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Chapter Text

The thing they never tell you about grief is how strangely ordinary it feels. How you can wake up one mundane morning, following your usual routine - watching the sun rise and the birds sing with a blank expression on your face, your body and mind enveloped in silence, all until it hits again - the same way an alarm can break you from a reverie.  Then, without a second thought, a tear will fall, and even more to follow, completely involuntarily.

You'd think pain like that would be louder. But it's not. It's quiet. Like the breeze you get on a summer evening, the shiver that makes your hair stand straight on your arms. You carry it like you do your keys or phone, something you forget is there until you reach for it. It's not shown on your face, dark eyes are disguised as lack of sleep - that's all anyone may notice. You don't get a 'handle with care' sticker, because everyone else just moves on, and they expect you to as well. Feelings may be more acknowledged nowadays, but deep down, they're still not.

He's dead. Louis keeps saying it like that, in his head or out loud, but regardless, it's all very blunt, stripped of comfort - because sugarcoating it won't make it less real, and he knows that. If anything, the honesty makes it harder, but also in a strange way, easier - it leaves no room for denial. Liam is gone. His best mate. His brother in every way that mattered. The one who kept him grounded when everything else felt like it was slipping. The one who never asked questions when Louis showed up at his door with droopy eyes and his hands shaking, just needing someone to sit beside him.

Liam was always there. Always. With a hand on his shoulder, a quiet voice, and that soft, knowing smile. "We'll figure it out," he used to say - we, not you, because he never let him carry things alone. Whether he'd fucked up royally or fallen apart, whether it was something massive or something he couldn't even remember due to its lack of importance, Liam would make it his too. Just like that. Like he couldn't bear to see him hold something heavy without reaching for it himself, and Louis truly believed he couldn't. Because he cared. He was the best friend anyone could ever ask for. Even using the word 'was' felt twisted in his mind now.

And it wasn't just the bad times where he'd lend a hand or a shoulder to cry on. He was there for the good, too. When Louis won awards, released something new, even just got up and did something that he was proud of - he was the first to know. He celebrated like it was his name on the plaque, his voice on the track. Always clapping the loudest, texting first, hugging the longest. He wasn't the jealous type either. Never made anything about himself. There was no bitterness, no envy. Just pure pride and pure love.

He was the most genuine person Louis had ever known. Probably the most real he would ever know. The kind of person you meet once in your life and spend the rest of it grateful you'd met them, and you'd keep them too - and if you didn't, then you'd either spend the rest of your life with regrets or you simply weren't lucky enough to have seen what you lost.

And now he's gone.

But in Louis's mind, he should've been there for him, too. More than he was - because to him, it wasn't enough, at least not right now, it didn't feel enough. Liam deserved better. That's the sentence that keeps echoing in his head. The echo of blame, sure, Louis had his hardships too, but he never felt the way Liam did, and a big part of how you feel can change depending on the company you keep, and right now? In his head, he wasn't the company he deserved; he deserved his very own Liam, someone to always be there without hesitation.

Louis knows that the mind is powerful, that it can spin a web of lies in an instant and make you see things that weren't true, regrets that aren't realistic. But the truth didn't even matter right now. Liam could tell him himself that Louis was the best brother he could've ever asked for, and it wouldn't matter. The truth isn't as powerful. Lies, blame, regret.. It's all easier.

He'd already lost four people in his life to death. You'd think, in some fucked-up way, he'd be good at this by now. That he'd finally be okay with losing people. That he'd know how to deal with it. But the truth is, you never do. You just don't. Each one chips away a bit more of you, and somehow it only gets worse - because when you lose the next, all the others come back too. Like ghosts that won't let you breathe. The grief stacks itself up like bricks, and eventually, you're buried underneath it; the wall that you built falls back on you.

You feel it worse every time. The guilt, the regrets - they multiply. You remember the last goodbyes and the last fights. The last I love yous. And if you didn't say one - if you didn't say it properly, it fucking haunts you. Screaming it at the ceiling or the sky never lands the same. Never feels enough. If Louis could go back, nothing else would matter. Just saying 'I love you' one last time. Just calling them, one last time. That's all you'd want. And he would. He'd get his head out of his arse and do it properly.

However, time travel doesn't yet exist.

"Four people, and I still haven't learned my lesson," he mutters out loud, cigarette in hand, the pack already half empty beside his thigh. He didn't doubt he'd finish it today. 'So much for quitting,' emergency pack and all. He didn't even crack a window, but who could be bothered? That was the beauty of living alone. 

Sometimes he looked up at the empty sky and cursed the universe - asked it if it'd had enough. If it's played with him enough, toyed with his feelings and wrung him out like a sick joke, enough. But it hasn't. It never fucking does.

He was number five... Liam was number five.

Grief doesn't just take people. It takes the feeling of normalcy, your sleep and your appetite. He couldn't remember eating anything that wasn't a granola bar in about 60 hours, and in all honesty, he didn't feel the need to. The feeling of regret filled the hole in his chest; there was no room for hunger.

He used to think the hardest part was the initial loss, and that's the fear he always held, but that was before he'd ever lost. He now knows it's not. It's the silence after, waiting for a phone call from them or a message. Expecting one. And then it's the odd feeling of getting used to a new normal, where there will never be a message ever again. When the person whom you could once say everything to...simply doesn't exist anymore. When the messages you send will never get an answer.

The funeral was two days ago. He still hadn't unpacked, which says enough on its own. People said things like "Wear something he would've liked," as if a black jacket or some shit pair of shoes could honour someone like Liam. What they say always feels empty - false sympathy and forced smiles. The people who don't get it are always the ones offering advice. The ones who don't need words at all. They just look at you across the room, and somehow it says everything. That's how you know they cared, too.

Louis had only been home for two days when he got the call. The second he heard, he got on the first flight he could find. He should've been there already, should've never left in the first place. But he wasn't going to waste another second.

He'd been staying in Liam's hometown then, helping his family with everything. It grounded him a little, being around them, being useful. It made the grief feel less sharp, more like a shared language they all understood, and helping felt like holding onto him a little longer, like if he kept himself busy, it wouldn't be real, and Liam would walk through the door at any given moment.

Now his bag's packed again, sitting in the hallway of his London home. He just got back, but he hasn't got the energy to unpack, so he knows it's probable that it'll stay there for a while, till he's ready. Maybe it wasn't just the bag in the hallway, maybe it was something heavier, but that's a problem for another day. Sounds like some shit his therapist would say to him to prove him wrong, though, didn't it?

He couldn't face anyone yet. Or anything. The silence after the crowd, the quiet grief that follows once everyone goes back to their own lives. But he has to eventually; he knows that. Things don't wait for you to catch up, and unfortunately, there's no time to fall behind. So that's why he'll allow himself today. But that's all.

Others say the worst part is the funeral, but they're wrong. The worst part is what comes after. When the world keeps turning like nothing happened. When people either call too much or not at all. When your phone buzzes and you don't want to answer it, but you also don't want it to stop. Because you need something.. anything.. to focus on that isn't this.
And he could list "the worst part" or "the hardest part" all day long, but the truth is it's all fucking hard. It makes it easier if you have someone, though.. But he didn't. He couldn't lie his head on his mum's shoulder, because he didn't have her anymore either. And the one other person whom he trusted enough, loved.. He'd most likely slam the door in his face.

He didn't move for a long time.

The cigarette burned low between his fingers, the smoke curling up and catching in the still air of the flat. The room smelled faintly of ash and something unplaceable - stale air, maybe. A day has passed without opening a window. Or two. He'd lost track.

He leaned back into the couch, head tilting against the worn fabric as he puffed out slowly. The smoke drifted toward the ceiling like it had somewhere better to be. He watched it fade until it was gone, only to then be replaced by another exhale.

That was grief, really. Watching things disappear.

His limbs felt heavy. Like if he tried to stand, he might not bother moving again. The silence of the room crept in under his skin, settled behind his ribs. He closed his eyes.

And without meaning to - in the emptiness that surrounded him, without even realising he'd invited it in - Harry came to him.

Not as he'd last seen him at the funeral, standing across the chapel with shoulders drawn in tight, head low, dressed in all black like everyone else. Louis had tried to meet his eye - just once, a split-second of contact - but it was too much. Too raw. Too loud, in a room already straining under the weight of what was lost. And either way, that wasn't the point. The day belonged to Liam. That was all that mattered.

But now, in the quiet, Harry returned to him differently.

Light steps on the hardwood floor. Oversized jumper sleeves covered his hands. That soft hum he always did when he was thinking - some half-finished melody, or one he hadn't written yet. He'd move between a guitar in his lap, fingers idly strumming, and his notebook open on the table, where he'd lean forward and scribble something quickly, almost frantically, like it might leave his head if he didn't catch it fast enough.

He'd hum, pause, write. Strum, scribble, hum again. Repeat. And Louis would just watch, silently, from the edge of the sofa or the kitchen doorway, mug in hand, pretending he wasn't completely enchanted. That he didn't love him more in those quiet, chaotic moments than he ever knew how to put into words... it was perfect.

He could still see the coffee mug sitting next to Harry's journal, half full, resting too close to the page. It had left a faint mark once, right in the corner of a lyric Harry had been working on for days. He'd held up the notebook like it had personally offended him, moaning about it like it was the end of the world. Louis had grinned at him the entire time. It was ridiculous but adorable; he'd remembered the smudged lyrics in the end, too.

But now it was a ghost of a memory, tucked in between all the what-ifs and could-have-beens.

Back then, things felt solid. Safe. Like, no matter what chaos spun outside their flat, they'd built something inside of it that held.

Now... it was like walking into a burned house. Everything familiar, but nothing alive.

Louis opened his eyes again, blinking into the present, into the smoke.

He didn't know what made the memory hit so hard. Maybe it was the silence. Maybe it was losing Liam- number five- and the sudden, suffocating awareness that he could not afford to lose anyone else. Maybe it was that single, unbearable second at the funeral where everything in him ached to walk across the room and say something, anything, but he couldn't.

He hadn't spoken to Harry. Couldn't. But that didn't stop his body from remembering what it used to feel like to have Harry's shoulder under his cheek, Harry's hand tangled in his hair, Harry's voice quiet in the dark whispering sweet reassurance, telling him he doesn't have to go through it alone.

Louis crushed the cigarette into the ashtray and let out a breath that shook, just a little. He eyed the crumpled pack of cigarettes next to him - the emergency pack he'd promised himself he wouldn't use again. The idea of it was stupid, really, promising not to use it yet keeping it around. Without thinking, he grabbed it and chucked it across the room, the pack landing with a soft thud in the corner.

His hands trembled just a little as he leaned back. More regrets.

This couldn't keep happening. Not like this. Not when everything else was already falling apart. If he was going to slip, it had to be the last time. No more emergency packs left out like temptations. No more relying on a what or a who.

And he knew it wouldn't be easy. But he was serious enough to stop himself from losing control.
'Harry would've helped me quit, ' he thought unwillingly, his mind betraying him by circling back to the very person he didn't want to think about anymore.

"Don't have him anymore either," hopelessly he choked out in a whisper to the room and the walls, to... no one.

But it wasn't true, at least not completely. Somewhere out there, Harry still existed, and so did chance.
It was the space between them that felt impossible.
And that might've been the thing that hurt the most, the bridge between them that he couldn't cross. Couldn't even look at it.

Chapter Text

There's a cold autumn breeze in the air wafting through Louis' hair. He couldn't remember when he made the decision to go outside, didn't even remember opening the door or stepping out. One moment, he was stirring a mug of tea he never actually sipped, and the next, the door was shutting behind him, followed by a click.

The pavement is slightly damp but not completely wet.

'It rained earlier,' he thinks. The smell of it lingered in the air. He hadn't seen the sky in what felt like days - probably was days. The dull grey October sky, clouds pretending to clear but persisting nevertheless. It was a kind of soft grey that makes everything feel like it's holding its breath, although there was a possibility that it wasn't the sky that created that atmosphere.

He nearly turns back inside at that feeling. Instead, he walks, not needing anywhere to go, just needing to move.

There are people around, just enough to remind him that the world still turns, the thought hits him for a split second, though none of these people know. A girl on her phone with a laugh that sounded sweet and sure. A man smoking outside a shop, thumb tapping his screen in that frantic, aimless way people do when they have nothing to look at. A bus splashes through a puddle, and the sound of it cuts through him, loud and unfeeling.

Louis pulls his hood up. It's been three days. Not since he died- that number lives somewhere else, somewhere deeper that'll stay untouched and hidden away- but three days since he said it out loud. Since he admitted it, felt it, let it break him open on the living room floor, and since he lived in it.

He hasn't cried since. Hasn't done much of anything. He'd thought, for a moment, that letting it out like that would make something shift. That there'd be space for air again. But grief isn't like that. It doesn't move just because you name it.

So instead, he walks some more,  focusing on his steps and only on his steps...because he doesn't want to fall. Obviously.

He passes a closed-off park. The rusty black gate is chained shut. The grass behind it is too green. It looks staged, like something from a dream or a cartoon; it didn't look like autumn behind those gates.

He slows his steps as a memory flashes behind his eyes, one from when they were younger, during the breaks they had from tour with the band, when Liam and Louis couldn't sleep at night, so instead wandered around on the very streets he was walking on right now. In hindsight, that wasn't the safest thing they'd ever done, but none of that mattered then, when life was limitless. He blinked away that memory as quickly as it appeared to him, speeding up in the process. It was left there like a flicker in the street lamp behind him.

Something in him made him want to slow down and turn around- but he doesn't.

The ground becomes uneven, he trips slightly, his shoe catches easily from his low and unmotivated steps, the jolt catches in his ribs like a warning. His hands scramble out of his pockets in haste, digging his nails into his palms before he has the time to stop himself. He doesn't fall. But the pressure anchors him, just enough to feel.

He rounds a corner and finds himself in front of a bakery. One of those quiet, old ones with the gold lettering peeling from the window. It smells like cinnamon and burnt coffee, and for a split second, he imagines going in. Ordering something. Sitting down.

He doesn't.

He watches a woman walk out with a paper bag. She holds it gently, keeping it upright with a hand at the bottom so it won't topple.

Louis looks away.

His phone buzzes once in his pocket, reminding him it's there. He checks out of instinct, but once he reads the name on the screen, he wishes he didn't.
Niall's name. The text attached read "Just checking in mate, how are you doing?" The way that his eyebrows scrunch together at the message isn't personal. He looks at it once more before pocketing his phone without reply.

He can't answer yet, because what would he say? Can't lie and say he's okay. Can't say he's not okay either. How do you pile your emotions onto someone who's feeling the same? What do you do with someone else's helplessness when you haven't figured your own out yet? Louis couldn't do that to Niall.

By the time he reaches his street, his legs ache. It's a strange kind of relief- feeling physically tired from movement, not just from being. He doesn't remember most of the turns he took. His body did the navigating; he simply followed.

The house looks the same from the outside. Of course it does. Nothing ever changes fast enough to match the shift in your chest.

He leans against the brick wall just beside the door. Breathes in. Breathes out. Watches it fog from the cold air.
The world hasn't ended. Not technically. But it's quieter without Liam in it. And emptier.

Louis closes his eyes.

He thinks about bridges for a second. The ones he can't cross. The one where there's a fine line between the present and history. The mistakes and regrets.

He shakes the thought of him from his mind, trying to stop circling back. Instead, he focuses on the ground beneath his feet. Just this moment. Just here.

He goes inside when the cold starts to bite at his cheeks.
The flat is dim, but not dark. Light filters in through the kitchen window, blurred and grey, softening the edges of things. The hallway smells like dust and whatever diffuser had been sitting in its dedicated spot for the past few weeks, vanilla, maybe. That was another habit he'd gotten from him.

