Chapter Text
Harry is walking around town after one of his sessions when he spots a drop-in hair dresser. Now, he has never been one for drastic measures. He has always spent hours, if not days, thinking and analysing before deciding. But as he reads the chalkboard sign, he decides to go in, not second-guessing himself one bit. There’s only one other customer in the shop, an old lady with rolls in her white hair. He sits down in the sofa and picks up one of the out-dated magazines. He’s just in the middle of reading a long interview with two siblings in love when someone stands in front of him.
“Hiya love, can I help you?” And that’s how he ends up in front of a mirror, watching his hair falling to the floor. He never thought he would end up here, but as the woman behind him start shaving the sides of his head shorter, he can’t help but thinking of that quote he sees everywhere on the internet, “he liked her with long hair, so she cut it short”. He has no idea who said it or where it comes from, but it seems fitting. Louis always complimented him on his hair, always the first one defending Harry when people asked or made fun of his hair. Perhaps he is finally letting go of Louis now.
He catches sight of himself in the mirror when he comes home and cries himself to sleep.
*****
When Harry learns that Louis and John have broken up, he doesn’t really at first. It’s a couple of weeks after his hair cut and he’s still getting used to it, especially when he showers and his hair ends way before his shoulders. Officially, it’s convenient because he doesn’t have to buy as much shampoo and conditioner as before and it doesn’t get tangled. Unofficially, he misses it like crazy. Looking back, he should probably have suspected something fishy when his mobile keeps vibrating in his back pocket. He grabs his chai latte from the barista and does a little awkward dance to get his phone out. The barista looks at him funny when all he does is frowning down at the screen, holding up the queue.
“Hey, kid, you gonna answer that or not? Either way, get the hell out of the queue.” Harry’s head snaps up at the angry-looking man behind him and stutters out an apology, cheeks warm. As he walks out of the door, carefully so he doesn’t spill his drink, he slides his finger over the screen.
“Hello?”
“Hiya love! Alright?” Harry squeezes his eyes shut and swallows. This cannot be happening. Why is Louis calling him, now, after eons of silence? He should hang up, he really should. He should cut Louis out of his life, much like Louis has done to him. But his manners betray him.
“I’m alright. You?”
“Not great, to be honest. Wanna hang out?” Not really. What he wants is for Louis to leave him alone and stop playing with him. But of course, he doesn’t say that.
“Why?” That’s better than yes, at least. He hears Louis sigh and maybe he’s rolling his eyes as well, like he sometimes does when he thinks Harry is acting silly.
“S’been a while. Miss you.” Harry coughs once, twice, before (stupidly) agreeing.
He is knocking on Louis’ door twenty minutes later. He opens it with a grin, that stupid Louis-grin that crinkles his eyes and makes Harry weak in the knees. It’s odd really, how someone who’s treated one so badly can still suck all the anxiety out of one’s pores. However, that feeling doesn’t last long, because the first thing Louis blurts out is
“What the fuck happened to your hair?” At once, Harry feels both hotter and colder. He can’t tell if he’s blushing or if he’s as white as a ghost, but he does feel like he’s about to faint. How could he be so stupid to think that he, for once, thought that being with Louis would make him feel good about himself? He self-consciously reaches up and touches what’s left of his hair.
“Well, I, uh,” he clears his throat, can’t look Louis in the eyes, feels like he’s being dragged backwards, far away from what he’s learnt in therapy. “I cut it.” He closes his eyes and wills the tears away.
“Why? I liked how it was before.” Louis leans against the door frame and crosses his arms.
“Are you gonna invite me in or what?” He can hear his voice breaking, but he can’t have this discussion. He might be as nervous around Louis as he’s always been, as insecure and stupid, but he’s had enough. Louis turns around and walks in, not looking back to see if Harry follows. Swallowing, Harry steps in to the room and doesn’t sit down on Louis’ bed. He just stands there, in the middle of the room, with his hands behind his back. There’s a funny feeling in his stomach that he can’t pinpoint, but it’s there and it’s making him anxious.
“What’s up?” he says and there’s a lump in his throat that makes his words sound off, but he tries to smile.
“Not much, just wanted to see you.”
“Why?”
“I told you, I miss you and I wanted to see you.” He sounds impatient, and if Harry were looking at him, he would probably the annoyed little frown between Louis’ eyebrows.
