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It‟s sort of strange now. He feels like he‟s come a long way in the time

since Harry left, somehow. Far away from Harry, in all the space he left

behind, there‟s room to take out all of those things he never had the

courage to unpack before and open them up and look it all over. And he

thinks now, in this post-mortem state, he can just about admit it.

He can just about admit that they were in love.

He‟s not going to delude himself into thinking it would‟ve ever

worked, or that it still could. That‟s still not something it‟d be healthy

to let himself hold on to. But he can admit that somewhere along the

way, he felt it, and it was real. He can just about handle the thought that

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he may have been in love with Harry—that he maybe still is, not that it

matters—and that for a while Harry was maybe in love with him, and

even though they fell out of it, it happened. He can‟t deny that.

So he fucked it up beyond repair, and maybe that was his only shot, and

maybe he‟ll just have to live with that forever. But there‟s also Stuart

Standhill and Mike Kendall and a whole bunch of kids who might have

a better chance at it than he did, and maybe Harry wasn‟t wrong about

everything.

Louis wonders what things might have been like if he and Harry had

met when they were younger. He thinks about 18-year-old Louis,

finally out of the closet and ready to throw himself headfirst into

something with the first fit boy who blinked twice at him, and how

different things might have been if that first boy had been 16-year-old

Harry selling cupcakes in a bakery somewhere. He wonders if they

would have fallen for each other right away, if he would have been able

to love Harry the way he deserved back then, before everything else

made him cautious. He wonders how much heartbreak he could have

saved himself, if they‟d still be together all these years later.

He thinks it means something that he can think those things now

without his brain short-circuiting, that he can tell a 16-year-old to go

tell his boyfriend he loves him without hesitation. He thinks he‟s better

than he was.

When he was in uni, he had a friend who was studying psychology. He

remembers her telling him about the “ideal self” and how the further

you are from it, the worse you feel. He thinks about everything that‟s

happened since then, uni and Manchester and the things he‟s learned

from Harry and the kids and community theater and a thousand tiny

revelations, and he thinks he‟s getting closer. He thinks he‟s inching

towards a Louis who‟s more like the Louis he‟d like to be.

He rolls over and pulls the blankets up over his shoulders, and just like

every other night, he falls asleep thinking of the phantom warmth

spooned up against his back and hand that‟s not holding his.

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It goes on.

It‟s six o‟clock in the morning, and Duchess is lying across his neck

this time. It‟s the first day of term, and this year Louis starts it by nearly

being asphyxiated by his pet. An auspicious beginning.

He rolls Duchess off him and onto the side of the bed. She yowls and

swipes at him, but he‟s fast enough to avoid her claws this time. She‟s

fast, but he knows all her moves by now.

Louis manages to stand and half-walks, half-stumbles to his kitchen to

put the kettle on. He bounces on the balls of his feet, surprised by his

own energy. He‟s excited, he really is. Teaching the kids over the

summer was nice, but he wants to get back to his real job. He likes his

job, and he‟s missed it.

Once he‟s downed his first cup of tea, burning his tongue a little, he

rushes through the rest of his morning routine. In the bathroom, he

gives himself a curt nod in the mirror after he washes his face. Chin up,

soldier, he thinks. You know how to do this. He feels good this

morning, feels like this is going to be one of his good days, but he still

spends about half his time walking on eggshells around himself. He

can‟t do that today; at the very least, he can‟t let his students see him do

it.

A shower, a tasteful outfit, and two slices of toast out of the way, he

waves goodbye to a supremely uninterested Duchess, grabs his bag,

and heads out the door. He‟s five minutes ahead of schedule, even.

Thermos full of tea in one hand, he drives to school with the radio up,

humming along in an attempt to keep himself energized. He pulls into

his traditional parking space and sees Zayn‟s car already parked a few

spaces down.

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He spies the man himself when he walks inside, Zayn coming out of

their lounge with a cup of tea in each hand. “Isn‟t it a beautiful day in

the neighborhood, Mr. Malik?” Louis singsongs at him, delighting in

the way Zayn‟s eyes narrow to slits. Some things don‟t change.

“Just „cause I haven‟t committed murder before doesn‟t mean I can‟t

start,” Zayn growls as he walks past. Still, he turns his head and calls

back after Louis, shouting out, “Good luck, Tommo, see you at lunch.”

Yeah. Some things don‟t change. It‟s going to be a good day.

He‟s just settled into his room and is waiting for his first batch of new

students to start doing the same when he notices a commotion in the

hall outside of his room. It‟s nothing out of the ordinary for the kids to

be buzzing on the first day back since they‟re all catching up from the

summer, but there‟s something strange about the particular scene he

sees when he pokes his head out of his door. Yeah, it‟s the same sort of

crush of noise and talking by the lockers, but they don‟t usually look so

shifty about it.

