Chapter 15

Chapter 15

*Really long*

Saturday 16

Louis wasn't overly spritely, but he did have a slight spring in his step as he made his way from his flat to the Uni. There wasn't much of a reason to be so 'excited', but his limbs felt light and he felt the sparkle in his eye gleam that little bit brighter, even with the lack of reason. Maybe he just woke up on the right side of the bed, and anyway, there didn't have to be a reason for him to be happy; he could be joyful if he wanted to be.

Although, that wasn't really the case. The past two weeks had felt -and he will continue to feel like so until he gets himself out of this mess- like a laborious task from the second he woke up to the second his mind shut down for the night. It was all down to his annoying dose of word vomit when he spoke to his three best mates. He felt like he shouldn't have had a release from the 'torture', though, that he should have been miserable all the time to pay for the awful act he committed. So with that thought, trying to do at least one thing right -in his mind anyway, being down was the only thing he could do right supposedly-, he was a rather miserable twat unless he was by himself.

Except he was never really by himself. Well, in Louis' terms anyway. He's engrossed himself in dance. When he was dancing he didn't feel like he was alone, even when it was in the dead of night and he had had to sneak into the dance studio, regardless of the fact that the place was abandoned. He was with his thoughts, yes, but he was with dance. And that was enough to keep him sane. Louis would never really be able to explain dance to anyone, never be able to explain how dance made him feel; it was an unexplainable, almost numinous, product of life.

It wasn't unusual, Louis falling into the abyss of dance, it had happened before. He had had times of succumbing to the barre and mirrored walls. Ever since he had started dancing at -what, eight years old?- he'd known that dance was his release. Even if it was him just being annoyed at Christopher in year 4 for telling the teacher that he cheated on the spelling test, it helped him smooth out those worry-creases. The people close to him were used to it; they put up with it and found nothing suspicious in his actions whatsoever. So they didn't presume that this time, Louis had an awful bout of inner turmoil going on inside his chest.

But somehow, this morning all this anguish had dissipated into little drips of sweat trickling down his neck and soaked into the collar of his skimpy t-shirt. Maybe it from being called at two in the morning and being demanded to drag himself to the dance studio to see Harley and Jordan to, basically, please their drunken minds. They were a little tipsy and for some reason wanted Louis to help them with their dancing, which was horrendous, as confirmed by the story of Jordan being rejected by a girl a few hours earlier when they were dancing. But Louis obliged because he couldn't sleep anyway and the two boys were some of the nicest lads around, so he wouldn't pass up on spending time with them anyway.

Or maybe he was light heated because he was looking forward to seeing his boyfriend.

Okay, so maybe Louis blushed a little every time he said 'boyfriend', and maybe he giggled like a schoolgirl some nights when he got home from seeing Harry, just maybe. He'd never gotten so excited over the term 'boyfriend' before, and it'd been used by him a fair few times already; so it was strange when he suddenly got fluttering butterflies in his stomach all over that one word. As much as Louis found it strange to admit, it was probably just his body's way of telling him to keep a tight hold over this one; that he wasn't just anyone.

That's not saying that Harry was 'the one' because, well, first comes first is the fact that Louis didn't even love Harry yet. They hadn't been dating all too long so he would never be able to say said statement for a long while. But he was someone special, and Louis could accept that with his whole heart and not be fearful of it in the slightest.

But then he went and fucked it all up, so maybe he didn't have as tight a hold as he thought.

Back to the present time, though, and Louis had a smile on his lips as he passed through the reception. He threw a wave to Brenda on his way by, sidling into the ballet studio for his lesson which he was surprisingly excited about.

Mr. Harbour sure did notice his chance in demeanour and basked in it marginally, taking advantage of it to push Louis over his usual limits. Louis registered throughout the session that tomorrow his legs would be aching like mad, but he couldn't seem to bring himself to care. He wasn't focusing on that; he was thinking about seeing Harry sitting on the little piano stool not too far away from where he was just then.

Why was he so eager to see the boy? It wasn't like he hadn't seen him in weeks. He had, in fact, seen the boy the Saturday previous and again only two nights ago. And this, too, made the anticipation slightly more strange; they were texting constantly and never really stopped unless they had to. After all, they still had many things to learn about each other.

Louis just hoped that his fuck up would not stop him from knowing every little detail about the younger boy.

Louis was meandering down the corridor, trying to disguise his enthusiasm but still make ground to get to his boyfriend a little quicker than usual. He stopped the growling sigh from tumbling from his lips when he felt a hand curl around his bicep to stop him from continuing; he didn't want to come across as rude, even when the person was shortening his precious time with Harry. He turned around with a glare set on his face unintentionally, but soon wiped it away and replaced it with a formal and more polite expression when he saw Mr. Harbour standing in front of him.

"I forgot to ask you; I've got a spare ticket for The Nutcracker show which I'm taking my normal class to, I was wondering if you wanted to come?"

Louis deliberated the decision in his head. The Nutcracker wasn't one of his favourite performances, but he could sit through it and not think of it as a waste. It probably wouldn't cost much, Mr. Harbour had connections with the theatre so could always get cheaper tickets. But it was with his normal class, the class which Louis had been taken out of. He had always felt like they resented him a little for that, that they didn't like the fact he had got special treatment. He didn't blame them; he would feel the same way if it was, say, Stacey or Keeley, so it wasn't a surprise. Therefore, he wasn't too sure whether he wanted to spend long hours being singled out by those people.

"When abouts is it?" Louis asked, not wanting to say no to the idea too quickly.

"Next Tuesday, a bit late notice I know," the older man replied with a grimace.

Well, that was that decided then. Louis felt somewhat relieved. "Oh damn, I'm going away on Monday so I won't be here. Sorry, but thank you for the offer though; I'd have come if it were any other week."

"Well I can change the week of the show if you wa-"

"No, no. There's no need for that; you go with the class and enjoy it," Louis interrupted. He was his teacher's favourite student, what could he say, the man would bend over backwards to get Louis something that would benefit his future.

With a nod and a farewell, Louis let his keenness arise to his top layer of skin and swell in his pores. He strode down the corridor, not finding any deterrent in place to stop him being too eager; he'd lost any sense of self-consciousness from the fact he was a few extra minutes later in seeing Harry.

With a beaming smile on his lips and an overzealous greeting sprinkled with a louder volume than normal on the tip of his tongue, Louis charged through the door to the piano room. He started releasing said welcome but before syllables could form words, the sentence was dropped from his lips and left as a pile of rubbish on the floor.

Harry wasn't there.

Louis couldn't see the body which was normally propped on the small piano seat. He wasn't in sight at all. The dancer tried not to focus on the way his heart had dropped to the pit of his stomach, and he tried to ignore how it seemed all of the organs in him had bunched up in his throat. Louis crept around the piano, trying to catch the boy out if he was playing a game of hide and seek. The thought put his mind at ease: that maybe Harry was just joking around and he was actually there. Alas, Harry wasn't hiding under the piano and he definitely was not in the room.

A frown settled on Louis' eyebrows. It was unusual for Harry to be late. He was always on time, prim and proper. Either it was Anne's doing or it was his need to keep a steady routine which kept him on time. Louis presumed it was the latter; he'd seen Harry be the one to boss Anne around and get her out of the piano room before they were late for whatever they had to do or whoever they had to see.

Shrugging to feign nonchalance and stop looking so possessive -because Louis was not possessive, no, he would never admit to that-, Louis let his fingers trail over the keys in a way to distract himself and pass the time. Harry would turn up eventually; he'd never be that late or miss a meeting, Louis was sure.

Harry didn't turn up.

Louis had sat waiting in the piano room for at least an hour before he came to the conclusion that he was going to have to do something about the fact Harry was still wasn't present. It was unnerving not having him there in the piano room with him, which was strange because no more than a mere few months prior was he unnerved by the fact Harry was in the room. Times had changed more than he had expected, but Louis didn't dwell on that too much.

So Louis halted his playing on the piano -which had turned out to be a little less fun with only one set of hands tickling at the ebony and ivory keys- and fished out his phone from his hoodie pocket. He muttered something about 'bloody leggings not having pockets' along the way, wanting to fill the silence of the room with his distinctive thoughts.

Sending a quick message along the lines of "hey babe, you alright? Just wondering where you were :) xxxx" Louis hoped it didn't sound too clingy. After all, if Harry was only just late then it would look like a total overreaction. Harry was normally quite speedy in his replies so Louis assumed that he'd get a reply soon enough, but while he waited, he sat himself on the floor, his back resting on the cool plaster. He didn't want to wear down the piano playing before Harry had even arrived.

Louis sat, phone twisting between his fingers, thinking. The room was quiet, silent bar the muted shuffles beyond the walls. He always loved the room solely for that. Everything was so much calmer, so much more serene than any other room in the building. Even the dance studio wasn't as calm as the piano room, which was a surprise because dance was the ultimate tranquillity for the 21 year old. Louis wondered if it had become a cove of solace more so than before. He had never really focused on it, never pinned down the emotions it made him feel when he was wrapped up in the room. But now, with an extra occupant, it seemed he had ­become so much more aware of the emotions which floated around the room and bounced off the walls to cling onto his fingertips and squeeze under his nails until they were washed off from the outside world.

As he sat waiting a reply, twenty minutes after sending the message, and therefore twenty minutes of capturing thoughts of mainly just harry, Louis realised that he never had time to think anymore. Of course he had had time to think of miscellaneous and simplistic thoughts sporadically, but he never really thought. He had thought about what he did two weeks ago, but that wasn't what he meant. You could think, but then you could think, as mad as that sounds.

He made a bid just then that he would make time for thinking, whether those thoughts would always be about Harry or not, that would never be defined.

It was when he checked his phone for what felt like the billionth time that he realised he would have to do something a little more extreme than just a simple text. He wasn't going to go belt over to Harry's house and demand to see him, no, but he was going to take the bull by the horns and try and find out where in hell the little scoundrel had gotten to.

He stalked out the room and down through the corridor with more ambition than fierceness. His eyes scanned over the bustling lobby where students were flustering their brains in extracurricular activities and mothers were trying to control their children from escaping to look for that head of sleek brown hair. Louis couldn't see Anne's bright smile or floaty attire anywhere, but with little deterrence he took to the main stage area in search of her. The charity concert was to be held there in the evening, and everything was looking like it was going to plan. Bouquets of flowers were stacked by the stage and an endless amount of chairs were standing ready to be placed on the floor. From what he had heard, the performers from the Uni, along with the children of whom the concert was made for, were ready to go and there hadn't been any glitches so far.

With the concert being that night, it meant the end of Anne's charity work. It meant no more Saturday morning visits. It meant no more 'Harry and Louis time' in the piano room. Now, if Harry wanted to continue the tradition, he would have to ask Anne to bring him with the sole intention of seeing Louis, not it being a side purpose of Harry just joining Anne for the sake of it. It wasn't like they weren't going to see each other ever again all because the Saturday's had stopped, nor did it mean that the piano room suddenly became someone else's meeting place, because both of those statements were highly untrue. Louis and Harry met up during the week anyway, and they could still meet in the piano room if they wanted to.

