you , Haz. You’re the one they all love, the one with the voice, the one they see and think, he’s a star .” He gestures vaguely. “You could do whatever the fuck you want, and people would eat it up. Acting, modeling, solo music—doesn’t matter. You’ll always have a place in this industry.”

Harry’s brows furrow. “And you won’t?”

Louis looks at him, something bitter curling in his chest. “Be honest with me. Do you think anyone’s waiting for a Louis Tomlinson solo album?”

Harry flinches like the words physically hurt.

“Exactly,” Louis mutters, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I know where I stand, Haz. I know I was never the frontman .” He huffs a small laugh. “Fucking hell, I wasn’t even supposed to be in this band, remember?”

Harry’s jaw tightens. “Don’t do that.”

Louis shrugs. “It’s true.”

“No, it’s not.” Harry steps closer. “You say this band saved you, but don’t you get it? You saved this band, Lou.” His voice is insistent now. “You were the one who kept us together after Zayn left. You were the one who made sure we had fun when everything felt like too much. You—you made us a family.” His voice wavers. “And you made me feel like I wasn’t alone.”

Louis swallows hard, his throat burning.

Harry holds his gaze. “So don’t stand there and tell me you don’t matter.” His voice is thick with emotion. “Because to me, you always fucking have.”

Louis’s chest tightens.

He doesn’t know what to say.

Doesn’t know how to put into words how much this all terrifies him.

So instead, Louis stares at the floor, his mind tangled in everything Harry just said, in everything he’s been trying so hard not to think about.

Then, suddenly, Harry’s hands are on his face—warm, firm, steady.

“Look at me,” Harry says, his voice quiet but commanding.

Louis hesitates, but Harry’s fingers tighten against his jaw, tilting his head up until their eyes meet.

“We need you, Lou,” Harry says, his gaze burning into him. “Me, Niall, Liam—we all still need you.” His thumbs brush over Louis’s cheekbones. “You’re the glue, you always have been. You kept us together when things fell apart, and we—” His throat bobs. “We need you to stay strong. I need you to.”

Louis swallows, his heart pounding. “I don’t know if I can.”

Harry shakes his head. “Yes, you can.” His voice is certain, unshakable. “You always do.”

Louis exhales shakily.

Harry’s eyes soften, and he presses his forehead against Louis’s. “And the fans need you too,” he murmurs. “They love you. You know that, right?”

Louis closes his eyes, overwhelmed.

Because he does know that. He knows the fans adore him, knows they’ve always fought for him, but it doesn’t make any of this easier. It doesn’t change the fact that, without the band, he feels like he’s losing himself.

Harry’s hands stay on his face, grounding him. “We’ll figure it out, yeah?” he says gently. “Together.”

Louis exhales, nodding faintly.

Together.

That’s all he can hold onto right now.

Harry’s hands are still on Louis’s face, thumbs brushing against his cheekbones, grounding him in a way nothing else can.

His eyes are soft now, searching, like he’s trying to find the words before he says them.

Then, before Louis can think, before he can second-guess or pull away—Harry kisses him.

It’s slow, deep, intentional .

Not just a kiss for comfort, not just a kiss to soothe the tension between them. It’s something more , something heavier, something that makes Louis’s chest ache.

Harry pulls back only slightly, their lips still brushing when he speaks. “I need you, Lou.” His voice is raw, like the words have been sitting in his throat for too long. “Not just as a bandmate. Not just as my best mate.” His fingers tighten slightly on Louis’s jaw. “I need you as my partner.”

Louis sucks in a breath. His heart stumbles in his chest.

Harry keeps going, his voice steady, unwavering. “You keep saying you don’t know who you are without the band, but I do .” He swallows. “You’re the person I wake up next to, the person who makes everything feel a little bit lighter. You’re the only one who can get me to laugh when everything feels too heavy, the only one who understands what this life is like without me having to explain it.”

Louis exhales shakily, his hands instinctively gripping Harry’s wrists where they cradle his face.

Harry leans in, pressing their foreheads together. “I don’t want this—” his voice wavers, but he pushes through—“this break, this uncertainty, whatever comes next—I don’t want to do any of it without you.”

Louis blinks rapidly, feeling the weight of it all settle deep in his bones.

Because he knows this isn’t just about the band anymore. It’s never just been about the band.

It’s about them .

