Chapter Text
When Harry opened Niall's door, a combination of warm air and cologne greeted him. Louis’ loud laughter was there, too, drowning out the music and voices.
Blindly, Harry’s eyes found Louis in the crowd. Harry’s stomach clenched in response to the sight of him. People surrounded Louis, all appearing enthralled by whatever bullshit he was spewing. It wasn’t surprising that Louis hadn’t noticed Harry was there; he barely paid Harry attention when they were dating, so why start now, six months after they had broken up?
Spurred by the realisation that he was still standing in Niall’s doorway glaring at Louis’ side profile, Harry crossed the threshold. On the very off chance that Louis might notice him, he didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of catching him staring.
He headed straight to the kitchen—he needed alcohol if he was going to get through the night in one piece. And he needed it immediately.
As he reached the counter, he heard Liam call his name. Harry didn’t bother looking up; instead, he took in the glistening glass bottles on Niall’s counter. Niall could always be relied on to have a well-stocked party.
“Hey,” Liam greeted. Then Harry slammed a glass in front of himself, and something between hesitation and exasperation coloured his voice as Liam asked, “How are you?”
“Peachy.” Harry surveyed the array of bottles in front of him, deciding what to try. The reminders of Louis teasing him every time he tried to drink vodka came flooding back. Louis had always implied that Harry couldn’t handle it, as if Louis was superior or something, because he could down it without flinching. Thinking of Louis’ words made him angry. His hand shook a little as he poured a good amount of vodka into the glass, then he put the bottle down hard and looked for the lemonade.
Without looking up, Harry knew Liam’s gaze was on him, burning into him like it always did whenever he and Louis were in the same room.
“I can see that.” Liam’s sarcasm annoyed Harry almost more than Louis’, and Harry had always found Louis’ jokes annoying, having to fake laughter in response. “You sure you put enough vodka in there?”
Harry’s glare intensified as he lifted the drink to his lips. On the first sip, he regretted his choice. The potent smell of vodka and the sweetness of lemonade brought back a barrage of memories; late nights kissing Louis, licking the same taste from his lips. Harry grimaced as he swallowed, only partly because of the burn.
Liam’s amusement was evident, triggering Harry to down the rest of his cup, hoping the alcohol could ruin his tastebuds and wipe all evidence that Louis Tomlinson had ever been near his mouth.
“Did he say something to you?” Liam asked, not seeming all that impressed by Harry’s feat.
“No, and he better keep it that way.” Harry refilled his cup while maintaining eye contact with Liam.
Instead, Liam’s laughter rang out. “Right. He wouldn’t want to see you angry. No way he’d be able to cope with it.”
Harry responded with a noncommittal grunt, taking another sip, his throat still raw. He considered what Liam was implying. Whether it was that Louis had been on the receiving end of Harry’s wrath, which was well-deserved, for the better part of the year and therefore could cope, or was it that Harry’s anger wasn’t all that intimidating?
Since Louis had never seemed fazed by it, Harry had to assume it was the latter. And that pissed him off even more.
Louis was the most infuriating person on the planet.
“You knew he was going to be here. I don’t get why you always let him wind you up so much.”
“I don’t know how you can still defend him, or why the hell you insist on still being friends with him?”
With a look full of pity, Liam said, “He is standing there, minding his own business. There’s really nothing I can blame him for, is there? You even said he hadn’t done anything.”
“Yet. He hasn’t done anything yet,” Harry corrected. “He will, though, because he always does. And even if he doesn’t, what he has done in the past should be enough for you to hate him.”
“I doubt he’ll do anything if you stay away from him.”
They always did this, all his friends. They always acted like Harry went out of his way to talk to Louis, always acting like it was Harry’s fault. And he had no idea why. It wasn’t his fault. Why the hell would he go out of his way to be around Louis? The last thing he wanted to do was be in the same room with him.
The only scenario Harry could imagine wanting to be around him was if Louis had a farewell party. Hell, Harry would even throw the party. Then he’d throw another one once Louis had finally left England. A ‘thank fuck he is finally gone’ one. Maybe Harry should propose the idea to him. Louis had no reason to still be in England besides his family … and friends… and job.
But that aside, Louis would be much happier in a new country. A whole new population of people to annoy and trick into liking him. Maybe if Harry presented the idea that way, Louis might be convinced to do it and leave Harry’s life for good.
“Did he bring anyone?” Harry took another sip, trying his best to keep his expression neutral. Their friends always assumed there was an ulterior motive behind his questions. Harry just wanted to know if he had to warn anyone about Louis being an absolute idiot. Because he’d wished someone had warned him before he'd lost four years of his life, living under the illusion that Louis was somehow a good guy, convincing himself he was happy. Looking back now, he could see the truth; there was no way he had been happy with Louis. He couldn’t fathom how he had thought that. Louis had absolutely no positive qualities, not a single one.
“No, Harry. As always, he came alone.” Liam’s lips quirked up. “You look pretty relieved by that.”
“I don’t,” the words tumbled out too quickly to be believable. “I just know that anyone agreeing to come with him would be annoying as hell. Louis has that covered, so we don’t need another one.”
“You know that you dated him, don’t you?”
“Yeah, and I used to be an idiot.”
“But you’re not anymore?” Liam’s implication was clear this time.
“Less than I used to be.”
“Debatable.”
“I appreciate the support.” Harry stared down at his drink.
“Okay, sorry, that was uncalled for. You’re only annoying when you’re around Louis.”
While it was true, it was only because Louis was so infuriating. “If you lot stopped forcing me to see him, you wouldn’t have to deal with that.” The only sound from Liam was an unconvinced hum. Sick of the conversation, Harry added, “I’m gonna find the birthday boy.”
He didn’t wait for Liam to reply, just picked up his cup and headed out of the kitchen.
Expecting the worst, Harry navigated through clusters of party-goers, drawn reluctantly by the distinct, grating sound of Louis’ voice, assuming that’s exactly where he’d find Niall. Louis’ voice was easy to hear, given it was so much louder than everyone else’s. In fact, all the other noise just faded into the background like indistinguishable white noise. It wasn’t until Harry was a couple of feet away from Louis that he noticed Niall wasn’t with him. It was just Louis and Zayn.
“Hello, Harold,” Louis said, knowing damn well that Harry hated that name.
“Surprised you’re here already. You actually arrived on time. How’d you pull that off?”
Louis huffed out a sigh, acting as if he wasn’t the one who started it. “It’s a lot easier to leave the house on time when I don’t have to wait an hour for you to get out of the bathroom.”
“Sorry that I like to put some effort into how I look. Not everyone wants to leave the house looking like” Harry’s eyes swept Louis up and down, hoping his expression displayed disdain he felt, before locking eyes with Louis, “that.”