But it was coming to the end of the Uni year for Louis and Harry had just finished his exams so he was on his summer holidays. So, for one, the facilities wouldn't be in use, and really, they needed to expand from outside the room.

It was almost like the end of an era, as dramatic as that sounds. Louis and Harry would be leaving the place that had changed both their lives; they wouldn't have any needto meet up in the place which they had met and the place in which they had taken the leap over the lava from friendship to relationship. Even though they were bound to return to it, it was daunting. After all, Harry would never last more than a few weeks without his fingers gracing those smooth keys. But the fact still stood that things would be different, a good different though, Louis was sure.

Louis wouldn't lie, it was a little disheartening that Harry wasn't there to spend their last day in the piano room together. Even if he did turn up, it would be full of trying to make up for lost time and Louis didn't want to ruin the lackadaisical atmosphere of the room, the whole meaning of the room.

When Louis stood on his tiptoes and his eyes searched the auditorium, he finally spotted the woman he was looking for. He scuttled over to her where she was sorting out music sheets, sidling up to her with a subtle smile on his lips. Before he spoke, his eyes glanced across the room aimlessly and noticed one of his old ballet classmates stretching on the make-shift barre set up. He remembered the boy's name to be Spencer, a tall, lean, boy with large curls which rattled around as he pranced and danced. He wasn't attractive, well Louis didn't find him attractive anyway. Louis had high standards, what could he say. But seeing this curly haired boy bending over the barre made images of Harry appear in his mind in the least innocent way possible.

He had to shake his head and clear his throat to erase said thoughts, not wanting to cause a problem; after all, he was wearing leggings which left little to the imagination. This clearing of his thoughts pulled the attention of Anne, who swivelled around quickly on the heels of her feet to face Louis.

"Hey!" Louis said brightly, making sure those thoughts were tucked right at the back of his mind to be brought out at a more sensible time than right in front of the boy in question's mother.

Anne stared at him blankly, the fraction of surprise which graced her eyes and then an unknown emotion flashing by when she first saw Louis' face disappearing and being replaced by a similar look to what old-Harry would make. Undeterred, Louis asked the question which held most value over a simple 'how are you?': "Do you, by any chance, know where your gorgeous youngest son is?" his teeth were glinting under the stage lights as he grinned cheekily at Anne.

Louis was expecting a cheeky, snarky reply from Anne, maybe a joking slap on the shoulder to match the wide grin she'd wear; but that didn't happen at all. All Anne did was purse her lips and scrunch her nose up, in what Louis would normally class as disgust. She said nothing at all and turned around back to the sheet music.

Louis was stunned at her reaction, her blatant ignorance. He coughed uncomfortably and stuttered out a questioning "Anne?" With no reply at all to his many attempts which followed the second time he spoke to her, Louis backed away from her with a frown pulled between his eyebrows and pout on his lips. He didn't understand why she wasn't replying to him; it wasn't like it was a complex answer. He thought that maybe an excuse was that she was stressed, that she couldn't bear to think of anything but the concert. But like he mentioned before, it was such a simple answer as to where he was, so how much trouble would it be to just tell him?

He stumbled back to the piano room with confusion stitched into his frown and worry pooling in his blue eyes. He didn't want to think that he'd done something wrong, especially when it would only cause more anguish when he tried to figure out what he had done. There wasn't anything, bar the obvious but that was impossible, which he could have done to cause such a reaction. He had been his usual self on Thursday when he had seen the Styles family: polite and happy with a splash of cheekiness sloshed in there. There was nothing wrong with that meeting at all; at least he didn't think there was.

Anne had requested for Louis to go over for dinner on Thursday night and Harry had passed on the message reluctantly. He said that his mother had wanted to cook him a nice homemade meal so they could discuss things. Of course Harry had jumped to the worst possible conclusion and thought that she wanted to have 'The Talk' with the two of them before they went to Italy, therefore was disinclined to ask Louis. But as Harry had told him once before, Anne knew that nothing like that was going to happen, and anyway, he was pretty sure that she knew that Louis wasn't a virgin so he would know what he was doing. Sensibly, Louis suggested that it might be to discuss their holiday in, what was then on the Wednesday, five days' time.

Anne had been in contact with Louis, passing details by him before finalising them. Honestly, Louis was happy to have someone else to do it. He was a generally chaotic person so if he had had to organise it, they would probably have ended up with no hotel room but a million things to do over the course of their stay. Plus, Anne knew what Harry would be comfortable with and she could ask her son first before even consulting Louis about it. The main focus for the holiday was Harry. Louis wanted it to be perfect for Harry; after all, he had never been away just him and a friend before, so it was a big deal. The fact he was trusting Louis to take him out of the country was a massive thing which meant a lot to both of them, so Louis didn't want it to be a flop.

At first, when the first details were being set in place, Louis had had a moment or two of worry. Were they going too fast? Was it all too much? But in the end, he had realised that no, they weren't. Maybe to some people it was a little too fast, but to them it was fine and they wanted to, so it wasn't like they were being forced. Both parties were ready to take the leap and travel, both felt like they needed the privacy. They didn't need the privacy in that way, but they needed to show their independence as a couple to prove that they could work without all the other amenities.

He had turned up fashionably late but his excuse was that he had spilled something on the trousers he was going to wear so he had to change -they didn't have to know what he'd spilled on them. But Anne had been fine about it when she opened the door, mixing bowl in hand filled with some food concoction, a telling sign that he hadn't pushed their meal back too far. He'd only just settled on the sofa next to a texting-Gemma when Harry had bounded down the stairs, curls flying everywhere. He stopped with a halt at the door when he spotted Louis there, and then a sweet smile eased over his lips gradually. Louis had smiled back encouragingly after a 1-second scan of the boy's outfit.

Harry wasn't wearing anything special, nothing fancy was expected anyway because he was in his own house. He had on a thin maroon t-shirt on which dipped a little to show the smooth, pale skin of his chest. Louis had to restrain himself from jumping up and latching his mouth onto those exposed collarbones to suck dark, obvious marks. His legs were lined with black skinny jeans, his legs looking like they went on forever from how thin they were and how low Harry had slung them on his not-prominent hips.

Louis had tilted his head to gesture for Harry to come over to him. Harry wandered over and stood in front of Louis, who shuffled a little closer to the boy and went to wrap his arms around the hips of his boyfriend. When he did, however, Harry tensed visibly, even though it was obvious he was trying to disguise it, and his grin turned into a grimace for a few seconds. Louis winced apologetically and dropped his arms from the boy's waist.

Brushing it off as not to make Harry uncomfortable -or guilty- Louis stood up in the small gap there was between the sofa and Harry and pressed his lips on Harry's. He wasn't expecting much of a response, not a speedy one anyway as he thought he would be able to just pull away quickly, but that wasn't the case. Harry reacted quickly and pressed his lips onto Louis' with equal force, moving them together with more ease than he had before. It was a pleasant surprise, and Louis certainly couldn't complain. Their fluttered-shut eyes weren't aware of Gemma looking up from her phone with an expression unreadable, whether she was disgusted because that was her brother or whether she was in awe because that was her brother, nobody would really know. They'd pulled away with a pop and a blush on Harry's cheeks, and followed Anne's calls that dinner was ready.

It had been a pleasant affair, dinner that is, full of chatter and laughter. Louis felt completely at ease with the family; it was like he'd known them all his life, not only a few months. It had been lovely to see Harry engaging so freely with his family, especially when he had expected it wouldn't be so easy. Harry hadn't exactly been totally okay with his mother when they had first met, not having an overly strong connection, so it was nice to see such warmth. Maybe it was because Gemma was there that Harry was so comfortable. After all, she was his best friend.

After dinner, Anne had pulled out all the pieces of paper and brochures and sat down with Louis at the table. Harry had stayed for the first five minutes but soon enough got impatient and bored and resorted to watching the TV with Gemma; Louis faintly heard the cries of Gemma and a scuffle on the floor, probably over the TV remote from the words Gemma was spurting.

Anne went over the basics: how long they were staying for -5 days- where they were staying -Caorle- how they were getting there -the plane from Manchester Airport- when they were going and coming back -Leaving on Monday, returning on Saturday morning- and other bits and bobs about the hotel and general area.

After close to three-quarters of an hour of discussion, Harry had snuck into the room and wrapped his arms around Louis' neck, his chin resting on Louis' shoulder. He breathed heavily, a soft whistle blowing through the air.

"What's up with you?" Louis asked, sparing Anne a knowing glance. He could see her shaking her head at Harry's antics, but her fleeting look held something more than Louis could register -Louis would later realise that it was something akin to awe and wonder and a large dose of happiness. Harry just sighed dramatically and huffed his thoughts out with hot air on Louis' neck.

"Hey, I don't know why you're complaining, this is all for your benefit, Mister!" Louis scolded playfully, hitting Harry's forearm with his pen that was hanging loosely between his fingers. Harry hummed in Louis' ear and pressed a kiss to his cheek as if to say thank you. And honestly, for Louis, that was enough of a thanks that he needed. A simple piece of affection initiated by Harry was more than enough, even if it was the smallest touch ever; it would always be enough.

"Here, I'll finish getting all these sorted while you go keep Harry occupied, why don't you?" Anne suggested. Louis could sense the grin over Harry's lips and the dimples puncturing Harry's cheeks after Anne's proposal, and with that in mind, he couldn't deny her proposition.

Sighing overdramatically, Louis picked Harry's arms off from around his neck and squeezed out of his chair. Chattering a light, "C'mon, you little bugger" through his smile, Louis turned and ruffled Harry's curls, causing the boy to squawk in reaction and scuttle away from Louis' tickling hands which had caught onto his sides.

The night had progressed with Louis and Harry hanging out in Harry's bedroom, not doing much at all. They'd pulled up Harry's laptop and spent the remaining hours trawling through YouTube videos for their own amusement. Of course in between videos -or sometimes even in the middle, that was always a surprise for the other, a butterfly-clan-erupting surprise though- there had been the odd kiss. It was strange, but Louis could already tell how much more confidence Harry had in the way that he moved his lips with much less hesitance than before. That's not ruling out all of the hesitancy because there was some still there, but that wasn't the point. It was nice to have those random kisses sprung upon him which weren't coated in worry on Harry's side when he was doing something wrong.

Anne had knocked gently on the door and told Louis that it was getting late; they had obviously lost track of time so needed some prompting from the kind-hearted mother. Louis had left with an extra-long goodbye kiss from Harry, slipping his hands into his curls in the meantime.

As far as Louis knew, he hadn't done anything wrong. Anne had even left him with a warm hug before he left, so it was definitely nothing that had happened on that Thursday. It had only been two days since them, how much could he have done wrong in those two days?