“But why?” Harry’s getting impatient now, why today of all days? Why is Louis playing with his feelings like this? Why does he keep putting Harry down just to make him feel like the most special boy in the world?
“I realised something,” Louis said and it’s his turn to look away from Harry now. He stares down at his hands instead and it’s so unlike Louis to be nervous. He clears his throat and repeats himself. “I realised something.” Harry bites his lip and stare at him with wide eyes.
“You realised what?” It’s quiet for a while, uncomfortably so, and that’s yet something new to their relationship. Never before was a silence ever uncomfortable, nor common. Harry can’t help but think that maybe they aren’t made for each other, like he used to believe. Perhaps they’ve been through too much shit to ever be what they once were.
“Harry, are you listening?” Harry snaps his head up, finding Louis staring at him.
“Sorry?” Louis presses his lips together, like he does when he’s annoyed, and he doesn’t repeat himself.
“I promise I’ll listen now. What were you saying?” Harry asked, getting annoyed himself. He wants to move on, move forward, with or without Louis. But Louis doesn’t speak. In fact, he gets up from the bed and walks over to Harry, crowding in. He’s staring right into Harry’s eyes and only breaks the eye contact for a millisecond to flick his eyes down to his lips and back up again. Harry isn’t stupid. He knows what’s going to happen. But suddenly he can’t breathe and he startles backwards when Louis puts his hand on the side of his face and kisses him. It’s not at all what Harry expected his first kiss to be like, especially not his first kiss with Louis. He had expected this to be sweet and caring and maybe after a nice dinner. He had wanted them to go home together, hand in hand and for Louis to kiss him by the door, like in the movies. He wanted the flirtations, the butterflies, the fireworks. Instead, he stands dumbfounded with his hands remained at his sides. There are no fireworks, there is no spark, and even though Harry tries to be in the moment and just kiss Louis back, his mind is going a thousand miles an hour and he can’t stop thinking of how badly Louis’ treated him up until now. So when he feels Louis licking his lips in an attempt to gain access, he finds the strength in his arms to push Louis away from him.
“Stop,” he gasps and touches his lips with his fingers. “Please, stop.” He wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand and breaks the silence that’s emerged. He wants to take a step back from Louis, wants to turn around and leave because he’s mortified. He wants to yell and scream and cry and maybe hit something, but instead he whimpers out:
“You- you can’t just go around kissing people like that!”
“But I-” Louis says and he takes a step forward, but doesn’t continue when Harry glares at him. “I though that’s what you wanted.”
“Who told you that?” Harry wonders accusingly and he keeps clenching and unclenching his fists, digging his nails into the palms of his hands so deep his skin might break. Louis’ face softens from the shock and has the nerve to take another step forward. This time however, Harry finds his legs cooperating with his brain and he stumbles backwards and collides with the door, ignoring Louis’ outstretched hand.
“No one had to tell me, Harry,” he says with a sigh. “You’re not as subtle as you might think.” Harry feels his face going white, can actually feel the blood leaving his head.
“You knew how I felt about you?” he whispers. When Louis looks away and gives him a teeny tiny nod, he openly sobs. He brings a hand up to his mouth to muffle his sobbing, but soon after his legs give out and he slides down to the floor along the door and pulls at his hair with his free hand. He tries to stop the tears, but he’s full on crying in a matter of seconds. Never in his life has he felt so betrayed as he does now. Never has he been so mortified. Louis, his best friend, has known about Harry’s feelings for him for God knows how long and insisted on playing with Harry’s heartstrings. He’s mortified and used and he’s blinded by the tears. His brain is screaming for him to breathe, the lack of oxygen is making him feel dizzy, but he can’t. Just like that, all the hard work he’s put into therapy and all the exercises they’ve worked on have flown out of his head. He can’t remember a single thing and now he’s sinking down the darkest hole of all. How could he be so stupid to think that he was subtle enough to trick Louis into thinking they were friends, that he was hiding all his feelings far beneath the surface. His scalp is stinging from all his tugging and his face is dry from the tears but he can’t feel it anymore. He’s numb to it all and for once he doesn’t care about anyone seeing him like this. He’s screaming out in pain and he wants his Mum or sister or even Niall, anyone except for Louis. He faintly registers Louis sitting down next to him, but it takes another twenty minutes for him to actually hear anything other than the voices in his head and his own crying. When he comes to, he’s aware of Louis’ hand going up and down his back and his other is prying Harry’s fingers away from his hair. Several hairs follow as Harry lets go, but his sobbing has diminished to hiccupping whimpers.