Despite his frustration, a nagging truth lingered in Harry’s mind, impossible to ignore: Louis was attractive, infuriatingly so. It was something that twisted inside him, a blend of annoyance and a reluctant admiration he wished he could shed. He always looked fit as fuck. And while Harry could judge himself that he ever found anything desirable about Louis at all, he had never been able to convince himself that Louis wasn’t hot because, objectively, he was. But arseholes could be fit. In Harry’s experience, most of them were.
“I’d rather walk out of the house looking like this than waste half the day getting ready only to end up looking like you,” Louis said with a smirk, his tone dripping with smugness as if each word was carefully chosen to hurt, when in reality all he had done was reuse Harry’s insult. And to think Harry used to believe he was clever.
“You never seemed to have any issues with my appearance before.” Harry’s voice carried a sharper edge than he intended, his words laced with a mix of accusation and revealing vulnerability. Louis’ silence lingered, and for a moment, Harry wondered if his emotional slip had been too clear. He quickly dismissed the thought. Louis was so self-absorbed that Harry doubted he’d ever pay that much attention to anyone’s feelings, especially his.
“Hi, Harry.”
Harry’s gaze shifted to Zayn, a jolt of surprise reminding him of his presence. It was easy to forget anyone else existed when Louis was in the room, dominating his thoughts in the worst possible way - which no one could blame him for, as Louis was so infuriating.
“Hi.” Harry forced his biggest, warmest smile before hugging Zayn.
After tensing for a second, Zayn hugged him and somewhat awkwardly patted his back. It was fair enough, given Harry couldn’t remember the last time they’d hugged. It wasn’t really a thing they did, even though they were good friends. Not good enough friends for Zayn to refuse to have Louis in his life, it turned out. But the whole break-up had proved to Harry that none of his friendships had been that good.
And maybe deep, deep, extremely deep down, Harry couldn’t entirely blame them. Louis had been their friend too, and while Louis was a piece of shit that Harry never wanted to spend another second with, it probably wasn’t enough of a reason for them to cut him out completely.
Still, they didn’t have to invite him to everything. Every. Single. Thing.
The awkwardness from the hug had barely dissipated, and Harry kind of wished he hadn’t done it. That was until he glanced at Louis, who was shooting daggers. Pride rushed through Harry. Any time he riled Louis up, he counted it as a win, and it didn’t happen often, which made it all the sweeter.
“How are you, Zayn? You look great!” Harry gushed, keeping one eye on Louis, and when Louis’ jaw clenched, Harry felt even better. “I really like the way you did your hair tonight. It looks good. Hot.”
“You really that desperate, are you?” Despite it being a shitty thing to say, Harry didn’t mind too much, as the bitterness in Louis’ tone sounded like music to Harry’s ears. Harry was winning tonight. “Can’t find anyone new to be interested in you, so you try to hit on Zayn.”
“I can’t find someone interested in me?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’re having a laugh, mate.”
“Yeah, well, where are they, then? Because from what I’ve heard, you’re here alone.”
“As if I’d bring anyone to somewhere I knew you’d be. I wouldn’t wish your presence on my worst enemy.”
“Aw,” Louis cooed in a way that made Harry want to slap him. “You’re saying I’m not your worst enemy?”
“For someone to be an enemy, you have to give a shit about them. So, no. You’re not even on the list.”
“Oh–kay. Well, it’s been lovely as always, gents,” Zayn said before knocking back the rest of his drink.
Before he could walk away, Louis said, “See, Harry, this is what happens when you try to flirt with people. You make them so uncomfortable that they have to leave.”
“More likely, Zayn came to his senses and realised that he could do much better than having you as a friend.”
Louis scoffed, “Like you, you mean? I’ve got no idea how the fuck he puts up with your moody arse. No idea how any of them do. Thank fuck I don’t have to anymore.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Zayn muttered. “Maybe I don’t like being used as a pawn in whatever the fuck this is.” With that, he walked away, leaving Harry alone with Louis.
“Oh, look,” Louis said, clearly feigning surprise. “You pushed someone else away. It’s a genuine talent you have. Did you know that?”
Whenever Louis implied things like that, Harry had to work to keep himself together; he had no idea what would happen if he didn’t. Would he punch Louis? Burst into tears? Scream all his deepest thoughts that he’d locked away–locked them so tightly and so far away that he barely remembered what they were? It could be any of those things, maybe all of them. And Harry couldn’t deny how much that scared the shit out of him.
So, like all the other times, Harry pushed the words away, determined not to give them any more thought than he had to. Louis said all kinds of fucked up shit, and this was just another fucked up thing he liked to throw out.
“It’s laughable that you think you’re a better friend than me. I bet Niall is surprised you even remembered his party was on tonight. Although everyone is used to you flaking out on them, so he probably wouldn’t have noticed.”
Louis stared at him uncomfortably long, and Harry felt so exposed. He hated Louis was able to do it to him. Hated that Louis had any kind of power over him.
Saying nothing, Louis pushed past Harry, their shoulders knocking into each other. Harry was left standing there alone, and he knew it should have felt like another win given he’d gotten the last word, but for some fucked up reason, it didn’t feel like one.
Harry hesitated, using a minute to calm his racing heart and suppress the strong emotions Louis had evoked. He silently fought to regain his composure, then walked back through the house and straight to the kitchen.
His hand had a slight tremble as he filled his glass, and Harry cursed the day he met Louis Tomlinson.
∘°∘♡∘°∘
Harry had drunk just enough to feel the perfect buzz. He was relaxed, but still aware enough to know where Louis was at all times. This was crucial because he wanted to stay as far away from him as possible.
It also meant that he could tell exactly when Louis was looking at him, which became much more frequent when Harry talked to one of Niall’s work colleagues. The guy was excruciatingly dull, but the satisfaction Harry got from irking Louis was worth the pain. So, he sat on the sofa next to the lad, and whenever he felt Louis’ gaze on him, he’d shuffle closer to the guy or laugh loudly, pretending to be entertained, when the only thing keeping him entertained was Louis’ eyes on him.
Finally, after a long twenty minutes, Louis walked past Harry and down Niall’s hallway, likely to use his bathroom.
The timing couldn’t have been worse because Harry realised he needed to use it too. He excused himself from the dull conversation. There was no point in enduring it without Louis as an audience.
Harry made his way through the dimly lit hallway and stopped outside the bathroom. The door was closed, and while Louis was likely behind it, there was also the possibility that he’d bypassed it and gone into Niall’s ensuite. Instead of waiting when it was possible that Louis wasn’t in there, Harry firmly knocked on the door.
