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going to love him that much. That was the worst thing Louis had ever

heard, honestly. Worse than anything his dad could come up with on

his worst day. It was one thing for somebody to tell him they didn‟t

love him. It was another for them to tell him that loving him wasn‟t

enough.

In the end Patrick left, moved across the country and never spoke to

Louis again except for a few drunken late night phone calls. Last Louis

heard, Patrick was married to a nice girl with one on the way.

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That was the one that finally broke him. Even when everything was

perfect, it still hadn‟t mattered. He couldn‟t make him stay. He couldn‟t

be enough. What was the fucking point?

He gave up on just about everything after that. It wasn‟t like he could

afford to keep making the trip to London for auditions anyway, so

giving up on that particular dream made sense. It was how his life was

supposed to go, just another thing he wanted and wasn‟t good enough

to have. He‟d always known it was a longshot, and he had probably

always been better suited for teaching anyway. That was all he had

wanted before he got carried away in delusions of being a star, and it

was time to get realistic. He shut himself away from practically

everyone in his life at that point, focused on going back to school for a

bit and sorting out his certifications and saving up as much money as he

could.

He packed up and ran from Doncaster as soon as he could afford it. He

couldn‟t take it anymore, couldn‟t keep living in his mother‟s house

when she barely had the money to support the girls, couldn‟t handle the

sympathetic way she looked at him and the constant reminder of

everything he‟d ever done to make things harder for her. He couldn‟t

pass all the places that reminded him of the people who‟d broken his

heart and all the things he used to care about before he figured out that

he wasn‟t ever going to get to be happy. He had to get out.

He ended up in Manchester because he didn‟t think his piece of shit car

could make it much farther, and also he had some old friends from uni

out there who didn‟t look at him like he was a cautionary tale. He

managed to find a decent flat and a job a few months later, which was

considerably better than the position he‟d been in since he graduated

uni, and he adopted a cat, and he met Zayn, and then Niall.

The next few years were nothing special. After Patrick he‟d sworn off

relationships, so he just kept to the habit he‟d developed in Doncaster

of having meaningless sex with strangers with names he only bothered

to learn if they bought him a drink first. If any of them ever showed an

interest in anything more than sex, he‟d give the poor sod a fake

number and send him on his merry way, never to be seen again. For

years, he didn‟t let his guard down for anyone. That was how he

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operated, and maybe it didn‟t make him happy, but at least it worked.

Nobody hurt him because nobody could. At the time, it had seemed like

all he deserved.

Louis has reached the end of the story now, or at least the last part up to

what Harry already knows. He feels winded like he‟s just run a

marathon, and emptied out, but he also feels a strange sense of relief.

He hasn‟t talked about any of these things in so long, and he never

really realized how much it kept weighing on him. It‟s all out there

now, all the ugliest, darkest parts of his past, and there‟s nowhere

farther down to go.

He looks up from the floor and Harry is silent and completely still in

the red light save for a muscle clenching and unclenching in his jaw.

He waits, but Harry doesn‟t move or say anything.

“So, that‟s everything,” Louis says, still watching Harry anxiously.

“That‟s who I was. I had sworn that I wouldn‟t ever let anybody get

close enough to hurt me again, until I met you.”

“And then I fucking left you too,” Harry spits out, coming back to life

suddenly. He surges to his feet and crosses the room to grip the

worktop, swearing under his breath.

“No, Haz, I‟m trying to explain to you why it‟s not all your fault,”

Louis attempts.

“Do you have any idea how much I want to murder every arsehole who

ever hurt you right now?” Harry says, spinning around, and Louis is

reminded quite vividly of the day Harry came storming into his

classroom and told him about Mike Kendall. “I swear to God, if I ever

met any of them—but no, I haven‟t even got the fucking right, because

I was just as bad as any of them, I was—”

“You weren‟t,” Louis says, “I told you, it was just as much my fault as

it was yours.”

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“I don‟t care whose fucking fault it was!” Harry snaps, his voice

breaking. “I was fucking oblivious, and I let you think I didn‟t love

you, and—”

“Harry!” Louis half-shouts, cutting Harry off. Harry freezes, eyes wide

and mouth halfway open, and Louis tries not to find the shocked halibut

expression on his face as comical as he does. He steps up to Harry,

taking one of his hands and smiling softly at him. “I don‟t blame you

for anything, okay? I told you all that because I wanted you to know

where I‟m coming from, but you didn‟t know anything back then. It

wasn‟t fair to you either.”

“Doesn‟t undo what I did,” Harry mumbles after a moment. “The last

thing I ever wanted was to hurt you.”

“I know,” Louis says, touching the side of his face. “Hey, I was an

arsehole too, remember?”

Harry laughs a little, and Louis can tell he‟s starting to come back

down. “Yeah, you were.”

“See?” Louis says. “We‟re both arseholes. That‟s why we‟re meant for

each other.”

Harry full-on grins at that, looking up into Louis‟ eyes. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, leaning up to kiss the top of Harry‟s cheek.

Harry pulls Louis in by the small of his back, wrapping both arms

around him. “Sorry. You‟re trying to be open with me and I throw a

fit.”

