Summary:Based off of this prompt
Pretty much, it’s been a few years, Louis is drunk off his ass as per usual, but tonight’s a little different because he finds a photo that’s been hidden in his wallet for a while and then connects with the feelings that have been hidden in his heart for a while. Then he picks up the phone and calls Harry.
Trigger Warnings: Alcohol Abuse, Thoughts of suicide
“You didn’t change the lock on the door? Louis you fucking idiot. What are you doing? Why are you doing this to me? Why did you call? Fuck Lou.”
Then Louis realizes that this isn’t fake and that he is of course he’s, as his life would deem it, way too drunk to be having this conversation, so he sprints off the couch to the bathroom to throw up the wine and hopefully his heart too. The wine comes out easy, but his heart is stuck in his throat and he doesn’t know when Harry showed up and started rubbing his back, but he won’t stop crying if he doesn’t stop touching him. Then he hears him whispering and cries harder because the asshole is apologizing for leaving and Louis can’t even find the words to tell him “it’s not you, it’s me and I know it.” He continues to cry and eventually Harry pulls him into his chest and just when he thought it wasn’t possible to cry harder he starts to cry harder, wailing like a widow.
He finally gets enough oxygen to speak his mumbles, “Sorry, so sorry. Shouldn’t called. Sorry Hazza. Sorry.”
Then he feels arms tighten around him and realizes that the tears that are cascading down his face aren’t just his own because hair doesn’t cry and fuck Harry is crying again. He wasn’t supposed to cry this time, it’s his birthday, so Louis tries to be strong and swallow his tears, but as he tries to relax Harry’s coos are coming in louder and he has to bite his lip and make it bleed in order to avoid wailing. He takes a few deep breaths, but doesn’t move from Harry’s arms because it’s been forever since he’s been in them and he still feels them same. Harry is wide and strong and comforting. Louis doesn’t remember feeling this small in his arms, but Harry’s probably been working out and actually living his life so it makes sense.
When the tears stop falling and his breathing gets almost even he looks up. Harry’s green eyes are dark, glazed in sadness and pity. It takes all of Louis’s will to not get up and sprint to his bedroom and lock himself in it. He runs his finger across Harry’s cheek, swiping some of the offending tears away, and relishes in the flinch that doesn’t come. They stare at each other for a while; as if their eyes functioned as a search of some sort, and they could find all the answers of the questions they had just by looking into them. Really, it’s like they’re registering each other, searching for the differences present, but more importantly, searching for the similarities to the younger men they had both fallen in love with.
Harry looks older, but not in a bad way, never in a bad way. It’s just that his boyish sexy has turned into a manly handsome that makes Louis a little lightheaded or that could be the crying. but as he is still drunk and a little hysterical, he decides its not important. Harry runs the finger over Louis’ brow and the older man fails to suppress a shiver. It’s been years since anyone has touched him. The last person to touch him intimately, in that way, was Harry back in 2012.
He wishes he could crack jokes about his celibacy, but he can’t. There were times when he willed himself to fuck somebody, anybody, just to remind himself that he was capable of some kind of human contact or intimacy. It never worked; he barely made it to the door before he’d see green eyes and make a beeline for his wine bottle. The only thing Louis has fucked recently is his own life, which hasn’t been a good experience for anyone. It’s almost as if he was trying to dig a hole so deep he couldn’t get out of it.
Louis opens his mouth to say something before remembering that he just threw up. He pushes off of Harry’s chest, using it to balance himself as he stands on his shaky legs. Louis tries to ignore the way Harry’s muscles tense under his touch and wobbles over to the sink grabbing for his toothbrush. When he starts to brush his teeth, Harry sits up and flushes the toilet before coming to stand right behind him. Louis looks down, feeling vulnerable and naked when Harry’s gaze finds his in the mirror. He stares at the sink until he catches Harry reaching for the cup on the sink and he freezes.
"Fuck. Lou," Harry whispers, fingers shaking as he pulls the toothbrush he used years ago from the counter.