Harry’s thumbs brush over his cheeks again, a gentle reassurance. “I know everything’s changing,” he murmurs. “But you and me, Lou… we don’t have to.”

Louis exhales sharply, something breaking open inside him.

Because, fuck .

That’s the only thing that’s ever really mattered.

So he kisses him again—fierce, desperate—before pulling back just enough to whisper, “How did it happen?” His breath is shaky, and he barely lets Harry respond before he’s kissing him again. “How did you—” Another kiss, his hands fisting in Harry’s shirt. “—all of you decide without me?”

Harry exhales into the kiss, his fingers threading through Louis’s hair. “Lou—”

“ No .” Louis shakes his head, pressing in again, taking another kiss like he needs it to breathe. His voice is raw. “Tell me.”

Harry sighs, his lips brushing against Louis’s, and Louis feels it—the hesitation, the weight of it all. But then Harry cups his face again, thumbs stroking over his cheekbones, grounding him.

“It wasn’t—” He kisses Louis softly, like an apology, but Louis doesn’t let him linger. He kisses him back, harder, dragging him in.

“Don’t sugarcoat it,” Louis mutters, biting at Harry’s lower lip before pulling back. His chest heaves. “How long have you been talking about it?”

Harry’s fingers tighten in his hair. “A few months.”

Louis stills.

For a moment, all he can hear is the rush of blood in his ears, the sound of his own uneven breathing.

“Months?” His voice is hoarse.

Harry nods, barely, his hands still holding Louis’s face. “It was never—” He hesitates, and Louis watches his throat bob before he continues. “We never meant to leave you out, Lou. You know that.”

Louis shakes his head, overwhelmed, but he can’t pull away. Instead, he presses forward, takes another kiss, his heart hammering in his chest. “I don’t know that,” he admits, his voice cracking. “Because no one fucking told me.”

Harry groans softly, resting their foreheads together. “We were scared.”

Louis laughs, but it’s hollow, bitter. “Scared of what?”

Harry kisses him, slow and deliberate, and for a second, Louis melts into it. But the moment he pulls back, the frustration returns, gnawing at him.

“Scared of what, Haz?” He demands, hands gripping Harry’s wrists.

Harry’s breath stutters, but he doesn’t look away. “Scared of you .”

Louis recoils slightly, blinking. “What?”

Harry exhales, his fingers flexing against Louis’s jaw. “You’re the heart of this band, Lou. Always have been.” His voice is steady, sure. “You love this more than any of us. And none of us wanted to be the ones to break your heart.”

Louis squeezes his eyes shut, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut.

Because they did . They broke his heart anyway.

Harry kisses him again, softer this time, like he’s trying to mend the cracks. Louis lets him.

Because despite everything—despite the anger still simmering beneath his skin—he doesn’t know how to stop loving Harry.

Louis is still breathing hard, still gripping Harry like he’s afraid to let go.

His chest aches, his throat feels tight, and the words are there, clawing their way out before he can stop them.

“I love you.” His voice cracks on the last word, his forehead pressing against Harry’s. “I love you so much, Harry.” His hands slide down to Harry’s chest, fisting in his shirt. “I’ve loved you for years .”

Harry makes a soft sound, like he’s trying to speak but the words get caught in his throat.

Louis doesn’t let him—can’t let him—because the floodgates are open now, and he can’t hold anything back.

“I love you so much it drives me fucking crazy .” The confession spills out of him, raw and desperate. He kisses Harry hard, pushing him back against the nearest surface, pressing into him like he can force him to feel it. “Do you know that?” Another kiss, sharp and messy. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to love someone like this?”

Harry’s hands tighten on him, but he doesn’t answer, just kisses him back, deep and consuming.

Louis groans against his lips, frustration and affection bleeding together until he can’t separate them. “I don’t know how to be without you,” he admits, voice breaking. “I don’t want to.”

Harry pulls back just enough to look at him, his green eyes glassy, searching. “Then don’t,” he whispers. “We don’t have to do this alone, Lou.” His fingers stroke over Louis’s cheek, tender despite the intensity between them. “I’m here. I’m right here .”

Louis squeezes his eyes shut, overwhelmed, his breath coming in shallow bursts. “You say that now,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “But what if it all falls apart? What if we fall apart?”

Harry kisses him again, softer this time, but no less desperate. “Then we fight for us,” he says against his lips. “Like we always have.”