He kicks off his shoes, leaving them scattered by the front door and shrugs off his coat, letting it fall onto the sofa as he passes.

The living room looks the same as he left it. Blankets are piled in the wrong places, thrown instead of folded. The tea mug, still full. One sock was lying aimlessly in the middle of the rug, with no sign of its pair. The kind of mess that doesn't come from chaos, just inertia.

Louis takes a seat on the sofa, brushing the jacket to the side, and he plants his face into his hands, rubbing his eyes, trying to make sense of anything. Every movement he makes feels slow, even the involuntary ones, the minor shaking in his leg, the shallow breaths he takes in.
The silence in here is different from outside. Heavier. It presses against his skin, settles in the base of his throat. It's too quiet for thinking, and too loud for resting. He leans back, eyes closed, lets the quiet buzz in his ears.

It should be raining. He doesn't know why he thinks that, only that the world feels like it should be crying harder than it is.

Three days ago, he broke apart on this very floor, with his back to the same sofa. He remembers the cold of the boards against his palms. The salt was making his skin feel dry. His voice was saying things he hadn't meant to say aloud.
He doesn't regret it. Not really. But the quiet that followed has been unbearable.

Louis shifts, reaches for the remote, then stops halfway. There's nothing he wants to hear. No songs, no voices, no noise pretending to help. Everything feels like static lately- even music.

He used to write songs to bleed things out. Now he can't even hum, he tried it too internally but nothing came to him. Maybe it was too soon, maybe you cant put feelings on paper before you know what those feelings are.

His gaze lands on a notebook halfway under the coffee table. He knows what it is - lyric scraps, maybe even some of Liam's handwriting from months back. He doesn't reach for it; he hasn't written anything in ages.

Instead, he stands, almost suddenly, and moves to the kitchen. His hand goes for the kettle out of habit, and only halfway through filling it does he realise he's not thirsty. Still, he clicks it on. Let it boil.

It's something.

Steam curls into the air. He watches it rise and disappear for a few seconds before moving away.

On the fridge, there's a crumpled paper clipped under a magnet. He put it there last week before everything and hasn't looked at it since. White with red letters- the name of the office printed cleanly across the top. The appointment time is underneath. It stares at him like it has some personal vendetta to overcome.

He hasn't cancelled.
He hasn't confirmed either.

Louis presses his palms flat against the fridge door and lets his head drop forward. The metal is cool against his skin. Steadying, in its way.

He doesn't know if therapy will help with this. He'd had his fair share of appointments, but this was bigger. It seemed unfixable, and even the thought of fixing it- it felt selfish to him. Talking it all out to a stranger in a room that smells like jasmine, the concept didn't make sense to him anymore. But the silence isn't working. The pain's not gone. Just quieter. Tighter.

A whistle shrills from the kettle just as he picks the note off the fridge and stuffs it into his pocket.

He flinches, then turns it off, and pours the water into a mug. Nothing else accompanying it. Just heat. He wraps his hands around the mug and stands there, letting it burn into his palms. He just holds it like a weight.

Somewhere in the living room, he hears his phone buzz again. Not urgent. Just persistent. Probably Niall. Could be Zayn, but that feels less likely.

Could be Harry.

He closes his eyes.

It isn't.

He moves back into the living room and sits again. The water is already cooling. He sets it down untouched, next to the other mug he'd yet to pick up.

His eyes flicker to the notebook again. This time, he picks it up. He doesn't know why, just to hold.

The corner of the cover is bent outwards a little, and soft fraying edges are nearly all over from too much use. Inside, pages curl with pressure and time. Indents of the pen on the pages afterwards. He couldn't remember what the last thing he'd written was, didn't intend to check either, instead he flipped to a blank page right at the back.

Louis stares at the page. His pen is still clipped to the spine. Without thinking, he uncaps it. He doesn't write a full verse.
Just a line.
A whisper of something that came to him.

He doesn't read it back, almost as if he writes it blindly; he shuts the cover after, not even sure the ink had dried completely beforehand. He places the book back down on the coffee table, leaving a distance between it and himself, almost like he's afraid of it.

He takes a deep breath in and out before pulling out the small note from his pocket. Something stirs in him. Before he knows it, he drags his feet towards the door, not allowing himself to think twice, just pulls on his shoes, grabs his car keys and leaves.

-

The room is quiet in a way only familiar spaces are. Not silent, just settled. Soft ambient light, carpeted floors, nothing harsh or sterile. A faint trace of lavender clings to the air, carried from a discreet diffuser in the corner.

'She changed that,' Louis notes absently. It used to be jasmine and sandalwood. He remembers that from his last session.

He stops scanning the room and sinks into the same soft armchair he always does, tucking one foot under the other. It's a pose he doesn't remember adopting, but it did eventually help stop his legs from shaking, so that was a plus.

The door clicks shut behind him, and Clara's gaze finds him- warm, steady, familiar. He trusts her. Before taking a seat, she pours a glass of water to place in a spot for Louis. She doesn't reach for her pen, doesn't open her notepad, or even ask any questions. She doesn't need to anymore. She's learned to let him begin.

He sits quietly for a moment, eyes on the floor, before he speaks up, "Didn't think I'd make it today."

"Yet you did," she says softly, without praise, without pressure. Just an acknowledgement.

"Yeah. I did," he murmurs. "Not sure how. I just ended up here." His voice is low, worn thin from exhaustion. He glances out the window, where the garden blurs slightly in the early spring light.

Clara was the first person he'd spoken to since, or at least properly. Although it had just been a few small sentences so far, to Louis, that felt like the first human conversation he'd had.

He rubs his hand over his jaw with his thumb grazing the corner of his mouth, "I went for a walk. First time since-." He pauses. "Something about the air lately, it feels thicker. Felt like I couldn't breathe indoors anymore."

Clara tilts her head, just enough to show she's listening.

"It didn't help, being outside. Not really. But it was different. Like I wasn't drowning. Just... soaked through."
There's a stretch of silence. He rubs a hand over his jaw, then says, "I wrote a line this morning. Didn't plan to. I wasn't even thinking about writing, but it just... happened. My hand moved. The words came."

Clara's eyes warm slightly, but she doesn't speak yet.

"I didn't even read it," Louis adds. "Couldn't bring myself to. I just closed the notebook and left."

She doesn't press, doesn't ask what it might've said. She's learned that Louis only looks back when he's ready.

After a beat, she asks gently, "What have the last three days been like?"

Louis hesitates, he shrugs first, gazing around like he's looking for the answer elsewhere, and he seems to find it. Eventually, he breathes out, "Like dominoes. You knock one over, and the rest just... go. Fast. Loud." 

"And what's come back with them?"

He looks up at her. "Everything."

"Your mum?"

He nods. "Yeah. She's always there, though. But this time... someone else too."

Clara doesn't act shocked. Even without the name, she has a fair idea who Louis is referring to. And she knows how rarely it's said out loud.

"It's like he dumped all the history back onto me. Everything I shoved down just came up at once," Louis says. His voice dips to something quieter. "I keep thinking about him. What he would've said. What he might've done. And how I let it all fall apart."

His laugh is small and sharp, directed at himself. "I miss him."

Clara doesn't fill the silence that follows. She knows the weight of it is doing the work.

"He was at the... funeral," Louis says eventually, taking a moment before saying the harsh word. "Didn't even look at me."

"Did you want to talk to him?"

He shakes his head, but it doesn't feel certain. "I couldn't. That day wasn't about me."

There's a pause.

"I don't want to open that door again," he adds, eyes fixed on the carpet. "Because I don't think I can handle whatever it may be that's behind it."

Clara's voice is steady. "You know what's behind it, don't you?"

He doesn't answer right away. Then, with a slow exhale: "Yeah. I do. But knowing doesn't make it easier. I was the one who fucked it all up."

There's no judgment in Clara's silence- just space. She wanted to disagree, tell him how it was even and how she remembers it, but she doesn't. 

"We tried, after the band split," Louis continues. "All of us. For a bit. But it was hard, and it got harder. And before we knew it, we weren't anything anymore. Not a couple, not friends and certainly not brothers. Just... strangers with too much history."

His gaze falls again. "It's not just Harry, though. It's all of it. The band. The shows. The stupid inside jokes that I can't say anymore. We told ourselves we were done, but- "

He cuts himself off, brows pinched. Clara finishes slowly, to show that her understanding, "it's never that easy, is it?"

"No, it's not...Liam always believed it could come back," he says finally. "Even when the rest of us gave up. He kept texting. Checking in. Playing peacemaker, he was the glue."

He swallows.

"I didn't answer half the time, sometimes I didn't even open them, not if it was about the group. Now I'd give anything just to get one more. Even if it was just a stupid emoji."

The silence this time feels heavier. Clara shifts slightly, but doesn't break it.

"He tried to hold us all together," Louis adds. "And we let him carry that alone. I think we all assumed he'd always be there. Like we could fix it when we were ready."

He presses his thumb into a small tear in the armrest, giving himself a focal point.

"But we waited too long...for the longest time, he was all I had."

Clara sets her notepad down completely now, just folds her hands in her lap. Over time, Louis started seeing her more to speak rather than for advice; she knew that, and it's what he needed. It gave him the time to process, to feel valued. 

Louis's voice is quiet again. "For years, I told myself I was done with that life. Like it didn't matter anymore. Just because it didn't need me, I told myself I didn't need it either. But the truth is- I did need it. I still do. Just... not in the way I thought."

Clara leans forward, tone gentle. "So what do you think you're grieving, Louis?"

He looks up. Eyes red but not wet. "All of it... the stuff that came back with losing him. The loss of who we were. Who was I? And the fact that there's no going back."

She nods. "And what about who you are now?"

Louis leans his head back against the chair, closes his eyes for a moment.

"I'm making a second album," he says. "It's going well. But sometimes it feels like I'm writing over something that still hasn't healed. Like trying to build on cracked concrete."

When he opens his eyes, he's staring at the floor again. "I miss him," he says, almost like it surprises him every time. "I miss all of them."

A breath, then a small smile. "We used to spend entire days inside, just doing nothing. But it didn't feel like anything. It felt like everything."

Clara picks up her pen again, but only lightly. "You've got a lot showing up at once. Past and present colliding. That's a lot for one person."

Louis nods slowly. He doesn't cry. Doesn't need to. The ache sits right at the surface, and that's enough.

"I don't think I've let myself feel any of it until now," he says. "Not fully."

Clara meets his eyes. "And now?"

He looks toward the window again, distant. "It feels like a race against time, the need to go forward but the incessant desire to go back."

-

The session with Clara ended the way it always did- no grand conclusion, no breakthrough. Just another subtle shift. Another minuscule step toward the end.

Soft moonlight filtered through the blinds, casting blurry shadows along the edges of Louis' room. He stayed still, leaning on the balcony, admiring the way the white light settled so naturally.
For a moment, he shut his eyes, inhaling the fresh air. He'd stargaze if he could see any, but the stars had hidden away many years ago, before the cruelty could reach their sight.

He turned back into his room, shutting the doors tightly behind him, and tucked himself under the sheets. Leaning against the headboard in silence, his gaze drifted to the moon again, listening to the few birds left who hadn't yet sung their night song.

Louis let the sound of normalcy wash over him, deeper than before, but not heavy. It felt like a pause between storms. A moment's relief, like breathing in after being underwater.

Before he could think too long, his hand wandered to the top drawer of his bedside table. He pulled out a brown journal, neatly closed with a pen attached at the top. He looked held it gently in his lap, drumming his fingers against the leather without ever meeting its gaze.

He didn't use this journal often. In all honesty, it wasn't just any journal. It was a key, in the wrong hands. A reason for pity, in most. Or a source of understanding, in only a select few.

He skipped over the pages he always did- the ones they wrote together. All of them.
There wasn't anything wrong with them. Just a memory he couldn't afford to unlock- feelings that were too blatant.

Several words and lines flashed through his head, some he'd scrap, others that maybe had lyric potential- but when he finally opened the book, he only wrote one line. Just the one. That was enough.

It didn't connect with the line from earlier. Not at all.
Just a quiet thought about the silent witness in the sky. It wasn't a rhetorical question...just one that would never reach the one it was meant for.

'Do we ever look up at the moon at the same time?'

-

"I'm in love with the fact that there's only one moon," Harry had once muttered lowly.

Louis blinked, looking down at Harry while keeping their fingers laced together. They were curled up on a lounge chair in Rome. Harry's back pressed to Louis' chest, both of them wrapped in the stillness of the night. The sky was hazy, dusted with translucent clouds. The moon watched over them, like it always did.

"And why's that?" Louis asked softly.

Harry tilted his head up to meet his gaze, a familiar glint in his eye.
"Because no matter how far away we are from each other... we could look up at the moon and know we're looking at the same one."

Louis swore, if he could have paused time right then, he would've. With Harry in his arms, listening to his awful jokes, or sitting through one more spontaneous rant. If he'd known it wouldn't last forever... maybe he'd have tried harder to freeze it in place.

Instead, he let out a laugh. "What about if it was daytime for one of us?"

Harry sighed dramatically. "Heyyy! Don't ruin it, Lou."

"I'm kidding. We'll never be apart." Louis nudged the corners of Harry's mouth back into a smile using his thumb and index finger.

Harry grinned. "Who's the cheesy one now?"

"Shut up. I just love you."

Before Harry could say it back, the balcony door slid open.

"You two coming in?" Niall's voice cut through the moment, not asking either. It was the designated 'bonding' time Niall had persisted on from the very beginning to get to know them better... by now it was just a standard practice, and they never missed it.

They both groaned but got up. Just before both of them went inside, Harry paused for a second, placing his hand on Louis's back.

"I love you, too," he whispered. Because there had never been an instance he hadn't said it back, and that wasn't going to start today .

Not today..but it did, eventually.

-

"A phone call away, Lou... I'm just a phone call away."
That's what Niall had said before they parted, two weeks ago.

A phone call away.

Niall had texted twice. Probably gave up after that. Knew Louis would reply when he was ready.

And tonight...
He was.

So he took him up on that phone call.

Chapter Text

Steam curled in the corners of the bathroom mirror, distorting the shape of Louis' face as he dragged a towel through his hair. The shower hadn't done much other than wake him and give him something to think about. Think about the call from last night and what he said, the silence in between those questions that was deafening, all because he didn't have the answers- or because he didn't like the answer that came up. Overall, it wasn't that bad. Louis had been so engulfed by his fears and his what-ifs that he'd almost forgotten that it was Niall he was speaking to. Just Niall. The same Niall who had bleached his hair for 7 years in the band and before, the Niall who had dropped his tea on the radio, and now? He was the Niall offering his shoulder to Louis because he knew he needed it. He was the Niall being strong for everyone else despite his own grief. 

Louis pushed open the glass doors of the shower and reached for his phone on the counter, the screen lighting up without a prompt.

9:42 AM. No new notifications.

The silence wasn't unusual, but it still defeated him. He hesitated, thumb hovering over the messages app, then sighed and tossed the phone back down beside the sink. He didn't need rash decisions. 

Leaning against the tiles, he closed his eyes tightly, letting the water flush out the shampoo from his hair. A memory edged its way into his thoughts- not in the vivid way where he can see it all again, but just enough for the warm feeling to return with reassurance.

Last night, after the call. Or maybe this morning, in that dazed, blinking hour before the sun properly rises. He didn't remember falling asleep, but he remembered the weight that had been lifted by Niall's voice. That calm, familiar comfort. 

"You're not broken," Niall had said at one point. Louis hadn't responded to that bit; he just listened on, waiting for Niall to explain how. What made him 'not broken'? But he never did. He didn't explain further, and maybe that was the point. 

He blinked the memory away and, within seconds, shut off the hot water. In the trance, he'd missed the message that came through onto his lock screen, and with the phone upside down, he hadn't seen it yet. 