The answer wasn't likely to come to Louis anytime soon, so he opted for pleading ignorant. He created the scenario that there wasn't a second emotion flashing past Anne's eyes and she was running around like a madwoman with stress so that was why she hadn't told him. It reduced the rejection-sting to a mere prick.

But his question of Harry's whereabouts still wasn't answered. The whole point of going to see Anne was to ask about Harry, but then he had gotten sidetracked by all the happenings and extra time had passed, still with no Harry.

Maybe he was ill? Louis thought that was plausible. If Anne was stressed out because of the charity concert, then having a sick son lying in bed at home would only cause more strain. But then again, Gemma was home from Uni so she could fill the mothering role and take a little bit of that heavy weight off of Anne's shoulders. As known, Harry didn't like a change in routine. The Saturdays they were together were something which both of them had become accustomed to; it was strange for them not to happen. So Harry would never interrupt this routine which kept him sane for something trivial. And illness wasn't trivial in Louis' book, and he was sure that Anne would agree with him on that one.

Louis decided that Harry must have been ill. Harry wouldn't tell Louis that he was ill anyway, so that explained the lack of texts. He was probably drugged up on painkillers or conked out on the couch. (When Louis imagined the sight, he pictured Harry with his mouth gaping open as he drooled inelegantly under the heavy hold sleep had over him. It was a cute image, regardless of how people would find someone else drooling repulsive. Louis almost wanted to mother Harry: brush his curls back as he vomited, tuck the duvet up to his chin, turn off the telly when he was truly out of it. The funny thing was, was that Louis could imagine himself doing that in years to come.)

The curly haired boy wasn't one to proclaim his trials and tribulations; he liked to keep them tucked inside until necessary. Even though they had had serious conversations with emotion-stemmed topics, Harry always kept a restraint on how much he gave away. Supposedly Louis had enough problems to worry about than having to add Harry's 'pathetic' ones on top. Louis didn't think they were pathetic, nor did he think he had that many problems, but he didn't press the boy any further and knew to leave the conversation unfinished.

So with the conjured up picture of a sick Harry fresh in his brain, Louis pulled out his phone and tapped out a message to the boy in question.

To: Harry

Hey, I figure that you're not doing too good, right? It's just your luck catching that bug that's been going round on the first day of your summer hols! Well, I presume it's that bug, everyone I know seems to have had it at some point. If you have that, then I'm pretty sure that you'll be over it by this evening anyway so just keep hydrated and take advantage of free reign over the TV, k? Anyway, text me to tell me that you're alive so I don't die with worry. Get well soon, baby xxxxxxx

It was around five to seven when Louis had returned to the Uni. He left the piano room earlier than he would if he was with Harry, figuring that he may as well make use of the spare time by getting himself ready for the concert. He wasn't performing in it or anything, no; that was the first years' job. But he had to look presentable, especially when he would be sitting by Harry's side who would no doubt look spectacular in his shirt and jeans combo which Harry had shown him via a photo when he was buying them. Supposedly Harry didn't trust his mother's fashion sense too much and needed a more experienced eye's help; so he sent it to Louis, because God forbid, if Louis didn't think the outfit was stylish then he probably wouldn't leave the house with him. (Louis thought that was silly, he wouldn't care if Harry was wearing spots and stripes at the same time- okay, well maybe he'd care a little.)

So Louis had done the usual routine he did before going out in the evening for something special: the showering, the moisturising, the hair drying, the clothing, the styling, the aftershave-ing. It would be a tiresome routine for some, but it was therapeutic for the 21 year old boy. Maybe it was a little intensive and over the top for a boy to do, but hey, he was gay; that was always his excuse.

In his rickety old car, Louis had made his way to the Uni. He would have just walked but other than the fact he couldn't be bothered to, he hoped that he could drive to Harry's afterwards to spend more time with him. There wasn't anything special he wanted to do with him, just being with him was fine by Louis.

The hall was packed full with a range of aged people, some young and some old. It was obviously a family event so the screaming children which weaved through the chairs were just standard. He found his seat on the end of the row, hoping that he'd be able to spot Harry when he arrived. Of course Anne would already be there, but he presumed that Harry would be being ordered around behind the stage to get everything sorted so he wouldn't find his seat until the show was just about to begin. In a way, that was a little disheartening because he wouldn't be able to speak to Harry properly and make sure he was definitely well enough to be out of bed, but he could snuggle under the boy's arm if he let him and that would be perfect, too.

So Louis sat and waited until the lights started to dim down and the crowd settled in their seats in anticipation. There was a certain buzz surrounding the place, which made the room feel so warm and homely. Everyone was here to help the little children in need, and that was definitely prominent in the aura of the room. It was uplifting.

But then the show started and Harry still wasn't there. The atmosphere carried him through though, through the extra ten minutes when Harry didn't show up. And then through the added ten on that, and another ten on that. It had been half an hour and Harry still wasn't there. He craned his neck in search for the curly hair but found none that matched his boyfriend's. Anne was waiting by the stage, an encouraging smile on her lips to all the children and performers. But Harry wasn't there either. He wasn't by her side, nor was he by Louis'.

Discreetly - well, as discreetly as you can in a dark room with blaringly bright homepage - Louis eased his phone from his trouser pockets and clicked the lock screen on. A photo of the back of Harry's hair was all that showed up, no little black box with that small green icon. No 'Harry' lighting up the screen with smaller words placed carefully underneath. Louis tried to ignore the twisting in his stomach but it wasn't an easy task. He had sent the boy a few extra 'Hope you're doing okay' and 'Are you still alive, little chicken?' and 'See you soon, Hazbear' texts throughout the hours between his first text and the concert, so Harry must have realised that he had been trying to contact him.

His gut was telling him that something was wrong. Something was out of place, especially when he hadn't heard from Harry in more than 24 hours. He didn't want to seem obsessive, but it was worrying when he normally spoke to Harry every day. His thoughts seemed repetitive, reoccurring from hours prior. But the basic facts were that Harry always replied to his texts, even if he was lying half-dead in a ditch he would reply to his texts. And y'know what, Louis thought, I'd probably do the same. He had learned from his mistakes and had turned it into pure want to reply to Harry. Maybe Harry didn't want to reply to Louis anymore, maybe he was sick of him and his flamboyant ways.

The thought made Louis' stomach churn.

The Tomlinson boy just made it through the concert without doing something drastic to his phone in worry. His fingers were always tightly wrapped around it to make sure that he could feel any little buzz and also to keep a hold over his emotions. He didn't want to let his worry get out of hand; it was probably nothing and he was just overreacting. He spent the interval searching for Harry in the crowds which had gathered in the lobby for refreshments. With no luck, he had searched for Anne instead, pushing back the remembrance of her dismissal beforehand. He spotted her in amongst the throngs of people but as he weaved his way through them he lost her in his line of sight.

The next time he saw her was standing by the entrance to the hall with a microphone in her hands, telling everyone that the show was about to commence for the second and final time. Through a gap in the crowd, he made eye contact with her. His breath hitched in his throat when he did, not from the way her eyes seemed unusually drawn in such a situation, but from how eager he was to speak to her. It was unexpected when their glances passed upon each other and Louis didn't want to waste the opportunity. He called out her name and started to push his way past the person in front of him, still keeping his eyes trained on hers. But when he did so, she seemed to snap out of her despondent daze and shape her drained eyes into a glare. With a scrunch of her nose in distaste, she turned on her heel and made her way back into the hall.

Louis stood still for God knows how long. The lobby was empty of people, all but one. Louis Tomlinson stood in the middle wondering what the hell had just happened. He'd never seen Anne act so harshly before, nor had he seen her eyes as anything but warm pebbles of green. But tonight had changed things. He was already as confused as anything, and combined with what had happened earlier and just then, Louis was in total bafflement.

He couldn't wrap his head around what was going on. His gut was still clenching, still pining to be noticed and for Louis to just understand what it was trying to tell him. But Louis didn't want to face up to that; he didn't think it was possible and he wouldn't think it was possible until the words relating to it had been spoken. How cryptic, Louis thought to himself as he refused to mention to his mind what his gut instinct was over the situation.

As Louis snuck back into the hall in a daze, his mind kept repeating that piercing glare. Whilst his eyes roamed over the performance of the three girls street dancing, not really watching, Louis didn't disguise to his brain the fact he had never really taken in consideration what a glare meant. It could mean disgust, he'd had a few of them when he with past boyfriends. You could glare at someone or something to speak your distaste over whatever the matter was; it tended to get the point across quite easily when paired with a downturn of the lips and a scrunch of the nose.

Then there was a playful glare, a one which you did when you were joking with someone. That was similar to a humiliated glare, a one you'd do when you were embarrassed over something. You might be embarrassed, but you mightn't be serious with the glare so you could just be scowling in a joking fashion.

And it could mean hatred. Louis couldn't say he had had many of those, the odd few after a break up or him throwing his sexuality in other people's faces like a scarf spreading over your face as the wind blew.

Louis thought that Anne's was a mixture of the former and the latter. Neither was too pleasing.

The show ended with a loud round of applause and Louis had a distinct sense of nostalgia settling around the crook of his neck, holding him in place and tingling at his bones. He remembered the show not too long ago which he had, somehow, convinced Harry to perform in. The applause for Harry wasn't influenced by his social status; it was simply his piano playing and that was it. It showed how remarkable his talent actually was, that even when he was classed as an outcast, he could still lift the roof with a gift nobody could deny was present in his fingertips.

He was so proud of Harry that night, that he probably wouldn't ever be able to express it. The charity event was similar in that it helped people, and Harry's performance helped him himself. Harry had grown in confidence, even if he didn't show it, but deep down there was a seed of confidence planted and it was ready to grow. Louis wanted to be the one to water that seed and let it bloom into a striking flower, as cheesy as that sounds.

Things were a lot simpler back then. Louis would admit that it was down to his doing, but if he was being completely honest, he would never go back to then. Things might have gone differently in relation to the mess he'd created with his friends, but that could also work against their relationship status too if everything was being changed. They might never have gotten together, and that thought was monstrous enough to abolish the other slight changes.

The audience was filing out through the doors, but as Louis' reminisced his way into a daze, he sat in his seat unaware of his surroundings. His head was cast downwards instinctively so maybe he would be thought as asleep, although that would be a tad disrespectful. If he was brave enough to admit it, he would tell people that the corners of his eyes were burning and his tear ducts were straining with unwanted, traitor tears. Louis was never one to get too emotional, maybe when he had had one too many glasses of wine on a night in just him and The Notebook, but he'd never well up over the simplest of things. He had had to keep all his emotions away from his sisters; he had had to be the strong father figure for them and that had settled into him to the point where he was hardly ever emotional around people.

It was probably because he was thinking about how far they had come, how far harry had come, which had made his eyes tickle with tears. God, pull yourself together, you girl, Louis told himself with an ironical chuckle.