“There we go, darling,” he hears Louis whisper and he hates it. He doesn’t want Louis talking to him, least of all call him darling. He tries to speak, but all he can get out now are pathetic whimpers. Harry cries for five more minutes with the hairs on his arms raised in discomfort before he manages to get his mouth cooperating with his brain.
“Get off me,” he spits out. Instantly, Louis hands leave his body and he backs off with his hands raised in surrender. His palms face Harry as his eyes widens.
“Harry, I was just trying to help-”
“Help?” Harry bursts out. His eyes shots open as he gapes at Louis. “You’ve spent almost a year pushing me away and ignoring me, knowing that I was in love with you and you just threw everything into my face. If you knew how I felt, why did you lead me on and made me feel even more in love with you and then go fuck somebody else? Why would you play with me like some little toy and then throw me away as soon as someone more interesting came along?” He’s kind of screaming now, and crying again, stupid tears falling and making his face even saltier than before.
“Love, I don’t think-”
“Don’t call me that.” Harry reaches up to find the door handle and uses it to heave himself up to a standing position. “You have no right calling me that or any other name. In fact, you have no right talking to me at all.” He fixes his creased shirt and runs a hand through his hair. “You know what Louis?” Louis opens his mouth to answer, but Harry beats him to the bush. “If we don’t speak ever again, that’s fine with me.” Before he can second guess himself or ask for forgiveness, he opens the door and walks the short distance to his room, leaving Louis behind.
*****
It’s difficult living in the same building as one you’re trying to avoid. Harry spends most of his time outside classes in his room studying or talking to his family on the phone. Sometimes Niall asks him to come out, and he does most of the time. It’s easier to come home late at night and sneak into his room than meet Louis in broad daylight. It’s also easier due to the fact that Harry’s swamped with work before his BA paper is due. He’s stressed to the bone and this Louis-thing isn’t helping. Harry’s been without Louis for quite some time now, especially including the whole John-thing. But since he’s had his closure and he thought he would feel better and lighter, he’s only felt worse. Perhaps it would be better to have Louis in his life a few days a month than none at all. He tries to put those thoughts aside and focus on his studies, but it’s difficult. He tries talking to his sister about it, but she doesn’t understand and only says things like “forget about him, Harry”. As if he wasn’t trying. His therapist tells him he’s doing alright, considering.
“It’s good that you’re not letting yourself wallow, Harry,” she says. “Doing school work and going out with Niall sounds wonderful. It’s a process, Harry, remember that. You can’t be better with a snap of your fingers. You’re doing well.”
Niall manages to drag him along to a karaoke bar one night after a big exam. It’s not Harry’s scene at all – he hates making a fool of himself. But Niall insists and Harry still has trouble saying no, so he puts on his nicest silk shirt he spent way too much money on, and finds himself swaying alongside Niall as Loren belts out She Will Be Loved on stage.
“Niall,” he slurs. Perhaps he’s had too many beers. He tries to hide a hiccup behind his hand, but Niall laughs, so maybe he failed. “Niall,” he tries again. “You’re a good friend.” Niall laughs again, but it’s kind and he’s looking straight into Harry’s eyes.
“Thanks, Harry.” Harry frowns. It doesn’t seem like Niall believes him.
“No!” he says, rather forcefully and he spills beer on the table. “You are, you’re my best friend.” Niall doesn’t laugh anymore, but he keeps smiling as he squeezes Harry’s shoulder in a one-armed hug.