The air seemed colder while it began nipping at his wet skin as he stepped out of the shower, towel in his hand, patting himself dry. He used his hand to swipe through the condensation on the mirror, looking at his reflection. He looked more alive than the previous days, and that was probably something to note, positively- not that he did, it was all the same to him. 

He took light steps back into his bedroom with the towel wrapped lazily around his waist and his washbag and phone in hand. The house was quiet, and understandably so- he lived alone. But it felt different somehow. Maybe it was because his thoughts had finally slowed. Maybe he was just focusing on it too much, but either way, he didn't mind it; it was a comfortable silence that didn't beg for background noise from the telly- it was nice. 

He sat at the edge of the bed after dressing himself, ran a hand through his damp hair, and only then reached for his phone again subconsciously. He turned it over in his hand before waking the screen. One message.

Niall: I meant to ask this on the phone last night. I was thinking of having a few of us round this weekend, just something quiet.
No pressure at all, but it'd be good to see you again x

And that... was not what he was expecting. 

He didn't have to ask who 'a few of us' were; he figured that out immediately. It should've been predictable. Niall was always the peacemaker among them, not a bad quality, just particularly difficult at times. 

Louis didn't know if he was ready for that. He wasn't. 

A breath left him as he stared at it on the lock screen for a moment, as if he glared at it long enough, then it'd vanish, but for obvious reasons, it didn't, so he defeatedly opened the message. 

Just a few of us..
no pressure... 

He read it again, and again...getting stuck on those two phrases. 

It was harmless, wasn't it? It was just them... just a catch-up. Niall was trying. They all were, separately. But Louis hadn't stepped into a room with them in so long that the thought alone had him frozen. So much was left unfinished, and now seemed like such a sour time to rifle through it all, but maybe it was the right time. The only time that they would face it. 

He thought of Zayn first. 'Would he even be there?' Louis thought. It was a valid question to have; it was too messy not to have any questions. But without him, it wouldn't feel right either, and despite the unspoken tension, Louis knew that he could admit that...there just couldn't only be three. From five to four... it couldn't go to three like that. A tear involuntarily pricked in the corner of Louis' eyes at the thought of three, but it subsided quickly. He couldn't let himself think of that. It was never supposed to get smaller. 

He hadn't spoken to Zayn in years. Not since the day Louis had asked him to show up, and he never did. What made it worse was that he said he would. He never reached out again; there was a lingering sting in his chest that wouldn't let him. The kind that stings more and more at each memory because you only realise in those moments that it's over. They'd left so many things unsaid. It had felt like the both of them had been waiting for the other to fix it, and when Louis wanted to, when he needed him so badly that he was willing to forget it all, it wasnt reciprocated, and all those false "I'll always be there" promises got swept under the rug too. 

Nevertheless, he hopes he'll be there. In that room. Louis didn't want to dig for the reason why; instead, he settled on the fact that he couldn't look at the room of three, knowing that was all that was left of them. 

The next person he thought of was Harry. He would be there, it was without question. Niall was sure to have spoken to him first. Niall wouldn't have suggested anything without thinking it through, without balancing the weights between everyone, trying to keep it from tipping too far in any direction. Which meant, if he was inviting Louis, Harry was probably already in. Louis wishes in a strange way that he could see his reaction to the idea. What he thought or what expression passed his face....whether he thought about him too. 

Louis didn't even have words to explain what would be between him and Harry, looking at each other again after all that time, after they'd slipped away from each other. They were strangers now. That's all.

Louis stood from the edge of the bed, leaving his phone open, heart thudding like the thoughts alone were a marathon. Subconsciously, he paced back and forth, but then stopped in front of a set of drawers. He doesn't know why he did it, but his hand wandered like he needed to see it. Just needed to hold it so he could remember that it was real and not a deluded imagination he'd dreamed up one day. 

From the bottom drawer, he pulled out a pair of keys looped together with a single keyring. Feeling the weight of them in his hands and the metal against his skin, it was strange. The object could transport him back to the time if he'd ever let it, but he didn't. 

The keys each had an initial engraved onto them. L and H. One for each of them. For their house. 

What's worse? It was still under their names, shared. No one had been there, though, nothing had even been moved; it's all the way it was left, with the addition of dust sheets. 

This was what he did now. He overthought until he convinced himself not to try. Until the fear felt like fact. Until he was more comfortable with the ache of regret than the risk of hope.

The names pressed heavily against his ribs, making it hard to keep that fragile sense of resolve from crumbling. The image of Zayn's eyes the last time they'd spoken - strained, unreadable. And Harry, who hadn't spoken at all. Not to him, not in a long time. Only in songs, maybe.

And still, the message stayed on his screen. Waiting. Quiet. No pressure.

But that was a lie, wasn't it?

There was pressure. From the past, from his chest, from the memory of everything they used to be. Of course, there was bloody pressure. 

He dropped the keys back into the drawer and shut it before he could change his mind. The clink of metal hitting wood echoed a little too loudly in the quiet. His hands stayed pressed against the wood for a second longer than needed, head bowed, eyes shut.

And then he heard it.

Not in a ghostly way. Not like something cinematic or a ringing in his head. The thought of regrets was what urged it, but it came at the perfect time, and whether Louis wanted to admit it or not, it was exactly the advice he needed; it felt like being lectured by a parent or older sibling, not wanting to listen but deep down knowing they're right. 

Liam's voice. Calm. Steady. Like it always was when Louis was spiralling.

"We've got to live fast, Lou. It's what everything was for."

Louis felt the breath catch in his throat, and his skin warmed all over.

"I don't want any regrets. The parts I can control? They're all mine." He finished with a hand on Louis' shoulder. Liam always had reasons for what he did. He had a way of explaining them, too. He could've pointed at the moon and called it the sun, and you'd believe him, not because it made sense, but because he made it make sense.

It had been said years ago, probably backstage somewhere, during a late-night conversation when they were all too young to realise the weight of the world they were holding. Or maybe it was more recent, one of the last times they'd spoken, when Liam had sounded tired but certain-sure of who he was, even if everything around him was constantly changing.

The words settled into Louis' chest like a stone. Not heavy in a drowning way, but anchoring. Stabilising. A soft sort of weight that reminded him that fear wasn't a reason not to try.

He whispered, almost to himself, "No regrets." 

And for a second, it didn't ache. The thought of Liam didn't ache. It just... existed. Soft around the edges. Present. It almost felt nice, knowing he could have these memories without the ache. 

That was the moment he realised the confidence he felt the night before, after the call, when the room felt a little less cold. It just needed a reason to return. And maybe Liam had given it to him again, the way he always used to. Just with a few words. Just by believing.

Louis stood up straighter, taking his phone into his hand again. 

Louis: Count me in. 

He still didn't know what he'd say to Zayn. He still didn't know if he could look Harry in the eyes. But maybe he didn't have to figure it all out now. Maybe all he had to do was show up.

That was something.

-- 

Louis stood in front of his wardrobe, fingers hesitating over the hangers before settling on a soft, faded jumper. The morning light filtered softly through the window, different from the last time he'd stood here, when the message still felt fresh and uncertain. Now, the day had finally arrived. He slipped the thick cotton jumper over his head, the fabric familiar against his arms. He reached for a pair of black joggers next. It was all subconscious in a way; he didn't actively think about his choices, but it was cold outside, and he wasn't trying to impress anyone. 

Louis glanced at himself in the mirror, brushing a stray lock of hair out of his face. His reflection seemed quieter than before, the sharp edges of confidence softened by something heavier- nervousness, maybe, or a creeping doubt whispering it wasn't enough. The warmth he'd felt after the call was fading fast, replaced by the familiar ache of anticipation mixed with dread.

He ran a hand through his hair again, the gesture less about fixing it and more about steadying himself. The fleeced fabric of his jumper felt like a shield, hugging him and keeping him warm. He wanted to hold onto the confidence from earlier in the week, but it was slipping through his fingers.

Taking a deep breath, Louis turned away from the mirror, grabbed his phone from the dresser, and tucked it into his pocket. Today was the day. He didn't know what it would bring, but he knew he had to face it- one small step at a time.

Clara would be hearing about this if he made it out alive. 

Louis stepped out of his apartment, the cool air brushing against his skin through the fabric of his jumper, where his jacket didn't cover him. He pulled the collar of the jumper a little higher, his steps measured but steady as he walked towards his car. The familiar rhythm of the city buzzed faintly in the background, but he was distant from it, like watching from behind a pane of glass.

He let his thoughts drift to Niall's message again, the offer of company both promising and terrifying. What would it feel like to be in a room with them all? To share a space that once had been ordinary, now loaded with memories and tension? The idea both warmed and tightened his chest.

Niall's house was only 15 minutes away, but Louis didn't rush. He wasn't sure if he wanted to arrive too early or risk facing the wait alone. He knew he'd be the first to get there. It was strange, being first- it felt like a test he wasn't sure he was ready for.

Louis pulled into the quiet street, eyes immediately drawn to the fact that his car was the only one parked outside Niall's house. A small knot tightened in his stomach. He had imagined arriving and being greeted by familiar chaos- the hum of chatter, laughter spilling out onto the porch, the faint glow of warm lights- but instead, there was just silence.

He sat for a moment, hands gripping the steering wheel, heart thudding louder than the engine. Was he ready for this? Was anyone?

Taking a shaky breath, Louis stepped out of the car, the cold biting at his cheeks. The front door opened before he even had a chance to knock.

"Niall," he said, voice quieter than he'd planned. There was no lie in admitting it was awkward; they'd almost forgotten how they used to be around each other. It was sad how things changed, how the people you once spent every day with just slipped away. 

"Lou...Come in," Niall said in a soft tone, stepping aside. He still glowed about him, like the type of aura that comes off a golden retriever puppy. 

Inside, the house felt calm, lived-in, familiar, but changed in small ways Louis couldn't immediately place. The faint scent of coffee and something baked lingered in the air, grounding the space. The gentle clink of mugs from the kitchen reached Louis' ears as Niall moved around, giving the impression of normalcy, but Louis could feel the carefulness behind it all.

Louis stayed by the door for a moment after pulling off his shoes and jacket. He shoved his hands deep in his pockets, the silence stretching out between them, thick but not unwelcome. Niall's steady presence was a quiet invitation- not to rush. 

As Niall returned, he handed him a mug of tea, Louis' fingers curling tightly around the warmth, accepting it with a small smile. There was no need for grand gestures. Just two old friends trying to bridge a silence that had stretched far too long.

Louis took a slow sip, letting the warmth spread through him, a fragile comfort settling into the space. The room is quiet, but not uncomfortable; it's filled with small sounds: the tick of a clock, the low hum of the heater, the faint shuffle of Niall moving around.

And for the first time in a long while, Louis felt like maybe, just maybe, this was a step forward- messy and uncertain, but real. 

Louis didn't know where to begin, whether he should say the first word or just wait for Niall to take the lead, but there wasn't much time to think before he spoke. 

Niall nodded his head to the side slightly and started walking, indicating that he should follow him. "So, how have you been, Lou?" Lou.. the nickname didn't go unnoticed, but even after all the time that had passed, it still somehow felt natural, nothing felt forced. 

Niall began leading Louis down the hallway, the familiar creak of the floorboards soft beneath their steps. The front door clicked shut behind them, muffling the quiet of the street outside. Louis felt the weight of the silence lingering in the air, but the living room offered a warmer kind of stillness. 

"The best it possibly could be, I suppose", he responded with a shrug. He didn't know if he was asking about the 6 years or the past few weeks, so naturally he gave a neutral response. 

Light streamed gently through pale blinds, casting lazy patterns on the carpeted floor and settling across the faded rug.

Louis took a seat on the sofa, sinking into the cushions with a slight exhale. The pillows were slightly rumpled like someone had been sitting there before him. It was softer than he expected, the kind of comfort that felt almost foreign after so many long days spent avoiding everything. Niall took the armchair across from him, settling in with a quiet ease that seemed to ground the room. A faint scent of fresh laundry and wood polish lingered in the air- small comforts that reminded Louis this was still a home.

Louis placed the brown mug on the low coffee table. It seemed like the awkwardness had vanished, giving space for Louis to continue. "How have you been?" he asked.

Niall let out a huff of air, sort of like laughter- although nothing was funny, it broke up the need for any rash answers, made it flow like a normal conversation. It felt like no time was missed at all. 

"Alright, actually, working on a new album, what about you, music-wise? It's been so long."

Louis nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching into a faint smile. "Yeah, I've been slowly putting some things together... so when are we gonna hear this new album of yours?" he didn't feel the need to acknowledge how long it had been, that was shared. 

"Not sure yet, I'm hoping next year."  Niall's gaze drifted to the window for a moment, watching the light shift as clouds moved across the sky, before turning back to Louis. "You know.. I wasn't sure you'd show up today. I'm glad you're here."

Louis looked down at his mug, his throat tightening a little. "Me neither, but I felt like I had to. I'm glad I came too."

They shared a quiet laugh, low and unsure, but it loosened the tension just a bit. Louis felt the knot in his stomach loosen. 

The room seemed to breathe with them - the quiet ticking of a clock, the soft rustle of curtains in the breeze. Louis took another sip of his tea, the warmth spreading through his chest. 

The tea eventually disappeared, slowly, like the silence between them. Their conversation had carried on in patches, quiet, familiar. Nothing deep, just enough to start brushing the dust off something that had once been second nature.

Louis shifted the mug in his hands, leaned forward and placed it gently on the table.

Niall moved almost at the same time, stretching slightly before standing. "I'll grab these," he said casually, nodding toward the mugs.

Louis went to reach for his again, already rising from the sofa. "I've got mine," he said, half out of habit.

They both reached at once, and Niall gave a little laugh under his breath, shaking his head as he took it from Louis anyway. "Still stubborn," he muttered, not unkindly, just playfully, and in that brief moment, it felt like old times. 

Louis rolled his eyes lightly, about to respond- but before he could, Niall shifted the mugs to one hand and gently reached out with the other, pulling Louis into a hug.

It wasn't rehearsed or perfectly timed, but it was steady and heartfelt. A quiet, grounding embrace that spoke louder than words- you're here, and I'm really glad.

Louis hesitated for a moment, caught off guard, but then eased into it, wrapping one arm around Niall's shoulder. The contact was sincere. 

"Missed you, man," Niall said, pulling back with a small smile.

Louis nodded, warmth creeping into his expression. "Yeah. Me too."

Maybe Niall was right. No pressure, no weight. Just the quiet understanding they both needed.

But before Louis could fully pull away from the hug and settle back into his seat, the faintest sound echoed through the room- a soft creak from the entrance of the living room. It was subtle, easily missed, but Niall stiffened instantly, his eyes flicking toward the doorway, Louis's following. 

Louis's eyes caught movement at the edge of his vision- a figure standing silently in the doorway.

It was Harry.

The sudden sight stopped Louis mid-motion, his breath hitching as the reality of Harry's presence sank in. Harry stood there, framed in the dim light, looking quieter, smaller somehow than Louis remembered, but unmistakably him. 

For a long, frozen moment, neither of them spoke. Louis's hands, which had been resting lightly on Niall's shoulder, fell to his sides as he stepped back just a fraction, eyes locked on Harry's. 

He was not prepared for this, and Niall had not told him he was there. 

Niall, sensing the shift in the room, quietly stepped aside, his gaze flicking between the two men before he retreated toward the kitchen with a murmur, "I'm gonna go and..", he lifted the mugs to show what he was referring to, but no one was paying him any mind. 

The room, once warm and easy, suddenly felt tight and charged. Louis's fingers twitched, tugging nervously at the cuffs of his jumper. His heart hammered a confused rhythm- instead of a million thoughts through his head.. There was nothing..just silence, like his conscience had ditched him and left him all alone in this. 

