Chapter Three

He spends the drive back to his home in silence., Ignoring his instinct to connect his music to the sound system, knows he needs the silence to process his next move once he's home. It's now nearing mid afternoon, and if he doesn't do something about the Louis situation the moment he walks in the door, he knows he never will.

The minute he walks through the main door to his home, ignoring the slightly harder slam of the door as he clicks off the security system he makes his way into the living room. He tries to sit down in his favourite arm chair, but as he reaches into his coat pocket for his phone, he stands again, beginning to pace in front of the fire place.

He'd long since accepted the fact that some part of him would always love Louis Tomlinson. Since the earth shattering moment he'd realised the fact that he was in love with his best friend when he had just turned seventeen years old, and consequently spent the following four months barely containing those three damming words until it had inevitably spilled from his lips, he had known a piece of his heart would always belong to the blue eyed boy from Doncaster.

He hadn't seen Louis in person in three years, but wherever Louis went, a piece of Harry's heart always went with him. He'd fought it for so long after they'd split in 2016, had raged over the fact that this feeling simply wouldn't abandon him, had cried over it, numerous times, had sat for hours in wallowing silence before he'd finally accepted it. Even if he ever found someone he even vaguely shared the same depth of feeling as he did for Louis, a part of him would always belong to Louis. They'd been through too much, had loved each other too deeply for there to be any other alternative.

Harry Styles had been in the thick of him fighting those feelings, he'd let slip just a few moments of vulnerability, but whilst writing Fine Line he'd let all his emotion and pent up feelings spill from him. No longer worrying for how blatant his affection had, was, for the love of his life, he'd let himself share in his heartbreak. The sheer ache that had felt like a constant companion for four years. The thought of Louis listening to the album sent him spiraling each time he'd thought about it. It was inevitable sure, they'd already been discussion of them playing some of their solo music on tour and Harry knew he'd been on stage, with Louis, performing right in front of him the very song he'd written about Louis, or at least his feelings of their relinquished relationship.

Its not as though they were enemies currently either. In fact, their break up hadn't even ended in fighting, just Harry with a heart scattered into a million pieces which he knew had never healed. It wasn't as though contacting Louis right now would be breaking some sort of barrier, only It was. They hadn't spoken, well barely. But every part of Harry Styles missed Louis Tomlinson. Missed his smile, his laugh, his sass and wit and sometimes barely appropriate remarks. Misses the messy lifestyle of living with the love of his life. The lazy days they woke up tangled in each other. The way they'd lay for hours without speaking, simply content to be with one another. The countless failed attempts of Harry trying to teach some culinary skills, to no avail. And the way that Harry had never once finished a cup of tea since Louis had left him. Nobody could make it the way he had, nobody.

Harry had been left so heart broken, and sometimes he felt that the past few years had been made up of him barely able to keep his head above a raging sea. And now, finally, with Louis' phone number displayed bright on his phone screen, he can barely manage to suck in enough oxygen.

How the fuck did he ever think he'd be able to stand in front of him tomorrow. Face Louis without crumbling to pieces. He'd never fallen out of love with him, he knew that. But that didn't mean Louis hadn't. The time spent apart, the changes to the man he'd once thought he knew better than his own self. How could he do this? What was he even going to say?

Hey – He shakily types out, feels a burn at the back of his throat rise, Think we should talk before tmrw, are you around?