Once he heard Louis mutter something under his breath that was definitely not meant for the knocker to hear, Harry yelled, “Can you hurry the fuck up?”
The door flung open, and Louis stood there, glaring at Harry. “You stalking me, Styles?”
It turned out that Louis calling him by his last name pissed him off more than being called Harold. He didn’t think about why it bothered him so much. Maybe Louis should just stop referring to him altogether. That would fix the issue. “Why the hell would I be stalking you?”
“Probably the same reason that you were talking to that idiot.”
Harry attempted a scoff, but it came out a bit too shaky, his heart rate galloping along at Louis’ comment. “You have an issue with me talking to people?”
“I really couldn’t give a shit who you talk to, Harold.”
“You seem pretty invested in it, actually. Caught you looking a few times.”
A soft blush coloured Louis’ cheeks, and fuck, it was a beautiful sight.
Obviously, it was the fact that Louis was embarrassed that made it beautiful–not Louis’ flushed cheeks, so similar to the way he looked when he used to fuck Harry–that wasn’t what made it beautiful.
It wasn’t until Louis’ mouth twisted into a smug smirk that Harry realised that he’d been staring at his mouth, which apparently entertained Louis greatly.
“Don’t you get tired of keeping up this charade?” Louis asked and pushed the door open a bit more.
Harry’s response was immediate; his voice edged with that bite only Louis could bring out. “What charade? That I can’t stand you? Because trust me, that’s no act.”
Louis stepped forward, the narrow hallway shrinking with the force of their proximity. Harry could step back and put some space between them, but that would let Louis win, which he would not let happen. “Which is why you’re here, right?” Louis said. “Sometimes I think you forget I know you.”
The words hung between them, charged and heavy. Harry’s gaze flickered, trying to make sense of them. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” Louis said, leaning in so close that Harry could feel his breath, a ghost across his cheek, “that I know you followed me here for a reason.”
Harry’s laugh was hollow, weak, and devoid of genuine humour. “You’re delusional.”
“Am I?” The corner of Louis’ mouth twitched as if he knew he had touched a nerve.
Harry shifted, a mix of irritation and something far more dangerous stirring within him. “Yes,” he said.
“Okay,” Louis said with a slight shrug of his shoulders. “I’ll just leave then.” He didn’t make to move, though; his eyes locked onto Harry’s.
Harry should step aside and let Louis leave. Or turn around and leave himself, show Louis how wrong he was. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. You mean nothing to me.”
Louis’ eyes held a hint of challenge as he leaned in, his voice low and taunting, “You still do that thing with your lip, Harry, just like when you…” He let the sentence trail off, a deliberate pause heavy with silent accusations. “It always meant you wanted more, didn’t it?”
The air crackled at Louis’ words, and as their gazes clashed, anger sparked within Harry. Given the surging need to retaliate, he’d expected his frustration to boil over into something violent.
But in that moment, Harry short-circuited. Driven by a fury of emotions, he pushed himself forward, closing the gap. Instead of punching him or yelling, like he’d expected himself to do, his response came as something raw and unexplainable.
He kissed Louis, an aggressive clash of lips fuelled by need and challenge. Louis’ muscles tensed under Harry, before a wave of energy pushed him into action. He grabbed Harry’s waist tightly, pulling him into the small bathroom behind him, barely more than an arm’s span in width.
Their bodies crashed together, Louis mirroring the urgent need that filled Harry.
With a swift kick from Louis, the door slammed shut. In the next heartbeat, Harry’s back met the cool door surface as Louis pushed him against it. He sensed one of Louis’ hands locking the door while the other gripped Harry’s hip tightly. The familair tight grip caused a swell of memories to surge through him. The countless times where passion and roughness had intertwined. It had never materialised like this, though.
Harry’s arms locked around Louis’ neck, pulling him down in a fierce, almost desperate grip, their bodies clashing even tighter.
Louis’ grip was firm and purposeful as his hands moved to Harry’s arse. Harry shifted so that they would be closer. Their hips and thighs pressed firmly together, Louis’ leg positioned between both of Harry’s with obvious purpose, and despite the turmoil churning inside him, Harry couldn’t stop himself from moving against it, needing contact.
Louis’ lips roughly marked a heated trail down Harry’s neck; each kiss, suck, bite, a mix of desire and something harsher, and Harry couldn’t hold back a loud moan, his need intensifying.
“Can you get on with it?” Harry’s words were sharp. He knew then he needed Louis inside of him—knew he needed it more than anything else.
There was a shift in Louis, his reaction immediate, as his grip tightened brutally on Harry’s waist, a forceful pull back that was almost punishing. Then, Louis paused, his eyes locking with Harry's. "Okay?" he whispered.
Harry gave a perceptible nod, having no interest in tenderness.
It was clearly enough for Louis because they need words he said were, “You always were so fucking desperate, Harry. So depraved.”
Harry bristled, ready to fire back with some words just as harsh, but Louis raised an eyebrow, giving Harry a purposeful look, then glanced down to where Harry was rutting on him.
A flush of humiliation swept over him at Louis’ brash call-out. To regain control, Harry said, “If you weren’t taking your sweet fucking time, I wouldn’t have to resort to getting myself off.”
But Louis’ fingers clamped down on Harry’s waist. “Patience is a virtue.”
“I didn’t come here to be patient!”
Louis remained in place, though, and frustrated by his stillness, Harry’s need growing more intense, he tightened his fingers in Louis' hair, yanking it slightly.
In retaliation, Louis grabbed the hem of Harry’s shirt and pulled it off in one forceful motion, Harry’s arms lifting automatically to help slide the fabric over his head. As soon as Louis whipped off his own shirt and it joined Harry’s on the floor, he closed in, pressing Harry forcefully against the door. Their bodies collided with a raw intensity that left no room for words.
Harry’s hands clawed at Louis’ pants, but their proximity and Louis’ weight pushing on him made the task too difficult. Accepting his futile attempts with Louis not helping, Harry’s fingers shifted in frustration, raking down Louis’ back. The scrape of his nails elicited a sharp breath from Louis just as it always had.
Louis’ hand shifted to Harry’s waist, gripping him with a forceful intent and in a single motion, he pivoted them away from the door. He manoeuvred Harry to face the sink, with Louis positioned behind him. Louis’ hand reached up and pressed firmly against Harry’s back, compelling him to bend over. His chest hovered just above the surface, breaths coming quick and shallow. He glanced up at the fogged-up mirror and caught sight of them, their outlines blurred yet so recognisable.