Louis exhales shakily, nodding once before he crashes their mouths together again, because talking hurts too much, and kissing is the only thing that makes sense anymore

Harry’s touch shifts, softening, his fingers moving from Louis’s jaw to his cheeks, his thumbs tracing gently over the skin like he’s memorizing every inch of him.

The urgency fades—not completely, but just enough for Harry to slow down, to press a softer kiss to Louis’s lips, then another, and another.

Louis trembles beneath it, feeling himself unravel in a different way now. His hands are still clutching at Harry’s shirt, still desperate, but Harry doesn’t match his desperation this time.

He kisses him like he has all the time in the world, like he’s certain Louis isn’t going anywhere.

And then he whispers, “I love you too.”

Louis makes a choked sound, gripping Harry tighter. “Say it again.”

Harry pulls back just enough to look at him properly, their noses brushing. His green eyes are warm, unwavering. “I love you.” His hands slide down, settling on Louis’s hips, grounding him. “I have for a long time.”

Louis shakes his head, blinking fast, his throat tight. “Then why does it feel like I’m losing you?” His voice is barely above a whisper.

Harry’s face softens further, his hands squeezing at Louis’s waist. “You’re not,” he promises.

“You’re not losing me, Lou.” He tilts his head, searching his eyes. “The band taking a break doesn’t mean we are.”

Louis exhales sharply, like the air’s been knocked from his lungs.

Harry keeps going, his voice steady. “You and me… we exist outside of all of this.” He gestures vaguely, but Louis knows what he means. The music, the cameras, the chaos of their lives. “This break doesn’t change us .”

Louis swallows hard, his fingers digging into Harry’s sides. “Doesn’t it?”

“No.” Harry’s grip tightens, firm but reassuring. “It doesn’t.” He leans in, presses a lingering kiss to Louis’s lips, then speaks against them. “We don’t have to figure everything out tonight. But this? Us ? That’s not changing.”

Louis closes his eyes, trying to let the words sink in.

“I know it’s scary,” Harry murmurs. “I know you feel like everything’s slipping away, but I’m not.” He cups Louis’s face again, tilting it slightly. “I’m right here.”

Louis exhales shakily, his heart still racing, but Harry’s warmth starts to seep into him, starts to settle something deep inside his chest.

And when Harry kisses him again—slow and sure—Louis finally lets himself believe it.

Harry’s lips move lower, tracing along Louis’s jaw, warm and deliberate. His hands slide from Louis’s face to his shoulders, thumbs brushing over the skin there before he dips lower, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss beneath his ear.

Louis shudders, his breath catching, fingers still curled into Harry’s shirt.

“Think about it,” Harry murmurs, his voice gentle, edged with something softer, something suggestive . He kisses just below Louis’s jaw, lingering. “All the time we’ll have now.”

Louis’s grip tightens, his pulse hammering. “Harry…”

Harry hums against his skin, trailing another kiss to the curve of his neck. “No early mornings, no planes to catch, no endless interviews.” His lips brush over the sensitive spot just beneath Louis’s ear, his voice dropping to a whisper. “We’ll sleep in late, wake up slow.”

Louis sways slightly, barely holding himself up. “Yeah?”

“Mm,” Harry breathes, his hands smoothing down Louis’s back, pulling him closer. “No alarms. Just us, tangled up in bed, taking our time.” He nuzzles against Louis’s neck, voice warm and steady. “You’ll get to stay in my arms as long as you want.”

Louis exhales shakily, tilting his head without thinking, giving Harry more space to roam.

“And the nights,” Harry continues, kissing just below his jaw again. “No running back to the bus, no squeezing in moments between shows.” He drags his lips back up to Louis’s ear, voice softer now. “Just you and me, in our own bed, nowhere else to be.”

Louis feels something inside him loosen, the last of his resistance melting under Harry’s words, his touch.

Harry kisses him again, right on the corner of his mouth this time, before pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes are warm, steady. “That doesn’t sound so bad, does it?”

Louis swallows hard, searching his face. And maybe for the first time since the meeting, since everything started to unravel—he lets himself imagine it.

Just him and Harry. Just them .

Harry shifts, moving slowly, pressing one last kiss to Louis’s lips before stepping behind him.

His arms come around Louis’s waist, pulling him in close, his chest fitting against Louis’s back like they were always meant to be this way.

Louis exhales a shaky breath, his entire body softening as Harry wraps around him, grounding him.

