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The banging on the door was incessant. Louis had already climbed into bed, the sweatpants he wore as pajamas tossed gracefully near his closet, and the light out.
But the banging didn't stop.
Cursing, Louis rolled out of bed and, with an odd mix of apathy and anger, shoved his legs through the holes in his sweatpants. He plodded through the dark apartment and only flicked on one light in the hallway before pressing his face to the peephole. It was Harry with his eyebrows knitted together. He wrest the door open.
"I swear to God, Harold, if this is something less dire than you actually fucking killing someone -"
"He left."
Harry pushed past Louis's shoulder into his apartment, flicking every switch there was on the way to the living room. The apartment was too bright now and Louis was just falling asleep - so why again was Harry sitting on his couch?
"Harry, who left?" Louis asked from around the entryway into the living room.
Harry looked completely sullen, sunken deep into the couch. It had been a long, long time since Louis saw Harry on that couch. Long enough that Louis felt old emotions and desire pushing against the door he had shut forever ago. Long enough to prevent him from sitting on the couch - his own couch - with Harry. Long enough to make him shrink up by the framed entryway, lean on the wood, and cross his naked chest with one arm, guardedly holding on to his opposite elbow.
Harry didn't answer. He was looking at his lap - or, maybe his hands on his lap (maybe he did kill someone, Louis thought) - and the curls in his hair started falling out of his hood and obscuring his profile. He wasn't crying, which Louis was glad for, but he wasn't doing much else either.
"I'll start the kettle," Louis spoke barely above a whisper.
He slipped away into the kitchen on the opposite side without making any noise and clicked the little switch at the bottom of his electric kettle to ON. Louis ducked back into his bedroom to grab a top and the first thing in grabbing distance was a sleeveless shirt. He braced himself on the dresser briefly.
This is all a little too much for two a.m., he thought.
His eyes fluttered closed in a heavy blink and Louis felt his elbow falter, the jolt making his eyes snap open. He rubbed both of them with the heels of his palms and then mussed his hair, fixing it back immediately. The kettle beeped twice, sounding far off in the distance.
He carried two precisely filled mugs into the living room and maneuvered them expertly onto the coffee table without spilling a drop.
"I know you prefer water, but everything's brewed in my house. Got it?"
Harry had sloughed off his hoodie but sat in the same spot with his too-tight blue jeans and a threadbare, white tshirt. The hoodie was cast over the arm of the couch; it looked like it was hanging on for its life. He had pulled his hair back in a bun, even messier than usual, and the edges of his eyes were red and raw and a little puffy. Louis felt his cheeks grow hot - after all this time he still hated the thought that other people could make Harry cry. He hated the thought that he had to let them.
Louis sat on the far end of the couch and cradled his mug, blowing lightly over the top.
"Harry." Louis spoke in between breaths over his tea, "Who left?"
After a moment, Harry took a deep breathe in. He exhaled the answer, shaking through it and hardly even enunciating the first consonant: "Zayn."
He barely tilted his head to look at Louis through heavily lidded eyes. Full of tiredness or sadness or rue, Louis couldn't tell but he guessed it was all three. But he didn't have time to read Harry's expression: what he had said suddenly registered in Louis's sleep-deprived mind. He stopped blowing over his tea.
"Zayn?" He said to himself, mostly.
He wanted to ask "are you sure?", but he knew what an incredibly dumb question that would be. Harry hadn't come to him for dumb comfort; he knew better than to ask for that from Louis.
Harry's eyes closed and he covered them with his hands, making small circular motions with his palms. Tiredness.
"When?" Louis said with a little too much force.
He needed a picture. A story. Something to lay out and stick pins in; something to blame. Louis had barbs, but they were useless without a thing to put them in to.
Harry cried a little. He sniffled and shook his head in the smallest way Louis had ever seen - the smallest Harry had ever seemed to Louis since he knew him.
"I don't know. He," Harry wiped his eyes on the back of his arm, "was suppose to come back, but he didn't." Another big sniffle, "He isn't. He's staying home?"
His inflection went up, but he knew it wasn't a question. He knew Zayn wasn't coming back. Harry squeezed the center of his eyes, right along the bridge of his nose, and forced tears out. He wiped them away on the collar of his shirt, pulling it over his nose to wipe them all up. Sadness.
Louis set his mug on the coffee table. Harry's hadn't moved.
"Why..?" Louis asked, just as audibly as he had said he would start the kettle.
For a moment, Louis thought Harry hadn't heard him. For a moment, he wished he hadn't: would he want this answer? Could he slay this monster? Act unaffected long enough so that it couldn't haunt him?
Harry was pained, but while he felt left - exquisitely out in the cold without any warning - the others were just as alone. The four of them were adrift, pushed out to sea by the one who was only suppose to get the boat into the water and then jump in.
But he stayed on the shore.
"I. Don't. Know. " Harry shook his head, "I shouldn't have even let it get this far. I should've known better. I should have -"
Louis leaned across the couch and placed his hand in the crook of Harry's elbow, making him pause and glance over at him.
"Harold." The care in Louis's voice was impenetrable.
Harry squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away.
"What if fucked it all up?" Harry was whispering. Rue.
Louis squeezed Harry's arm just for a second and Harry turned his head back around to face Louis. He shifted where he was sitting and Louis took his hand back, trying not to look like he transgressed some boundary. They were still allowed to be close.
"Your tea's getting cold..."
Louis went to the kitchen and brought a salad plate back. He pulled the tea bags out of their mugs, leaving a trail of tea spots on the coffee table from Harry to the plate. Harry gingerly picked up his mug and then sipped it.
"It's good," he said into the tea.
"It's bitter."
Louis hadn't tasted his tea yet, but the timing was all wrong and the tea had steeped for too long. Harry reached across the couch and put his hand on Louis's knee.