He looked up from his lap, blinking quickly to try and reduce that watery film, and around the near-empty hall. He had not been there for too long, maybe a few minutes after everyone else, but with the lack of people circulating, it was much easier to spot the woman which had caused so much trouble in his mind. She had her bag under her arm and her sleek hair floating delicately behind her back as she parted from a group of women with a tired smile. Louis shot up from his seat near the top of the auditorium and called out Anne's name, hoping his wavering voice would reach the mother.

His nimble feet took quick and light steps down the stairs, his little white Converse tapping on each shiny step. Anne's head turned in his direction at her name being called, but instead of stopping like Louis had hoped, she quickened her pace and directed her attention to her phone which was clutched in her right hand. Her boyfriend's mother was already a good distance in front of him, his seat was a lot higher up in the stands than he thought, so by the time he had bumbled out of the double doors to the hall, she was already exiting onto the street.

"Anne! Anne! Wait up!" Louis called as he jogged -running wouldn't be easy in the trousers he was wearing, let's just say that even in the jean material that they were, they were as tight as his leggings that he had worn that morning- through the doors and into the cold, bitter night. For a summer evening, it was particularly cold; the wind whispered in his ears with a spike of chill, and the leaves blustered around in the air like a ghost of lyrical dance was holding them in between its white dusted fingertips.

However, it was as if that certain ghost had whisked up his voice too and not let it pass over to Anne's ears as she determinedly didn't acknowledge Louis' presence or persistence. The brown haired woman was scurrying over to her car which was just a little further down the street, conveniently for Louis it was near to where his car was parked.

"Mrs. Cox! Anne!" he raised his voice to a higher volume to make sure that Anne could hear him, and he was sure that she could by the way her head twitched to the side but she resisted looking back at him. "Why are you ignoring me? I just need to ask you something!" Louis' voice wasn't angered, more inquisitive yet less soft in enquiry. Her steps were speeding up, so Louis matched her.

Anne refused to make any form of contact with him, not even a flash of her eyes over Louis' frame. If Louis wasn't concentrating on trying to catch her fleeting attention, he probably would have felt a mixture of frustration and hurt swirl in his stomach. But no, Louis wanted to speak to her and he wanted to get to the bottom of why she was ignoring him, and most importantly, where Harry was.

She fumbled in her bag messily, presumably in search of her keys, just as Louis was finally catching up. He was no more than a few metres away from her when she finally looked up at him. Her car door was open and her hand was resting on the top of the door. Louis stopped in his place, unmoving, and sighed at her blank expression.

"Just tell me where he is, Anne," Louis said softly. He whispered "please" just as she shook her head in dismay and climbed into the car. The engine started and she drove past Louis without even a glance his way, not seeing his defeated and crestfallen expression.

"I just need to know that he's okay," he whimpered into the cold night. He watched as she drove away, the headlights fading into the darkness. His emotions turned from crushed to strong when a sense of need washed over him. He needed to know what was wrong; he needed to see that Harry was alright. He wasn't going to leave the night without some kind of recognition, however needy that sounded.

So with a new found rooting in his chest to sort out something which Louis still didn't understand, he skidded across the street and clambered into his car. With a roar of the engine, ending in a flat stall, Louis told himself to calm down and started on his journey, trying not to think of how much could have gone wrong all in a few hours.

It was a race against the clock, in some ways. Louis knew that Anne knew that he was going to follow her back to the small home, it was inevitable. Everyone who knew Louis knew that he was persistent, and you could also throw stubborn in there too. The one thing she wouldn't have known about the situation was that Louis was feeling a smidgen of hurt from it all. He was being blatantly ignored, and that stung. It was worse being ignored by your boyfriend though, Louis could account for that.

He wasn't reckless in his driving, jumping red lights and being an 'amber gambler', no. But he wasn't exactly careful. Yes, so maybe he did go 10 mph over the speed limit on a few occasions, and yes, maybe he was to blame when took right of way over another car when it wasn't his at all; but it was all for an important cause. He could see the silver car just vaguely, and he wanted to reach it before Anne had a chance to lock him out of their night entirely.

It just so happened, though, that a tractor decided to pull in front of him just as he was catching up to her. He let out a groan of frustration and a hit his fist on the steering wheel, cursing whoever drove such a slow vehicle. In a way, the annoyingly sluggish tractor was a Godsend. It gave Louis the time to think about how he should approach the situation. He couldn't barge in like he owned the place, of course not. The family evidently had a reason for ignoring him so he had to be appreciative of that and he had to approach it with caution. Louis hoped he could do that, not because he was someone who flew off the handle too much, but because when it came to harry he was pretty serious and being so immersed in the boy made his actions a little reckless at times.

When he pulled up outside the Styles' residence, the house had a gloom-like blanket draped over it. The upper rooms were cloaked in darkness, only a small and dull light coming from the corner of the window in Harry's room. The living room had the curtains closed fully but there was a thin line of light showing from where the material had bunched up. It was as if the house was trying to look like it wasn't in use.

Louis' heart was pounding dramatically in his chest and pumping blood into his ears in thick waves. The engine of his car died out in a regretful rumble and silence overcame him. It was an eerie silence if Louis was to look deeply into it. His gut was straining and his stomach was curdling; Louis knew something was wrong, it was hard to deny.

After he stepped out the car and shook himself, trying to rid of the unwanted nerves, Louis trundled up to the door which he had become so familiar with over the past few months. It was normally a beacon of safety, the warmth and homeliness which he missed so dearly from his own home. It was like it was a third home to him: his home in Doncaster, his apartment in Manchester, and Harry's house. It always felt like homemadebread and toastedteacakes and eveningsbythefire. It never felt like thedownfall or theapproach or theconfrontation.

Maybe Louis was overreacting; after all, he was quite the drama queen at times. In some way, Louis hoped he was overreacting and it was all just a silly misunderstanding. But with that thought came the fact that nothing else around him had changed, nothing had brightened, no contact had been made; everything was exactly the same as a minute ago. If it was an overreaction then he'd have some kind of epiphany about how stupid he had been, and Louis hadn't had that.

Breathing in a deep gulp of air through his nose, Louis closed his eyes for a few seconds to brace himself and only let out that breath when his fist knocked on the door: one, two, three. He stepped down onto the pavement, wringing his hands nervously -and fighting off a sense of déjà vu which really would not help in the situation, reminiscing wasn't made for times like this- and tapping his toe restlessly. He waited a few minutes for an answer but got nothing in the slightest. Hoping that everybody in the house had just not heard, he knocked on the door with his knuckle to make a stronger noise.

Nothing. After more waiting, there was still nothing at all. One thing about their plan to act as if the house was neglected didn't match up, all down to the car that Louis had chased back to the house. It was sitting on the driveway, not hidden and had obviously been parked hastily by its swerved wheels.

Following his fifth set of knocks, Louis had decided that it obviously wasn't the best way to gain access to the house. God, it sounds like some kind of adventure game, Louis thought wryly; it was far from a game to him. And that in itself was scary, things weren't a game anymore. (Not that they ever were, but it was hearts he was playing with now.)

Louis' blue eyes roamed over the door for inspiration on how to catch the family's attention. His eyes passed over the letterbox a few times before he thought of his next attempt. He crouched down so his face was aligned with it, and he just hoped to God that the Styles' were yet to upgrade to one of those fancy letterboxes with the brushes inside.

Thankfully, one thing that night was on his side, and as he lifted up the flap carefully, he could see straight through it, albeit he felt a little obtrusive and creepy doing so. The lights were on in the hallway and he could just about see the kitchen light shining from behind the half closed door. There wasn't any sign of -well, as drastic as it sounds- life, except for the shoes left lying helplessly in a heap by the door. He could spot Harry's Converse lying at the bottom of the pile; he wondered when Harry last left the house.

Feigning nonchalance, Louis called through the letterbox as soon as he spotted a figure flash by from behind the kitchen door: "Hey! It's just Louis, can you open the door?"

There was no reply. "Uhm... it's only me, I know it's getting late but I swear I'm not a murderer or anything!"

Humour obviously wasn't going to work either. "Look, I don't know why you aren't answering the door, but I know you guys are in," Louis sighed. "Will you at least tell me what I've done wrong?"

Seconds, maybe minutes, passed and Louis still had no reply. With a laboured sigh, he let the flap slam shut with an over exaggerated slap and sat himself on the step, his forearms resting aimlessly on his knees and his hands dangling. He had no other ideas; he didn't know what to do. It was obvious that he was being ignored, and even more clear that it wasn't just Anne who had a grudge against him either.

"Just tell me what I've done wrong," Louis mumbled to himself, letting his head thump back on the door. It was beginning to strain at his heart a little more prominently than before, beginning to settle with a heavier weight in the pit of his stomach. The thought of Harry being mad at him was excruciatingly hard to swallow; it was like it was covered in prickles which got lodged in his throat every time he tried to gulp down the thought and keep it covered by mounds of naive ignorance; ignorance was bliss, right?

It was some time of sitting on the step until he had recognition of being there. He didn't know how long it had been because he was so lost in thoughts of every kind, so when he felt the door shudder behind his back, it was a shock to say the least. He jumped up from his position as the door creaked open slightly, ready to face whoever was on the other side. Anne's face slowly appeared from behind the frame as she eased it open, but as she saw Louis standing there with his overly hopeful expression, she went to push the door back closed quickly. Evidently she had thought he had left and was just checking; that, however, was not the case. Louis would wait forever for Harry, didn't she know that?

Reacting quickly, Louis' arm jumped in the way of the door closing and barred it from shutting him out again. "Anne, please, just speak to me," Louis begged, not caring if his voice sounded desperate. Anne seemed to hesitate and stopped forcing the door on Louis' arm, so Louis took this as her going to talk to him. That, however, was not the case. Maybe he was a little presumptuous, but when he moved his arm away he had expected for her to open the door, not close it in his face.

"What?!" Louis spoke out in bafflement and annoyance. "I don't understand what I've done! Why is everyone ignoring me?"

With still no response, Louis carried on his mindless rants, "Just tell me what I've done, for God's sake! I'm going out of my mind trying to think of what I've done and you not telling me really isn't helping!"

Louis' fist banged on the door and he let out a grunt of frustration, venting his anger through his heavy puff. "You've got to speak to me sometime! I mean, we're going away in two fuc- flipping days so you have to speak to me! You can't not speak to your son's boyfriend who is taking him away to another freaking country! I don't see-"

Louis stumbled forward as the door was yanked open from in front of him. He staggered over the threshold from the force retraction and had to steady himself on the wall. "Wha-"

"You are not taking my son out of the country." Anne spoke sternly, her lips pursed together.

Louis' eyes widened dramatically at both her tone and words, they both sounded harsh to say the least. "Wha- why not?!"