Harry’s chin rests lightly on Louis’s shoulder, and then he presses his lips there, warm and lingering. “You okay?” he murmurs.

Louis doesn’t answer right away. He just closes his eyes, lets himself sink into the moment, lets himself feel it—the way Harry’s hands splay over his stomach, the steady rise and fall of his chest against his back.

“Keep talking,” Louis whispers eventually, his voice quiet, almost pleading.

His fingers find Harry’s where they rest over his stomach, lacing them together. “Tell me more.”

Harry hums, nuzzling against his shoulder before kissing it again, softer this time. “What do you want to hear?”

Louis shrugs, leaning his head back against Harry’s. “Anything.”

Harry is quiet for a beat, just breathing with him, before he starts speaking again, his voice low and dreamy.

“I want us to go somewhere quiet,” he murmurs, his thumbs tracing slow, lazy circles against Louis’s stomach. “Somewhere where no one knows us. Somewhere warm.”

Louis sighs, already picturing it.

“We’ll wake up whenever we want,” Harry continues, his tone soft, soothing. “No alarms, no schedule. Just you and me, tangled up in bed, taking our time.”

Louis squeezes his hands, his head tilting slightly. “And then?”

Harry smiles against his skin, pressing another kiss to his shoulder. “And then we’ll stay in bed for a while. I’ll make you tea, bring it to you before you even have to ask.”

Louis huffs out a quiet laugh, and Harry chuckles, tightening his arms around him.

“We’ll go out if we feel like it,” Harry goes on, his voice turning even softer. “Walk around, explore. Or maybe we won’t. Maybe we’ll stay in, spend the whole day in bed.” His lips brush against Louis’s skin again, sending a shiver down his spine. “Just us.”

Louis lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. He turns his head slightly, just enough to glance at Harry out of the corner of his eye. “That sounds nice.”

Harry’s arms tighten around him. “Yeah?”

Louis nods. “Yeah.”

Harry’s chin rests more firmly against his shoulder, his voice barely above a whisper now. “We can have that, Lou. All of it. We just have to let ourselves have it.”

Louis closes his eyes again, pressing their joined hands tighter against his chest. And for the first time in a long time, he lets himself believe that maybe, just maybe, they can .

Louis shifts in Harry’s arms, turning slowly until they’re face to face.

Harry lets him move but doesn’t loosen his hold, his hands sliding to rest on Louis’s lower back, keeping him close.

Louis lifts his eyes to meet Harry’s, and for once, he doesn’t look away.

“I want that,” he says, his voice quiet but certain. “All of it.”

Harry’s breath catches, his fingers tightening slightly against Louis’s back. “Yeah?”

Louis nods, his hands coming up to cup Harry’s face. His thumbs trace over Harry’s cheekbones, and he watches as Harry closes his eyes for a moment, exhaling softly beneath his touch.

“I want the mornings with you,” Louis continues, his voice steadier now. “The slow days. The quiet. I want to wake up next to you and not have to rush off somewhere.” His fingers trail down, resting lightly on Harry’s jaw. “I want to just be with you.”

Harry opens his eyes again, and they’re shining, full of something deep and unspoken.

Louis swallows hard, his voice dropping lower. “I want you.”

Harry lets out a shaky breath, like he’s been holding it in this whole time. “You have me,” he whispers.

Louis presses their foreheads together, closing his eyes. “Good,” he breathes. “Because I don’t think I know how to be without you.”

Harry’s arms tighten around him, pulling him even closer, and Louis lets himself fall into it—into him .

Harry exhales, his breath warm against Louis’s cheek. “You don’t have to be without me,” he murmurs. “You never will be.”

Louis squeezes his eyes shut.

It feels too big, too much—how deeply he loves Harry, how much it scares him. His fingers tighten in the fabric of Harry’s shirt, holding onto him like he might slip away if he doesn’t.

Harry tilts his head, pressing a lingering kiss to Louis’s temple. “We’ll figure this out,” he whispers against his skin. “You and me.”

Louis pulls back just enough to see him, his hands still cupping Harry’s face. His thumb brushes over the curve of his cheek, tracing the freckles he knows by heart. “Promise me,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Harry doesn’t even hesitate. “I promise.”

Louis swallows, his throat thick. He searches Harry’s face, finding nothing but certainty there, nothing but him .

And maybe that’s enough.

Maybe that’s always been enough.

“I don’t want to be anywhere you’re not,” Louis admits, his voice raw. “I don’t care where we go or what we do. I just—I need you with me.”