Harry's eyes held a quiet intensity, a mixture of things Louis couldn't quite place. 

Neither spoke, the silence stretching between them like a fragile thread, waiting to be pulled.

"Hi," Louis stuttered out, barely above a whisper- so soft it might've been mistaken for breath.

But before it could land, before anything could be said back-

The doorbell rang, sharp and sudden, snapping the moment in two...luckily. 

Louis blinked, shifting his vision from Harry over to the door, as if being shaken from a reverie, Harry's attention switched toward the sound, too. It was sudden and mundane, but it was perfect. 

Niall's footsteps came from the kitchen, walking towards the door. 

Louis shifted awkwardly, fingers still fidgeting with his sleeves. Harry remained rooted in place, his eyes lingering at the door. He stayed still with his back turned to Louis and his gaze switched between the door and the back of Harry's head. Right then, he remembers his doubts about showing up today. He got too comfortable; it felt worse now, as if he was taken by surprise. He wasn't, though. He knew what 'a few of us' meant.

The pause hung between them, heavy and unfinished, as the door opened to reveal another old friend. 

Zayn stepped inside slowly, the soft click of the door behind him sounding louder than it should have. He glanced around as he slipped off his shoes, shrugging his jacket halfway off his shoulders. He looked good- older, in the mature sense, but still Zayn in that way only the three of them could ever really recognise. Same tattoos on his arms, with the exception of a few more, signature leather jacket and the same searching look in his eyes. His hair was a little longer, styled just enough to look like he hadn't tried, but if you knew Zayn, you'd know he probably spent at least 15 minutes sorting his hair. His expression was unreadable in that specific, infuriating way only he could manage.

"Alright?" Niall asked, stepping back to let him in fully. His voice was light and casual, but there was something careful lingering beneath it.

Zayn gave a small smile and nodded. "Yeah," he said, voice a little hoarse like he hadn't used it much today. "Sorry, I'm late."

"You're all good," Niall replied with a smile, already turning to gesture him further inside. "Come in, I'll grab you a drink if you want." He says and disappears into the kitchen again after Zayn returns a soft nod. Harry debates following him, to leave the room that was thick with tension, to give himself a moment to breathe, but he doesn't. 

Zayn stepped into the living room, jacket and shoes already off. As he passed Harry, he gave a quiet glance and reached out his fingers, brushing briefly against Harry's arm in a gesture that was more instinct than thought. It wasn't a hug, not even a pat, but it lingered just long enough to register.

Harry didn't move at first, but his eyes flicked toward Zayn's hand, then up to meet his gaze for the smallest moment. No words. Just something exchanged in silence- recognition, maybe. Something familiar in the way people once close still read each other without needing to ask.

Zayn kept walking, letting his hand fall away. Harry stayed still, his head turning just slightly to watch him go.

The interaction made sense, it wasn't too much, it was perfect for the moment. It'd be a lie to say what happened wasn't messy after Zayn left the band, but they'd made peace with it. Louis didn't know when, but his brow furrowed when he saw the friendly look they'd exchanged. Something tugged at his chest, it'd hit him- how he doesn't know these things about Harry anymore. It wasn't a breakthrough, but he never truly realised it till this moment. 

Louis shook the thoughts from his head and instead moved forward, sleeves tugged halfway over his hands, hesitant but deliberate, he held out his hand. "Zayn." The word came out too formal, heavier than he intended. He wasn't sure where they stood-if anywhere, but he wanted to try. No regrets.

For a moment, Zayn held his gaze, then instead of a handshake, he closed the distance and pulled Louis into a brief, firm hug.

Louis stiffened- caught off guard but not resisting. He eased into the embrace, one hand resting lightly on Zayn's back. It was simple, but carried everything they hadn't said.

Across the room, Harry's eyes followed them, watching quietly for a beat before turning away, letting the moment breathe.

When they pulled apart, Zayn gave a small, tight smile. "Been a while."

"Too long," Louis said softly, voice low. "Suppose we have a bit to talk about."

The room settled into an awkward quiet. Neither Louis nor Zayn rushed to fill it. It felt like a much-needed deep breath. Slow and uncertain, but necessary. Years of distance wouldn't be erased by a hug, but it was a start, because it showed they cared enough. 

Louis glanced over at Harry out of the corner of his eye. Harry was watching, letting it happen. Louis wasn't sure if he wanted to know what Harry was thinking, or if it was easier not to. He shifted his weight, trying to shake off some of the tension coiling in his chest, reminding himself this was just a beginning, not the whole story.

Niall stepped back into the room, carrying drinks and a small plate of biscuits. He paused when he saw the three of them standing stiffly in the middle of the room, like they'd forgotten what to do next.

He gave a soft laugh, shaking his head. "What's with all the standing around? We're not strangers."

There was a faint smile on his face, but Louis couldn't help thinking that, in a bitter way... they were.

The words hung in his mind as he watched Harry and Zayn, the distance between them suddenly feeling wider.

Louis glanced up first. He hadn't realised how long he'd been standing there, how tightly he'd been holding himself. His arms dropped a little, sleeves still bunched at his wrists, and he looked over at Zayn, then Harry, like maybe they were all waiting for someone else to move first. He sat back down at his original seat as the weight in the air was broken up a little by Niall. His hands stayed in his lap, fingers restless against the hem of his jumper.

Zayn was the second one to move. With a small shift of weight, he moved toward the sofa and sat down on the opposite end of the same sofa as Louis'. He leaned back into the cushions, getting comfortable in the best way he could manage. 

Harry followed, though more slowly. He moved toward the armchair Niall had vacated earlier, settling into it with a kind of cautious ease. One leg crossed over the other, arms folding across his chest, not defensive- just... closed. Contained. 

Niall hovered for a second, then crossed the room and set the plate of biscuits down on the coffee table and passing the drink to Zayn. He shifted a coaster that didn't need shifting, before looking over at the armchair he was sitting in prior, frowning at Harry. "I was gonna sit there." He complained playfully, they could've passed as brothers to someone who didn't know them. 

Harry smirked, sliding further into the chair as if staking his claim. "You left it empty, mate. First come, first served." They were so carefree, almost like they'd forgotten Louis' and Zayn's presence, but it was nice. The normalcy and the bond between them that'd either stayed strong or had been rebuilt- either way, it was exactly like the days in the band. 

"It's my house!" Niall exclaimed, giving up as he sat on the other armchair. Louis didn't really know the difference; he could guess it had something to do with the position from the window or the TV, but he didn't ask or care enough to think about it too long. To anyone else, it would've come across as childish; to them, it was endearing.

You could never have guessed these were two grown men by their antics, but that was what also made them so uniquely them. Harry had a smug smile spread on his face before suggesting a deal that allows Niall to sit there tomorrow. 

Louis blinked, the word slipping out before he fully registered it. "Tomorrow?" 

Harry and Niall both glanced up at him, Niall being the one to answer. "Yeah, he's been staying with me for a bit." His voice was casual, but Louis caught the edge beneath it.

Louis shifted slightly, the pieces clicking together quietly in his mind. It wasn't just Niall anymore. Harry was closer than he'd thought. It only took him another second to realise Harry might have been here already the day of the call, and he had no idea how to feel about that. He refused to let his thoughts imprint onto his face, though, so instead he just replied with a quiet "oh"; it sounded unimportant.

Before another silence could settle, Niall clapped his hands together with sudden energy, the sharp sound making Zayn flinch slightly. Louis let out a chuckle, the kind that slipped out before he could catch it-  unintentional but genuine.

They shared that laugh, and only a few beats later, the room had settled into something gentler. Not quite relaxed, not entirely easy, but... familiar. There was a comfort in the way the silence lingered now, not heavy, just quiet. No one was rushing to fill it, and maybe that was what made it bearable. Maybe even good.

They weren't the same people who used to live on top of each other, packed into hotel rooms and tour buses, shouting over each other about what takeaway to get. But some part of that closeness still hovered in the air. It lived in the way Niall passed around drinks without asking what anyone wanted. How Zayn sat with his leg bouncing against the coffee table, same as he always did when pretending to be calm. Harry stretched his arms behind his head like he wasn't thinking, even though he was. 

Louis noticed it more than he wanted to admit. Noticed how easy it was to read the room, even after everything. How Niall's jokes were still timed just right. How Harry's voice softened when talking about things he cared about. How Zayn never really looked people in the eye unless he meant it, and how he did with all of them. 

He thinks Harry noticed it too, maybe all of them did. Especially when a second-nature laugh was let out from Louis over something Harry said, they met eyes for a moment, and Louis could swear he saw a smile, but that was impossible. After everything, he didn't deserve that smile. 

And then someone, maybe Niall, maybe Harry, brought up that camping trip they'd taken in the 1d days. 

"Remember when Liam swore he knew exactly how to set up the tent, said he'd do it all on his own?" Niall grinned, shaking his head.

Harry smiled, a quiet laugh escaping him. "Until we found him sitting there in defeat."

Louis chuckled, the memory softening the edges of the day. "We all had to do it, and even then we were next to useless."

Zayn smirked. "It was nice, though, the way we all were with each other, when everything was just so raw and perfect."

They all shared a small laugh, each adding their part to the story, and it was easy and warm. It wasn't loud or boisterous. It was a moment they'd shared, a moment that belonged to all of them.

For once, Liam's name didn't come with silence. There was no ache following it, no sudden pause. Just a memory, told like it always had been - full of laughter and a little chaos.

Louis let the moment settle, glancing briefly at each of them. Nothing was fixed in a single evening. But they were here. And for now, that was enough.

-

The night had quietly folded in around them, the earlier awkwardness slowly easing into a gentle calm. Conversations grew softer, laughter more relaxed, the weight in the room lessening with every shared story and half-remembered joke.

Louis found himself watching Harry from the corner of his eye, noticing the slight shift in his posture, the way his expression softened in the dim light. The distance between them felt less like a chasm and more like a thin thread- fragile, yes, but real.

As people began gathering their things, Louis stepped closer to Harry, careful not to rush the moment. His voice was low, almost hesitant. "It was good to see you."

Harry met his gaze, a quiet understanding passing between them. His reply was simple: a small nod and a soft, "Yeah, you too."

They moved toward one another slowly, an unspoken question lingering in the space between them. The hug they shared was brief and tentative- neither fully embracing, but neither holding back. It wasn't perfect, but it was a small flicker of what was once, and oh, it was cautiously guarded.

When they pulled apart, Louis looked away first, heart quietly pounding, unsure but hopeful.

Nearby, Zayn was slipping on his jacket, ready to leave. Louis called out softly, with a hint of the old familiar teasing, "Give me a ring, lad."

Zayn paused, glanced back with a faint smile, and nodded- a quiet promise that maybe, this wasn't the last time.

No grand declarations were made, no plans pinned down. Just the fragile, steady beginnings of something more, left to unfold in its own time.

Back in his car, Louis sat for a moment before turning the key. The engine hummed low beneath him, headlights cutting through the still street. He didn't drive off immediately. He stared out the window at Niall's house-  the warm light still glowing through the blinds, the shape of Harry's silhouette near the door.

By the time he pulled into his drive, the silence felt different again. Not uncomfortable. Just thoughtful. Successful. 

Inside, Louis kicked off his shoes and dropped his keys onto the side table. He switched the warm-toned lights on, making his way up the stairs. 

Then his phone buzzed. It was a call from Lottie. 

He stared at it for a second, knowing she'd want to talk about today, he'd told her of course, and he didn't blame her. In a way, it didn't feel like a burden; he couldn't think of a good reason he wouldn't want to talk about it. So he picked up. 

"Hey, Lou.. how did it go?" She spoke softly, she sounded tired, yet she called anyway to make sure he was alright. 

Louis took a breath. "Better than I expected. It was... nice. I think I worried too much."

There was a pause on the other end. Then Lottie's voice, gentle but steady. "Is this a good moment to say I told you so?" She let out a light laugh. Louis laughed back, not giving her the satisfaction of hearing she was right. "Was he there? How was he?"

He knew exactly who she meant. "Yeah, he was. He's staying with Niall, actually..." Louis hesitated, letting the weight of that hang between them.

"Did you... talk to him?" She asked with a slight pause, as if she were trying to figure out whether she should, and then she did anyway. 

"Not exactly. But it wasn't hostile. I did say it was nice to see him, though." He winced inwardly, wondering if he'd overthought it again.

"Of course not. I'm sure he feels the same. No matter what happened, you two have a whole lot of history."

"Clever," Louis smirked, recognising the One Direction lyric and the purpose behind it. "He wouldn't want me to speak to him."

"What do you want?"

Louis paused, his voice quieter now. "I... I don't know, Lots. I suppose I did realise, though - I miss him. Really fucked that one up, huh?"

"I miss him, too, Lou. I promise, it'll be okay. If he's made for you, then it'll work... and well, we all know he is." That made Louis smile slightly; he didn't know how true it was, but the thought of it was bittersweet- and after all, if it was true, how did they go so wrong?

"Yeah... we'll see, I guess. I'll call you later, Lots. Get some sleep."

"See you. Love you, Lou."

"Love you too."

The line went quiet as Louis ended the call. He leaned back, letting the stillness settle around him- not empty, but full of something quietly hopeful. Something like the start of a flame.

Chapter Text

The beer garden was quiet for a Friday evening- just a few scattered tables, mostly older locals nursing pints and half-hearted conversations. The outdoor heaters clicked softly above Louis, casting a warm orange glow over the wooden bench he was perched on. His fingers curled around a pint glass, condensation slicking the side, but he hadn't taken more than a couple of sips.

It wasn't exactly hidden, but it wasn't obvious either. Tucked down a side street near the river, the kind of place you only knew if you'd been shown. Zayn had picked it, and Louis hadn't argued. It made sense. Low visibility, outdoor seating, and enough ambient noise to give them privacy without full isolation.

A week had passed since Niall's little get-together, the one that had shoved them all into the same room again. Louis hadn't seen Zayn since that night, but they'd spoken briefly. It wasn't a call like Louis had suggested in that moment. Perhaps it would've been a little too forward, but they had arranged to meet over texts. It wasn't a group thing. It wasn't forced. It was just the two of them now.

He shifted his foot, knocking it lightly against the leg of the table, eyes flicking to the entrance again. Still no sign.

He wasn't nervous, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't feeling odd about it. The group meeting had introduced him to the reconnection smoothly, but there was still so much to unpack, things he didn't even want to relive. At the same time, though, it was exciting in a way, being so close to having what was lost again.

It was never as simple as it sounded either, but he had the chance. 

He spotted movement near the gate a moment before Zayn stepped through it, hood pulled up more out of habit than need. Louis sat up a little straighter but didn't wave him over. Zayn had already clocked him.

Zayn made his way across the patio with that same slow, deliberate pace he'd always had. When he reached the table, he didn't offer a greeting right away- just raised his brows slightly in acknowledgement, then pulled out the seat across from Louis and dropped into it.

"Alright?" he said finally, tugging his hood down and brushing his fringe out of his face.

Louis nodded, watching him for a second. "Yeah. You?"

Zayn shrugged. "Getting there."

They both knew that meant more than it sounded, but neither of them pushed it.

A moment of stillness settled between them as Zayn scanned the menu stuck to the wall beside them. Louis took another sip of his pint, using the moment to glance over properly. He looked good. Bit tired around the eyes, sure- but then again, who didn't?

Zayn glanced at the almost full pint in front of Louis. "Only one in?"

Louis gave a playful smile, drumming his fingers against the tall glass. "Not here to get drunk alone."

"Would've made the conversation easier." Zayn cracked a half smile, but there was a seriousness lurking beneath the joke. They both knew he was right, but-

"It is what it is," Louis shrugged, looking away for a second, watching a group of older locals laughing softly a few tables over.