Anne just scrunched up her nose and raised her chin a little as if she was looking down on Louis. But that still wasn't an answer; it still didn't take Louis any further in his quest to discover what he had done wrong. Okay, so it did show that whatever he had done was massive because he wasn't being allowed to take Harry away anymore, and Anne wouldn't deny that from him for something small. Harry was utterly ecstatic at the thought of going away; Louis knew that Anne wouldn't want to take that away from him unless it was a last resort.

"You can't just tell me that I'm not allowed to go away with him and not give me a reason! It doesn't work like that!" Louis tried to keep his voice under control and not stoop to the low level of raising it up a notch, but it was hard to do so when he had a million thoughts racing around his head, muttering away and covering his ears in a blanket of words and when his veins were shooting desperation under his skin.

"Well you can't just break someone's heart and expect everything to go on as normal! It doesn't work like that either!"

Louis stilled, eyes locking onto the door behind Anne, fear prickling up his back, and a heavy weight pulling up from his stomach to lodge in his throat. His breath had caught as soon as the words had been spoken and his lips suddenly felt a lot thicker and heavier than normal. Normally, Louis would wonder why that always happened to him, but this time it was like his brain had been frozen and all thoughts were stuck in whichever channel they lay. He could almost feel the blood drain from his face, his forehead feeling lighter and lighter and behind his eyes being obscurely tickled.

"W-what are you talking about?" Louis choked out through the lump sitting awkwardly to stop normal speech. His voice was thick but weak, low but shaky.

"I think it's time you left," Anne ordered strongly. She went to turn to the door, but Louis' hand automatically reached out and grasped at her shoulder. She stared down at it like it was dirt ruining a brand new top, and shrugged it off with a frown of disgust.

"What are you talking about, Anne?" Louis asked feebly. His voice was decreasing in strength each time her spoken words span around full circle in his mind.

"You know what I'm talking about, don't try and act dumb with me," Anne spat. The orbs of her eyes were drenched in detestation and revulsion as she glared fiercely at the young man. She was just radiating hate for Louis.

"I-I don't have a clue, Anne..." Louis murmured weakly. Anne didn't reply, only continued to stare Louis down with a glare which made him want to curl up and hide away. "Can I see him?" He asked quietly and hopefully.

Anne cackled mockingly, "You expect me to let you see him? After what you've done to him? You have got to be joking me!"

Louis sighed heavily, his voice becoming more stable as he spoke; "How am I supposed to know what I've apparently done, when I'm not even allowed to see him?"

Anne's gaze didn't let up, nor did any words from her mouth. She stayed silent and unresponsive.

"Just please let me see him, Anne."

"You keeping me from him isn't going to help anyone. I need to talk to him."

"I need to explain whatever I've done wrong, which I still don't know what it is."

"Don't keep my boyfriend from me; I deserve to know what's made him so upset."

"I'm not going to leave until I know what's happened."

"I need to help him, I'm-"

"Fine," Anne interrupted with a tight and reluctant voice. "But only so Harry can get closure, I don't care about you at all."

Louis didn't think too deeply into her last sentence and only focused on the fact that he could then go and speak to Harry. The thought was daunting, scary, intimidating, and frightening all mixed into one.

As he walked up the stairs slowly and cautiously, all Louis could think of over his loud, pain-filled, heartbeat was the fact that whatever he had done had hurt Harry. Just that thought alone was enough to make him want to run back home and drown his sorrows in a bottle of alcohol.

But no, Louis was going to face up to whatever he had done, no matter how much it was tearing him apart inside. Whatever had made Harry upset was bound to kill him inside, but he needed to know what had caused it and he needed to fix it.

He needed to know what he had done to hurt his Harry, but somewhere in the back of his mind he knew what had happened, he just wasn't going to believe it until it was admitted on that slip of paper.

Tulips. They were Louis' favourite flower. In a conversation about everything and anything, Harry learned that Louis' favourite flower was the tulip. He loved the way they came in such bright, vivacious colours: pinks, purples, oranges and yellows. He loved the way they were formed, not too dainty like a lily but not too strong like a chrysanthemum. They weren't overexposed, not overrated like roses. They held a simple beauty in the way their petals hid the pollen in a cylinder of silky colour. They didn't stand out too much; they weren't everyone's favourite; they were normally placed in the background to add a block of colour; but Louis thought that they were worth more than that. They weren't to be placed to just fill in space, the different shades had to be mixed in with each other and create a loud but subtle bouquet of beauty.

So with that in mind, the whole spiel of Louis' reasoning behind his favourite flower, Harry was going to get tulips. Not roses like his Mum suggested because, no, Harry was not cliché. He was just sentimental, and what was more sentimental -and if you're daring, you could throw romantic in there- than buying your partner a bunch of their favourite flowers?

Of course, Harry wouldn't deny that when he ordered the bouquet he was grateful for Louis' choice of flower because hey, roses could be quite expensive and tulips were only second on the pricing list. But really, would Harry have bought a different bouquet if the tulips were the same price as that ostentatious bunch of roses? Exactly.

He was torn, though, when he scrolled through the range of colour combinations, as to which bouquet to go for. He could go subtle, maybe some light pinks, purples, whites, and a splash of darkened pinks. Or he could go bright with yellows, oranges, dark purples and reds. The bunch of just white and a rich pink looked too wedding-like for Harry; he didn't want it to look like he was proposing to the boy. So overall, it had taken him a while to decide on the perfect bunch.

The florist's shop -Katherine's Florists- was just a small walk away from his house, and with the flowers due to be picked up at 5.30pm, Harry embraced the lovely Friday weather and decided to take the trip by foot. His mother knew the owner of the shop relatively well - well, as much as you can know someone from the odd coffee morning - so Harry wasn't worried about having to awkwardly explain that he couldn't speak. He didn't mind taking trips out by himself, he liked the independence in fact, it was just a little tiresome having to pull out that card which stated his problem and put up with the sympathetic and pitying looks.

It wasn't overly warm, but enough for Harry to walk through the streets in his three-quarter, turned up jeans and a thin white t-shirt. A light green beanie was crushed over his curls to hide the wild mess they had become along with the fact they didn't exactly look in the most clean condition. His white converse weren't startlingly bright on his feet, but they were clean at least and didn't make him look too scruffy. Overall, Harry was quite pleased with his outfit. Louis would have been proud of his choices, he thought with a hidden grin.

He wasn't paying much attention to his surroundings as he passed the row of shops, more lost in his thoughts and the music which played through his earphones. After all, Harry wasn't going to pass up on listening to his music when he was wandering around on his own -his mother wasn't a fan of him listening to it when he was with other people, wanting him to be more social and not look as closed off. Of course she didn't mind sometimes; sometimes she knew it was necessary for Harry to seek silence and comfort behind the music because music was Harry's comfort blanket. But she didn't want that blanket to cover him up forever; he needed to be on show for the better.

Harry entered the shop, pulling out his ear phones and stuffing them in his pocket, the wall of perfume hitting him full on. The flowers in the shop were certainly fragrant, and Harry's nose didn't agree with that too much. He sneezed three times over, eyes screwing shut and nose crinkling up. Thankfully, Harry didn't have a loud and honking type of sneeze, it was relatively quiet and confined, so Katherine wasn't startled too much when his presence was made from said action.

"Oh, Harry!" Katherine said, scuttling over to Harry. Her pinny was batting at her knees as she made her way over, her arms outstretched. She wasn't young, but then again, she wasn't old. Harry presumed that she was mid-fifties by the way her hair was sprouting the odd grey in amongst the short black crop. Her hands patted Harry's cheeks as a grandmother would a grandchild and she cooed affectionately. "My, you're even more handsome than Anne made you out to be!"

Harry blushed awkwardly and fumbled his hands together, fighting the urge to rip her hands from his face and scratch at the skin until the weight that they had placed had been replaced by a stronger feeling.

"Oh, sorry, I'm making you uncomfortable!" she blustered, pulling her hands from Harry's cheeks and patting her thighs. "Right, so you're here to pick up the Sunday Bunch of tulips, yes?"

Harry nodded and rolled back on the balls of his feet. Katherine walked into a room behind the counter and came out holding a bunch of bright colours. She placed them on the counter, fiddling with some of their flower's position to make the bouquet look perfect, regardless of the fact they looked the same to Harry as before.

"Y'know what, Harry, it's not often that I get Sunday Bunch orders, that collection isn't fancy enough for some people. But I think they're just as beautiful; I mean, look at the colours in there. The red mixed with the light purple, and then those whites dotted around, and they look especially gorgeous in tulips, probably the best flower which suits the Sunday Bunch. You've picked a good bunch there, young man. Whichever girl you're giving these to is a lucky lady!"

Harry blushed once again at her final sentence, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly and scrunching his nose up in distaste. The older woman, however, didn't notice his resenting body language and fluttered around the till, totally unaware.

After paying and sending an awkward smile of thanks to Katherine, Harry quickly made his way back into the sunshine. As his feet trailed slowly on the ground, he stared down at the blooming flowers in his hands. He was overjoyed with the flowers, they were just as he imagined. The way the bright red tulips stood out in the mass of light purple and white tulips looked stunning. A thin, tan, string was tied around the green stems to bunch them together. It was subtle but expressive; just what Harry had wanted.

Louis would love them, he was sure. Well, more like Harry hoped he would anyway.

It was in the midst of thinking about Louis' reaction when Harry only just noticed the happenings by the pub he was passing. He had only been walking five minutes or so when he was approaching the pub on the corner, and wouldn't have thought much of it, especially by the way he was lost in his thoughts. But, a certain laugh had pulled him out of his thoughts like a game of tug of war between reality and prospects.

Harry stopped in his tracks once he had heard said laugh and turned to look at the pub. His eyes roamed around the brickwork and through the small gaggle of occupied chairs. What with the lovely weather, it was expected for the tables and chairs outside to be in use, so Harry made sure to check in every place to see if he could find the face for the noise between all the people. His eyes had landed over the door on the corner and he finally found the source of the laughter.

A group of boys were sat gathered around the silver, kaleidoscope patterned table on the wooden chairs that were arranged around it. A raven haired boy, who was familiar to Harry but he couldn't quite put his finger on who he was, was stood by the door and was interacting with the group. With his back facing to Harry, Harry could only see the mound of fair hair on the top of the next boy's head so that didn't help him in working out who the boys were. Next was a side view of a bright blonde haired boy. He had on a, as far as Harry could see, Miami Dolphins snapback which hid most of the light locks, but a few peeked out from underneath. Moving on to the next person, Harry saw a boy with a very large quiff. It was different to the familiar boy's at the door, more rounded and a total different colour. The chestnut brown hairstyle paired with the pair of thick rimmed glasses on the boy's nose made the stranger look very quirky. Harry thought he didn't exactly fit in the group very well, but that was just his first impression, so he couldn't judge.

The next person, though, he was what had drawn Harry's eyes over to the pub.