Harry’s eyes soften, something unreadable flickering across his face before he leans in, nudging their noses together. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers. “You hear me? I’m yours , Lou.”

Louis exhales shakily, his heart hammering. He lifts onto his toes just slightly, closing the last bit of distance between them, and presses his lips to Harry’s.

It’s softer now, slower. No desperation, no fight—just them .

Harry hums against his mouth, his hands sliding up to cradle the back of Louis’s head, holding him like he’s something precious. He kisses him deep, steady, pouring every unspoken word into it.

Louis melts into him, letting himself believe, letting himself have this.

When they break apart, Harry presses their foreheads together again. “We have time now,” he whispers. “Time to be whatever we want. Time to be us .”

Louis nods, still breathing Harry in, still letting himself drown in this moment. “I want that,” he says again, voice steadier now.

Harry smiles, pressing another soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Then we’ll have it.”

And for the first time all night, Louis lets himself believe it might be true.

Louis feels drunk on love—dizzy with it, weightless. It swirls in his chest, fills his veins, makes him press closer to Harry like he could somehow climb inside him and stay there forever.

He exhales shakily, eyes fluttering shut as Harry’s hands roam his back, his waist, his hips—everywhere. His lips follow, warm and slow, pressing kisses to the corner of Louis’s mouth, his jaw, the curve of his throat.

Louis lets out a breathy laugh, tilting his head back to give Harry more space. “Tell me more,” he murmurs. “Tell me what life’s gonna be like now.”

Harry hums against his skin, dragging his lips back up to whisper against his cheek. “You want a whole day?”

Louis nods, gripping Harry’s hips to keep himself upright. “Yeah. Start from the morning.”

Harry grins, pressing a kiss to Louis’s temple before leaning in, lips brushing his ear. His voice is soft, intimate. “We’ll wake up late,” he murmurs. “Sun pouring through the window,”

Louis shivers. “And then?”

Harry’s hands slide up Louis’s back, pulling him closer. “You’ll grumble about getting up,” he teases. “So I’ll stay in bed with you. Maybe kiss you awake.”

Louis huffs out a quiet laugh, biting his lip. “Sounds nice.”

Harry hums, lips trailing lower. “Then I’ll make tea. Bring it to you in bed. Maybe some breakfast too, if you’re lucky.”

Louis sighs, tipping forward until his forehead rests against Harry’s. “And after that?”

Harry’s fingers slip beneath the hem of Louis’s shirt, tracing the skin at his waist. “Maybe we go for a walk,” he muses. “Somewhere quiet, hand in hand. Or maybe we stay in, lounge around all day, do nothing but exist.” His lips find Louis’s again, soft and slow.

Louis feels like he might float away. “And at night?”

Harry smiles against his mouth. “At night, we make dinner together, play music, dance around the kitchen, looking ridiculous.”

Louis snorts, gripping the back of Harry’s neck. “Go on.”

Harry laughs too, but his voice turns softer, more serious. “Then we curl up on the couch, watch something we won’t finish because we’ll be too busy snogging.”

He kisses Louis’s cheek, his jaw. “And then I take you to bed.”

Louis sways, feeling completely undone. “Yeah?”

Harry nods, brushing his nose against Louis’s. “Yeah. I’ll hold you close, fuck you slow. And we’ll fall asleep tangled up in each other.”

Louis’s heart clenches painfully, overwhelmed by how much he wants this. “That sounds perfect.”

Harry presses a deep, lingering kiss to his lips, as if sealing the promise between them. “Then we’ll have it.”

Louis doesn’t think—he just moves. His fingers curl into the fabric of Harry’s shirt, gripping it like it’s the only thing tethering him to the ground.

Harry watches him, breathing heavily, lips pink and kiss-swollen. His hands rest lightly on Louis’s waist, warm and steady.

Louis swallows, eyes flickering up to meet Harry’s. “Take this off,” he murmurs, already tugging at the hem.

Harry doesn’t hesitate. He lifts his arms, helping Louis yank the shirt over his head in one swift motion. It barely has time to hit the floor before Harry’s hands are back on him, pulling him close, fitting their bodies together like they belong this way.

Louis barely has time to breathe before Harry is grabbing him, strong hands gripping his waist, and pulling him down onto the bed. He lets out a surprised gasp as he lands against Harry, straddling his lap, hands splaying over his bare chest for balance.