Zayn leaned back, taking a slow breath and letting his eyes roam the quiet warmth of the beer garden. There was a faint hum of distant chatter mixed with the low crackle of the jukebox somewhere inside. "This place's alright, innit?"

Louis shifted on the bench, glancing around at the scattered tables and the worn wooden decking beneath them. "Yeah, not bad. Quiet enough."

"Still not as good as that little one in Camden we used to end up in," Zayn said, tilting his chin slightly, like he could almost see the memory-lit streets of their younger selves just beyond the walls.

Louis smiled softly, the corners of his mouth tugging upward as those nights flooded back- the buzz of excitement, the accidental trouble, the feeling of being part of something that felt bigger than them. "The one with those dodgy paintings?"

Zayn's grin grew wider, eyes lighting up at the thought. "That's the one! Pints were always a bit off, but somehow, we kept going back."

Louis ran a hand through his hair, his gaze drifting to the faint outline of the old jukebox's glow through the window. The sounds drifting through, mixing with the murmur of quiet conversations, were like a soft backdrop to their memories. "We should've gone there."

Zayn's smile faltered for a moment, the weight of time settling in. "Shut down. A couple of years ago."

Louis blinked, genuinely surprised. "You're kidding?"

"Turned into some fancy tapas or taco place. Don't remember which."

Louis let out a short, dry laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as if to shake off the nostalgia that lingered like smoke. "Guess we're proper ancient now."

"Speak for yourself!" Zayn laughed, flashing that cocky grin.

Louis's eyes dropped to the worn wooden table between them, and then to the tattoos on his arm. Where the 'Bus 1' claimed its space. Back then, before the tattoos, they'd etched into the surface of one of the old pubs support beams. "Think that's still there, or have they absolutely gutted the place?"

Zayn shrugged, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "Could go have a look one day." It was a silent promise, in a way. Not that they'd go to check, but that they'd both arrived today with the determination to fix things.

They shared a quiet laugh, easy and unforced, the kind that only comes from years spent tangled in the same memories. For a moment, it felt like no time had passed at all, like they'd slipped back into versions of themselves long buried under years of change.

Zayn shifted slightly, turning more toward Louis. His voice dropped, softer now. "You doing alright, though? Like... properly?"

Louis looked up, eyes meeting Zayn's steady gaze. The question wasn't unexpected, but it landed somewhere real, a quiet pressure beneath the casual tone. He gave a slow, honest nod. "Some days are better than others."

Zayn didn't push. He just nodded back, the space between them filled with an unspoken understanding.

"What about you, Z? How have you been?" The tone suggested Louis meant a lot more than just the past few weeks, and although it had the potential to go south right about now, it kept flowing smoothly, like they still knew exactly how to speak to each other.

Zayn took a moment before answering. He leaned back again, letting out a breath through his nose, eyes flicking toward the little light above the door.

Been alright. Strange, mostly. I mean, life's good- I've got my own space now, the farm's going well, got a studio, couple of people I trust around me. Feels like I've finally got what I wanted...but now, it feels like something's missing."

Louis hummed, a kind of understanding sound. He didn't interrupt.

Zayn glanced over, and for a second, something flickered across his face. "I think I've only now realised that nothing is forever, and chances are limited...I missed this, you, everything else."

Louis smiled faintly. "Me too, there was always a lot more behind the scenes, but it was also worth it for so long."

"Yeah," Zayn said. "We were good when it was good."

They sat in that for a second. The soft rumble of locals chattering carried out through the open door, and there was some indie classic half-muffled by conversation. Louis found himself watching the smoke trail from a cigarette burning in the ashtray a few tables over.

Zayn broke the silence again, his voice gentler this time. "I should've been there for you."

Louis didn't look over straight away. He traced a bead of condensation on his pint glass with his thumb, slow and aimless. He knew what Zayn meant; it was the conversation they came for, the one they were finally mature enough to have. About the performance where he needed him the most- the performance after Louis had lost his mum. 

Zayn went on, carefully. "I didn't know what to say. That's not an excuse. I just... I got scared, I think. I didn't want to make it worse."

"You going quiet made it worse," Louis said quietly. He didn't say it like an accusation, more like a simple fact, one that they could both agree on.

Zayn nodded, jaw flexing slightly. "I know, I wish I knew sooner."

Another moment. Not uncomfortable, but real.

"I didn't want to relive it," Louis admitted after a moment, still watching the glass. "Even now, I don't like talking about it. I feel like once you start talking, it makes it real again."

Zayn nodded again, slower this time. "You don't have to explain. I get it." And he did understand, he didnt say that just to say it or to fill up an empty space, he got it. Maybe not the specific moment, but through all that they'd shared, he did. He cared enough to get it. 

Louis looked up, eyes tired but sincere. "But I am glad we're doing this. Even if it's a bit weird." Mixed somewhere in his words was that silent forgiveness that he was finally ready to give.

"It is," Zayn said. "But good weird."

A smile tugged at Louis's mouth. "The best kind."

The sound of chairs scraping on concrete behind them briefly pulled their attention elsewhere, but neither cared who had arrived or left. It felt like they were in their little corner now, a pocket of stillness in a moving city.

Zayn reached into his pocket, pulling out a box of Marlboros and lifting them slightly. "Still smoke?"

Louis grabbed one with a smirk. "Nah, I do yoga now."

Zayn sighed, deadpan. "I was being polite."

Louis pulled a lighter from his pocket, flicking it once before holding it out. "Well, look who's grown up and polite all of a sudden."

Zayn let out a chuckle, taking it from him. "Don't get used to it."

He paused as he turned the lighter over in his hand. "Hot pink?? Really, Lou?" he said with a grin, already laughing.

Louis shrugged, lips twitching upwards. "It was just there. I grabbed it."

Zayn raised an eyebrow. "Why'd you even have a hot pink lighter just lying around?"

Louis hesitated for a second, his gaze dropping briefly to the table. "It was Harry's. He used to carry it around for me- always made sure I had one, even when I'd forget....found it in the drawer of his stuff."

That quiet settled in again, a subtle shift in the air, it felt weird for Louis to admit that, even though he didn't say it, he'd made it clear now that he still had that drawer- and it wasn't desolate from him either. Zayn didn't say anything at first, just looked at him a moment longer. He knew there had to be a certain way to approach it. After all, he may not have seen their break up- but he was there for everything before. "Have you spoken to him recently?"

The question didn't come with any weight. Just a genuine curiosity, like asking about someone from school- someone you both used to know.

Louis raised an eyebrow. "Not properly. Saw him at Niall's. Said a few things. Was weird. Not bad, just... a lot."

Zayn nodded, as if he'd expected that. "I suppose it would be like that.." He didn't want to come off as dismissive, even if he only understood it from an outside perspective.

Louis gave a short laugh. "Yeah. But I think I needed to see him again, to see what he would be like now, even if I didn't know what to say."

Zayn didn't say anything for a second. Then, "Do you want to say something?"

"I don't know." Louis glanced up at the heater above them, its glow soft against the dusk. "There's still so much I haven't figured out. About him. About me."

Zayn hesitated, fingers tapping lightly against his glass. He didn't know whether he should ask, but before he could think about it, it slipped out. "Do you still-"

"I think a part of me always will," Louis said, not letting him finish, he knew what he was going to ask, and it was a word he didn't want to hear. His voice was quiet, almost like it surprised him, even though he'd known it was true for a long time.

There was a pause. Not uncomfortable, just still. Then, after a few seconds, Louis added, "But I don't know him anymore, you know?" It wasn't a lie, Louis didn't know who Harry had become over the years they spent apart.

Zayn stayed quiet, listening.

"It's been a long time. Without him." Louis looked down at his hands. "He's changed... or- he hasn't, not really. His laugh is the same. His smile." He gave a breath of a laugh at the thought. "But he's done things without me. Big things. And I've...I haven't kept up."

He trailed off, jaw tightening a little before he spoke again.

"We've both learned to live without each other, even if it hurts. For me, at least."

Another pause.

"I don't think he needs me anymore."

The words landed softly but heavily, like they'd been sitting on his chest for months. Louis didn't mean to say them all out loud, not like that. He wasn't even sure he'd meant to say any of it. But it was out now, quiet and real, like breath fogging up a mirror- there for a moment, then gone.

Zayn didn't rush to fill the space. Just sat back, letting it settle. There was something about the way he listened- not trying to fix it, not pushing too far- that made Louis feel like he could've said even more.

But he didn't. He just sat there, eyes on his pint, as if the glass might have answers.

After a moment, Zayn exhaled slowly. "Funny, innit," he said lightly, like he was turning a thought over in his mouth before he committed to it. "How much time we spent thinking there'd always be more of it. But life kept moving, and we didn't move with it."

Louis looked at him.

Zayn met his gaze. "All those nights, all those years. We always thought there'd be another show, another call, another chance to make things right."

There was no bitterness in it. Just something quieter. Something like regret, but softer. Familiar.

Louis nodded slowly. "We were kids. Didn't know how to hold on properly."

Zayn gave a small bitter smile. "Didn't know how to let go, either."

That made Louis smile too, sad but genuine. He took a sip from his drink, his fingers curling tighter around the glass.

A quiet stillness lingered between them. This time, neither one rushed to fill it.

Neither of them spoke. Zayn's expression shifted slightly, just enough that Louis knew he was thinking the same thing. It passed between them without being said, like an instinct. A shared ache neither of them needed to name.

Louis let out a breath. He looked down at the table, then up again- eyes softer now, unfocused.

He missed Liam.

Not in an all-consuming way, but in the quiet moments. In the silence after old memories came and went. He missed the steadiness, the way Liam had always known when to speak and when to just sit beside you.

Zayn shifted beside him, as if they were thinking of the same moments- the way he used to round them up before stage, like a tired dad on a school trip right before a head count. And if there were more of them, he was sure a head count would've been a regular.

Neither of them said anything.

It didn't feel necessary.

Zayn's foot nudged his under the table. It wasn't a gesture that asked for attention. It was grounding in just the right way- like a steady reminder that he was there.

It wasn't a long silence that passed, but just a few moments that allowed them space to share an emotion that didn't need to be voiced.

Louis gave a small nod, then looked over. "We were good, weren't we? As a band. As people."

Zayn smiled, eyes a little softer now. "We had the world, mate. For a bit, we really were; it was unfortunate how it all fell apart after."

"Yeah..but you know?" Louis smiled, like Zayn had the same thought, "Even if I knew, I'd do it all again."

"All of it?" Zayn asked, knowing the answer.

"All of it."

"So would I."

--

The house was quiet in a way that felt earned. Clifford was asleep under the kitchen table, legs twitching like he was chasing something in a dream. Louis leaned against the counter, sipping coffee that had gone lukewarm, and let the silence stretch.

He wasn't spiralling. Wasn't exactly thriving either, but... he was getting there.

His eyes drifted to the little scrap of paper still on the counter, the one he'd used to jot down a lyric idea last night, just a few words that came to him after getting home from the pub. Something about it stuck with him. Not the words exactly, but the fact that he'd wanted to write them at all.

It wasn't a comeback. It wasn't even a full thought. Just words that honestly sounded good together and could mean something..someday.

He hadn't expected seeing Zayn again to feel so... easy. He kept waiting for something to go wrong, for one of them to pull away, but instead it had felt like some corner of the past had slotted back into place- not perfectly, not like before, but enough.

He glanced down as Clifford stirred and stretched with a dramatic sigh.

"Yeah, yeah," Louis muttered, setting the mug in the sink. "You're dying to go out, I get it."

Clifford's tail thumped the floor. He'd only been back with Louis for a couple of days, Lottie took him for a while just so Louis didn't have to worry about the responsibility with everything else on top.

Louis crouched to grab the lead, pausing when he spotted the drawer handle beside him- the one with a few old keepsakes he never quite managed to sort. One in particular stood out today. The stupid lighter. Still hot pink. He stared at it for a moment, like it'd disappear if he tried hard enough. It didn't. He wasn't Matilda.

It was still there- same shape, same scuffed edge near the bottom where Harry used to flick it against his rings. Still his.

Louis swallowed, jaw tight. It wasn't like he hadn't thought of Harry before Zayn had mentioned him. He had. In bits and flashes. But something about holding this, being made aware of it, something Harry used to carry just for him, made the ache sharper, more present. More annoying, if anything.

His phone was already in his hand before he even thought it through.

Louis: You got Harry's new number?

A few seconds passed, then a few more.

Niall: Yeah, of course.

Niall always answered quickly.. He didn't help much, though; he wanted him to ask..

Louis: Niall.

Niall: Louis.

Louis: Can I have it?

Niall: Yes, you may.

Louis could almost see Niall's cheeky smirk behind his phone screen. The next message he sent was followed by Harry's number. Louis didn't leave himself much time to think; he just simply added him under H. That's it. Not even to the old contact. Just H.

He didn't reply to Niall. Didn't want to give Niall the chance to ask why. Or maybe he just didn't have an answer. Either way, it would be a problem for another time. Clifford barked softly near the door like he was growing impatient.

"Alright, alright," Louis muttered, grabbing the lead. "We're going."

And just like that, the moment was over. But the number stayed.

He clipped Clifford's lead on and stepped out into the wind, the lighter still in his pocket- still his, still Harry's, still there.

He didn't know why he tucked it into his pocket; it was almost subconscious.

The air outside was still nippy, the kind of November evening that settled harshly on exposed skin. The streets near Louis' house were quiet, not empty, but slow, like the city was winding down rather than shutting off.

Clifford tugged at the lead with purpose, tail high, nose twitching at everything. Louis followed without resistance, letting the dog choose their path. He didn't feel like steering tonight.

They passed the corner shop with the flickering light, the café that had changed names three times in the past year, the small alley that still smelled faintly of smoke and fish and chips. Everything was familiar, but also faintly changed, like someone had taken the street he knew and ever so slightly rotated it.

Louis shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. His fingers brushed the lighter.

He didn't pull it out, didn't need to. Just feeling it was enough to keep the weight of the past balanced in his palm. It was strange how small things could anchor him so easily, how memory didn't need a soundtrack or a spotlight. Sometimes it was just a pocket.

Clifford stopped to sniff around a low brick wall, tail wagging lazily.

Louis exhaled through his nose, gaze drifting upward to the sky, dusky blue with the last of the sun bleeding out at the edges. He could hear laughter a few streets over, faint music from an open window, the rumble of a bus in the distance. Life, moving. Quiet, but present.

He didn't have a plan. That was the thing. He'd texted Niall, saved the number, shoved it all down like it hadn't happened- and now he was here, walking a dog he used to share with someone he hadn't spoken to properly in years.

Clifford paused at the corner of the path, ears twitching as he tilted his head. His tail gave a faint wag, but he didn’t bark or pull, just stared down the path ahead with sudden interest. Just stood there, nose lifting slightly like he’d caught a scent that meant something, even if he couldn’t place it.

Louis followed his gaze, brows pulling together, but there was nothing obvious- just the usual stretch of pavement, trees casting long shadows, a figure in the distance walking slowly and alone.

He squinted. Something about the posture, the way the person rolled their shoulders forward against the cold, hands tucked in their coat pockets-

His chest went tight.

No. It couldn’t be.

But then the figure stepped under a streetlamp, light catching on the curve of a familiar jaw, the shape of curls that hadn’t changed all that much.

Harry.

Louis’s breath caught before he could even think about hiding it. Clifford shifted beside him, tail now wagging in soft, unsure beats- like he hadn’t decided whether to be excited yet, but his body remembered something his mind hadn’t caught up to.

'How the fuck have you seen him?' He thinks, looking down, the question is aimed at Cliff. They weren't far away from him, but not close either.

Louis didn’t move. Not right away. He just stood there, heart loud in his ears, eyes fixed on the familiar man, he hadn’t let himself imagine this close in years. Not even the meetup at Niall's had felt like this. It was easier then to fool himself into blending Harry with the others. But now?