Tucked under the quirky boy's arm, his head resting in the crook of the boy's neck, was a feather-haired, bright blue eyed boy. A boy who had smooth, tanned skin. A boy who was wearing a familiar grey t-shirt with a large Ramones stamp printed on it. A boy who was sitting comfortably, cosily, snugly, with the unknown boy. A boy who looked like he belonged under the other's arm, looked like he liked being pulled in by the gangly limbs.

A boy who Harry had grown far too fond of for the position he was in not to make his heart plummet to the bottom of his stomach.

Louis.

Louis was tucked in the side of the boy in a way which couldn't help but make Harry's mind wander into dangerous places. He had a quaint smile on his face, albeit a little taut but Harry's mind could have been making that up; after all, Louis looked like he was sitting in the same kind of position they would sit in.

But Harry wasn't going to panic; no, that would be stupid. Louis was a generally touchy feely person; it was what he was like. Yes, with Harry that was restrained, but Harry wasn't naive. He knew that just because of his problems, Louis wasn't going to change everything about himself; he would still act the same around other people.

The boy was just a friend to Louis, that was all. They were just acting as good friends would. Harry knew that. It was silly to even consider thinking it was anything more than that, totally ridiculous.

A slight graze of the thought to maybe go over and see Louis tore on the side of Harry's mind. It was a possibility, maybe a chance to meet Louis' friends and get to know them. It wasn't like Harry was desperate to meet them, he didn't really care. He wasn't eager for more friends and he wasn't going to make friends through Louis either. If he made friends, he made friends; he would do that on his own.

So the thought of meeting Louis' friends wasn't much of a big deal to Harry if you bypass the initial social-shock that he always went though. With that in mind, Harry didn't particularly fancy clamming up and making a fool out of himself in front of Louis' friends so he decided to keep his distance; after all, Louis spent enough time with him as it was and he needed time with his childhood buddies.

Just as Harry was about to walk away, the image of Louis looking content with his friends -and not thinking about anything other than that, for example, that tiny twinge of worry behind his eyes about Louis' faithfulness- being at the forefront of his mind, he caught wind of their conversation. He had been so focused on looking that he hadn't actually been listening. It wouldn't be rude to just tune in, would it? In any case, it was just giving an insight into Louis' life outside of Harry; that was harmless.

It was then, when the raven haired boy spoke, that Harry realised who it was. Zayn, that had to be Zayn. He had heard a lot about the boy; he seemed cool enough. They probably wouldn't get on too well, Harry thought. Zayn would have been one of the popular kids at school and Harry was the furthest you could get from that. Regardless of that, though, he was still Louis' friend and he wasn't Harry's, so it made no difference to him at all.

Harry didn't catch what he had said; it was more just a blur of words, so he tuned in a little more to catch the general gist of what was going on. It was harmless, he reminded himself.

"Oi, loverboy, get your ass over here and help me with these drinks, will you?" Zayn called over to the table. Harry tried to guess who he was looking at but failed miserably.

"Fuck off, Zayn," Louis laughed. God, Harry loved Louis' laugh. It made bubbles of happiness and delight pop in his chest, made his dimple prod at his cheek.

"Hey! It's not my fault you can't leave your boyfriend for two minutes!"

Boyfriend.

Boyfriend?

If Harry were to lie, he would say that he was totally unaffected by the word. He would say that he just brushed it off; that he knew it wasn't anything but a silly name call. He would probably say that any other thinking was stupid because the group were just messing around; it was just what they did. Maybe he would crack a smile and pretend that he got the joke, but that was just a maybe.

But Harry didn't like lying; Harry wasn't a liar.

Harry was affected by the word.

Harry couldn't just brush it off.

Harry didn't know if that was how the group messed around at all.

And Harry definitely couldn't crack a smile.

Boyfriend was a...well, it was an important word to Harry. It may sound stupid and it may sound childish, but the word 'boyfriend' held a lot to the curly haired boy. It was a big weight, a big responsibility. It was full to the brim with care, love, lust, want, adoration and awe. It was like a pot of gold; something someone like Harry hardly ever got his hands into. Some were lucky and could dip into said cauldron, but some weren't as fortunate. That didn't mean that their pick of a coin held any less worth, no, in fact it probably held more. Because of the wait, it meant that the choice was more refined, it was more careful and it was more suited to whoever was choosing. Harry had only just gotten his first pick from the word; he had only just been allowed to use such an expensive, worth-full word. So he didn't exactly use the word lightly. If he did, then he would have used up all the inner giggles and outer blushes that came as a package deal with the word, and even though they were embarrassing, he secretly loved the way they made him feel.

Back to the point though, Harry felt a little bit itchy inside from the word being thrown around so liberally. The copious, joking way it was being used didn't settle well in his stomach. An overreaction it may have been, an overreaction it probably was, but it was Harry and nothing Harry ever felt normally played by the rules.

All those thoughts rushed by at a million miles per hour, whooshing through his ears fast enough for him to catch the rest of the conversation with little missing.

Hope. Hope was present at the back of Harry's mind. Hope that maybe Louis would laugh it off, tell him to 'shut the fuck up' or 'piss off, Harry's my boyfriend, not him'.

Neither happened, regretfully.

Louis just buried his head in the boy's -of whom Harry was starting to gain a whole lump of dislike towards- neck and spoke something which Harry couldn't hear. Harry suddenly hated the distance between them, hearing what Louis had said may have been the cure for his internal panic. The quiff-haired boy spoke something back to Louis, who then stood up with an overdramatic sigh.

"Shit, mate, Aiden has you so whipped. You're officially Aiden Grimshaw's bitch."

If Harry thought his stomach couldn't fold over any more than it already had, then he was wrong. He felt his insides twist with hurt and confusion.

Confusion was the best way to describe all his feelings. The hurt stemmed from the confusion. The fact that he had to make up scenarios in his head to try and figure out what was going on caused him to hurt; he didn't know whether the hurt was necessary or not because he didn't know if his thoughts were true, spreading even more confusion. This lead to the fact that he had no chance of understanding what was going on because he wasn't part of it. Harry felt like an outsider again for the first time in months.

Aiden, so that was his name. Hm. And Louis was 'whipped' because of Aiden. Aiden, who had just been called Louis' boyfriend by his best friend. Aiden who had Louis snuggled under his arm a few seconds prior. Aiden, not Harry. Aiden.

Harry was just about keeping in every single drop of emotion but it was a task too heavy when he heard Louis' reply. He was full to the brim; his skin was straining with unwanted upset and his eyes clouding over with everything from shock to hurt. It wasn't like he wanted to believe it, but he had to. There wasn't another option. Yes, he couldn't believe that Louis would do such a thing, but then again, outside of their bubble of LouisAndHarry, how much did he actually know about Louis? Did he know him at all?

Another pang to his heart came from that revelation; one revelation too much for Harry.

His breath had caught and clung to his airways like it never wanted to leave. His body froze up like he had been shocked with an ice gun, stilling every muscle and bone in his body. His head felt dizzy almost immediately from the way his ears felt as if they'd been stuffed with cotton wool balls. His mouth was in a straight line; his lips felt too heavy and too thick to rearrange into a hiding facade. His eyes were burning from behind, a fire of tears spreading in instant reaction. His chest was heavy and tight, his ribs crushing inwards. His skin started to tingle, the back of his neck begging to be scratched away, begging for the waves of emotion to be torn off. His legs felt like jelly, his muscles feeling too light to hold structure.

His hands were itching to rise up, screaming to lock into his hair and make it pull at the scalp. But at the same time, they were crying out to cover his ears up, block out the world with a plug of silence. Then his fingers felt shaky, the skin in between each finger burning like a fire spreading without warning. It crawled, crept, clambered up through his veins, squirming at his wrist and worming its way all the way up to his neck. Dying to be scratched once again, it never stopped.

It was that time in a movie when the background music faded into life. It could go either way. It could go depressing, lumbered, cumbersome. Or it could go energetic, staccato, happy. For the ironic factor. It'd be mad; to match Harry's mind which was swirling with circus colours being fought with furiously, leading to the shutting down of Harry's mind eventually. Now.

His fingers lost their grip on the flowers. They dropped to the floor in silence, matching the way the world had stopped around Harry. A gust of wind attacked them, a few petals blowing off and destroying their perfect form.

"That wasn't what he said when I was fucking him into the mattress last night, so ha!"

And in that split second, perfect didn't seem possible anymore.

It was the usual. Heart pounding, cotton wool ears, lower organs gathering in the throat: the general emotions which screamed nerves and worry. Every step he took up the stairs seemed to add on another stone of agonizing fret. Each time his foot landed on the hard surface, his heartbeat felt like it beat just that tiny bit faster. His throat was straining, that aching pull at the back of his neck which sometimes made his eyes twitch with moisture. Nothing he was doing, none of his actions, were registering in his mind. He was just focused on the swirling tension and anxiety in his knotted stomach.

To put it in a less poetic way, Louis was fucking bricking it.

The walk up the stairs had gone quicker than expected, and soon enough he was on the landing, just standing. Thinking back, he probably should have made use of the short time he had to get up to the upper level, after all, now he was there he had no clue how to approach the situation.

He knew that Harry would be upset, that was an emotion he was sure of. Hurt, as painful as it was to admit it, that would have been another emotion which Harry held in the palm of his hand. Confusion, Louis hoped that would be there. He only wanted it there because then Harry would have some doubt within all the other emotions so he might be able to accept that it was a misunderstanding; whatever it was.

Automatically, Louis had turned and found himself standing awkwardly outside Harry's closed door. He felt tiny standing there. Minute, like an average sized person compared with a giant. Jack and the beanstalk, something like that.

No, it wasn't the time to think of fairytales. Especially when his was crumbling before his eyes.

Right, okay, it's just a misunderstanding; whatever it is can be sorted out. Harry isn't going to hate you, well, maybe he will, but you'll change that when you explain everything. However bad it is, it can be explained. And then you can tell him how much you like him, how much you need him, how you think that you'll end up falling for him, and reluctantly he'll say the same back and eventually realise that all of this was stupid and you'll be back to normal in no time, Louis told himself. Whether he actually believed any of it was a total different matter.

Hesitantly, Louis raised his fist to the door. He knocked twice, somewhat quietly. There was no reply; Louis was used to that today, rejection and lack of acknowledgement was all that he had been getting. It was no surprise.

He knocked a little harder, a speck of hope lingering in the midst of his thoughts that Harry may have fallen asleep and didn't hear his weak questioning knock. Once again, he gained nothing in response. He couldn't even hear any movement inside the room.

"Harry?" Louis' voice was admittedly shaky, embarrassingly so. But at that moment, Louis couldn't really find a care for that. He had more important matters, matters like trying to reach the boy inside the room; his wavering and obviously scared tone wasn't a bother to him just then like it would normally be.

He coughed a little, reaffirming his tone, "Harry? You in there, love?"

Silence.

As much as Louis hoped and prayed, he knew what they were back to. They were back to silence again, and that thought was like a punch to the gut, a kick in the teeth, and a stab through the heart, all at once.