While still keeping one hand on Harry’s lower back, Louis’ other hand moved to Harry’s pants, and he undid them with ease. Harry braced himself, gripping the sink for stability, as Louis yanked his pants down, leaving him bare and exposed. The reality of it caused the small bathroom to feel like it was closing in around them, but Harry’s anticipation continued to grow.
As Louis searched Harry’s pocket of his pants pooled around his knees, Harry’s frustration grew. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Looking for something,” Louis said and kept going until he pulled out a condom and packet of lube from Harry’s pocket. “You’re always so prepared, Harry. So needy.”
An onslaught of resentment and irritation at the implication and the memories overwhelmed Harry. When Louis’ hand moved down from his back to his arse, he bristled at the touch. “I’m surprised you think you know anything about me.”
The sharp spank that Louis administered jolted Harry, dispersing all of his uncomfortable thoughts and dragging him back to reality and the sting on his arse.
Louis then withdrew his hand from Harry’s back but stepped closer, standing upright behind him, effectively trapping Harry between himself and the sink.
A sudden trickle of lube pooling at the top of his arse sent a shiver down Harry’s spine. He gasped, caught off guard by the chill. Louis paused and then asked, “You okay to keep going?”
Given the circumstances, the question felt too out of place and overly considerate. “Now’s not the time to start caring about my feelings, Louis.” But when Louis still didn’t move, evidently waiting for Harry’s consent, Harry said with as much earnestness that he could muster, “Yes, keep going.”
Louis’ movements were deliberate as he rubbed the lube down the crease of Harry’s arse, coating Harry’s hole and his own fingers with it. The cold sensation against Harry’s burning skin was overwhelming.
Then, with no warning, Louis pushed two fingers inside Harry with a fluid motion. The suddenness of the penetration forced a sharp gasp from Harry’s lips, his muscles tensing at the intrusion. As he adjusted to being stretched and filled, he was torn between the desire to surrender and the urge to resist, giving Louis control felt like he was handing part of himself back, something he had promised never to do.
Before the thoughts took hold of him, Harry’s focus was abruptly pulled back to the present by Louis’ fingers. They moved with precision, varying depth and angle, each motion expertly calculated to elicit a response from Harry. Something Louis had a lot of practice doing.
A mix of discomfort and growing pleasure built steadily within Harry, each shift of the fingers causing an involuntary reaction. Sharp breaths escaped him in rhythm with the probing movements, his body instinctively responding to the intensifying sensations. He found himself nudging, hips adjusting in a silent plea for more despite his lingering reservations.
“Slow down, Harry.” Louis continued to mercilessly pump his fingers into Harry, pushing him closer to the brink. “I don’t want you cumming from my fingers.”
Breathless, Harry gritted out, “Then fuck me already.”
Louis initially moved closer, but then he pulled back and stepped away, causing Harry’s body to tense. A groan of impatience left him.
“If you want me to fuck you, I need to do this.” The sound of a condom wrapper being torn open filled the silence of the small room, seeming to echo and reverberate in Harry’s ears. He couldn’t remember the last time he and Louis used a condom. The need for it now caused something unwelcome to gnaw at his chest. The question that had haunted him on a few late nights after too many drinks invaded his brain; who had Louis fucked since their break-up?
Out of desperation to focus on anything else, Harry said, “Well, hurry, or I’m leaving.”
Louis, seemingly unfazed, said, “We both know if I stood here all night, you’d stay right there waiting, wouldn’t you? You’re so desperate, Harry.”
“I am not! I don’t give a shit about you.” Despite the outrage that Louis had lit inside him, his words sounded weak, and Harry knew Louis would be able to see right through them.
Louis’ hand found Harry’s waist, his voice carrying a mocking edge, proving Harry right, as he said, “See? You’re not going anywhere. You’re such a good boy, staying put for me.” Then he closed the gap in a single, aggressive motion, positioning himself forcefully behind Harry, pushing Harry down, closer towards the sink.
Before Harry had even processed that Louis had positioned himself, he thrust into Harry with a raw, unbridled intensity. It was a blatant assertion of dominance and, to Harry’s disappointment, it sent a jolt of excitement through him. He was overwhelmed by the sensation as Louis filled him completely. Each inch of Louis’ cock served as a reminder of what they’d had.
Louis’ hands held Harry in place with a bruising intensity as he began to move with a rough, relentless tempo. Harry pushed back against Louis, both their movements volatile as he fought the familiarity of Louis inside him, taking him with such purpose.
With concentration, Harry adjusted his stance, spreading his legs wider under Louis’ forceful pace, needing him deeper. The sink’s hard edge dug into his chest with each movement, adding to the thrill of being taken the way he was. His breaths came out ragged and uneven, entirely in sync with each of Louis’ rough, demanding invasions, filling the bathroom with the distinct sounds of them fucking.
Harry met each movement with his own, desperate to take Louis deeper, for Louis’ cock to assault his hole.
Each thrust escalated every sensation, pushing Harry further towards the edge. The friction almost overwhelmed Harry as Louis drove into him with a fierce urgency, and he could feel the tension coiling within him, building with every deep, forceful movement.
Louis’ movements became more erratic, and while Harry was barely aware of anything except for the relentless pace and the growing heat between them all that existed in that tiny bathroom, he also knew that Louis was close to reaching his climax, too.
They continued in the heated frenzy, and Harry felt pressure building at his core, all-consuming, pushing him closer and closer. As he became more desperate, his movements became less coordinated with the growing urgency.
With a few more forceful thrusts, Harry came, his climax hitting him like a tidal wave. He let out a strangled cry, his body tensing and then shuddering under the force of it as cum painted his stomach and Niall’s sink.
Louis followed soon after– he stilled and came inside of Harry. The moment’s intensity was evident in his ragged breathing and falling forward onto Harry’s back.
As they both caught their breath, the reality of their surroundings slowly crept back in. The surface of the sink against Harry’s chest, the sound of the party outside the bathroom door, Louis’ breaths, still heavy with exertion, brushing against his skin. The sensation felt too close, too personal, causing Harry to push himself up in a standing position, the need for distance suddenly engulfing him.
Harry’s movements were automatic as he turned and nudged Louis away. The room felt smaller, the air thicker, like there was not enough space between them. He leaned against the sink, trying to steady himself. Louis stood across from him and studied Harry, his expression unreadable. The expression shifted as Louis found whatever he had searched in Harry’s face. Abruptly breaking the moment of stillness, Louis pushed himself off the wall and began to clean himself up wordlessly.
The silence built until Harry needed to break it. “That’s one way to pass time, I guess.”
Louis, who had been pulling up his jeans, paced and looked up at Harry. He shot him a venomous glare, and Harry went to step back but couldn’t because he was already pressed against the counter.