“It‟s okay,” Louis says simply. “You love me.”

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“I do,” Harry confirms. “And I love you for telling me everything you

just told me. And I love you for loving me in spite of all that other shit,

even after I was a complete twat.”

“That‟s the spirit,” Louis says, and he reaches down and catches Harry

totally off-guard with a surprise nipple twist. Harry yelps in pain and

alarm and slaps Louis‟ hand away, and then they‟re laughing, and then

they‟re kissing, and Louis hopes this Benji bloke doesn‟t mind if they

get a bit fresh in his darkroom.

Before this, Louis kept thinking it would feel like things had changed

when he finally spilled his life story to Harry, but it doesn‟t really.

There are still the same hands, the same kisses, the same laugh when

Louis pins Harry‟s hands to his chest and licks the end of his nose.

There‟s no nuclear fallout. For about the millionth time this weekend,

he‟s done something that used to scare the shit out of him, and the

world still hasn‟t ended.

Once the prints have dried, Harry cleans up after himself and takes

them down gently one by one. He gets down a large folder from one of

the top shelves and slides them inside carefully, and Louis watches. It‟s

hot, getting to see Harry do something he loves and is good at. Louis is

into it. He could get into photography if it means just watching Harry

do this all the time.

Harry packs up his things and they head out together, locking up behind

them. The rain has stopped when they get outside, and their linked

hands swing between them as the walk back.

When they get back to Harry‟s flat, Harry slaps the folder of prints

down on the kitchen counter and flips through them, Louis peering over

his shoulder. They‟re all from Saturday, pictures of Louis and their tiny

lunch and Hyde Park and Louis and even a few inside Tesco‟s. Louis‟

favorite, though, and the one that Harry pulls out of the pile, is the one

the woman with the blue hair had taken for them. Harry‟s lips are

pressed to Louis‟ cheek, and Louis‟ face is scrunched up in a

thoughtless, crinkled smile, and they look very much like themselves.

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Harry pulls the print out and puts it up on the wall with a few pieces of

Blu-Tac. On the bare wall it looks stark and small, but Louis looks and

sees that it‟s right in the line of sight from Harry‟s bed, so maybe it‟s

not so small after all. He can easily imagine it surrounded by all of

Harry‟s magpie nest of pretty things, and he looks over at the boxes in

the corner, considering.

“Do you want to put the rest up?” Louis asks. “I could help.” Harry

scratches at the back of his neck with a hesitant look on his face.

“Well, the thing is,” he says, “my internship only lasts until December,

which is like two months from now. And I‟m not sure if I‟ll be staying

here after that?” He says the last sentence like it‟s a question, looking

down at his feet and glancing up at Louis through his fringe. Louis isn‟t

sure how he manages that when he‟s so goddamn tall, but that‟s not

really an urgent issue at the moment when there‟s confetti raining down

inside his head.

“Do you—did you have somewhere else in mind?” he asks, scuffing his

feet on the floor and feeling like the luckiest idiot in the country.

“Would you want me to come back?” Harry says, and he still looks

nervous, but he also looks like he‟s braving his way through it.

Louis just manages to hold back from shouting yes, yes, an entire

country full of yes, but it‟s a close thing. He takes a breath instead and

tries to his best think things through properly. He wants Harry with

him, wants to cook terrible dinners with him and have excellent sex

with him and go out on dates with him and wake up next to him in the

morning. That‟s a given. But he doesn‟t have a darkroom in his

apartment, and Manchester is great, but it isn‟t London.

“I want you to be with me,” he says carefully. “And I want to be with

you. And I want you to be happy.”

“Well, that‟s settled, then,” Harry says, but Louis keeps going.

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“But—” he starts, but Harry interrupts.

“I don‟t like but‟s,” he says. “No buts.”

“Let me finish, you shit,” Louis laughs. “I want you with me, but I

don‟t know how to be somebody‟s whole life, Harry. And I don‟t want

you to give up your dreams and your talent and your career for me. So I

want you to come back. I just don‟t want you to come back just for

me.”

Harry looks at him, and Louis knows the expression because he‟s felt it

on his own face so many times. It‟s a nice rush to know he can make

Harry make that face, make his face go slack with incredulity. That‟s a

good feeling.

“Okay,” Harry says. “Yeah. Okay. We‟ll figure it out. I‟ll start—I‟ll

start looking.” And then he‟s right in Louis‟ space, pulling him into a

hug. “I love you a lot, you know.”

“I‟ve got some idea,” Louis says, curling his fingers into Harry‟s shirt.

“So,” Harry says, pulling back and holding Louis at arm‟s length.

“Until then—we‟re doing this, right? I mean, for real.”

Louis nods. “I‟m all in, if you are.”

Harry‟s face breaks into a goofy grin. “I‟m in. We can visit—I have to

work weekends sometimes, but not always—”

“And we have phones—”

“And Skype—”

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“We can do it,” Louis says firmly. “Even if I can‟t be with you, I still

want to be, you know. With you. You know what I mean,” he says,

smacking Harry on the arm when he starts to snicker.

“I do,” Harry says, still laughing. “And you‟d better. If you think I

suffered through all that emotional monologuing this weekend for