"It's good," he repeated.
Harry's eyes looked wrecked; he looked tired and the mug didn't even look like it was being held with any confidence in just a single hand. Louis fixed his gaze on Harry's hand and then placed his on top. He squeezed, curling his fingers just barely under Harry's palm. Harry squeezed back a little.
When Louis looked back at Harry, it seemed like he was leaning in closer to Louis, but the mug was even more precariously in hand and Harry's eyes were practically closed.
"Right." Louis took his hand from Harry's and collected the mug, placing it in the table. He put his hands on Harry's shoulders and straightened him a bit.
"You're staying here tonight." Harry started to protest, but Louis shook him gently, "I won't hear it. It's the middle of the night and we're both exhausted." Louis's expression softened some, "Let's take this all on when tomorrow gets here."
Louis stood and picked up his mug to take it into the kitchen. Harry picked his back up and took a big gulp, smiling with the most sincerity when he headed it to Louis.
Harry stretched out on the couch while Louis rinsed out the mugs and then he heard the soft pad of Louis's feet coming back into the living room.
"Oh no. No being alone tonight." Louis pulled on the ankle of Harry's jeans, "I don't even think I could stand it," he mumbled, realizing halfway through he didn't particularly want Harry to hear that.
Harry propped himself up on his elbows, "No, this is fine - really. I shouldn't have come, anyway -"
"Shut up and come to bed," Louis called from the hallway.
Harry came to the doorway of Louis's bedroom when Louis was pulling off his shirt. He saw Harry standing there and shrugged.
"If you want a sweater or something, you can just pull it out of my dresser."
Louis moved to the bed and sat down. Harry shook his head.
"I'll be okay. I get really warm at night, so..."
Louis was stunned for a second that he had forgotten. He swallowed, turning his body around and then half crawling and half shuffling across to the other side. Harry peeled his jeans off a little sheepishly. They climbed under the sheets one after the other and Louis flicked off the lamp on his end table. The darkness and silence made the room feel bigger and emptier.
"I...don't really know how to believe it. You know?"
Harry and Louis were back-to-back and it seemed like Harry was talking to the sliver of light pushing underneath the door.
Louis was exhausted. His sleepiness hit him again as soon as the light went out, but he could also feel Harry's body heat. He had forgotten that, too, just how warm Harry was.
"It's not real. It can't be." Louis offered up to the lamp.
He would have believed himself if he had any conviction with how tired he was. Harry adjusted his legs, rumpling the sheets, and Louis's eyelids were too heavy to keep open.
Of all the songs Harry could have had stuck in his head, he kept hearing Story of My Life. One of their own stupid songs. He felt haunted; like movement just past his peripheral vision. Like phantom limbs.
Louis's eyes cracked open the next morning, blinded by the sunlight streaming through the cracks in the shutters. He was hot - insufferably warm. But he was weighed down by something heavier than the blanket.
In the middle of the night, Louis and Harry drew themselves together like they used to: impossible to separate when they were so close - two galaxies colliding, merging.
Louis stayed still, more for fear of waking Harry up. Just a few moments later, though, Harry's breathing was shallow and he seemed to become rigid.
"Sorry," Harry croaked into Louis's shoulder.
They peeled apart, an obvious flush on Harry's cheeks. He rolled out of bed, stumbled to the bathroom, and left Louis in a tangle of sheets.
Fuck, Louis thought.
The toilet flushed and Harry ambled back a little more conscientiously. He climbed onto the bed and laid beside Louis, their body heat bouncing off one another they were so close, but Harry stayed on top of the sheets.
Time felt like it froze and not even the sun moved, no light pushed farther into the room, but it felt like an eternity while Louis reached for Harry's hand.
They grasped fingertips, just enough to make something feel real.
Harry let go after a minute and rolled onto his side, facing Louis. He wasn't sure if it was a dream after all, so Louis kept his eyes closed.
"Thank you," Harry said.
Louis cracked an eye open, "What for?"
Harry just breathe for a moment and then rolled into his back.
"For...being here," he sounded like he was going to mutter off a list, "...for not disappearing..." Harry was barely audible.
Louis rolled onto his side and put a hand on Harry chest, over his heart.
"He'll come back. He has to."
Harry shook his head and closed his eyes.
"I don't think he does."
They laid in silence for a long time. Louis's hand dragged off of Harry's chest when we rolled from his side to his back and it laid just past Harry's shoulder on the mattress.
Lyrics floated in and out of Louis's head that he refused to acknowledge.
Harry suddenly sat up and swung his legs off of the bed.
"I...have to go." Harry glanced back at Louis.
Louis kept his eyes closed. He breathed more slowly. Maybe if he just didn't accept it as real...
He could hear Harry's jeans sliding up the floor and up his legs, the small zipper on the fly coming up, and the belt being buckled quietly. He didn't hear him walk out of the room - he must have left the door just cracked, thinking Louis had fallen back to sleep.
Louis did try to fall back asleep. If he was just asleep then all of this could have been easier. Could have been easier to call it just a dream: a weird, restless night when Louis relived memories from a long time ago.
He did doze off eventually, only realizing he had when a streak of sunlight across his face woke him up. He rolled out of bed and ignored his phone on the end table, instead going to the kitchen to make some tea.
While he waited for the the kettle to boil the water, he pulled a box of biscuits out of a cupboard and leaned with his back against the counter. He noticed something hanging off of the arm of the couch, just past his view of it behind the entryway. With a biscuit in his mouth, he ambled into the living room and saw Harry's hoodie hanging off the end. There were tea stains on the coffee table, water marks left where he forgot to wipe up the drops from Harry's teabag.
The kettle beeped twice, sounding far off in the distance.