“Glad I could help.” An edge to Louis’ voice kept Harry frozen in place as Louis finished doing up his pants.
He pulled on his shirt, turned, unlocked the door and stepped into the hallway, letting the door slam behind him.
After getting dressed himself, Harry caught his reflection in the mirror. He looked well-fucked, so he immediately fixed himself up, erasing all remnants of what had just happened.
After taking another deep breath, Harry steeled himself before opening the door. The noise from the party hit him like a hurricane, so different from the intense quiet he was leaving behind. He stepped out, his mind firmly set on getting the night back on track and convincing himself that nothing had changed.
∘°∘♡∘°∘
Three weeks had dragged on since Harry let Louis fuck him in Niall’s bathroom, each day blending into the next, but every hour the memory of being fucked by Louis pushed its way to the forefront of his mind. It was exhausting, frustrating, but more than anything, bloody annoying because he was pretty sure the sex hadn’t even been that good. It felt like it was in the moment, but he was convinced that was just because it had been ages since they’d last had sex, and then after that, he was sure his brain just hyped it up to make it into something it wasn’t.
Harry stood in front of his mirror in their flat—his flat, he reminded himself, hating that the phrasing had even crossed his mind when it had been almost seven months since Louis had stepped foot in it—and fiddled with his shirt. His outfit needed to be effortless, and everything he tried on seemed too calculated. He was just going to Liam and Zayn’s place and needed to ensure he looked... well, not like he was trying too hard. There was no guarantee Louis would even bother turning up, but if he did, he couldn’t think Harry cared what he thought of him. Because Harry didn’t give a shit what Louis thought, and Louis needed to know that.
The frustrating back-and-forth with his wardrobe continued until Harry finally picked out an outfit. It was a simple black T-shirt that clung just right, paired with dark jeans–the kind Louis used to say suited him. It was causal enough to believe he threw everything on without a second thought. Still, every piece was meticulously selected, right down to the bracelet Louis had once insulted—‘it makes quite the statement’. Well, let him think that. Harry didn’t care.
He rolled his eyes at his reflection, adjusting the bracelet with a flick of his wrist. He’d forgotten that the bracelet was itchy but kept it on. Not for Louis, of course. It was just Harry being Harry. The T-shirt was comfortable, the jeans were his favourite, and the bracelet was... well, it was just a bracelet. An itchy, slightly annoying bracelet, but just a bracelet all the same.
After a final, somewhat annoyed glance at his mirror, Harry grabbed his keys. He wasn’t doing this for anyone else’s benefit, least of all Louis’. It was just a night with his friends.
He stepped out of his flat, the cool evening air doing little to calm him down.
He’d have a good night, enjoy the company of his friends. If Louis were there, Harry would show him just how little he cared. That Harry was over it. Over him.
As he pushed through the door of Liam and Zayn’s flat, laughter seeped from the living room, and Harry steeled himself before rounding the corner.
He had thought he’d been prepared to see Louis, spent the last few days knowing it was a possibility, readying himself for it, but not for him to beat Harry there.
Louis was lounging on the couch, holding a beer, as he spoke animatedly. His eyes sparkled, his laughter easy, and it was like a kick to the gut.
Their eyes met, and Louis’ smile faltered. Just for a second. A flicker of satisfaction shot through Harry, quickly replaced by a familiar, darker feeling.
Emerging from the kitchen, Liam clapped Harry on the shoulder, pulling him out of his thoughts. “You made it.”
“Yeah, wouldn’t miss it.” Harry kept his voice casual but kept watching Louis, who had shifted his attention back to Zayn and Niall. He should have been used to Louis’ lack of attention, but it still pissed him off.
Harry moved further into the room, forcing himself to stop looking at Louis. He was there for his friends, not Louis, he reminded himself. After nodding at Zayn and Niall, Harry followed Liam back into the kitchen to grab a beer. He needed the distraction, somerhing to keep him away from the gravitational pull of Louis Tomlinson.
He found a spot on the edge of the living room sofa, his beer offering a slight comfort.
Niall was in the middle of talking about something that happened at work earlier that day. Even with Niall’s wild gestures, Harry couldn’t give him his full attention. He half-listened to Niall, half-watched Louis, slumped in an armchair, chatting with Zayn.
The occasional eye contact with Louis was like a jolt, a silent clash of, well, everything. Each time it happened, Harry would jerk his gaze back to Niall, trying to focus on whatever he was saying, but the brief, charged glances kept tugging on him.
The smell of takeaway filled the air as they gathered around the dining table, cluttered with takeaway containers. Across from him, Louis was the picture of ease, laughing about something with Zayn.
Harry wasn’t really eating; he was just shuffling food around his plate. But then, almost without thinking, he reached for a spring roll — maybe just to have something to do with his hands. As he did, his fingers brushed against Louis’, who had reached for the same one. He jerked his hand back a bit too quickly and forced his focus back on his plate, trying to ignore the lingering sensation on his skin.
He took a deep breath, silently scolding himself. It was just a fucking brush of fingers. He needed to pull himself together. Normally he’d be throwing insults at Louis, not getting caught up on their skin touching. He forced himself to rejoin the conversation, refusing to give Louis, or anyone else, the satisfaction of seeing him like this. So off-balance. And for what? A fucking spring roll.
He turned his attention back to Zayn’s story, but it was like trying to listen through a fog, unable to control his fucked-up thoughts. It was infuriating. Louis was a meaningless ex that he was forced to be around all the fucking time. All he needed to do was latch onto the irritation, use it as a barrier against Louis and whatever the hell he was trying to do.
But Harry couldn’t stop his gaze from flicking back to Louis. He convinced himself it was to find all the flaws he knew were there, anything to reinforce his disdain, proof that Louis was just as irritating as he remembered.
Louis’ laughter rang in his ears, and Harry was flooded with a surge of irritation, which quickly morphed into relief at having something to fixate on. But when he tried to pinpoint exactly what about the laughter bothered him, he came up empty. He strained to find something—anything—to dislike. However, he ended up with a list of things that frustratingly didn’t annoy him. It just added to his irritation.
Their eyes met, and each time, Harry felt this inexplicable pull, a so-called spark. He’d quickly turn away, pretending to be absorbed in Zayn’s stories. But there was this underlying annoyance, an irritation that he couldn’t quite place. It felt deeper, but Harry wasn’t about to dive into that.
Watching Louis interact with everyone else, Harry felt a nagging irritation. It wasn’t what Louis did or said; it was the simple fact that Louis still somehow managed to get under his skin. Harry resented that. He resented that after everything, Louis still had some kind of hold on him, a part of him that Harry had thought he’d locked away.