"Harry, c'mon, don't do this to me," Louis started. "Just let me in, yeh?"

Silence

"Fuck, Haz," Louis muttered under his breath in frustration. "I'll just come in myself if you don't answer. It'd be much easier if you just let me in though," he tried to reason.

With no reply, just more silence, Louis' hand gravitated towards the door handle. He wouldn't barge in, that would take it too far, but maybe he could just ease Harry out by showing that he was serious, that he needed to see him. He jiggled the door handle, expecting it to turn the full way around. This, however, was not the case. The smooth turning stopped with a click and the force he was using to turn it was halted by a barrier.

It was locked.

Of course it was locked, that was classic Harry. Locking himself away until things were safe, keeping everyone out so all he had was his thoughts, so he had nobody there who could hurt him.

"Harry," Louis groaned. "Baby, please, just let me in. I need to speak to you."

"Haz, c'mon, we need to talk about this."

"Just tell me what I've done, Haz."

"You can't ignore me forever; I need to know what's happening. I need to sort this out."

"I'm not going to lose you Harry, I need to fix this; I need to fix you.."

His last words were said with defeat and tiredness. His forehead rested on the door and his lips brushed the wood as he grumbled into it, his eyes closed and hand stilled on the door handle. He sunk to the floor, swivelling around so he sat with his back against the door, similarly to how he was outside. "I'm not leaving until I have fixed this, I can't leave.." mumbled Louis.

"Just...just know that I'm not going anywhere, okay, Haz? Like, I'm not going to leave from in front of this door until you've spoken to me, because quite frankly, I'm worried sick and I need to know that you're okay. Forget about what's happened -which I still don't know what has happened, by the way- just if you've forgotten that, I just need to know that you're alright. That you're, I don't know, alive.." His speech was strong at the start but grumbled off near the end, pairing up with the shrug of his shoulders and how he picked at a loose thread absentmindedly.

He had tuned out a little, focusing on the thread which was fraying at the tip. Rolling it around in his fingers, he failed to notice the shuffling in the room and only just saw the piece of white paper appear out the corner of his eye. It slipped under the doorway and Louis left the thread to drop graciously into its messy heap again to pick up said sheet. It was from Harry, obviously, and that thought made his heart pound ever so loudly in his head. He almost didn't want to read the messy scrawl, almost.

What it said, well, it was heart stopping to say the least. And not in a good way either, not at all.

I'm alive.

You can go fuck your boyfriend into the mattress now. I'm sure Aiden will make you feel more than alright.

Breath hitches. Stomach clenches. Gulp heavily. Eyes freeze. Limbs still. Fingers curl. Fists ball. Nails dig. Teeth grind. Tongue heavies. Eyes burn. Eyelids halt. Thoughts arrest. Mind collapses. World falls down.

Chants of 'no' tumbled out of Louis' lips without even realising, chokes spluttering like convulsing coughs. His mind was at war with itself, thousands of thought-warriors fighting against each other to stand on the podium of Louis' main thought. None were victorious in such a battle; everything was shutting down before his eyes.

Forgetting about the logistics, about how Louis was sure that Harry would never have had to find out, Louis was totally and utterly shell shocked. He didn't know how Harry had found out -did he even want to know? - but that wasn't the main problem; the problem was that harry had found out.

Harry knew.

Harry knew about his lies.

Harry was hurting because of it.

Harry was hurting because of him.

Harry was lost in misunderstanding but didn't know that. He thought he knew it all, but he didn't.

Louis didn't know what to do.

For the amounts of times he had run through the situation in his head, he had never once thought it would be this painful. It was like someone was killing him ten times over and never giving him any relief. As dramatic as it sounded, Louis actually felt like his life was crumbling in front of his eyes. Everything which he had built was tumbling down on him and crushing his heart. Because Harry was his life. Harry was everything, and everything was Harry. And Louis could only just register that everything was turning into nothing, all in a split second.

But then, once Louis had realised such a thing, the floodgates had opened. Everything came spilling out in a mess of dry sobs and soggy words.

"Harry- Harry, please, I- Harry, I swear to God it's not like that. Fuck, shit, fucking- I, it isn't like that. Please, Harry, listen to me, I swear. Jesus Christ, I can't- I'm so sorry, Harry. I swear to God, I'm so fucking sorry. I can't believe that I'm hurting you; do you even know how much I'm dying inside because of that? Because of what I've done? It sounds so messed up because, I know, one minute I'm saying that it isn't what it's like and then I'm apologising but I just don't know what to say and I can't even speak properly and I need you to understand before anything because I can't lose you, I can't Harry. Please don't leave me."

It was a jumble of words, an incoherent mess of profanities and apologies, but Louis couldn't stop himself. He knew that no rehearsed speech would have been any more useful, because he was hanging on a thread and his only hope was letting his mouth run away with itself. It had gotten him in this mess, and it would get him out of it. He hoped.

"Okay, okay, look," Louis reaffirmed, a little less wavering in his voice but the shake still present. "I get that you probably don't want to talk to me and you just want me to leave but I really really really need to explain everything. And I know it sounds so cliché, like, I know that, but I swear to the fucking high heavens that it isn't what you think. Because I know you think that Aiden is my boyfriend, but Harry, I would never do that to you. You should know how much I care about you, how much I need you and how much it kills me to see you even just the slightest bit sad. I would never, ever, ever put your happiness in danger on purpose; my life is totally concentrated on you and I don't want anyone else in my life in that way except you, so please just let me explain?"

It was a minute or so of heavy, laboured breathing until Louis got a reply. He had stood up and turned to face the door in his fretting to be sure that Harry could hear him. His words blurred into one as he said them; he was speaking faster than he ever had but his brain was pushing out apologies one after the other and it was hard to control the speed. He needed to get everything across to Harry, and his mind seemed to think that he had limited time. He didn't want to hurt Harry for longer than he already had.

Then, another white slip of paper had slid under the door quickly, as if Harry had pushed it through as if he was close to a hot flame.

I..suppose so. I mean, it's what you're supposed to do with these things, yeh? Listen?

Louis sighed heavily. "Harry, it's not- it's not a thing, don't make this a thing.." he murmured to himself, closing his eyes to keep his emotions at bay (well, as at bay as he could in this situation as tears were threatening to fall any second).

"Right, okay," Louis said to himself. "I'm just going to sit down, if that's okay with you? I just. I don't think I can stand any longer because my legs are about to give way." Louis chuckled wryly.

As Louis sat down, he wondered if Harry was sitting on the other side of the door, maybe they would be touching if the wood wasn't in the way. It was stupid, thinking that, getting his hopes up over a small slice of contact that probably would never happen after the conversation. That, added to the fact that Louis was incredibly nervous -so nervous that he could feel his heart beating so hard that it vibrated around his chest-, made the impending explanation a whole lot harder.

"So, okay. Here's the deal. Right- okay, let's do this," Louis heard a bang on the door, presumably Harry telling him to just get on with it. In a way, the ease in which that bantering action was performed was a bitter pill to swallow. Even when things weren't meant to be easy, they just were. And Louis had ruined that perfection.

"So- uh, well, y'know the lads, right? Zayn, Niall and Liam, yeh? Well..I just..fuck. Erm, well, basically, they aren't, like, the most open minded people and one day -it wasn't even that long ago- we were, like, eating and just lazing around and shit and, like, they started talking about you. They, uhm, they didn't know we were-are dating, because I. Well..I'm just going to come straight out with it, okay? And I don't want you to get upset or anything because their opinion doesn't mean anything anymore. I mean, I don't give a shit what they think and they just don't understand because they don't know you like I do, yeh? So basically, uhm...they don't really...like you. You've done nothing wrong; seriously, you haven't done a single thing wrong. They're just pretentious, arrogant, ignorant bastards sometimes and they can't see past their own noses. They just...they don't understand you. That's all, and I don't want you to think about it because it's totally not a problem and they don't matter in the slightest. I just, I had to tell you now so I could tell you the rest. Believe me, I'd have never told you if I didn't have to; it's irrelevant and total bullshit. I didn't tell them we were dating because I was trying to protect you, and I didn't tell you what they thought because I was protecting you again, too. I didn't want them to say more bad stuff about you, just so you know."

Louis took a deep breath and tried to slow his words down to a more coherent level.

"I..well, now you know that, I guess it's time to continue. So, because of all that shit, when they brought you up, I was really scared. Like, I was really frightened of what they were going to say because I hate hearing them talk about you like that and I didn't want to hear something so..horrible. So they noticed how much time I'd been spending with you, well, not with you as far as they were concerned, and they started questioning me on it. And like me, being the blurter that I am, somehow ended up saying it was Aiden who I was dating. I swear, Haz, I swear to God I was going to say you. I thought I was going to say you but then Aiden's name just slipped out and I still, to this day, have no clue how. I think it was just a bad case of word vomit, y'know?

I regret it every second I'm awake, Harry, you have to believe me when I say that. The fact that I've caused so much pain from being so slack with my words is the worst thing that could have happened to me at the moment. I hate seeing you hurt, even just not hearing from you killed me, let alone realising that my stupidity had caused this. I didn't want you to find out what I'd done, not because I'd cheated on you or lied to you, but because after I'd done it I knew it would mess with you, but it was too late for me to change things. I was just trying to protect you, baby, I swear; it just got out of hand.."

"Wait- I'm not finished, not yet actually. I need you to know that nothing has happened between me and Aiden. I swear on everything I love; I swear, Harry, that nothing has happened with me and Aiden. Well- actually, something did happen but that was years ago. Aiden's just a really good mate of mine. I, it sounds ludicrous, but I pretended to be his boyfriend once to try and make his crush jealous, and it all worked out fine. But then Matt left and I suppose I was the first person Aiden thought of and we might have had sex, but it didn't mean anything then and it doesn't mean anything now; it was years ago; it's over. We haven't done anything since; a hug is as far as it went. I guess that's why I said his name in the first place, after the initial refusal of saying yours, that is. The lads knew about that; they knew nothing had actually gone on, so I thought that maybe they would realise, y'know? I thought that they knew me well enough to know that I've never fancied him in the slightest."

"It's not an excuse, I know. But I just need you to understand that this is a whole misunderstanding and that I haven't cheated on you. I haven't been harbouring a secret boyfriend; I haven't been- ugh, fucking Aiden, but I have been totally devoted to you. It sounds so corny, there's a song with that in, right? But it's true, I've never looked at anyone else except you, and I just want you to know that. It's not what you think, none of it is, well, except for our relationship that is...if there even is a relationship anymore..just, basically, Aiden was like a 'pretend' boyfriend whilst...well, I don't even know what it was while, but he was and yeh, I'm just really fucking sorry."

It was silent for while after he spoke. He felt deflated, exhausted because he had just poured his heart out into a puddle on the floor, and he didn't know whether it would dry up or Harry would splash in it to scatter it into lots of little drips. His throat was sore, aching, from holding back the tears. It was hard to admit everything, spill everything which he had kept in for so long.