That‟s when he sees Mike Kendall come around the corner, great

ginger manchild that he is looming a head above most of the crowd,

and Stuart Standhill next to him. They‟re holding hands.

Louis feels his heart stop for a second as he watches them make their

way down the hall together. Stuart looks like he‟s about to explode,

either with pride or with nervous vomit. Mike, on the other hand, looks

utterly content with the world. Louis is not going to get teary over this,

nope. He‟s not.

Stuart looks up and catches Louis‟ eye across the hall, and Louis does

his best to smile encouragingly at him without running over to hug

them both or crying like a mum dropping her kid off for the first day of

school. Stuart returns the smile and gives Louis a little wobbly nod

before he passes.

Once Stuart and Mike are gone and he‟s alone with the hallway full of

noisy students, he can‟t help but notice that not everyone looks as

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thrilled as he is about recent developments. He makes a mental note to

start writing students up like it‟s going out of style if he hears so much

as a snide word. Hell, he‟ll take on his fellow teachers if he has to.

He tells Zayn and Niall as much over lunch, the two of them nodding

along in agreement. Stuart will be in Zayn‟s afternoon literature class,

and he promises to keep an eye on him. Niall doesn‟t have Stuart or

Mike in his orchestra classes, but he‟ll “put the fuckers in detention

until they‟re back in nappies” if he hears anyone start talking shit, so

there‟s that at least. Louis bites into an apple and feels something like

peace, surrounded by friends as good as these. It‟s almost enough not to

notice the empty fourth chair at the table.

The first day passes in a blur, and Louis finds that he feels better about

his job than ever. He can feel it in the set of his shoulders, the way he

feels himself smile when he stands up at the front of his room. Maybe

he‟s still on the mend, but in some ways he‟s better than he‟s ever been.

His mum calls him later in the week to check on him, probably because

she knows how stressful the beginning of the year always is. He finally

admits to her then that he was seeing someone for a while, and that

things ended badly and he‟s been in the process of recovering from it

for months. She demands to know Harry‟s name and whereabouts and

offers to break his kneecaps herself, but Louis just laughs a little and

tells her not to worry, that he‟s not angry at him anymore, that Harry

wasn‟t the only one to blame. He wonders if she can tell how much he

misses Harry just by the tone of his voice on the phone.

He still misses Harry. Of course he still misses Harry. He thought

maybe that would‟ve faded by now but it hasn‟t. It‟s bearable, but it‟s

always there, and he‟s starting to think it always will be.

Now that he‟s let go of the anger and all the bad things, he can

remember Harry fondly. He wasn‟t perfect, and things were a mess, but

he was wonderful and sweet and funny and kind, and he was beautiful,

and for a little while he made Louis so, so happy.

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If he has to miss somebody forever, at least he picked a good one.

Louis should have learned the first time around that he and complex

sound equipment don‟t mix. He‟d managed to stay away from it for the

first few weeks of term, but now the leaves are changing colors and

he‟s spending his free period sorting through more wires and cables

than he‟s ever seen in his life. His class on British theatre is about to

start a unit on Webber, and he‟s trying to get his afternoon lessons set

up in advance so he doesn‟t embarrass himself with a series of

technical difficulties. He‟ll embarrass himself in private, thank you

very much. Besides, it‟s not like he‟s got any fit boys with convenient

timing to help him out this time.

He‟s examining what appears to be a cable with USB ports on both

ends when there‟s a hesitant knock at his door. He looks up, expecting

one of his students, but is pleasantly surprised to see Liam standing in

his doorway. Normally Liam will just swing by to see Zayn over lunch;

he‟s never come to just see Louis before.

“Liam,” Louis says, putting down the USB abomination and dusting off

his hands. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Just stopping by,” Liam tells him. He‟s got his hands in his pockets

and he‟s just hovering in the door like he doesn‟t know what else to do.

“Zayn said this is when your free period is?”

“Indeed it is,” Louis says, nodding at his empty classroom. “You can

come in, you know.”

“Right,” Liam says, ducking his head as he shuffles inside. He shuts the

door behind him. “Well, um. I just wanted to come and talk to you for a

bit.”

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“Let me guess. Fire department putting on a Christmas pageant and you

need my expertise?” Louis jokes. He‟s actually got an idea of what

Liam is probably here to talk about, but he‟d been hoping to be spared

this conversation. Or at least to just hash it out with Zayn instead, who

knows how Louis gets. “I warn you, I charge an arm and a leg,

although I may lower my price if they take their tops off.”

Liam laughs, running a hand through his hair. “No, actually, um, I