He sends the message before he can even think beyond that last word and sinks back into the comfort of the blush armchair.

~~~~

He waits, baited, for hours. The afternoon slips away into early evening and with every buzz of his phone he jumps and fights against racing to check his notifications. Of course, the one message he secretly longs for, never comes. He gives up around seven o'clock, turning his phone onto silent mode after realizing just how ridiculous he's being. He takes his time making dinner, taking full advantage of his now fully stocked fridge and settles down in front of his large screen tv to watch a film.

But his mind is racing. Was Louis also caught up in his feelings before tomorrow? He must be in London, or at least the dam country now before the meeting, and at thought a weight settles in Harry. He doesn't even know where Louis is, what he's seen and experienced. The time of Harrys' life when he'd always know the very emotions of Louis Tomlinson were long gone. Whilst they may be a just another broken piece of history, Harry sat throughout the entire first ten minutes of the film struggling to fully grasp now that he'd let his mind wander to the thought, just how his life had tumbled away from Louis and Harry to just Harry. And he could hardly convince himself it was the first time he'd thought this out.

It wasn't as though he didn't want to be his own person. Because of course he did, if anything these past four years had taught him, is that he loved his freedom. He'd come out as bisexual in 2017, though many people already had strong suspicions, especially after years of 'Larry Stylinson' rumours chasing him. Camille had been... well, he didn't quite have the words for that period of his life. He'd been so emotionally drained, so vulnerable, that the innocent suggestion of finding him a relevant girlfriend had gotten the better of his usual, morally grounded self. He had been angry. Brash about the whole thing. Still vaguely tied to his links with Modest, he'd agreed to the year long contract out of spite. It had taken him two weeks into the agreement before he realised that he didn't even like Camille. At least not at all romantically.

He'd been placed with so many beards by that point in his life, from Caroline, to Taylor to Kendall that it had at least lost the sharp sting of realising what his public image had transformed into. He knew, throughout it all, that the only person he wanted to be with was Louis. But that was before. Before his heart had been ripped open and he'd had to force himself to find ways to piece himself together at least enough to convince the public that he was fine. That it was just an effect from five years of touring and intense pressure. And yes, that had been part of it, but not nearly enough of what tore away at him.

It wasn't as if he needed Louis to live. He'd realised that soon enough, despite those initial months where he'd wake in a sweat, an empty bed and cold sheets beside him, that the world would go on, regardless of his emotional state. So he'd moved on, or at least tried too. And whilst the thought of Louis would always hurt when he was reminded of something or allowed his thoughts to slip just enough in the dead of night to a blue eyed, brown haired northerner, he had moved past his initial hurt. Well and truly so. Not enough to feel like opening his heart to anyone anytime soon, but enough to not feel like the word shatter.

He realised as he sat there, emersed in his own thoughts, that he needed to see Louis. Just to talk with him, to fully be in to move past the last nine years of his life. He'd never lose his love for Louis, but it was clear that he needed to focus his own life passed the last four years where he'd felt trapped in the remnants of one sided emotions.

He'd been fine for a long time now, despite his devoted lyrics suggested in Fine Line. But he'd been just... fine. His personal life had been fine. He would be fine.

Absentmindedly, the film plays in the background, he couldn't even remember the main characters names by the end of the film, let alone the actual name of the film. He decides then and there to simply go to sleep. His mind filled with too many racing thoughts for him to do anything remotely productive any time soon.

Pushing himself up from the sofa, he grabs for his dinner tray and walks back through into the kitchen. His phone sits, torturous in temptation on the bench, the screen dark. He forces himself to do the dishes, switch on the dishwasher and head upstairs into his bedroom before he finally gives in and switches on his phone -

Missed Call – Louis T.

Missed fucking call.

His mind fumbles to a halt as he stares down at his screen. He opens the notification, staring for several seconds before he opts for opening a new message. It's been almost a year since they'd last sent each other a text. A simple exchange between them on Harry's birthday, he'd been drunk when his phone had buzzed in the dense crowd at his party where he'd read and reread the words on the screen.

Happy Birthday Harry.

That had been it. Three simple words, and he'd been drunk enough to reply, much to his horror when he'd awoken much later the next day and gone back through his messages.

Thanks Lou.

He'd sent back. And ever since he'd always turned his phone off when he went out, only taking it with him for emergencies. Because not only had he messaged him back, drunk, he'd called him Lou. After three years he'd called Louis Lou. And sure, heaps of Louis' friends had always called him that, but Lou was a nicknamed Harry had always used with him. Spoken with just as much adoration as Louis calling him Haz, or Hazza.

But as he hesitated in the messenger app now, alone on a cold winters night, ten months since the last time either of them had actually communicated, with no reply from Louis, Harry sat on his bed almost frozen. It was just passed ten pm now, and Louis had always been the night owl between them, but it felt wrong to suddenly call Louis now when it was so late. If they were close, then sure, but Louis and Harry were are long, long way from being 'close' at the moment.

Sorry I missed your call – Can I call in the morning?

He sends the message after five agonizingly long minutes fussing over it. The minute he sends it he stands and his pacing begins. He forces himself to stop after a few minutes, realising that he's being ridiculous and instead focuses his attention on getting ready for bed. He bundles the clothes in the basket labelled 'Dry Cleaning' and steps into the shower.

He'd just pulled his duvet covers up over himself when his phone beeps on the small bedside table and he reaches out blindly to grab it. The moment Louis' name flashes across as the ID his heart involuntarily quickens. Dam his bloody emotions.

He slides the message across and his screen takes a split moment to change between his lock screen - a picture of him, Gemma and his mum bundled together - before Louis' message displays across the screen.

He takes several moments to read through the message, pauses, and reads it again. And again. Checking to see if his eyes are in fact playing tricks on him.

Think it's better to talk in person before we see everyone tmrw – You wanna come round to mine, think it's better not to do this in public?

And ok, that's the last thing he'd expected to read.

Go around? To Louis'!?

He didn't even know where he lived, only knew that he'd moved from the house he'd once shared with Harry. It meant he was in London at least. And he knew that Sarah and Gemma would definitely support the idea, that meeting up in person with Louis before they were meant to act totally fine around each other in front of the rest of the boys and their managers was easily the best option, especially when Louis was the one suggesting this.

Sure, what time?

He waits for a moment, wondering how long it will take to garner a reply when his phone buzzes in his hand and a new message appears.

9?

Sounds good.