Chapter Text
Louis’s wrists are so delicate, his bones are so fragile and Harry almost wants to feel them break in his hand when he reaches out to stop Louis from walking away from him again, but he could never, he could never hurt this boy, even as much as he hates him sometimes.
“Let. Go. Of. Me,” Louis snarls, trying to tear his arm from Harry’s grip. Harry doesn’t let him go, though, using Louis’s tense muscles as an advantage to drag him closer.
“Stop running,” Harry says. He’s trying to sound calm, collected, but it comes out lower and harder than he anticipated. Louis narrows his eyes, and Harry knows he’s nowhere close to getting him down off the ledge.
“I’m not running,” Louis says, still glaring. “Fucking let go of me.”
Harry swallows hard and lets go of him, foolishly believing that Louis won’t run.
Of course, Louis runs.
He makes it halfway down the stairs before Harry’s brain catches up. He’s heading for the front door, but Harry’s legs are long enough that he gets there first, arms wrapping around Louis’s waist and hauling him back. Louis screams like Harry’s hurting him, and out of fear that he is, Harry lets go, but he keeps himself firmly between Louis and the door.
“I hate you,” Louis spits, balling his hands into fists at his sides. “Let me out, or I’ll — I’ll —”
“It’s pouring rain,” Harry says, and somehow, he’s finally achieved that calm tone he was going for earlier. “You don’t even have shoes on. You’ll catch your death, Lou.”
“Good!” Louis shrieks; his eyes are red like he’s going to cry, and Harry still doesn’t even know what’s wrong. “I hope I fucking do!”
“Stop,” Harry says again, reaching out for him. Louis flinches away, turning his back to Harry and sweeping his eyes around the room, looking for his next escape route. He’s shaking, Harry can see him trembling through the thin cotton of his t-shirt, and Harry knows that Louis is so completely out of his mind with whatever’s bothering him that Harry’s not going to be able to get a coherent word out of him for hours, if not the rest of the night.
Sometimes, when Louis’s freaked out like this, Harry can get him in a bear hug and let him cry and scream and thrash until he’s exhausted, until he’s all worn out and then finally, in a tiny voice with leaky eyes, he’ll tell Harry what the problem is. Right now, though, Harry thinks that if he even brushes a finger against Louis’s skin Louis will snap, might just wind up and knock him out for even thinking about it. So he lowers his hand, takes a step back, and levels Louis with the softest, most open expression he can muster in hopes it’ll break through Louis’s panic.
It doesn’t work. Louis locks eyes with him and then crumbles, hunching in on himself and turning away again. He’s like a scared animal, backing away and whimpering like he’s trapped, like Harry’s holding him hostage.
The storm that’s been building all night (the real one outside, not the one in Louis’s eyes) finally seems to be upon them; the front hall flashes and then the whole house roars, shaking the floor under Harry’s socked feet. Louis jumps and turns to him again, eyes wide, and for half a foolish second, Harry thinks Louis’s finally about to ask to be comforted.
“Come here,” Harry says, before Louis has to ask. “Come here, Louis, tell me what’s wrong.”
“Fuck you,” Louis says, leaping back on the defensive like nothing happened at all.
“What did I do?” Harry asks, fighting the frustration building in his chest.
“You-” another rumble of thunder cuts off Louis’s angry growling, overpowering him with the force of its own aggression.
The front hall flashes again and the lights flicker, breaking both of their concentration this time. Harry looks up, willing the power to stay on, and the lights settle with another clap of noise.
“Just leave me alone,” Louis hisses, finally spotting his escape in the form of the door to the garage. He cuts through the mudroom and then he’s gone, slamming the door behind him.
The sound of the door aligns perfectly with another flash of lightning and then the power cuts out for good, plunging the whole house into darkness all at once. Harry wants to cry, his heart racing as he rushes through the mudroom and pulls the door open.
It’s pitch black in the garage, but Louis’s headlights illuminate the room a moment later. He’s punching the button on his sun visor to open the garage door like a madman, but it’s no use; the power is out, and there’s no way to get the doors open with no electricity. Harry stands in the doorway, watching silently, as Louis gives up and cuts the engine, putting his head down against the steering wheel and letting out a muffled scream of pure anguish. Harry feels the first tear drip down his cheek and Louis screams again, but this time it dissolves quickly into a hiccup and then a sob, and his headlights stay on just long enough to break Harry’s heart.
Harry suppresses a hiccup of his own and turns away, going back inside and closing the door silently. The least he can do is leave Louis alone like he asked, he guesses, and he takes comfort in the fact that Louis can’t actually get out of the house while he’s in this state.