He didn't want pity though; that wasn't why he was admitting that it was hard. He bet that Harry didn't want pity either; Harry wasn't like that. He didn't want to be sympathised with, given that awkward smile and pat on the shoulder. It made things harder, Louis supposed, because it meant that it was hard to judge how to act around Harry. If they got past the whole debacle, he wouldn't want to act like nothing had happened because that would just be dismissing his wrongdoings, but he didn't want to focus on them or else Harry would be getting hurt more and more and they would never be able to move on.

What was Louis saying; he didn't even know what Harry thought of the situation. It had been silent for a good amount of time, well, it felt like that anyway. Louis wasn't going to push it, though. Harry would speak to him when he wanted to; that way he would know what Harry was really thinking and not the product of anger or hurt.

It was another bundle of minutes later when Louis heard movement behind the door. His mind struck a twinge of hope that maybe Harry would open the door, but he covered that with a black towel straight away. He wasn't going to get his hopes up; he didn't deserve to have any hope at all, he thought.

Slowly, almost unsteadily, another piece of paper appeared from under the door. A nerve coated lump was lodged awkwardly in Louis' throat as he picked it up with shaking hands.

Why?

One word. That was all. Just one word. Various scribbles were blotted out on the page, but it was that one word which stood out as the chosen question. It was a scary word, then; it was. Full of promises and knockbacks, dreams and broken fairytales. It could easily be coated in lies, like a trap door to get out of a sticky predicament. Or it could be used to tell the truth, to escape fairly and honestly.

Louis knew that he needed to fight this battle fair and square. If he was to keep Harry, or at least fight for him as best as he could, then he would have to lay all of his cards on the table.

"Because...because I'm a coward," he stated simply, dejectedly. "Because, for once in my life, I cared about what people thought. I was scared of being branded as something untrue. I was scared of having to explain myself to the people who should know why from the top of their heads. I was scared of finding out that they weren't supportive of me, of us. I was scared of you being discriminated against. I was scared of you having to put up with that and think that I wasn't as worth it as you thought. I was just scared."

With another added dose of silence, a slosh of tension, and a pile up of anxiety, Louis waited for Harry's reply. He really hadn't held back; he had thrown everything out there. Yes, he may have contradicted himself explaining why he said Aiden's name when he said he didn't mean to, but that was how it was. He didn't mean to say Aiden's name, but he didn't change it afterwards, like he probably could have, because of his cowardice. It was complicated, far too complicated. He hoped that Harry would be able to work it out; that he would be able to sort out the mess that Louis had made and get them back on track. Louis was supposed to be the teacher, help Harry out in this relationship because of his lack of experience, but now it was Harry's turn to take the reins; the ball was in his court.

The next message was the most painful. Louis could imagine Harry saying it; imagine the look on his face as he slowly wrote down the words. Maybe Harry would have been worrying his bottom lip and his eyebrows would have been drawn together strongly. Or maybe he would have tears in his eyes -that was a killer shot through the heart- and he would be blinking them away constantly, having to use the back of his hand to wipe away the moisture and not let his guard down.

Any image was a heart throbbing one, it couldn't be avoided with the words that were on the paper.

Are you ashamed of me?

A sob broke through Louis' mouth in an attempt to finally be released. No tears had fallen yet, they would be saved for his own privacy, but the sound couldn't be held in any longer.

He wanted to say that he didn't know how Harry could have come up with such a conclusion, but regretfully he did. Unbeknownst to him, he had given off that vibe when inside he felt the complete opposite. This was the time that Harry had to listen to him, Louis concluded, Harry wasn't allowed to believe that for another second longer.

"Fuck, Harry, I- no, just no. That's just- no. I don't want you to ever say that again, alright? I- do you know how much it hurts to hear that? Because it's fucking ripping me apart right now, the fact that you think that. I could- I could never ever think that. I'm probably the proudest person of you apart from your family, Haz. I'm the furthest away from ashamed that you can be. I know, I know it sounds like I was but I swear to God I was not, and I am not, ashamed of you. I want to be able to parade you around and hold your hand and kiss you in the middle of the street and everything like that, and we can do that because I have nothing against it. I just- I don't want you to be. I know that you're already insecure about this and I don't want you to be ashamed of us because of your insecurities.

I know this has nothing to do with the situation, but if we're on the topic of shame then I suppose I should bring it up. I don't ever want you to feel undermined or insecure about us because you are- were, maybe- the most steady thing that I have -had- in my life and you don't understand how much I need you. I always knew that you were there and that you would help me, because you're just like that, so I would never ever be ashamed of having someone like that in my life. Please, Harry, believe me when I say that I'm not ashamed of you, because you should never think like that. We're not..we're not in love yet, but I think I could fall for you Haz, and I..- this has nothing to do with the conversation at all so why am I even saying this? I'll just shut up now..yeh..just-yeh..I'm not ashamed of you in the slightest."

Louis was on the floor, his head falling forward into the gap between his legs where his knees bunched up, when he had finished. It was draining, emotionally, mentally, physically. He felt exhausted from trying to prove his point, and even more exhausted over trying to work out whether his point had been proven. It was hard to work Harry out normally, let alone with a wooden door in between them.

He sat for a long while, so long that he wondered if Harry had fallen asleep. He was aware that he probably wouldn't get a reply from Harry. Nothing had been given so far and the wait had solidified that thought into an ice cube sliding down the back of his neck. It was painfully cold, his heart maybe.

He had a period of listening intently for any movement in the room. Wanting to know what was happening, how Harry was feeling. Alas, he heard nothing. Maybe there was some hope that when movement occurred, then so would the opening of the door. Louis hoped to see Harry before he left -whenever that would be; he would camp outside his door forever if he had to, at least it would be warm in the house rather than on their doorstep- and try and work everything out; but by the way things were heading, it didn't seem like that would happen. With no contact even by paper, it was unlikely that face to face contact would happen.

Louis had been waiting at least half an hour by the time he heard footsteps on the stairs. He lifted his head, eyeing up Anne through his glassy and tired eyes. He understood, now, why she hated him. He would hate him too if he were her. Essentially, Louis had cheated on Harry in her eyes, and even though that wasn't true, she didn't know that. Unless she had been listening in, which wouldn't be unexpected and Louis wouldn't have minded either. Her face was worn out, tired, and Louis couldn't quite place what she was feeling. She didn't look as stony as she did before; her glare had dissipated, but she wasn't as welcoming as she used to be, either.

"It's getting a little late, don't you think? Maybe you should leave..." her voice wasn't cold, but it wasn't soft; it was emotionless.

"Can I...just wait a little longer?" Louis' voice was croaky and thick, full of emotion.

Anne shook her head softly, "I don't think so, Louis. I think it's about time you left."

"But, Harry..." He practically whimpered.

"Louis, it's time to leave," Anne stated a little more firmly but still had a softer undertone than to sound forceful.

Louis mumbled aimless protests under his breath but they soon collected into a heavy sigh of defeat. His head knocked the door with a small bang as he dropped it back. He closed his eyes, drinking in the moment and gathering his thoughts. He didn't want to leave, but he wasn't going to object to Anne's orders any more tonight.

"Can I just-" Louis gestured towards the door as he stood up, and Anne nodded in acceptance.

Louis cleared his throat awkwardly and straightened out his creased clothes. "Right, uh, well, I have to go now, Haz. I'd stay if I could but, uh, I think I've overstayed my welcome anyway," he said as glanced back to Anne who was pretending to be uninterested in his speech.

"Uhm, so, I guess you've heard everything now and well- I hope that it's cleared everything up and you'll consider taking me back. Not that we've broken up or anything, at least I hope we haven't, but I get why you're mad at me. I mean, the basis of it is that I've fucked up and I've hurt you, and it's okay for you to feel like that. I just hope that you can forgive me, because I really need you, Harry, and I don't even want to think about what life will be like without you. It sounds dramatic, I know, but I just don't want to lose you, y'know? But I get it if you can't forgive me; it's understandable. So, well, we're supposed to be going to Italy on Monday and I know your Mum doesn't want us to go, but things have changed now and you've got more to consider. I'll, uh, be waiting at the airport for you, so if you don't come then I know that this is over and yeh...I- uh, guess I'll see you, then, Haz. I'm sorry, again; I'm just really fucking sorry."

His words had turned into a whisper by the end, his voice constricting and not letting any more noise come out. He didn't want it to sound like a goodbye; it wasn't a goodbye. He wouldn't let it be. Monday would be a big day, he knew that, but he wasn't going to give up, regardless of how defeated he sounded through his words. There was some fight left in him, even if it was small enough not to be heard through his voice.

After a minute of collecting himself, his hands bracing the door frame to keep him upright, Louis turned around slowly. He looked at Anne, sending her an apologetic look. There was no doubt that he was expressing how sorry he was, everything was written on his face. He started to walk away, his feet dragging reluctantly.

It was the click which should have made him turn around, but he thought nothing of it. He was past the point of his mind running properly. It was probably just the fiction of his mind, he thought.

If he had looked behind, he would have seen Harry's face peek out a slight gap in the door. He would have seen the messy hair, the baggy clothing, the bitten nails. If he had looked for even longer, he would have seen the blotches of pink, the red rims, the chapped lips.

It wasn't until he heard the drop on the floor, felt the weight behind his knees, and heard the returning click, that he turned around. His eyes darted to the door firstly, but dropped to the floor in sorrow when he saw that it was still deathly shut. They trailed slowly, after he had shut his eyes for a few seconds to regain composure, along the floor until they had come across the object which had hit him with beaten force.

That was what had started the waves of emotion to finally crash behind his eyes: the fact that there wasn't a slam, that there wasn't any dramatics, that it was just defeat. Louis had choked up, sobbed loudly and finally let the tears fall. They tumbled, fell, sprinted down his cheeks and pooled in a pond of hurt wherever they could. His sobs were loud, wracking his body. He tried to muffle them with his hand which had locked over his mouth, whether that was there to actually stifle them or as a reaction, that was unsure.

Because on the floor was a box.

A present.

And on the top of that present was a piece of paper.

The paper was covered in hearts and swirls in pinks and reds. It was handmade, full of thought and effort.

And in the middle of that page were four words which ripped Louis' heart out and stamped on it with everything they had. They were the words which made him run down the stairs and out of the house in fright and fury at himself. The words which he should have known, that he would have known if it wasn't for the mess he had gotten himself in. The words which meant everything would have hurt that little bit more for Harry, so a whole lot more for Louis.

Happy One Month Anniversary!

Happy one month anniversary, indeed.

*Authors Note*

Is anyone reading this? Leave a comment if you are! I loved this fanfic when I read it, am I the only one? I know I don't update it often but it's because I feel like no one actually likes it. Please let me know if you like it, so I know if I need to update more regularly. (: xx