Clifford gave a small huff and took a few slow steps forward, then stopped again. His tail gave a single cautious wag, then another, quicker one. And then it was like something clicked. His whole body shifted- not frantic, but buzzing with recognition. He pulled a little more eagerly on the lead, looking back at Louis like Come on then!

Louis exhaled, half-laughing under his breath. “Jesus, alright,” he muttered, fingers tightening on the lead as they started walking again. “You’re more emotionally prepared than me.”

His steps felt heavy as he got closer; it felt like he was invading his personal space the closer he got. Louis stopped a few feet away, letting the lead go slack in his hand. He could hear Clifford’s tail swishing like a soft metronome beside him, the only rhythm in the sudden hush of his nerves.

Harry still hadn’t looked over. He was standing by the edge of the footpath, back to the trees, eyes flicking between his phone and some middle distance that Louis couldn’t see. Maybe he was thinking. Maybe he was just still.

Clifford inched forward again- one, two steps, then suddenly froze. And then, like something clicked, his whole body jolted with recognition. A spark of excitement ran through him and, before Louis could tighten his grip, the lead slipped from his fingers. Clifford trotted ahead in a blur of wagging tail and momentum, closing the few metres between them with a sort of joy that didn’t ask permission.

Harry glanced down, finally noticing him. And then everything seemed to slow.

There was a pause, the familiar frown of confusion twisting into recognition.

And then-

"Cliff?" Harry breathed it more than spoke, voice catching like it hadn’t been used in a while. His whole face changed in that moment, softening instantly, and he crouched without thinking, his hands going behind Cliff's ears while simultaneously cupping his face.

Louis stood frozen. He should’ve moved, said something, stepped into the frame properly- but his feet didn’t listen. All he could do was watch as Harry smiled, small and crooked, just like Louis remembered. Like muscle memory. It felt like slow motion.

Harry scratched gently behind Clifford’s ears while he'd tried to lick him back. Harry was murmuring something under his breath that Louis couldn’t hear. It was the kind of voice people reserved for animals and people they used to love.

And then, slowly, Harry looked up.

There was a flicker of surprise- not shock, not discomfort, just a pause like his brain had finally caught up to what his body must’ve already known. His eyes settled on Louis, and something shifted in his expression. Not gone was the softness, just… reshaped. A little more careful now. A little more real.

“Oh,” he said, barely above a breath. His hand lingered on Clifford’s collar for a moment longer before he straightened, brushing his hands down his sides with a nervous sort of grace. “Hi.”

Louis’s pulse jumped. He nodded once, instinctively. “Hey.”

It wasn’t enough. It never was. But for now, it held more weight than it used to.

They stood there in the quiet for a beat too long. Not uncomfortable exactly, just… full. Of what? Louis wasn’t sure yet. History, probably. All the unspoken things that still hung between them like fog that hadn’t burned off.

Clifford, oblivious to it all, nudged Harry’s knee with his nose and let out a soft huff, tail still wagging like he’d solved every problem in the world.

Harry smiled again- smaller this time, a little breathless. He crouched once more, pressing a quick kiss to the top of Clifford’s head. “I missed you, too, boy.”

Louis looked away. Not far, just a glance toward the trees. He could feel that ache rising again- not the sharp kind from before, but the dull, lingering one. The one that meant something wasn’t gone, just waiting.

Harry stood again, brushing off his palms the same way he had before. “Didn’t realise he’d still remember me,” he said, voice lighter now. Cliff had given them the perfect icebreaker.

“Yeah, um..” Louis said. “How could he not?”

It came out casually, easy enough. But the second it left his mouth, he felt the weight of it settle between them-heavier than he’d meant, closer to the truth than he was ready to admit. Because it wasn’t just Clifford who remembered. He did too.

They both did.

Another pause. “Are you walking far?” Harry asked, nodding toward the path behind them. His tone was casual, but there was something in his eyes. That old flicker of trying to be brave enough to hope.

“Just out, haven't got a particular destination,” Louis said. “Letting this one lead.” It flowed more casually, directed at Cliff. They didn't need to think of anything deeper, just sit on the surface and meddle in small talk.

Harry gave a small, lopsided smile paired with a shrug. “Me neither.”

Something about it, the symmetry of it, made Louis’s throat go tight; it was the mere details he noticed now. Details that weren't his to notice anymore.

He scanned his entire face, taking in the change, but also the familiarity. It was obvious it'd been years by his hair, and the stubble around his jaw, but at the same time, when he looked into Harry's eyes and the way the corners of his mouth lifted into a smile, it felt like time hadn't passed at all. And Louis was not subtle with it at all. 

Harry didn’t comment on it. Just nodded a little, gaze lingering on Clifford as if grateful for the distraction. He scratched gently under his chin, murmuring something Louis couldn’t quite catch, something sweet, no doubt. He had always been soft with animals. With Clifford, especially.

Louis shifted his weight from one foot to the other, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly. Just… delicate. Like a glass balancing on a table’s edge. Neither of them was quite ready to reach out and catch it.

“So, um, staying with Niall?” he asked, finally, just to fill the space.

Harry nodded, still crouched beside Clifford. “Right, yeah, just temporary, I'm moving...closer”

Louis blinked. “You're moving? Back here?” The usage of the 'back' didn't go unnoticed, it wasn't a lie or anything. He had lived there once, but the acknowledgement was too close to scratching the surface of something they weren't ready to uncover.

Harry glanced up, gave a small shrug. “Mm. Not too far, actually. Felt like… time, y’know?”

Louis wasn’t sure he did, not really. But he nodded anyway, trying to look unfazed. “So you’re… moving back properly?” He asked again. He didn't mean to; it was more a thought that they'd accidentally been said out loud.

“Something like that,” Harry said. He stood then, slow and careful, like the moment might shift too much if he moved too fast. “Just didn’t feel right anywhere else. Thought I’d try closer to home.”

Home.

The word hung there, echoing louder than it should’ve in the quiet. Louis looked away, suddenly hyper-aware of the breeze threading through his sleeves and the way Clifford had gone still between them, his tail flicking once like punctuation.

Harry cleared his throat. “I didn’t expect to see you.”

“Me neither,” Louis admitted. “Suppose it's not too shocking though..”

They both let out small huffs of laughter, barely-there things, but real. Neither knew how to steer this. Like they weren’t used to speaking without the safety of distance anymore.

Harry looked back down at Clifford, then up at Louis again, slower this time. “He looks good. You’ve taken care of him.” The small talk would've become unbearable by now had it been anyone else, but for some reason. It didn't. Louis knew he could stand there and talk to him for hours, whether it was about the black curls on Clifford's coat or the cast of clouds above them.

Louis shrugged, eyes dropping for a moment. “Had help. Lottie took him for about a month, and every so often... when I wasn't around.”

“Still,” Harry said, voice softer now. “He’s lucky. I missed him.”

The 'lucky' clicked in his mind, 'why would he be lucky?' Louis thought... or overthought more like.

Louis nodded once. “He missed you.”

There was a beat. A pause that could’ve ended things, but didn’t. A moment where neither of them knew if they were still talking about Cliff.

Then Harry looked down at Clifford again and said, quietly, “Can I… walk with you?”

At that, Cliff barked presumably at nothing... although the timing made for a perfect response. 


"Guess it's not my choice.." Louis laughed, giving a small nod with the gesture so it was clear.

He picked up Clifford’s lead again, careful not to brush Harry’s hand as he did. They fell into step slowly, awkwardly, neither quite sure of the pace. But it was something.

After a few moments, Louis spoke, breaking the silence. "I would've said yes, by the way." There was a pause, Harry shot him a confused look, before Louis continued. "Had it been my choice." He directed towards Cliff again. He didn't know why he said that. 

Harry blinked at him, eyes narrowing just slightly, like he was working it out. And maybe he was. Maybe he was adding it all up, Louis’ voice, his presence, the ache in the words he wasn’t saying. And at the same time, Louis had ache for the words he did say.

Louis looked down at Clifford, who was now happily sniffing at a patch of grass like the world hadn't just tilted sideways.

Then, without fully thinking it through, Louis shifted the lead in his hand, offering the loop out. Just a small gesture. Simple. But it said more than it should have

“You wanna-?” he asked, nodding toward Clifford, but not quite meeting Harry’s eye. He was once his dog, too. Theirs.

Harry looked at the lead, and for a second, Louis wasn’t sure he’d take it. But then his hand closed around the loop, tentative but warm.

His fingers didn’t brush Louis’.

But they could have.

“Thanks.” Harry murmured.

Louis nodded once, barely.

They started walking again, quieter now. But the silence had changed. It wasn’t a distance anymore. It was a memory. Shared weight. Something lived in.

Clifford trotted between them like it was nothing. Like it hadn’t been years.

Like maybe it wasn’t too late.

They didn’t talk much after that. Not really. Just walked. Sometimes side by side, sometimes a little off. It wasn’t the kind of silence that begged to be broken- it had been waiting for years to stretch its legs.

Clifford kept trotting between them like he couldn’t pick a side, tail wagging like he was just glad to have them both in step again, even if only for now.

They passed the same flickering shop, the same alley, the same turning that would lead them apart again. It all looked the same, but something had changed. Lighter. Or heavier. Maybe both.

When they finally stopped, where the road split and choices had to be made, neither of them quite moved at first.

Harry gave a small shrug. “Suppose I’ll head back this way.”

Louis nodded. “Yeah. Got to get this one home.”

Clifford, as if on cue, sat and blinked up at them as if to ask what would happen next.

There was a pause. A longer one this time.

Then Harry stepped forward, a small movement, tentative, but steady, and pulled Louis into a half-hug. One arm around the shoulder, the other still braced at his side like he wasn’t sure how long to stay. It wasn’t much, just a second or two. But it was more than they’d had in years. Strangely, it hadn't felt too odd either.

Louis didn’t lean in. Didn’t pull away either.

When they broke apart, Harry reached down to give Cliff a farewell head scratch. “I’ll see you.” He said.

It wasn’t a question. But it wasn’t quite a promise either. At least it wasn't a 'never speak to me again'.

Louis just nodded. “Yeah, get home safe.”

And then Harry was gone.

The house was dark when he got in, but he didn’t bother turning on the lights. Clifford padded in ahead of him, curling up in his usual spot by the kitchen table without complaint and dozing off within seconds. No twitchy dreams this time. Just stillness.

Louis leaned against the counter again, same as that morning. Except this time, the silence didn’t feel like it was pressing in. Just present. Just quiet.

He reached for his phone. Opening his messages. 

Louis saw him. He spoke to him. He walked with him. 

He hesitated before opening the next message thread. The name sat there: H.

Just a letter. Simple. But the weight of it was anything but.

He tapped the box, thumb hovering for a second too long, then typed.

Louis: It was nice seeing you again.

He hit send before he could think twice.

And then, immediately, he regretted it... no. Not regret. Just that low, fluttery panic that bloomed in his chest after doing something brave. Or stupid. Or both.

He stared at the screen for a beat too long, like he might reach out and unsend it by sheer will alone. But the message sat there, unbothered. No reply. No read receipt. Just the words, simple and quiet, and something in him decided he was going to leave it.

He flipped the phone face down and slid it across the counter like it had burned him.

Clifford let out a low sigh from across the room, the kind only dogs could pull off with full dramatic flair.

“Yeah,” Louis muttered. “Me too.”

He nudged Clifford’s bowl into place with his foot, sat down on the floor next to him and closed his eyes.

It wasn’t peace. Not yet.

But it was something like it.

Chapter Text

Louis had gone to therapy that Monday evening.

He hadn’t wanted to, not really. He almost rescheduled twice, even got as far as typing out the message to Clara. But then Clifford nudged his knee with his nose, like he somehow knew Louis was considering staying frozen in place, and that was enough. He went.

He hadn’t talked about Liam this time.

Not because the grief was gone- it wasn’t. It never would be. But because, for the first time in weeks, something else had started to surface. Not louder, just… closer to the surface. Like something he’d kept underwater was finally starting to breach.

He talked about the walk.

About how Clifford had pulled him down a street he hadn’t planned on, how the wind had stung less than usual, how the sky had looked more like something he remembered than something he wanted to forget.

He mentioned Harry, of course- he danced around the topic for as long as he could before letting it out, but eventually he did.

Quietly, without ceremony. Just: “I saw him.”

Clara didn’t push. She waited, like always. It was what Louis liked about her, what got him to truly trust her.

So Louis told her about Clifford’s tail swishing between the streetlamp and the way Harry crouched to say hello like no time had passed at all. About how it felt standing there with him again, how it stirred up more than he knew what to do with. He mentioned all the small details and the larger ones, too.

“I didn’t think it’d feel like that,” he said.

Clara asked, “Like what?”

Louis thought for a moment. Searched for the right shape of it.

“Like I never stopped knowing him,” he said. “But everything still hurts.”

She nodded gently. “That’s possible. Both at once.”

He picked at a loose thread on his sleeve. “He said he was moving back. Not far from here. Staying with Niall for now.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

Louis gave a half-laugh. Not cruel, just tired. “I don’t know. I think part of me somewhere is happy. Missed it. Him. Even if I told myself I didn’t....but the bigger part is fear."

There was a pause. A longer one.

Then Clara said, “Missing someone doesn’t mean you owe them anything. But it doesn’t mean you’re wrong to feel it, either.”

Louis nodded.

He didn’t say the next part. The part that sat just under his tongue, sharp and unfinished.

'How do you look at someone who broke your heart and still makes it beat?'

The drive home was quiet.

No music. Just the sound of the engine and the occasional click of the indicator, the kind of silence that didn’t beg to be filled. Louis kept one hand on the wheel and let the other rest loosely in his lap, his thoughts trailing behind him like something he hadn’t decided whether to hold onto or not.

He didn’t rush. Took the longer route without meaning to. Passed streets he hadn’t driven in months, noticed shopfronts he didn’t remember changing. It was the sort of noticing that came when your mind was somewhere else entirely.

By the time he got back, the sky had started to dull. Clifford greeted him at the door with a quiet huff and a soft thump of his tail against the hallway wall.

“I’m alright,” Louis murmured, crouching to run a hand over his back. “Just tired.”

Clifford blinked at him, then padded toward the kitchen like that was that.

Louis followed slowly, filled the kettle, and stared out the window that was accompanied by a dying plant sitting on the sill, while it boiled. The quiet wasn’t uncomfortable anymore, just... there. Like the space he needed had made room for itself. It felt different now.

He sat at the table with his old notebook, thumb brushing the corner of the cover. He didn’t open it right away. Didn’t know if he wanted to.

But eventually, he did.

The page he landed on was blank. A few ink smudges at the edge from when he’d once started something and never finished. His pen hovered.

And then he wrote the same line that came to him earlier.

How do you look at someone who broke your heart and still makes it beat?

He looked at it for a while, then closed the notebook and pushed it a little further across the table.

He didn’t need to read it twice. Didn’t try to make it into something more. Some words were better left as they were.

His phone buzzed once. Not loud. Just enough to make him glance down.

A reply. From Niall.

Niall: You were right to text him.

Louis stared at it, brow creasing just slightly.

He hadn’t told Niall he had. Not exactly.

Which meant Niall had spoken to Harry... or Harry had been the one to start.

Either way, he tapped the screen, heart ticking up without permission. Opened the thread with Harry.

Still “delivered.” No response. Yet Niall knew. 

He set the phone back down.

And then, just as his hand left it, it lit up again.

H: Me too.

Louis exhaled. Sharp, quiet. Like he’d been holding it without realising.

He didn’t reply. Didn’t move. Just let the words sit there between them, digital and delicate.

Then, after a beat, he flipped the phone facedown beside the notebook and stood.