His hands are still shaking like leaves in a storm as he shuffles back through the front hall and into the living room, the room swimming through the tears in his eyes as lightning flashes again outside. He chokes on a tiny sob as he goes to grab the box of candles he keeps in the linen closet in the downstairs washroom, placing them strategically around the room and then grabbing one of Louis’s many lighters from the kitchen to go about lighting all the candles. By the time he’s done, the living room is glowing dimly with flickering light and it smells faintly like a Yankee Candle shop; between the candles and the sound of the storm raging outside, it should be peaceful, maybe even almost romantic, but Harry’s poor heart is still aching too much to feel anything but sorrow.
He sits down at the piano, because he’s got nothing else to do, and sometimes the best way to distract himself is to make a little noise to drown everything else out. He rests his hands over the keys and tries to play something soft, but his hands are still shaking too much to play it properly. He keeps hammering out sour notes and it makes him flinch every time, the lump in his throat growing a little bit with each wrong chord his fingers try to shape.
Eventually he gives up, closing the cover of the piano and folding his arms on the ledge it forms, putting his head down and letting himself cry. He feels awful, and he doesn’t even know why; he still hasn’t got a clue what Louis’s so upset about, and he doubts he’s going to find out any time soon. Louis’s been reclusive and weird all day, staring at his phone and giving him short answers like Harry pissed him off somehow, but Harry can’t think of a single thing he did to warrant this type of venom. It was when Harry knocked on the door to Louis’s writing room to ask if he wanted dinner that Louis fully lost it, started yelling and shrieking and throwing papers around, shouting about something that Harry did or said or didn’t do or say — Harry can’t even really remember, he was so startled, and before he knew it, Louis was shoving him out of the doorway and stomping off down the hall to get away from him. It’s not the first time Louis’s worked himself into a panic over something that turns out to have been nothing the whole time, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.
At the end of the day, after all of the shit they both go through together and apart, the only person Harry wants to be with is Louis. They’ve discussed it, of course, had many a tearful conversation about giving in and breaking up. Hell, half of their own supporters already believe that they’re broken up, it probably wouldn’t even make a difference if it happened for real. Harry can’t, though, he cannot even entertain that thought because no, no, if he can’t have Louis, he doesn’t want anything at all.
His mind keeps playing back the images of Louis flinching away from him, of Louis running from him, Louis telling him to leave him alone and trying to leave the house altogether. It wrenches a sob from somewhere deep in Harry’s heart and he sits up slowly, wondering if he should go back to the garage and try to get Louis to talk to him, or if he should keep his distance until Louis decides he’s ready to talk. When he looks up, though, he finds Louis standing about a foot away from the piano, his eyes wet and his hair a mess from pulling at it.
Harry jumps so hard he nearly knocks the piano bench over backwards; he’s always been easy to startle, but Louis has never been this quick to come back from a meltdown of this caliber. Harry watches him nervously, wondering if Louis’s going to hug him or snap his neck when he steps closer, but Louis just looks away and then sits down hard on the bench beside him. Harry tenses up, out of his depth, until Louis presses into his side a little bit, asking to be held. Harry obliges immediately, wrapping his arm around Louis’s shoulders and letting Louis curl in closer.
They stay like that for a while, the sound of the thunder outside getting further and further away until eventually only the rain remains, still coming down hard against the roof. Louis is so still Harry worries that he’s fallen asleep, until finally Louis puts one tentative hand out and pushes the piano cover open. Harry presses his face into Louis’s hair, and Louis lets his fingers settle over the keys, playing one gentle, lingering chord.
Harry sniffles and rests his free hand over the keys an octave up, playing a weak little melody over Louis’s chord. Louis hiccups and turns his face to press his nose against Harry’s nape, kissing tiredly at his skin and then releasing a sigh. Harry’s skin prickles with goosebumps, but he pulls Louis closer, wrapping both arms around him and closing his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Louis says, sticking one cold finger through the hole in Harry’s jeans to touch his skin. Harry jumps, but Louis pretends not to notice. “I don’t know why I freaked out. I’m sorry.”
Harry’s quiet for a few minutes, working up his nerve. “That’s not fair.”
Louis sits up a little, meeting Harry’s eye. He looks nervous, like Harry’s about to scold him, but Harry doesn’t even have the energy.
“You don’t get to treat me like that and then just say, ‘sorry, dunno what happened.’ That’s not how it works. We either talk about this, or-” he shrugs in a jerky movement, lips pulling down at the corners with the effort it takes not to cry.
Louis takes a shaky breath and then sighs, wrapping his arms around Harry’s middle. “Sometimes I just — I don’t know. I think too much, I guess.”
Harry waits for him to go on, but he doesn’t, so Harry sighs and starts to stand up. Louis clings to him, though, whining until he settles again.
“I-” Louis tries, but something breaks, and he presses his face into Harry’s shoulder and sobs. “I feel like I’m on a hamster wheel, like so matter how hard or fast or long I run I can’t fucking get anywhere, I’m just stuck and you’re — you have the whole world at your feet and it seems like you don’t even have to try, it just comes to you, you just have it and you deserve it, I know you’ve earned it, but I can’t — sometimes I just can’t-”
“I cannot have this fight anymore,” Harry says, pushing away from him. “For fuck’s sake, Louis, we do this all the bloody-”
“I know!” Louis cries, sitting up and reaching for him again. “I know it’s not fair, and I’m being unreasonable and I know it’s not your fault-”
“And yet you still yell and scream at me and push me away and act like it is my fault,” Harry says.