Louis looks up, finding Harry’s gaze in the mirror, his eyes begging “please don’t, not now” because he’s 100% sure he can’t come up with a proper excuse As per why 18-year-old Harry’s toothbrush is still in his possession.
"Okay. Okay," Harry replies to Louis’ silent plea. Harry puts the toothbrush down suddenly curious about what else hasn’t changed since he left. Louis spits, rinsing out his mouth as he hears Harry walking down the hall. The door to his bedroom opens and he sighs, letting his head hang down. Then he hears Harry walking across the hall to his old room and his fingers tighten on the counter. He squeezes his eyes shut as if shutting off one sense disables all the others.
Louis hears, “Fuck. Fuck Lou. Fuck,” from down the hall and sinks to the floor. He almost wants to laugh at how he managed to ruin something before that something even made itself known. Louis brings his knees up to his chest and buries his head in them as the trotting footsteps grow nearer. He hears Harry stop at the door, but he can’t look up because he watched him leave the first time and it almost killed him. If he has to watch him leave again, it would undoubtedly be the end of his existence.
"You, uh. You didn’t," Harry chokes out as he tries to grab for the words to say. "You didn’t change anything. You didn’t get rid of my stuff. You still have my fucking toothbrush and those fucking converse are vintage by now and you’re trying to kill me because my room smells more like you than your own, so I know you’ve been in there and fuck. I don’t know what to do with you. I wish I could tell what has been going through your head because this is absolutely crazy, Lou."
Louis starts to shake as he waits for the harsh words that are bound to come at his slightly stalkerish, obviously unhealthy, behavior. He rocks his body back and forth willing himself not to cry because there’s been enough of that. He uses the walls to get up, a little bit more similar to most of his nights, and stumbles past Harry into the hall. He follows the hall with his hands trying not to double over from the pain which appears to be affecting his body functions more than bottles of cheap wine ever have. When he turns into his room, he feels arms around his waist pulling him backwards into the room he’s occupied most nights.
He squeezes his eyes shut again trying not to cry at the warmth of Harry’s fingers moving across him. The hands that were at his waist are now tugging the hem of his shirt over his head. Then, pants are falling to his ankles and his boxers are pooling down too. Louis starts to think about the last time he took care of himself and silent tears start to fall as he’s realizing that he can’t remember the last time he showered. It doesn’t matter though, because Harry’s lowering him into the bed and pulling the sheets over him before he can move again.
Louis stares at the window past Harry’s body as he starts to mull over what words to say, shutting his eyes to help with the process. He whines when he feels Harry crawl into bed next to him, thinking that this is the last thing he wants. It’s not that he’s expecting to get hard; whiskey dick has become more of a permanent affliction as opposed to a temporary side effect. It’s just that Harry’s still everything pure and perfect to him, so lying next to him dirty and sullied in every sense, makes him feel like shit.
"I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I ruined your birthday. I’m sorry I’m disgusting and pissed. I always knew you deserved more. I was destined for this and you were destined for greatness. I haven’t been sober for years, Haz. Life is useless without double vision because I just see your face everywhere otherwise."
Harry throws an arm over Louis before bringing him to his chest. ”Not now Lou, rest.”
Louis whimpers, terrified that there won’t ever be another time to talk; Harry feels him freeze and tightens his hold while whispering, “I’ll be here when you wake up, Lou; just sleep.”
Louis burrows backwards, noticing Harry’s bare chest and tries not to have a heart attack. He lets out a shocked gasp, but as Harry’s arms tighten and his familiar scent wraps itself around his body; Louis remembers that it’s been years since he’s felt this comfortable and starts to doze off. When he’s snoring, Harry slips away searching the house for any sign of Louis moving on or actually living.
After hours of finding nothing, but old 1D memorabilia, a bunch of his old shit and wine, Harry returns to the bed. He knows it’s stupid to climb in and cuddle the older man as if nothing’s changed, but no matter how long it has been, he still looks and feels like Louis, his Louis. So Harry’s still inclined to love him and protect him from everything — mostly himself. He crawls back into the space behind Louis and tries to ignore the fact that they still fit together perfectly before falling asleep himself.