“You’re my best friend too, Harry.” He takes a swig of his drink and slams it down the table, making Harry jump. “What do you say? Should we go up there and show ‘em how it’s done?” His eyes are lit up in excitement. He kind of looks like a child, or maybe a puppy, Harry thinks. If this was a normal night, Harry would’ve said no. He probably should say no because he hasn’t been up from his seat in quite some time and he might be more than a little wobbly. But he takes the shot Loren brought when she’d finished singing and nods at Niall, grinning when he shoots up from his seat and heads for the stage. As they flick through the songs to find one to sing, he can hear Loren wolf-whistle from their table and he can feel his ears heat up. As the tones of the Beatles I Wanna Hold Your Hand starts to play, Harry closes his eyes and lets himself get dragged into the song. This is not something he’d do every day, but he’s a new person now. He’s independent and confident and he’s had six shots of Tequila and perhaps one too many Palomas. He belts out the chorus along with Niall and swings from side to side in a drunken dance. He feels great, amazing even, and happier than he’s done for some time. At the end of the song, he bows deeply and his dimples are on full show as he grins out at their audience. There’s a boy in the back who claps longer than the others and when Harry catches his eye, he brings up his fingers to whistle. He’s quite cute, Harry thinks and he unbuttons another button on his shirt. The boy raises an approving eyebrow and smirks. Harry down the complimentary shot offered to the performers before making his way to the back.
“Hi,” he says as he sits down next to the boy. He’s quite pretty, Harry thinks, with his raven hair and hazel eyes. He leans forward a bit, because it’s loud and the boy smells delicious. “’M Harry.”
“Hi,” the boy grins back. “Are you having a good time, Harry?” Harry nods and scoots even closer with his chair.
“Yeah, did you hear me sing? Did you like it?” The boy laughs and takes a sip of his beer.
“I did, you were great.” Harry nods again and stares unabashedly on the boy’s face. Suddenly, he remembers something.
“Hey,” he drawls. Maybe he’s a bit more drunk than he thought. “You never told me your name. That’s not nice.”
“Hey, I’m very nice. My mum said so.” Harry snorts unattractively and covers his mouth with his hand, but the boy removes it and smiles.
“Isaac,” he says and nods to the dance floor, eyes on Harry’s. “Do you wanna dance, Harry?” And Harry must really be drunk because he accepts without hesitating.
It’s crowded on the dance floor and they’re dancing so close every body part is touching. Isaac has a leg between Harry’s and he’s nosing at Harry’s neck and his breath tickles, but it’s a good tickling. Isaac is a little taller than him, so he has to bend to reach, and Harry tilts his head to the side because it’s a nice feeling. Better than nice even. It’s new, it’s exciting and Harry doesn’t think he can get enough of this feeling. The song morphs into another and then another and yet another and they keep dancing. Harry grabs the back of Isaac’s hair by the second song and kisses him. It’s sloppy and they’re both so drunk they’re mostly panting into each other’s mouths, but it’s hot and Harry feels something close to an electric shock surge through his body. He finds new courage and maybe it’s partly because of all the alcohol or maybe because Harry is more turned on than he’s been in ages, but he reaches up to whisper-shout in Isaac’s ear.
“Wanna come home to mine?”
It’s dark when they come to Harry’s dorm, but they pay no attention to it. Isaac has his hand up Harry’s fully unbuttoned shirt, stroking his chest and nipples. Harry casts a glance toward Louis’ door, like always, but it’s closed and the lights are out. He focuses on Isaac again, letting out a moan as Isaac lips find his again. They barge though his own door and kick it shut as Isaac pushes Harry’s shirt off his shoulder and begin fumbling with his jeans.
“Just take me,” Harry manages to get out between whimpers and moans. “Fuck me, please.”
The next morning, when Harry wakes up to the sun glaring straight at his face, he feels like absolute shit. Isaac left with a new contact in Harry’s phone and an ache to his lower side, but Isaac is not the reason Harry feels like this. Well, it is, but not Isaac per say. It’s more Harry’s own fault. He never told Isaac he was a virgin last night, but he knew Isaac could tell because he was being both gentle and rough at the same time. No, Isaac isn’t the problem. It’s Harry himself and his goddamn feelings. This isn’t the way he wanted to lose his virginity. He wanted it to be with someone who knows him and cares about him. He wanted it to be after a date, a nice dinner or something like that. He feels disgusted with himself and pulls his hair in frustration. Why can’t he be happy with what he’s got? Why does he have to be a greedy mess who only takes without giving? Why can’t he just fall out of love with Louis once and for all?