“Will you shut up?” Louis bites out. “I’m not mad that you’re successful. I’m not mad that you’re living your dream, it’s — fuck, Harry, it’s my dream too, you know? Watching you out there, seeing you shine, getting to witness you ruling the world and still somehow being the one you come home to at the end of the day? It’s fucking incredible, Harry. I wouldn’t change it for the world.”
Harry frowns at him, blinking away the tears in his eyes to get a better look at him.
“But you’re so — sometimes I feel like you’re so far away from me,” Louis says, his voice tiny. “I think about how we were, how we used to be, and I just — I feel like I’m not — I feel like-”
“I’m right here,” Harry says, voice breaking in the middle.
“You are,” Louis nods, reaching out to touch his face. “But you’re also, like, everywhere.”
Harry frowns, shaking his head. “What-”
“I don’t know how to explain it,” Louis sighs. “And I don’t know why it makes me so angry sometimes. I know it’s not fair, and I’m sorry. I just — it’s so hard for me to-”
“I know,” Harry says, reaching out to pull him close again. “It’s hard for you to open up. I wish it wasn’t,” he mumbles.
Louis hugs him, tucking his face into his neck and sniffling again. “Sometimes I just — I wonder why you haven’t, I don’t know, given up on me, I guess.”
“Because I love you,” Harry says, squeezing him tight. “And it doesn’t matter how much you yell and scream at me and tell me I’m — whatever,” he says, “I’m always going to be here. Right here. Even when you’re in LA and I’m in London, or you’re on Earth and I’m on Mars. I am never going to be too far away for you to reach me.”
Louis presses his fingers hard against Harry’s spine as if to make sure he’s telling the truth, and then Harry feels him exhale the last of the tension from his body. “That doesn’t mean I’m not still going to worry sometimes. I don’t like sharing you.”
Harry smiles, and it feels so good to smile that he can’t help but laugh, as well, which startles Louis into looking up at him.
“What’s funny?” he frowns, poking at Harry’s chest.
“You thinking that I might expect you to stop worrying,” Harry hums. “You wouldn’t be Louis if you weren’t worrying. It’s what I love about you.”
“Weird thing to love,” Louis says under his breath, dropping his eyes.
“Yeah, you are,” Harry teases, pressing a kiss to Louis’s nose when Louis looks up to glare at him. “But I mean it. I love every part of you, even the part of you that freaks yourself out and takes it out on me. It’s — I mean, c’mon. We’ve made it this far, haven’t we? We’ve beat all the odds, Louis, every single one of them. I haven’t lost you yet, and I don’t intend to, ever,” he says, pulling Louis back against his chest.
Louis is quiet for a few minutes, letting Harry trace careful shapes against his back. The piano bench is hardly the most comfortable place for a cuddle, but Harry’s afraid that if he gets up now Louis will just shatter, and that’s the last thing he wants when they’re so close to working this out.
After a while, Louis pulls away to rub at his face, wiping away the last traces of his tears and then turning his tired eyes back on Harry. Harry smiles at him comfortingly and then stands up, pulling Louis up with him.
“C’mon,” he says, leading Louis away from the piano. “Let’s put all these candles out, and then we can go to bed.”
Louis accepts the task wordlessly, turning away to start blowing out the candles Harry left around the piano. Harry puts out all the candles around the other side of the room and they meet again near the bottom of the stairs, where Louis laces his fingers with Harry’s and pulls him up behind him.
Neither of them speak as they get ready for bed, ignoring the fact that it’s probably still too early to go to sleep, and they never even had dinner. Louis pulls Harry right into his side once they’re both tucked up under the covers, and Harry curls around him the way he’s been doing since he was 16 years old and ready to risk everything in the world for a love he knew was going to be worth it.
As they settle in, and with the rain still pelting against the roof and the windows and drowning out everything but the two of them, Harry thinks back to the first time they curled up like this so long ago, safe in Louis’s single bed with the world ready to ruin them the second they slipped up, and he hears Louis’s voice, 18 years old and as scared as he’s ever been, telling him that everything would be okay.
He wonders now if Louis believed that when it said it back then, if tonight is any indication. He was right, though, he was absolutely right, and it feels like they’ve come full circle when Harry stretches up to press his mouth against Louis’s ear to give those words back to him, so he can hold onto them until the next time they need to bring them out. Louis shivers, drags Harry a little closer, and Harry says it again, and again, and again until Louis believes him. It takes a while, but eventually Harry feels Louis open up and take the words right into his core, right where he needs them most, and he falls asleep with Harry’s voice echoing inside his head, “We'll be alright.”