Harry’s eyes are dark, burning with something intense, something that makes Louis’s stomach twist in the best way. “Come here,” Harry murmurs, voice low, rough with want.

Louis doesn’t hesitate.

He leans in, closing the space between them, capturing Harry’s mouth in a kiss that’s anything but slow.

Louis’s breath stutters as Harry’s hands tighten on his waist, grounding him, holding him close.

Their kiss is deep, hungry, all-consuming—nothing like the slow, careful touches from before. This is something else entirely. It’s months of tension, weeks of exhaustion, hours of fighting, all unraveling in the space between them.

Louis fists his hands in Harry’s curls, pulling just enough to make him gasp against his mouth.

Harry tilts his head back slightly, giving Louis more, letting him take, letting him have .

“You’re unreal,” Harry murmurs between kisses, voice ragged. His hands skim up Louis’s back, dragging his shirt up as they go. “Driving me fucking mad.”

Louis barely has time to process before Harry is tugging at his shirt, impatient, desperate. Louis lifts his arms, letting Harry yank it over his head and toss it aside.

Their bare chests press together, heat meeting heat, skin against skin. Louis exhales sharply, feeling the hard thrum of Harry’s heartbeat beneath his own.

Harry groans softly, fingers digging into Louis’s hips. “Come closer.”

Louis lets himself sink fully onto Harry’s lap, molding against him, arms looping around his neck. Their mouths meet again, the kiss turning deeper, messier.

Harry’s hands roam, exploring, learning, like he hasn’t already memorized every inch of Louis’s body.

Louis sighs into him, feeling weightless and feverish all at once. He doesn’t know where he ends and Harry begins—doesn’t want to.

Harry nips at his lower lip, soothing the sting with his tongue, and Louis shudders, pressing himself even closer.

He feels consumed, claimed, loved —and for the first time in hours, he isn’t thinking about the band or the hiatus or anything beyond this moment.

Just Harry. Just them .

Harry’s hands roam lower, pressing into the curve of Louis’s ass, pulling him impossibly close.

His lips never leave Louis’s skin—his jaw, his neck, the hollow of his throat—each kiss a silent plea, an unspoken stay with me .

Louis can feel the urgency in the way Harry touches him, the way his fingers press into his hips, like he’s terrified of letting go. He understands that fear—he feels it too. The world outside this hotel room is shifting, breaking apart at the seams, but right now, in Harry’s arms, none of that matters.

Louis cups Harry’s face, tilting his head up to look at him properly. His green eyes are dark and heavy-lidded, his long curls an absolute mess, his lips red and swollen.

Beautiful .

“I love you,” Louis breathes. He’s said it before, a thousand times over the years, but never quite like this.

Never with his heart so raw, so open, so desperate for Harry to understand.

Harry’s breath catches, his hands tightening where they hold Louis. “I love you too,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion.

Louis leans in, kissing him softly this time, a direct contrast to the urgency from before.

Slow, deep, lingering.

He wants Harry to feel it, to know that no matter what happens, no matter what changes, this — them —is something real.

They stay like that for a while, kissing slow and deep, hands exploring without rush.

The world outside doesn’t exist, not here, not now.

Their breaths come faster, bodies pressed together in perfect sync, every touch sending fire through Louis’s veins.

Harry moves with purpose, with love, with something deeper than either of them can name.

It’s overwhelming—the way Harry whispers his name, the way his hands cradle Louis’s body like he’s something precious, the way their lips never stray too far from each other.

And then everything builds, crests, and crashes all at once.

Louis clings to Harry, burying his face in his neck as he falls apart, and Harry follows right after, holding onto Louis like he’s his lifeline.

For a long moment, neither of them move. Their breaths mingle, their heartbeats slowly finding a steady rhythm again.

Harry’s hands trace soothing patterns down Louis’s spine, grounding him, anchoring him. “You okay?” he murmurs against Louis’s temple.

Louis nods, pressing a soft kiss to Harry’s shoulder. “Yeah. You?”

Harry smiles, tired but content. “More than okay.”

Louis exhales, feeling something settle deep inside him. The room is quiet now, the only sound their slowing breaths, the occasional rustle of sheets as they shift against each other.

The air between them is warm, filled with something soft and unspoken.