Dinner ended, and Niall, Louis, and Harry started gathering dishes to clean up, refusing Zayn and Liam’s help.
As they cleared the table, Harry passed a dish to Louis. Their fingers brushed again and hit Harry more than the first time. An automatic, soft, “Sorry” escaped Harry’s lips.
Before Louis could respond, Harry turned away abruptly, focusing on the dishwasher with unnecessary concentration. As he stacked the plates with more force than needed, he caught a glimpse of Niall’s confused expression. The look was brief before he shrugged and continued cleaning.
With every clatter of dishes, Harry’s thoughts churned. He needed anger, searing anger directed at Louis, to shield him from these unsettling moments of... whatever they were.
Zayn suggested they watch a movie after dinner, an idea everyone liked. Except Harry. The last thing he wanted to do was be around Louis. Not wanting to disappoint his friends, he stayed, though.
They’d only just settled into the living room, and the movie had barely started when Louis insisted on being a significant distraction as he took his phone out of his pocket.
Harry tried to ignore it, not wanting Louis to ruin his night even more than he already had, but the constant buzzing and lighting up of the screen was fraying Harry’s nerves.
Who the hell would be this desperate to waste their Friday night talking to Louis, anyway? Whoever it was, they really needed to get their head examined.
Harry shifted in his seat the next time the phone vibrated, and he heaved a heavy sigh. It was louder than necessary, but everyone else was clearly too polite to tell Louis to stop being so fucking rude, so it was obviously up to Harry to make him realise.
He kept typing, it seemed like he couldn’t take the hint—that or he was just so rude that he didn’t care. Given that Louis was rude and oblivious, either could be correct.
He sipped his beer, his eyes narrowing slightly as Louis chuckled at something on his phone. Even the taps of Harry’s foot didn’t attract Louis’ attention, as he was too lost in whatever was on his screen. Whoever he was talking to.
Harry's foot-tapping grew more insistent with each laugh and smile that Louis directed at his phone. Not that Louis noticed. He was still too engrossed in his phone.
They were there with their friends. They were meant to be watching a movie together, as a group. And there was Louis, probably organising some random hook-up or something.
Every time Harry had asked the others if Louis was seeing someone, they’d say no, but then they started thinking there was some motivation behind the question—which there was not—so Harry stopped asking.
As the movie played on, Harry could hardly focus on it, and he had no idea how the others were able to when Louis was ruining the entire thing, probably sexting someone right in front of them. It seemed like something he’d do.
Harry watched the way Louis’ thumb swiped across the screen, the occasional tilt of his head, the amused quirk of his lips, all mocking Harry’s presence.
Finally, Harry couldn’t take it anymore. “You planning on being on that all night?”
All eyes turned to him, Louis’ gaze reaching him last as he looked up from his stupid phone, looking mildly surprised.
“Sorry, am I disturbing you?” The question was dripping with sarcasm. Another stab to the chest.
“Why did you even stay if you weren’t going to watch the film? You should have just gone home.” Harry refrained from telling Louis that he should just fuck off and go home purely out of respect for their friends.
“I can multitask.”
Harry scoffed. “Yeah, you’re real great at that, aren’t you? Never able to give anything or anyone your full attention.”
Louis’ eyes narrowed slightly, as if he were sizing Harry up, trying to decide whether he was even worth a response. Then, with a casual shrug, Louis pushed himself off the armchair and stood up.
“If I’m such a distraction, I’ll leave you to your movie.”
Then he walked out of the room, and down Liam and Zayn’s hall. It should have felt like a win, but instead it was just another reminder of all the other times that Louis walked away from all their issues.
Louis had barely left the room when Harry sensed the shift. Niall and Zayn exchanged looks, and Harry could tell he was about to get one of their lectures.
“Harry, mate,” Niall seemed to hesitate, “don’t you think you’re a bit harsh on him?”
Harsh? Niall thought he was harsh. “He’s the one ignoring everyone. I’m just calling him out on it.” His gaze darted between his friends, annoyed that they once again decided Louis’ actions were Harry’s fault.
“Yeah,” Zayn said, “Tonight it was that, but if it weren’t, it would have been something else. There’s always something with you two, isn’t there? It’s like you’re looking for a fight.”
“Just one night, Harry,” Liam said, running his hand through his hair, “Can’t we just have one night where we all get along?”
“Maybe,” as soon as the single word came out, Harry could tell that his voice was too shaky, too fragile, going to give too much away. Still, the words flowed without his permission. “If you stopped forcing me to be around my ex-boyfriend all the fucking time, we could have a night where everyone could all get along. But no, that never fucking happens because you never want to see me if he isn’t here.” Harry stood from the sofa. “But I’m the problem, so I’ll leave.”
“No one’s saying you’re the problem-” Liam tried to interject, but Harry was already moving towards the door.
“You can all get along now,” he said, not bothering to look back.
∘°∘♡∘°∘
Weeks melded into months, each slipping into the next. Harry buried himself in work and nights out, but the distractions didn’t do too much to help.
After storming out of Liam and Zayn’s, Louis apparently agreed with Harry, at least according to what the others said. They were no longer forced to hang out together–in fact, they weren’t even given the opportunity to.
Yet, not seeing Louis hadn’t dulled the edge of Harry’s irritation. If anything, it festered, a constant nagging feeling he couldn’t get rid of.
They took turns showing up at group gatherings, and tonight, thankfully, was Harry’s turn. After leaving their old uni mate’s birthday bash at the pub, Harry and Liam staggered into the cool night air.
“Where to next?” Liam slurred slightly, his arm slung around Harry’s shoulder.
Harry shrugged, his mind buzzing pleasantly from the pints. “Dunno. I’m pretty hungry. There’s that new-”
That’s when he saw him. Across the street, Louis was sitting at an outdoor table, laughter lighting up his features, his arm casually draped over the back of a chair. Opposite him, a man Harry didn’t recognise was leaning forward, engaged in conversation with Louis, their heads close together in a way that seemed more intimate than friendly. It was almost certainly a date.
Liam followed Harry’s gaze as his words trailed off. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” Harry muttered, a strange tightness coiling in his gut. It wasn’t jealousy. It couldn’t be. It was more just seeing Louis out, looking... well, happy.
The sound of Louis’ laughter floated across the street, so different to the tightness in Harry’s stomach. He watched Louis, so relaxed and happy, and felt an odd pang.
“What do you want to do? They’re right there,” Liam’s voice was low, a hint of unease beneath his words.
Harry’s first instinct was to turn and walk away, but he was too late. Louis had spotted them.