Clifford had moved to the living room rug, curled up like he’d never once worried about anything in his life. Louis followed, lowering himself slowly onto the floor beside him, the way he sometimes did when he didn’t feel like reaching for the sofa. He leaned back against the side of it and let his eyes fall closed.

He didn’t fall asleep. But he rested. And that felt new enough to count.

--

The next evening, Louis moved through the house on autopilot, tidying without much thought.

It wasn’t about Zayn arriving, not really; he wasn’t expecting anything formal or heavy. But having Zayn here again, in his space, stirred an old instinct. The coffee table had to be cleared, cushions fluffed, and surfaces dusted. Small rituals of care, distractions from the knot of feelings twisting just beneath the surface. He told himself it was habit. There wasn't any reason to be nervous anymore, and it wasn't entirely a lie.

When the ring from the doorbell came, Clifford was already halfway to the door, tail wagging in gentle excitement.

Louis opened it to find Zayn standing there in his usual leather jacket, hands full of takeout bags and an expression balanced somewhere between amused and cautious.

“Peace offering,” Zayn said, lifting the bag like a peace treaty. “Didn’t know what you were eating these days, so I just got too much.”

Louis snorted, stepping aside to let him in. “Still not a vegetable, if I can help it.”

“That’s what I banked on.”

There wasn’t any awkwardness, not exactly. Just a quiet, carefulness, like they were both aware of the history trailing them but had decided not to stumble over it. It was the third time now, that they'd met, and it was getting easier each time.

Zayn dropped onto the sofa without asking, just like old times, and Louis slid down beside him with two beers, setting them on the coffee table between them. It felt more normal than Louis had expected. Good, even.

“Should probably start sneaking them into your food like I do with my daughter,” Zayn teased, pulling out boxes of food.

Louis chuckled, sinking deeper into the cushions. “Yeah, I don’t think so.” He threw Zayn a grin. “I’m smarter than a four-year-old…”

Zayn gave him a mock sceptical look. “I’ve got time.”

That earned a snort from Louis. He peeled back a container lid. “If this has broccoli hidden in it, I’m throwing it at you.”

They laughed together, easy and genuine. For a moment, Louis let himself believe things could be simple again. Not the same as before, maybe, but still something worth holding onto.

He looked at Zayn, really looked, and for a second, he saw them as teenagers again- in hotel rooms too big, beds too stiff, laughing about nothing, scribbling lyrics between shows.

They ate in companionable silence, Clifford hovering at their feet, hopeful for scraps. The TV murmured in the background- just enough noise to fill the space without demanding attention.

Eventually, Zayn nudged a carton toward Louis. “So… you and Harry talking again?”

Louis blinked, with panic present in his voice. “What makes you say that?”

Zayn’s eyes twinkled with quiet knowing. “Well, it was just a question… but your reaction said enough.”

Louis groaned, realising it was too late to pretend otherwise. “We ran into each other a few days ago, this one's fault." He scratched at the top of Clifford's head where he was lying to indicate his fault.

Zayn nodded slowly with a slight smile. “And?”

“He walked with us, we talked for a bit… then I texted him.”

Louis didn’t say what the message said. He didn’t need to.

Zayn’s gaze softened, understanding despite the silence. But still, he asked- because he cared, even if it was unspoken.

Louis didn’t answer right away. He let his head rest back against the top of the sofa and stared up at the ceiling, the familiar marks and shadows feeling oddly grounding.

After a long pause, Zayn’s voice lowered. “You think it could work again?”

Louis hesitated, unsure if he could say it. But then the words slipped out quietly, “I think I want it to. But you don't always get what you want.”

Zayn nodded once. Didn’t press for more.

Clifford shuffled closer, letting out a soft groan as he curled around Louis’ feet.

“If anyone could be stupid enough to try again,” Zayn said lightly, “it’d be you two.”

Louis let out a tired breath. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

They stayed like that for a while- sharing space and stories, the lack of any pressure softening the edges of everything.

It was the most at peace Louis had felt in weeks.

They sat in the stillness for a bit, not trying to fix or analyse anything. It was enough just to be there- two people who’d once known each other like a second skin, sitting in the low hum of the evening, letting it settle around them.

Eventually, Zayn glanced over. “You still writing?”

Louis shrugged, fingers tapping lightly against the side of his bottle. “Bits. Nothing good.”

His voice wasn’t self-deprecating, exactly- more matter-of-fact. Like he wasn’t ready to claim anything yet, but the spark was there, flickering.

“Doesn’t have to be good,” Zayn said, leaning his head back against the sofa with a pointed look. “Just has to be you." 

Louis smiled at that. “What about yourself?”

“Yeah. Here and there. Trying to enjoy it again. Not think too hard about who it’s for.”

Louis nodded, slow and knowing. “That’s the bit that always gets you.”

Zayn chuckled under his breath, like Louis had hit the nail on the head. “Been playing around with stuff I like again. Feels better.”

“You should send me something,” Louis said, and meant it.

Zayn’s eyes met his, calm and even. “Only if you send me something back.”

Louis tipped his beer toward him in agreement, the motion easy. Familiar. “Alright. We’re on.”

Time didn’t move quickly after that- it just moved gently. They talked a little more, shared the kind of stories that didn’t need much buildup. Comfortable silences slipped between the words without either of them minding.

When Zayn stood to leave, Louis got up too, walking him to the door without saying much. Clifford stirred only slightly from the rug, one ear twitching in sleepy acknowledgement.

“Don’t be a stranger,” Louis said as he opened the door.

“I won’t,” Zayn replied, and something in the way he said it left no room for doubt.

They shared a look then. Familiar and steady. A little worn around the edges, maybe, but warm in the places that counted.

When the door closed behind him, Louis lingered. Let the quiet return. Let it stretch out into the corners of the house without swallowing anything.

And for the first time in a while, it didn’t feel empty. Just open.

--

Louis woke slowly the morning after Zayn left.

The house was quiet, save for the soft hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the floorboards settling. Clifford stretched somewhere near the sofa, claws scraping softly against the rug, but didn’t come looking for him. Louis appreciated that- the quiet companionship, the way Clifford always seemed to sense when Louis needed space without ever making him feel alone.

He wandered the house without real direction, bare feet on cold kitchen tiles, mind foggy in the way it sometimes was after too much thinking the night before. He rinsed a cup he didn’t remember using. Opened the blinds just enough to let in the grey slant of daylight. He didn’t reach for his phone immediately. 

He ended up in the living room. Clifford followed, eventually, curling beside the armchair and watching Louis like he wasn’t quite sure what was happening but trusted him enough to let it.

Louis’s gaze caught on the guitar leaning against the wall. It had dust on it. Not much, but enough to make him feel something sharp twist low in his stomach- not guilt, exactly. More like loss. The quiet kind that creeps in when you forget how long it’s been.

He picked it up without meaning to. Tuned it slowly, fingers stiff with underuse, until the strings stopped buzzing and started to sound like something almost familiar. He strummed once. Twice. Found a chord that felt right and held it there, letting it ring out through the room.

Zayn’s voice echoed somewhere in the back of his mind. Doesn’t have to be good. Just has to be you.

He sat down on the edge of the armchair, guitar balanced across his knee, and let his fingers move. Nothing planned. No clear destination. Just movement. Notes layered gently, then clashed, then found their way back into something softer. He hummed under his breath- no lyrics, not yet- just the rise and fall of something almost melodic.

The notebook was still on the table, right where he’d left it after therapy. Louis reached for it with one hand, flipping past the pages he didn’t want to read, until he found a blank one. He stared at it for a long time. His pen hovered, then landed.

What he wrote didn’t feel finished. Or particularly good. But it felt like him.

Fragments, mostly. Phrases that sounded better in his head than they did on the page, but he left them there anyway. A line about standing still. About voices you know even after years. About grief that shows up in places love once lived. About beginnings and regrets, false forevers. About hope, too- though he didn’t call it that directly. He'd just say 'interpretation' to avoid the true meaning to him.

He didn’t try to rhyme anything. Didn’t structure or edit. Just let the words come as they wanted to.

His hand slowed eventually. He set the pen down and read back a few lines with satisfaction 

He played the chords again, softer this time. Let a small harmony build- something quiet and bright, like the start of a sunrise. It didn’t go anywhere. He didn’t know what it would be yet, if anything at all.

But it felt good to have made something. To have tried.

Clifford yawned and rolled over, tail thumping once against the chair leg. Louis smiled to himself, closed the notebook, and leaned back.

Louis put his pen down, the faint scratch of ink still lingering in the quiet room. The small harmony he’d stumbled onto played softly in his mind, a delicate thread weaving through the restlessness.

His phone buzzed- Lottie. He stared at the screen a moment, thumb hovering over the answer button. Finally, he swiped and brought the phone to his ear.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

“Louis,” came her voice, warm and steady, like a familiar melody. “I was just thinking about you.”

He sighed softly. “Isn't that sweet.." he started playfully, "how have you been, Lots?" It was clear Louis was trying to deflect, but he did care; it wasn't purely an avoidant move.

“I'm alright,” she said gently. “We both know I called to talk about you, though?” She said it with a question in her voice, not asking whether it was okay, but waiting for the answer of his day.

Louis hesitated, fingers tightening around the phone. "I wrote today.. nothing complete- just some things that came to me." It was easy talking to Lottie; there was never a shadow of doubt between them over anything.

"That's amazing, Lou!! It doesn't have to be complete straight away, when is it ever?" She replied soothingly. After a moment, she spoke again, "And have you spoken to him again since the other day?"

"No, I haven't.. he texted me back, said he missed me too. Think Niall might have had something to do with that." He smiled near the end, thinking about what Niall may have said. He'd always root for them back when they were younger. Captain Niall was what he'd been called. The memory flashed in his head, and it didn't hurt either. It was nice to know he could think back and not feel the loss.

There was a pause on the other end, then Lottie spoke with care, not rushing in, letting the silence hang for a moment. “Well, that's something... Lou, you know you don't have to have it all figured out, yeah?"

He let the words settle, then shrugged. “I know, it's just... scary.” He admitted. "I don't know what's next, or if what I want is even realistic. If he wants it or wants nothing to do with me."

“I get that,” Lottie said softly. She said the next part with caution, not wanting to bring up too much from the past. “I can't speak for him, but I know how you two were, if you have even a small feeling- you should at least try to figure it out.”

Louis closed his eyes, feeling the weight of her voice wrap around him. The memories, the hesitations, the hope- they all mingled in the quiet between them.

“I’m scared of what might come, of losing more,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

“That fear is undeniable,” Lottie acknowledged. “But sometimes risking a break is the only way to see what’s unbreakable, you miss all the shots you don't take, right?”

He let out a slow breath, the tightness easing just a little. “When did you get so wise?” He laughed softly. "Seriously, though, thank you, Lots, I needed to hear that."

“Anytime,” she said warmly. “I'll always be here, and you're a lot stronger than you think.”

Louis hummed lowly in response before she spoke again, "Oh and Louis? Tell Harry hi from me." She openly laughed.

"Don't be cheeky," Louis said lightheartedly. He smiled to himself after they said their goodbyes to each other and ended the phone call. There was a flicker of something lighter in his chest.

Louis looked out the window. The towns lights blurred softly in the dusk. The room no longer felt quite so still, not at all now.

--

The sun had started to sink by the time Louis wandered back into the living room.

Clifford was sprawled across the rug, half-asleep, tail thumping lazily when Louis passed. There wasn’t much left to do- he’d written, he’d spoken to Lottie, and now the quiet had settled again. But it wasn’t heavy like before. It didn’t press down on him. It just… was.

He drifted toward the spare room. He hadn’t gone in with intention, not really, but his hand found the old drawer anyway, the one he'd long designated for things he didn't want to see.

This time, it opened slower.

There were a few things inside that didn’t belong to him. Not anymore. A leather bracelet Harry used to wear on stage, nestled in the corner. A photo strip from a booth in Copenhagen- two of the frames out of focus, one with Harry mid-laugh, and the last with both of them grinning into a kiss. A folded-up letter Louis hadn’t read in years but still couldn’t throw away. He remembered every word on it. It was a song- one that was too raw to ever leave the drawer.

And beneath that, a handful of printed pictures. Just regular ones. Once they'd leave them on the shelves without thinking. Some were slightly curled at the edges, and a few were bent from being handled too many times.

Louis sat down on the edge of the bed, photo strip in hand. His thumb brushed over it like he could smooth the years back out. It was the epitome of a fucking cliche, really, but that's how they were. The picture-perfect couple, or at least for a while, before they were told they couldn't be. They were in love more than anyone had ever been.

It still hit something deep. Not as sharply as it might’ve weeks ago, but not softly, either.

He thought about the song he'd half written earlier. About Lottie's voice, calm and clear in his ear. If you have even a small feeling, you should at least try to figure it out.

He pulled out his phone. Let it rest in his palm for a second.

'Try to figure it out,' rang in his head. He knew what he had to do.

He opened the contact, there was a trace of hesitance, but there was a stronger feeling that took over. He promised himself weeks go he would'nt have any more regrets, how could he go back on his word.

Then he clicked the call button. 


It rang only twice.

“Hi,” Harry’s voice came, quiet but clear.

Louis swallowed. “Hi.”

A pause. Not awkward. Just full.

“Sorry,” Louis said. “I know I could’ve texted, but- ”

“No,” Harry interrupted gently. “I’m glad you called.”

Louis looked down at the photo again, his voice steadier than he felt. “I was thinking… if you’re free tomorrow, or whenever.” He was on the verge of saying too much.

“I’m free tomorrow,” Harry said, voice softer now. “I can come by? If thats okay?”

Louis hesitated, then nodded like Harry could see him. “Yeah. I think I’d like that.”

Harry exhaled like he’d been holding something too. “Alright. Just let me know when.”

“I will.”

Another pause. This one warmer.

Then Louis said, “See you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah. Soon.”

They hung up. Louis stayed sitting there for a moment, the photo still in his hand, his breathing slowed down. 'That wasn't that bad,' he thought, convincingly.

He glanced at the picture once more. Didn’t put it back in the drawer. Didn’t hide it away again.
Just left it on the table, face-up.
Something worth remembering.
Something he wasn’t afraid to look at anymore.

--

Louis had cleaned the house twice, about to a third time- before admitting he was nervous.

He told himself it was just about being ready, not about impressing anyone, but Clifford wasn’t buying it. He watched Louis pace the living room with his chin on his paws, tail flicking every so often like he was quietly judging the whole operation.

Louis sighed and dropped onto the edge of the sofa, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he murmured, glancing at Clifford. "So lucky you don't have to worry about these things."

Clifford thumped his tail once, just to prove him right.

Louis leaned over and scratched behind his ears, voice softening into something almost silly. “Harry’s coming over, you know. Bet you’re gonna ditch me the second you see him.”

Clifford blinked at him like he didn’t deny it. Not that he could.

Louis smiled, small and fond. “Yeah. Thought so.”

His hand stilled on Clifford’s back. Something in the room shifted- not heavy, but still. A beat of memory crept in, slow and vivid, like a song starting quietly in the background.

He must’ve drifted off for a moment- eyes unfocused, breath slow, because suddenly, he was somewhere else entirely. Somewhere warm.

He could see it, all of a sudden. Not the version of them now, but as they were back then. At the start. The three of them.

The day they brought Clifford home.

It was a memory. One he hadn’t visited in a while.

Harry was kneeling on the living room rug, jeans soft with wear and hair a mess from the day, holding a spoonful of peanut butter behind his back. Clifford was still small then- too big for a puppy, too clumsy for a dog, and was staring up at him with full, frantic attention... confused, no doubt.

“Sit,” Harry said, voice low and patient.

Clifford cocked his head.