Louis lies on his back, his fingers absentmindedly threading through Harry’s curls, twisting them gently, letting them slide through his fingertips like silk. He watches as Harry blinks slowly, eyes heavy with exhaustion, his face relaxed in a way it hasn’t been all night.

Harry sighs, completely melted against Louis, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on his skin—over his ribs, the dip of his waist, up the length of his arm. Louis shivers at the light touch, but he doesn’t stop him. He never wants him to stop.

Louis presses a soft kiss to the top of Harry’s head, breathing him in. He smells like sweat and hotel shampoo and home .

Harry hums, barely conscious now, his hand slowing as he continues his featherlight touches, his breath warm against Louis’s skin.

Louis watches as his eyelids flutter shut completely, his breathing deepening, body growing heavier in his arms.

Harry never sleeps easily, but here, like this, he lets go.

Louis swallows, his fingers stilling in Harry’s hair. His chest aches with something too big to name. Love, devotion, forever .

He holds him closer, presses another lingering kiss to his curls, and whispers, “I’ve got you.”

Harry doesn’t respond—he’s already asleep—but Louis feels the way he relaxes even further, like he knows he’s safe.

Louis stares at the ceiling, his fingers still absently running through Harry’s curls. The room is dark, save for the faint glow of the city lights creeping in through the window.

Harry’s breath is steady against his chest, warm and even in sleep.

But Louis is still awake.

His mind drifts back to the meeting, to the weight of the decision they made tonight.

Eighteen months .

That’s what they said. A year and a half.

Long enough to rest, to reset, to figure out who they were outside of One Direction.

But Louis isn’t sure he wants to know who he is outside of One Direction.

It’s all he’s known since he was eighteen. It’s been his purpose, his foundation, his everything . And now, just like that, it’s on pause.

He knows the others think it’s a break. That they’ll come back when they’re ready. But what if they don’t?

What if this is it? What if eighteen months turns into two years, then four, then never again ?

The thought sends a sharp pang through his chest.

The band isn’t just music. It isn’t just fame or money or sold-out stadiums. It’s them .

It’s waking up in different countries together, exhausted but happy. It’s inside jokes in dressing rooms, harmonizing during soundcheck, sneaking glances at Harry during interviews just to make him laugh. It’s the late nights, the shared dreams, the belief that they’d always be in this together.

If One Direction disappears, does that mean all of that disappears too?

Louis swallows hard. He wants to believe in the break, in the promise that they’ll come back. But Zayn left and never looked back.

And Harry— Harry —has been thinking about this since then. How long before the others do the same?

How long before Louis is the only one left waiting?

Harry shifts in his sleep, nuzzling closer, his arm tightening around Louis’s waist. Louis exhales, forcing himself to push the thoughts away, to focus on the warmth of Harry beside him.

Because no matter what happens, no matter what changes—he still has this . Still has them .

For tonight, this is enough.

And maybe—just maybe—when the sun rises, it still will be.

Chapter Text

Louis wakes slowly, the kind of wake-up where the world is soft around the edges, wrapped in warmth and drowsy contentment.

His body is heavy, limbs sunk into the mattress, muscles aching in places that make him smirk to himself. It’s the kind of soreness that doesn’t bother him, the kind that reminds him of how close they were last night, how they fit together so perfectly.

The hotel room is quiet in a way that feels almost sacred. The curtains filter in lazy morning light, golden and soft, painting streaks across the white sheets.

There’s no blaring alarm, no pounding on the door, no assistant waiting with a schedule in hand.

No urgency. No expectations.

For the first time in years, there is nowhere to be.

Harry is still tangled around him, his body warm and solid, curled in close like he’s afraid of letting go even in sleep. One arm is slung low around Louis’s waist, his fingers resting in the dip of his back.

His face is tucked against Louis’s chest, breath steady, warm against his skin.

Louis shifts slightly, just enough to take him in, to really look.

Harry’s curls are a wild mess, his lips slightly parted, his skin flushed from sleep. Peaceful. Completely at ease.

And it hits Louis all over again.

This is real.

No rushing to airports, no soundchecks, no stiff interviews where they have to dodge questions and pretend they aren’t them.

No stolen moments between hotel doors, no whispered promises in the dead of night.

Just them. Here. Together.

Louis exhales, dragging his fingers through Harry’s curls, watching the way he stirs.

He makes a quiet noise, scrunching his nose before nuzzling closer, like he never wants to be anywhere else.

Louis smiles, his voice still rough with sleep. “Morning.”

