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did move, God, that would be such a big decision."

Harry grimaces. "I know, I know. God, I—you were right about me,

you know? I've had it really easy, and I've always sort of just been able

to do the things that I wanted. And I never stayed in one place that

long, so I didn't even really think of it as a huge deal. I wanted you, I

wanted the job, and I thought I could have both because I don't really

hear „No' that often." He looks ashamed of himself, but Louis just

wants to hold him and tell him that it's okay to be young.

"It's all right," Louis says. "I mean, it's completely insane, but it's kind

of sweet, too, I guess. That you thought of me as that permanent."

Harry gives him a small smile, looking up at him through his fringe,

and okay. This is going all right. No urge to make an escape through a

window yet. "Your turn."

Nodding, Harry hooks his ankle behind Louis' under the table. "After I

got the internship," he says, trailing off. "Can you—why wouldn't you

talk to me? Why did you just—it was like you vanished, like we were

together and then we weren't. Even if you weren't going to ask me to

stay, why did you shut me out?"

There it is. The big one, or one of them, anyway. Louis takes a moment

to collect his thoughts, and then starts to speak, squeezing Harry's

537

hands tight and staring down at the table. Harry deserves to know, and

Louis deserves to be able to come clean.

"I was pushing you away because I didn't think I deserved you. I didn't

think you needed me." Harry takes a breath like he's going to speak, but

Louis keeps going. He needs to know. "Haz, you're brilliant, and you're

talented, and you make everyone love you, and it just—it made sense

that you would leave me. Nearly everyone leaves me eventually, been

that way my whole life, and I couldn't see why you would be any

different."

He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he's about to drop on

Harry. "I was going to tell you I loved you the night you got the

internship. Well, I don't know if I would have said the word „love,' but I

was going to tell you that I was ready to be with you for real. And then

you told me about the internship, and I realised how vulnerable I had

made myself to you, and I felt like an idiot. I thought you wanted to

leave me, or at least that you wanted something so much bigger than

me that I didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. I thought, if you

were going to be okay without me, I needed to do what I could to

protect myself. And I thought that if I could just downplay whatever

was between us, if I could make it into something that wasn't important,

then the end wouldn't hurt so much." He takes a shaking breath. "I

thought, since you were leaving me, I had to leave you first. Except I

couldn't, not really, couldn't stay away, so I had to at least act like it

didn't matter. Because I thought I didn't matter to you."

There's a silence, and then Harry says, "You always mattered to me."

Louis looks up at the sound of his voice and sees that Harry has tears in

his eyes. "Lou, you were what mattered the most, you—you were it,

God, I'm so sorry you didn't know that." He shakes his head suddenly,

like he needs to clear it. "I'm not sure I'll ever stop being sorry for that."

"Harry, it's not your fault that I'm like this," Louis says, suddenly not

caring about anything but the fact that he's made Harry cry. "It's not

your fault that I'm fucked up and can't—"

538

"Shut up, Louis," Harry says, and then lets out a little laugh. "Nothing

could make me feel worse than you putting yourself down right now,

okay? Let me just—can I tell you? How I felt. Just, I want to explain."

"Whatever you want, love," Louis says. Harry is still crying, still crying

over him, and nothing else seems particularly important.

"Okay," Harry says, sniffing a little."Just, first off, to make things clear,

I was always in love with you. Always, Louis, since before I even

kissed you. And I always knew that that was what it was, even though

I'd never felt that way before. Never, Lou," he repeats, making eye

contact. "But I also knew that, for whatever reason, you didn't want to

hear it, or weren't ready to. You didn't seem interested in talking about

what we were or how you felt. And I never wanted to force you into

anything. I've always—I don't know, the relationships I'd had were all

pretty casual, so I didn't really think defining what we were to each

other was that important. And I thought I might risk losing whatever I

had with you if I tried to have more than you were already offering, so I

just kept my mouth shut and tried to be whatever you needed."

"You were," Louis interrupts. "You were always there, it was—it drove

me crazy, honestly," he says, laughing. "Because I was trying so hard

not to be in love with you, and you made it so impossible."

Harry's face breaks into a grin, and it's like the sun. "Deal with it,

Tomlinson. I wanted you to be happy, whatever that took."

"How very dare you," Louis says, running his thumb across the back of

Harry's hand.

"I'm very evil," Harry says solemnly. "But Louis, honestly, if I'd had

any idea what you thought I would have told you. I just thought that we

were good together, that we were working even if we weren't talking

about it, so I thought the best thing was to just not say anything. I didn't

want to overstep, I guess."

539

"I get that," Louis says carefully. He has to try to figure out how to say

in words things he's barely thought about for years, and he's not sure

he's going to pull it off. "And I see how you thought you were looking

out for me. Also since it hasn't been said in about ten minutes, I love

you too." Harry smiles at him, and the tears are gone now, thank God.

"But you've got to understand, Harry, with me, if you don't tell me what

you're feeling, the conclusion I'm going to jump to is not going to be

that you're in love with me, or that everything's fine. Do you get that?

It's just not how my brain works."

Harry nods, more serious now, and Louis breathes a little easier. "I'm

starting to get it," he says. "And Zayn yelled at me a bit about it, too,

which helped." Louis makes a mental note to both smack and thank

Zayn. "I wish—I hope someday you can tell me why, though? If you

feel like you can share that with me?"