*****
Isaac manages to convince Harry to go on a date with him. And a second one, and a third one, until Isaac one day introduces Harry as his boyfriend. Harry doesn’t know what to do with himself, but he finds himself smiling genuinely and can’t stop kissing Isaac all night. Later that night, when Harry is on all fours in Isaac’s bed, Isaac breathes out an “I love you” as he slumps over his back. He says nothing more than a good night before he falls asleep cuddled up to Harry, but Harry can’t fall asleep. He lies awake for hours looking at the wall with his mind racing. He should be over the moon, he knows that. A boy, in love with him! And Harry likes Isaac, he does. Isaac makes him laugh, he knows how to calm him down when Harry gets an anxiety attack, and he takes care of him. He’s just not sure he loves him yet. But then again, Harry has never known love like this.
It’s a Thursday when he sees Louis properly again. They haven’t talked in months and it’s only two weeks until Harry has to submit his BA paper and he’s stressed to his very bones. Harry’s on his way to meet Isaac at Sanook Café when he bumps into Louis. At first glance, Louis looks tired and worn out, but Harry supposes it’s every student’s default face nowadays. They aren’t so close they need to say hello, Harry could pretend not to see Louis and go straight to Isaac, he’s late as he is. But this is Louis and before he can overthink his decision, Harry raises a hand and waves.
“Lou!” At the sound of his name, Louis looks up. Their eyes meet and Harry begins walking toward him. As he comes closer, he sees Louis smile and can’t help but to smile back.
“You alright Harry?” Louis asks when they’re close enough. Harry nods with a smile. Louis keeps smiling, but it doesn’t crinkle his eyes like it used to.
“You look it.” They fall silent. It’s an awkward silence and Harry feels uncomfortable. It was never awkward between them, not like this anyway. Not even when Louis was with John.
“How’s your masters going?” Harry says before the silence kills him. Louis reaches up to scratch the back of his neck.
“Good, yeah. Bit stressful, but it’s over soon.” Louis lets out a breath. “Thank God.” Harry smiles and nods.
“I’m actually on my way to Sanook Café,” he says, interrupting whatever Louis’ about to say. “Do you wanna come?”
“Just you and me?” Louis asks, raising an eyebrow. “Since when do you go out alone?” Harry chews on the inside of his cheek. He never thought he would see Louis again, let alone speak with him. How could he tell Louis about Isaac? Should he tell him? Are they even friends still?
“No”, he says in the end. “No, you, me and Isaac. My, um.” He hesitates and takes a breath before continuing. “My boyfriend.” He can’t meet Louis’ eyes when he says that, doesn’t meet them. He knows Louis is watching him because Louis’ always though eye contact to be important. He imagines Louis raising his eyebrows, but can’t tell for sure because the dried gum on the pavement in front of him is far too interesting. Harry counts seven of his breaths before Louis answers him.
“I shouldn’t. I’ve got a deadline soon. Next time, yeah? Harry finally looks up and instantly wishes he didn’t. Louis looked heartbroken, for lack of a better word. He’d never seen Louis’ eyes so dark blue before. He should let Louis leave and get on with his life, as much as he should get going to Sanook Café and Isaac. But he can’t go before he can make sure Louis is, at least a little bit, okay.
“You all right Lou?” he asks and he feels like he’s treading water. He’s not used to being the superior in his and Louis’ relationship. Louis is supposed to take of him, not the other way around. Louis puts on a smile, a little too fake in Harry’s opinion, but he doesn’t question it.
“I’m all right, Curly. I promise. I’ll see you, okay? You always wanted to go to that Scandinavian café, didn’t you? Maybe we can go sometime?” His words leave Harry dazed and he suddenly realises how much he’s missed Louis. After all, they were the best of friends for a very long time.
“Yeah, all right. Sure! I’d love that.” Louis nods and puts his hands in his pockets before smiling.
“I’ll see you around, Curly,” he says. He walks past Harry and their arms graze from how close Louis is.
“See you around, Lou,” Harry mumbles when Louis is out of sight. He zips up his jacket to warm him against the wind and takes off to meet his boyfriend. He feels uneasy, but tries to shake the feeling off of him. Perhaps Louis and him are better off as friends after all.
They do see each other after that. Slowly, tiptoeing around each other, as if anyone of them would break if the other chose the wrong word to say, if they moved a little too close. They don’t talk about anybody else other than themselves and Harry would never dream of bringing Isaac up in a conversation. They’re brittle, thin like ice and both are too scared of losing the other again. They’re not friends, no, not yet. But they’re trying, they’re getting there. And that’s what matters.