“Sit, please,” Harry tried again, and Louis, who was watching from the sofa with his feet tucked underneath him, bit back a laugh.

“He’s not gonna do it just because you’re being polite,” he called out.

“He responds to kindness, Louis.” He said back, eyes rolling with a smile he couldn't hold back.

“He responds to food. You could say the word ‘taxes’ and he’d sit as long as he could see the peanut butter.”

Harry looked over his shoulder, grinning. “Wanna bet?”

Louis raised an eyebrow, watching how Clifford had perked up at the sight of the peanut butter. He was winning this bet.

Harry turned back, pulling the spoon of peanut butter from behind him. “Taxes,” he said clearly.

Clifford sat.
Harry gasped like he’d just been betrayed.

“Heeeey!” he said, dragging the word out with mock-offence. “Cliff, no, you're not supposed to sit at taxes!!”

They both burst out laughing. Harry nearly dropped the spoon from how hard he doubled over, and Clifford wagged his tail like he’d just solved world hunger, while licking the spoon off.

Louis remembered the ache in his cheeks from smiling too long. The way Harry reached for his hand afterwards, smearing peanut butter on his knuckles without noticing, and the way Louis didn’t mind at all.

The doorbell rang, and the daydream broke like glass. Louis blinked, the memory still clinging to the edges of his thoughts. The sound hadn’t been loud, but it landed in his chest all the same- a sharp shift from warm nostalgia to the heaviness of the present.

Clifford, oblivious to anything but joy, sprang up with a thud of his tail against the hardwood. He let out a happy bark, spinning once on the spot like he knew. Like the moment hadn’t ended at all.

Louis stood, heart ticking a little faster. He gave Clifford a look- half fond, half exasperated. “You remember him too well,” he muttered, ruffling behind his ears as he passed. It wasn't true, there could never be a 'too much' or a 'too well'.

Louis followed more slowly. Each step felt both too fast and not fast enough. There was no music to drown it out, no voice in his ear, no words to fill the quiet. Just the soft rhythm of Clifford’s nails on the floor, and the way his own hands wouldn’t quite stay still.

He paused at the door, pressing his palm flat against it for a moment. Just a breath. Just to find his balance.

Then he opened it.

Harry stood on the other side, wrapped in a dark coat, curls damp from the weather. His eyes lifted the second the door opened, and something like relief passed through them, quiet and unmistakable.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, soft around the edges.

Clifford shoved his way past Louis before anything else could be said, tail going wild, nose pressing right into Harry’s coat like no time had passed at all.

Harry laughed- breathless and bright, crouching down with both hands out. “There he is. My favourite boy.”

Clifford licked his chin, practically vibrating with excitement.

Louis let the corner of his mouth tug up. “Traitor.” Directed towards Cliff. As expected, he didn't spare him any response. "He came for me, not you"

Harry looked up, eyes meeting his for a moment. “Well..”

Louis snorted, something in his chest unspooling just slightly at Harry's antics- and the smile he remembered oh so well. He didn't want to search for what the feeling was.

Harry stood slowly, one hand still tangled in Clifford's fur.

They stood there in the doorway for a moment, not awkward, but full. A kind of shared breath neither had taken in years.

Then Louis stepped back, giving way for Harry to enter.

Harry smiled, a little tentative, but real. He took a step into the house, taking a small glance around. He slipped off his shoes and jacket, leaving them in the designated area.

Clifford was trailing behind him like a shadow, making up for lost time, it seemed.

Louis shut the door gently behind them. The house felt warmer already.

The living room hadn’t changed, not really, but with Harry in it, it felt different. Or maybe Louis just felt different inside it. Like the furniture had shifted an inch to the left, like the walls remembered him.

Harry stepped in slowly, his eyes scanning across the space like he was piecing something together. He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at the stack of records near the player, the battered armchair by the window, Clifford’s abandoned plush toys in the corner of the room. Louis stood a few paces behind, watching him watch, a little breath caught behind his ribs.

“It looks good in here,” Harry said finally, his voice quiet and honest. “Feels like you.”

Louis half-smiled, rubbing the back of his neck with the flat of his palm. “Didn’t always. Took a while.”

Harry nodded once, and that was all it took for Louis to know he understood. Because he always had. That had been the worst part of the silence between them, not the absence of words, but the knowing that if they'd just said them, they would’ve been understood.

Clifford trotted in ahead, tail wagging like he was announcing them both. He gave Harry one last sniff for good measure, then flopped down near the base of the armchair, letting out a breathy little groan. Louis envied how easily he settled.

He cleared his throat. “I’ll make us tea.. still milk and sugar?”

Harry looked up from the rug, eyes soft. "You remember?"

“Course I do,” Louis said, already halfway to the kitchen. How could he forget?

He moved on autopilot, kettle filled, mugs pulled down from the shelf, teabags dropped in. He could feel Harry’s presence just beyond the doorway. Not in an intrusive way, but in the way light filters through half-closed blinds. Quiet, warm, inescapable.

When he returned, he held one mug out. Their fingers brushed, barely, but it was enough. Just a flicker of skin against skin, and for a second, Louis felt all the versions of them that had come before, layered like palimpsest beneath the moment.

Harry sat down first, curling into the far corner of the sofa with his mug held in both hands. Louis took the opposite end, not stiff, but not slouched either. Somewhere in the middle. Somewhere careful. He sat the way people did when they weren’t sure if they were being watched or remembered.

Clifford moved and sprawled out between them, paws facing Harry, tail thudding lightly against Louis’ ankle.

The silence wasn’t empty. It was full of all the things neither of them knew how to say yet — but for once, it didn’t ache. It just hovered, patient. Waiting to see what they’d make of it.

Louis blew softly on his tea. “I wasn’t sure if you’d say yes.”

Harry’s head tipped slightly. “To come here?”

Louis nodded, eyes on the steam as it curled from his mug.

“I was waiting for you to ask,” Harry said.

The words didn’t hit like a punch. They settled lower. A slow ache beneath the ribs. Louis held onto his mug a little tighter, thumb grazing the rim.

“I wanted to,” he said, voice lower now. “I thought about it so many times I lost count. I just didn’t know how, when, if I even should..” He trailed off. The honesty felt natural. 

Harry picked up the thread gently. “You don't have to second-guess with me.”

Louis didn’t answer right away. He didn't know what to say or what to ask. It was different now. Everything they knew they needed to say didn't have to be rushed, because they were both here. It was clearer than it had ever been. 

They both looked down at Clifford, who was now dozing peacefully, utterly unbothered by the tension in the room he’d practically bridged with his tail.

“He’s still trying to play mediator,” Harry said, a small smile forming.

Louis snorted fondly. “He’s always been better at communication than we are.”

Harry’s eyes met his again, for longer this time. There was something softer in them now, less guarded. Not wide open, but not shut, either. "Fairly easy for him, isn't it, considering he can't speak."

“We don’t need mediating, though, do we?” Louis added, quieter with a hint of hesitance in his voice.

Harry shook his head slowly. “No. Not anymore.”

They sat like that for a minute, not urging to speak but pacing themselves naturally. Louis realised his shoulders weren’t tense anymore. He was still holding something in, yes, but it wasn’t fear. Not the kind that stops you from doing things. More like the kind that warns you not to take a breath for granted.

The moment felt like standing at the edge of something. Not a cliff. Not a fall. Just… the edge of the unknown. And for the first time in a long time, Louis wasn’t turning away from it.

Louis sipped from his mug. The tea had gone lukewarm, but he barely noticed. Across from him, Harry had leaned slightly forward, one hand resting idly on Clifford’s back as if grounding himself. It wasn’t awkward- not like Louis thought it would be, but there was a weight to the quiet. The kind that said: there’s more here, because there was.

Harry’s gaze drifted across the room again. Not nosy, not judging, just… taking it in. Letting the space tell him what Louis wouldn’t.

Clifford shifted his weight and let out a long, slow exhale. Louis ran a hand over his back. He could feel Harry watching, but didn’t look up just yet.

Then, almost casually, he said, “Do you ever think about what we missed?”

The words came out too fast. Not rushed, just… too honest. Louis hadn’t meant to ask. Or maybe he had, just not like that.

There was a pause. Harry’s fingers stilled against Clifford’s fur. Their hands were only inches away- shockingly, none of them even seemed to notice. But it had painted a domestic scene.

“Yeah,” he said, after a second. “Course I do.”

His voice was even. Not dramatic. Not cracked. But the answer landed with more weight than Louis was prepared for. This was the first instance Louis had truly realised that whatever he'd felt wasn't one-sided.

He nodded slowly, the kind of nod you give when you’re not quite sure what else to do with your face. “Sometimes I wonder if it would’ve made a difference,” he said. “If I’d done things differently.”

Harry didn’t jump in. He let it hang there for a moment, then said, “Me too. We were just kids. We didn’t know what we were doing.”

“I think you did,” Louis murmured. “At least more than I did, I still don't sometimes.” He admitted.

Harry gave him a faint smile- sad, but not bitter. “I knew what I wanted. That doesn’t mean I knew how to keep it.”

Louis finally looked at him. “You were always braver than me.”

“I was loud,” Harry corrected. “That’s not always the same thing.”

They lapsed into quiet again. This time, it was gentler. Not something to fix- just something to live with.

Louis looked down at his tea, swirled it absently. “There’s a lot I didn’t say. Back then. I have a lot of regrets.” He fidgeted with his fingers after placing his tea mug down.

“Me too.”

They didn’t list the things. Didn’t dig them up. Some truths were still better left between the lines.

Clifford’s tail thumped softly, brushing Harry’s foot.

“He’s still a good judge of character,” Harry said.

Louis cracked the smallest smile. “Took him long enough to warm to you, though.”

Harry leaned back a little, stretching his legs. “You were the one who kept calling him ‘our’ dog before we’d even brought him home.”

Louis grinned, just barely. “You didn’t argue.”

“No,” Harry said. “Didn’t want to.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy. Just full. Like there was more to say, but neither of them had found the right shape for it yet. Louis wanted to say something, open up to him. Tell him that Clifford is still his, too, that he still thinks about them, and he wants to.

Louis looked at Harry again. There were lines he didn’t remember under his eyes. His hair was shorter than it used to be, and curls were still present. But his mouth curved the same way when he smiled. His voice still had that soft drop on Louis’ name.

“You think this is stupid?” Louis asked suddenly. “Us. Sitting here. After everything.”

Harry blinked. “No,” he said, simply. “I think it’s overdue.”

That pulled something tight in Louis’ chest, not painful. Just true.

Harry set his mug down next to Louis'.

“I don’t know what this is,” Louis said. “Or what it should be.”

Harry tilted his head slightly. “A start? Or restart? If you're willing, we don't have to name it.”

Louis looked down. Let out a soft breath. “I’m not great at taking things slow.”

“You are,” Harry said quietly. “When you want to be.”

Louis didn’t reply to that. He wasn’t sure he could.

But when he glanced over, Harry was already looking at him. Steady. Familiar. No pressure behind his gaze- just presence. A presence he missed. He'd have told him he missed him, but it was already clear.

And for now, it was enough- they had time.

Harry leaned back, arms loosely folded across his middle, gaze flicking to the coffee table where Louis' notebook lay. Harry wasn't entirely sure if it was okay to ask, whether it was too soon. But he did anyway- figuring if Louis didn't want to answer, he wouldn't. "Have you been writing much?" He nodded over to the book.

Louis swallowed the lump in his throat before it could rise.

“Just bits and pieces, it's nothing right now- wouldn't even make sense to anyone,” he said, like it didn't matter.

He didn't ask Louis whether he could see it. He knew that was too much. For now, at least.

“It’ll make sense to someone,” Harry said. “Even if that someone’s just you.”

Louis smiled faintly. “You always say shit like that. Makes it hard to stay cynical”

Harry grinned. “I know. It’s my greatest flaw.”

'You have no flaws' is what Louis wanted to say instead he just laughed under his breath. It was a small sound, but it landed big in the space between them.

The room stilled again. But it didn’t go quiet-not really. There was a hum now, something settled beneath the surface, no longer asking to be ignored.

Louis glanced sideways, caught the way Harry was still looking at him. Not intensely, not expectantly. Just there. Present. Open.

He bit his lip. “What do you think happens now?”

Harry didn’t rush to answer. He took a breath. “I don’t know. I don’t think we have to, yet.”

Louis nodded, but the question still hung there.

“I’ve thought about it,” Harry added, voice low. “Us. This. What could it be again.”

Louis felt his heart jolt- not panic, not fear. Just that undeniable shift. Like gravity, remembering where he was.

“I want to be careful,” Louis said, and the words tasted strange coming out of his mouth, because caution had never been his default when it came to Harry. “I don’t want to ruin anything. Not again.”

He stared down at Clifford’s fur, fingers sinking into it absently.

“I think I forgot how to trust this. Trust us. And I don’t want to want something if it’s only going to fall apart again.”

Harry didn’t jump to soothe him. He sat with the words for a moment.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he said finally. “We got lost. Both of us. It wasn’t one person’s fault.”

Louis gave a small nod, but didn’t look up.

"Even if I didn’t mean to. I still let you go," he said.

Louis looked down at Clifford, reached to scratch behind his ear, in an attempt to avoid direct eye contact.

“I was the one who walked away,” Harry said. “And I’m sorry for that- I just didn’t know how to stay when I felt like I was waiting for something that might never come.”

Louis finally looked up again, eyes shining faintly, but not wet. Not yet. “I’m sorry too.”

Harry didn’t flinch from it. He didn’t soften it, or reject it, or say something to make it disappear.

A silence followed, but it wasn’t empty, it was serene- it was the best silence for a long time.

Harry's hand landed next to his, on Clifford's fur, almost threatening to touch. 

Louis drew in a long breath, then exhaled through his nose. “I don’t know what I’m asking for.”

“You're not asking for anything, we're giving together”, Harry replied. "We’re here. That’s already more than I thought we’d get.”

Louis let his gaze drift toward the window, where dusk had settled low over the city. Streetlights blinked on in the distance, casting long shadows across the floor. The day was ending. But something else was starting.

For a second, just one, he felt the pull to retreat. To say something self-deprecating, to laugh it off, to tell Harry he should probably go. The instinct was old, worn into him. But he didn’t give in to it.

He stayed.

He turned back toward Harry. “If I said I missed you every day- not just the version of you in my head, but the real you, would that be too much?”

“No. It’d just be honest.” Harry’s voice was quiet, steady. “And I'd say me too.”

Louis nodded slowly. “I don’t want to go back. Not exactly. But I don’t want to keep pretending like we weren’t something.”

“We’re still something,” Harry said. “We always were.”

Louis looked at him, really looked, like trying to memorise this version of him too. “You sure you’re not just good with words?”

Harry smiled. “That too.”

That one made Louis bite back a laugh. He tilted his head, running his hand through his hair, suddenly aware of how tired he felt- not in a bad way, just… raw. Like something had been scraped out, but the wound was clean.

He leaned back slightly, elbow resting against the arm of the sofa.

Harry mirrored him, almost without thinking.

Clifford sighed between them, perfectly content.

Louis reached for the notebook and held it, fingers drumming lightly on the cover. He didn’t open it. Didn’t offer it up.

But he didn’t tuck it away either.

“I think I’m gonna finish it,” Louis said, thumb tapping lightly against the notebook’s spine.

Harry smiled. “Good.”

They didn’t say anything else for a while. Just sat, close but not touching, as Clifford dozed between them and the city softened under the weight of night.

Louis watched the sky darken through the window, streetlights flickering like quiet reminders that not everything had to be loud to be seen.

The words hadn’t fixed anything. But they’d made space- just enough for something to start again.

He glanced at Harry, who was already watching him.

This time, neither of them would run- and maybe that would be enough.
Because grief doesn’t take everything.
Sometimes, what’s left is enough.