"I want to," Louis says. "It's been a long time since I've talked about

some stuff, and I want to tell you. And Zayn, too, but you first. Just—

maybe not this conversation? But soon?" Another nod, and Louis feels

another weight lift. "And I want you to know I've been working on it,

on trying to get to a place where I don't always assume the worst case

scenario. On trusting the people I love, and who love me. I really have,

and I think I can get there eventually? But if we're together—and I

want that, Harry, I want that more than anything—then you have to

meet me halfway. I'm not, like, magically okay now that I have you

back, even though it helps. Even though it helps a lot."

"I want to be with you, too, just as you are," Harry says, brow

furrowing a little. "I'm not asking you to change for me."

"No, you're not," Louis says. "I'm trying to change myself, to be more

like who I want to be. Who I was, once, honestly. And I'm doing it for

me, Haz, not you." He grins slyly. "What was it you said yesterday?

'Not everything's about you?'"

Harry kicks him under the table. "Wanker."

540

Louis kicks back before he continues. "I mean it, though. Me coming

here—me coming to find you—that's a part of me getting better, not the

purpose for it, yeah? And honestly, Harry, I'm glad you say that you'd

have told me how you felt months ago if you'd known what was going

in my head. But I probably wouldn't have been ready to hear it, really. I

wouldn't have known what to do with it, or how to trust you. I wouldn't

have believed you."

"I'm sorry," Harry says, and Louis just shrugs.

"Got nothing to do with you, really. Was always going to be like that

until I started actually, I don't know, taking care of myself. And I am,

I'm taking care of myself, more than I ever was when you were in

Manchester."

"That makes me happy," Harry says. "Really happy, Lou. And I hope—

I want to be part of how you take care of yourself, if that makes sense."

"You are," Louis says. "I wouldn't be here if you weren't. I couldn't be

here if I weren't working on being—I don't know, a healthier person? A

more whole person? I sound like a twat, but that's what I want to be.

Whole. Even if that sounds like bullshit."

"Doesn't sound like bullshit to me," Harry says softly.

"Yeah, well, it wouldn't to you, would it?" Louis laughs. "Sentimental

bastard."

"You love it."

"I love you. And I love that you support my weird self-actualization

quest, or whatever the hell it is," Louis says. "But it's going to take

some time for me to get there, and until I do, you need to understand

some stuff about me. Like, okay, you didn't push me to talk about our

relationship because you didn't want to pressure me into anything I

didn't want, right?"

541

Harry nods seriously, and Louis loves him for the mental notes he

knows he's taking in his head. "Well, with me, part of not forcing me

into anything is making sure I know exactly what's going on inside

your head, so I can make decisions based on reality, and not just my

own screwed-up assumptions. So if you want something from me, or

aren't happy, or are confused, I need you to tell me, even if it isn't your

first instinct. Even if you think it isn't a big deal. Because otherwise I'll

make up my own story to explain what I think is going on, and it

probably won't be anything good."

"Okay," Harry says, squeezing Louis' hand. "I can do that. I promise I

can do that."

"I know you can," Louis says. "And I promise that if I catch myself

making mountains out of molehills, I'll sit down and ask you what's

going on instead of jumping to conclusions. I just can't promise that I'll

always be able to catch myself."

"I can live with that," Harry says, nodding solemnly before cracking a

smile. "I'd love to live with that." Louis smiles back, and they stay like

that for a while, sitting in silence with their hands connected across the

table. The pizza is long since forgotten, already cold and going colder.

Louis feels a bit strange, sort of like he has nothing to do. Obviously,

he knows that's not really true. He needs to make sure that leaving work

yesterday hasn't landed him in hot water, and he needs to call Zayn, and

he needs to start reorganizing large parts of his life around the fact that

part of his heart is going to spend the next few months in London.

But—these are things he will do, he knows he will, somehow, and

that's new. All those things are just items on a to-do list. None of them

are those lurking, choking worries that clog his throat and fog his brain,

the ones that follow him for months and abscess and grind down his

teeth. He doesn't seem to have any of those at all right now, and that's

new too.

"Can I ask something else?" Harry says softly, bringing Louis back to

the present. He just cocks his head in response, waiting for the

question. "Why now?" Harry asks. "I mean—why was it today?"

542

Shrugging a little, Louis tries to figure out how to explain a chain of

events he doesn't fully understand himself. "Stuart Standhill and Mike

Kendall are dating," is what he comes out with, which is as good a

place to start as any.

Harry's jaw honest-to-God drops. "You're shitting me," he says. "Stuart,

he finally—with Mike? With my Mike?"

"I know," Louis says. "Believe me, I know. Stuart came to me over the

summer—I was doing these lesson things, I'll tell you later—and told

me the whole thing. Before he told almost anybody else."

"Holy shit," Harry says, apparently having lost access to all non-

profane vocabulary. "Louis, that's—"

"I know," Louis says again, interrupting, because if he hears Harry say

any of the things Louis imagined he might in the depths of his weakest

nights he probably will start crying. "They're public, too, the whole

school knows. And they're making it work, they really are. Despite

everything. They really love each other, and it doesn't matter who

knows or what they think. And—and Stuart wanted me to know first."

Harry brings one of Louis' hands up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the