“Harry, Liam,” Louis’ greeted with a casualness that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Approaching felt like walking into a minefield. Liam’s nod to Louis’ date was stiff, the awkwardness palpable.
The date’s eyes flicked between them, a flicker of confusion passing over his face. “Hey, Liam, didn’t expect to see you here!”
The realisation that Liam knew Louis’ date, and, by extension, likely knew Louis was dating, struck Harry. The bitterness in his tone was involuntary. “Full of surprises tonight, aren’t we?”
Liam’s look was a mix of apology and discomfort, but it wasn’t enough for Harry.
Liam, clearly uncomfortable, glanced at Louis and his date. “Seems like a good night,” he said, his attempt at being normal sounding forced.
Louis chuckled, but it was hollow. “It’s been a good night,” he repeated, his voice betraying a trace of something undefinable. Was it defensiveness? A show for his date? Harry couldn’t tell.
Because he couldn’t help himself, Harry added, “Looks like you’re having fun,” his words almost too sharp.
Louis’ date looked between them again. “Do you know each other?”
“Yeah, from way back,” Louis replied quickly, way too quickly.
The silence that followed was heavy until, finally, Liam broke it. “We’ll... uh, we’ll get out of your hair. Enjoy the rest of your night, yeah?”
As Liam and Harry left, Harry struggled to process what had just happened.
Once they turned the corner and were out of sight and hearing distance of Louis and his date, Liam said, “Are you... okay?”
Harry stopped and turned to Liam. “Am I okay? He is out here on a date, and you,” He glared at Liam, “knew about it. And didn’t think I should know?”
Liam’s expression was a mix of regret and defensiveness. “Harry, it’s not my place to—”
“Not your place?” Harry’s voice rose. “We’re supposed to be friends, Liam. Friends don’t keep secrets like that.”
Liam looked torn, his mouth opening and closing as if grappling with what to say. “I just thought it would be easier for you if-”
“Easier?” Harry’s laugh was bitter, hollow. “You thought this would be easier?”
When Liam didn’t say anything, Harry spoke again. “Forget it,” he muttered, turning away from Liam. The urge to be alone was overwhelming.
They walked silently for a few blocks, and Liam seemed to be waiting for Harry to say something more, but the words wouldn’t come.
Harry’s eyes caught the familiar sight of a black cab rolling slowly as they reached a busier street. Without a word, he stepped forward and raised his hand, signalling it to stop.
“Harry, wait,” Liam started, voice concerned.
Harry turned to him. “I want to be alone,” he said firmly. “So, just... let me go.”
The cabbie pulled over, and Harry quickly opened the door. He could feel Liam’s eyes on him, the unspoken plea for understanding hanging in the air.
“Harry-”
But Harry didn’t let him finish. He slid into the back seat, shut the door and gave the driver his address, and, as the cab pulled away, he didn’t look back.
Harry's ride to his flat felt like a blur; he could not focus on anything. He barely remembered the taxi pulling up to his building or paying him.
Once inside his flat, the quietness differed from the screaming inside his head. He noticed his phone lighting up with missed calls — a few from Liam and one each from Zayn and Niall. He stared at the screen, anxious but not ready to face any of them yet.
His fingers hovered over the call log, torn between wanting to know more and fearing what he might hear. Then, almost on autopilot, he opened the Instagram app. If he was going to unravel this knot of feelings, he needed to see it for himself.
Harry’s thumb tapped on Louis’ profile with a mix of dread and curiosity. The page loaded, and to Harry’s relief, there were no new posts from Louis. But when Harry clicked on the tagged photos, a pang of hurt twisted in his chest. There, Louis was tagged in two new images.
One of Louis laughing at another restaurant, on another date like he had been on tonight. The next was a close-up of a lavish bouquet of flowers, the caption filled with heart emojis and Louis tagged. Harry felt a bitter laugh escape his lips. In all their years together, not once had Louis bought him flowers. Clearly, Harry was never worth the effort.
Tapping into the new guy’s profile, Harry’s eyes narrowed as he took in every detail. The guy–Dan, apparently, what the fuck kind of name was Dan anyway– was everything he wasn’t-cultured, outgoing, the type Harry had never managed to be for Louis. Louis had commented on at least three of his most recent photos. Louis, who apparently hated social media and all it stood for.
It all became overwhelming. Harry threw his phone down, his heart pounding, a cocktail of jealousy and resentment coursing through him. He leaned back, eyes closed, trying to block out the relentless stream of thoughts.
The phone’s ring cut through the silence. Niall. Harry answered with a sharp edge in his voice. “What’s up?”
“Heard about tonight. Everything alright?” Niall’s words were tinged with worry.
“Did you know?” It was all he managed to spit out, almost knowing instinctively he wouldn’t like the answer.
There was a brief silence before Niall admitted, “Yeah, I’ve met him once.”
Harry felt a weird satisfaction at that. “Great to know where we all stand.”
Niall started to apologise, but Harry wasn’t having it. “Save it, Niall. I’m not in the mood.”
“Harry, if you want to-”
“I don’t.” Harry ended the call, his chest tight. He was alone. Truly alone.
∘°∘♡∘°∘
His flat was dark, with only the harsh glow of his phone screen providing light. Harry's thumb mindlessly scrolled through his feed, a nightly routine that felt both automatic and agonising. He was scouring for any glimpse into Louis’ life.
For a week, there had been nothing but silence from Louis’ end. But tonight, as Harry refreshed the feed with a sense of resigned certainty, a new image came up, posted by Louis.
Harry felt a tightness in his chest as there was Louis, laughing freely, effortlessly charismatic. The guy, Dan-still a stupid name-was there. He had his arm around Louis; their comfortable closeness made Harry feel even emptier.
The caption was innocent, yet the scene's casual intimacy made Harry's gut churn.
His finger paused over the ‘like’ button. A part of him, twisted and self-destructive, wanted to press it, to silently scream that he’d seen it, that it mattered, that it hurt.
Harry’s fingers hovered over the screen, the bitterness welling as he stared at the photo. Before he could lock his phone, a message from Zayn popped up, simply asking if he was okay. Apparently, Zayn just assumed he’d see the photo as soon as it came up, and apparently they expected he’d be bothered by it.
Harry stared at the screen. His friends cared about him. He knew they did. But there was no way he was ready to talk to them.
∘°∘♡∘°∘
After two weeks Harry was finally persuaded to see them again, but mainly because it was another mutual friend's birthday. And also because Harry had accepted that he was slowly driving himself mad, isolating himself from all of them.
While lifting his pint and laughing at Niall's comment, Harry's gaze unintentionally scanned the familiar setting of their local pub. That’s when he saw Louis. Harry had known he might turn up and hadn’t been brave enough to check with anyone.