Harry hums in response, not quite awake yet, but he tightens his grip, pulling Louis in even closer. “Mmm. What time is it?”

Louis glances at the clock on the bedside table. “Half ten.”

Harry groans dramatically, pressing his face further into Louis’s chest. “Too early.”

Louis snorts. “You’ve been up at half five every day for the last year, and now half ten is too early? ”

Harry just hums again, his voice sleep-heavy and content.

His grip on Louis is firm, like if he lets go, Louis might slip away. “S’not the same,” he mumbles. “Don’t have to get up for anything now.”

Louis blinks at that, staring up at the ceiling. Don’t have to get up for anything.

It’s strange, hearing it out loud. Stranger still that it’s true.

For so long, their lives have been dictated by alarms and call sheets, schedules and expectations. The world has always been waiting for them, pulling them in different directions, demanding more.

But not today. Not anymore.

Harry shifts again, finally cracking one eye open, his lips curling into a slow, lazy smile. “You’re thinking too much.”

Louis rolls his eyes but doesn’t deny it. “Bit of a big adjustment, this.”

Harry hums, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns along Louis’s hip, soft and reassuring. “Yeah. But it’s nice, yeah?”

Louis exhales, looking down at him, at the way he’s watching him like he already knows the answer.

“Yeah,” Louis admits, softer this time, the truth settling warm in his chest. “It’s nice.”

And for the first time in longer than he can remember, he really means it.

They stay like that for a long while, wrapped up in the quiet hush of the morning, their bodies warm and tangled together beneath the sheets.

The world outside the hotel walls keeps moving—cars passing in the streets below, life going on as usual—but in here, in this bed, time feels slower, softer.

Harry keeps his eyes shut, not quite asleep but not quite ready to wake up either.

Louis lets him, happy just to be close, to feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his breath against his collarbone. It’s a kind of peace Louis isn’t used to, the kind that doesn’t come with a deadline or an expiration date.

He runs his fingers lazily through Harry’s curls, twirling a few strands around his fingers, letting them slip free just to do it again. Harry hums at the touch, content and pliant, shifting just enough to press his nose against Louis’s skin.

Eventually, Harry stretches, arching his back with a satisfied sigh. His limbs sprawl out before he curls right back into Louis, like he can’t bear to be too far away. “Mmm. Could stay here all day.”

Louis smirks, voice still thick with sleep. “We actually can.”

Harry grins, eyes still shut, his lips brushing against Louis’s chest as he speaks. “Should we?”

Louis pretends to think about it, though he already knows the answer. “Could go out. Get breakfast. Be normal people for once.”

That finally gets Harry to crack an eye open, his expression nothing short of scandalized. “Louis. Love. We have a bed, we have no obligations, and we have room service. Why would we leave?”

Louis laughs, shaking his head as he nudges at Harry’s shoulder. “You’ve got a point.”

“‘Course I do.” Harry’s grin is triumphant as he blindly reaches for the hotel phone on the bedside table, still half-draped over Louis. He dials without even looking, listing off an order like he’s been waiting for this moment his entire life—pastries, eggs, toast, fruit, and a whole pot of tea, because obviously they’ll need a whole pot.

Louis watches him, amused, feeling lighter than he has in weeks.

Harry hangs up with a satisfied little hum and immediately flops back down, burrowing into Louis’s side like he belongs there. “Twenty minutes,” he mumbles, his lips brushing against Louis’s collarbone. “We could have a nap ‘til then.”

Louis huffs a laugh, fingers lazily tracing the bare skin of Harry’s back. “We just woke up.”

Harry tilts his head up, his smile softer now, sleep still clinging to his lashes. “Yeah, but this is the first time we’ve had nowhere to be. Feels nice.”

Louis watches him, the way his dimples pop when he grins, the way he looks so completely unguarded in the morning light. There’s something about it—about this —that makes Louis’s chest ache in the best possible way.

Maybe he’s been fighting this feeling too much, clinging too tightly to the idea that slowing down means losing something. But right now, with Harry pressed close and laughter still warm in the air between them, it doesn’t feel like loss at all.

Maybe this break isn’t the end of something.

Maybe it’s the start of something new.

Louis exhales, lets himself sink deeper into the sheets, deeper into this .

He presses a kiss to the top of Harry’s head, feeling the way he smiles against his skin.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, curling his fingers into Harry’s curls, tugging him even closer. “It does.”