Louis wasn’t alone. Beside him, almost mirroring his movements and laughter, was the guy—Dan. For some absolutely fucked up reason, Harry hadn’t even considered the possibility of Louis bringing him. It was bad enough that Louis came when technically Harry was pretty sure it was his night with their friends. To not only come but also to bring his boyfriend was absolutely fucked up.
The air around their table grew heavy as the others slowly noticed.
“Didn’t think he’d bring him here,” Liam muttered under his breath, and there seemed to be a hint of annoyance directed at Louis that Harry revelled in.
Harry’s grip on his pint tightened, the glass cool and slick in his suddenly clammy hands. He turned to all of them, needing absolute confirmation. “Did any of you know he was coming? With him?”
“No, mate,” Niall said. “Obviously I would’ve told you.”
Zayn added, “Course not. As if I’d let him do that.”
Harry was itching to point out that there was no ‘of course’’s or obviouslys anymore. A few weeks ago, he truly believed that of course they would tell him if Louis was dating someone. Obviously, they wouldn’t meet him and still not mention it to Harry. But they’d fucked that right up, and Harry would not count only it anymore.
Liam leaned in. “Don’t let this ruin the night, yeah? We’re here for George’s birthday. Here to have fun.”
Niall nodded in agreement. “Right, it’s not worth it. They’re not worth it.”
As he inhaled deeply, he knew they were right; reacting would only escalate things. But it was really fucking hard not to when they were right there. Happy, carefree.
Zayn nudged Harry under the table, pulling Harry out of his thoughts. He followed Zayn’s eyeline and saw Louis and his boyfriend make their way over. Liam’s hand was still reassuring on Harry’s shoulder, grounding him.
The boyfriend, with an easy smile, greeted Liam, Niall, and Zayn warmly, each handshake or pat on the back slightly increased the tension surrounding them. Or Harry, at least.
Turning to Harry, the boyfriend’s smile didn’t falter. “Hey, we sort of met that night at the restaurant, right? Though Louis here didn’t do the honours of introducing us.” His tone was light, teasing, as he nudged Louis with his elbow. “He’s not the best with introductions.”
And that felt like a kick in the guts. Not only was this stranger trying to tell Harry things about Louis, his Louis, but it was evident that the boyfriend still didn’t know who Harry was. Louis still hadn’t told him.
Louis shuffled next to the boyfriend before saying, “Harry, Dan. Dan, Harry.”
And still nothing. No recognition of Harry’s name. Had Louis seriously not mentioned Harry at all?
How could this man, who was now in Harry's place, not even know he was?
Harry attempted a smile, but it was more likely a grimace and nodded to the boyfriend as the two sat down.
Harry’s eyes were fixed on Louis and Dan in the dim light of the pub, his pint neglected. Dan casually mentioned that he and Louis had planned a weekend getaway to some cosy countryside retreat, and Harry wanted to throw up.
Liam leaned in with a low murmur. “You okay?”
Harry just nodded, his gaze still locked on the pair across the table. The ease between them, their shared smiles, it cut deeper than he wanted to admit.
As Dan enthusiastically talked about their upcoming countryside getaway, the energy at the table shifted. His friends only added to the tension, and honestly, Harry was grateful. Everyone should feel as uncomfortable as Harry. His fingers clenched around the glass, battling all the emotions Dan's words stirred up. Harry’s stomach churned, torn between memories of all the trips he and Louis had taken, and the fact that they were always impulsive adventures as opposed to planned quiet weekends. He had always thought Louis liked spontaneous jaunts- but maybe Louis had changed, or perhaps he never really liked their kind of trips in the first place.
“So, Louis is a countryside enthusiast now? What’s next, bird watching?” Harry quipped, the alcohol loosening his tongue. In his periphery, he saw the others exchange uneasy glances.
Dan paused mid-story about their weekend and looked at Harry, a hint of confusion crossing his face. “Actually, we have gone bird watching. Louis has quite the eye for-”
Harry cut him off. “Of course he does.”
Harry’s gaze flickered across the table, taking in his friends' strained faces and Louis' increasingly frosty look. A sudden wave of claustrophobia hit him, the pub walls feeling like they were closing in. He couldn’t stay seated, stewing in resentment and self-pity.
Abruptly, he stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “I need to get out of here,” Harry said, pushing back his stool with another scrape that cut through the noise. He stood, swaying slightly as he found his balance, before he turned and headed for the door.
Outside, the night was colder, the noise from the pub spilling out into the street as the door swung shut behind Harry. He took a few steps, his breath visible in the air, when the door creaked open again. He didn’t need to look to know it was Louis.
“What the fuck is your problem?” Louis’ voice was sharp.
Harry rounded on him, the words coming out hot and fast. “My problem? You bring him here, to our pub, and you didn’t think that’d bother me?”
“Our pub?” Louis stepped closer, his expression incredulous. “There’s no ‘our’ anything anymore. You made that clear when you ended it.”
“That’s not the point, and you know it,” Harry shot back, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “You didn’t even tell him about us. About me.”
Louis’ voice was rising now, too. “Why would I? It’s not like we’re friends, Harry. We haven’t been in a year.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Because we dated for four years, maybe. Or have you forgotten that? Acting like Mr. Perfect, moving on with his life, but you’re just as messed up about this as I am.” Even as the words came out, Harry knew they weren’t true, and fuck did it hurt.
“Am I?” Louis stepped forward, closing the gap between them. “Because I’m not the one outside here throwing a tantrum. You broke up with me, remember? I respected that. I moved on. Why can’t you?”
It was a low blow, and it landed with precision. “Moved on?” Harry’s voice was a sneer. “Is that what you call it? Rubbing your new relationship in my face in front of all our friends?”
Louis was shaking his head now, his hair falling into his eyes. “I’m not rubbing anything in your face. You’re the one making it into a spectacle.”
“You brought him here, Louis! What did you expect?” The small ounce of control Harry had was slipping, his voice louder.
“I didn’t think you’d care. Why should it matter if I date?”
“Because it does! Because you never even-”
He cut himself off, the rawness of his emotions threatening to spill over. But it was too late to retreat; the dam had broken.
“Because I what, Harry?” Louis’ tone was challenging, almost desperate.
“Because you never took me out like you do with him! Because you never looked at me the way you look at him!” Harry's voice cracked as he let out a sob of anger and pain.
Louis’ stance softened, the fight seemingly draining from him. “Harry,” he began, but Harry was beyond listening.
“Just forget it,” Harry spat, turning away. “I don’t know why I expected anything different from you.”
He strode off, leaving Louis standing in the cold. The space between them had never felt larger.