Hello there baby !

This fic forms part of the 1D Angst Fest - using prompt 69 from Mel @elmnothingmore

Louis and Harry’s child died in a terrible car accident. Their marriage didn’t survive. Louis tries to rebuild his life, meets new friends, has a new job, even has a few dates.

But when he receives a call from the hospital, everything falls apart again. Harry tried to kill himself.

Happy ending please.

Notes:

A heartfelt thank you to my beta, Katy @Dishybird37, for all of your tireless work. You’ll never truly understand how much I appreciate you. Without your help and emotional support, this story would never have come to life. I owe you everything ! ♡

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From the prompt you will understand that this story contains sensitive topics surrounding infant loss, grief and a suicide attempt. I haven’t put trigger warnings on each chapter as its clear what this story is about, but I have included a short note on what each chapter covers.

Please only read on if you feel comfortable.

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Please Note:-

This story was three-quarters written when we received the heart breaking news about Liam. He had a much larger role in the narrative, but I struggled to write about him in the wake of his passing. My grief made it difficult, and ultimately, I had to reduce his presence in the story. I sincerely apologize for that.

If you’re struggling, please know that you are not alone. There are resources available to support you.

For the UK

1. Mind (Mental Health Support) 0300 123 3393 (Infoline) Text: 86463
2. Samaritans (Emotional Support) 116 123 (Free 24/7)
3. Shout (Text Support for Mental Health Crises) Text: 85258 (Free, 24/7 support)
4. NHS 111 For urgent medical help or advice.
5. YoungMinds (Support for Young People) Text: 85258 For parents: 0808 802 5544

Australia :

1. Lifeline (24/7 Crisis Support) 13 11 14
2. Beyond Blue (Mental Health Support) 1300 22 4636
3. Kids Helpline (For Children and Young People) 1800 55 1800
4. Headspace (Youth Mental Health Support) 1800 650 890
5. Suicide Call Back Service 1300 659 467

For Europe:

This varies by country. The European Suicide Prevention Website has links to country-specific resources: www.euro.who.int/en/health-topics/noncommunicable-diseases/mental-health

You can also refer to local crisis support numbers for each European country.

1. United Kingdom (UK) Samaritans 116 123 (24/7, free from any phone)
2. Ireland Samaritans 116 123 (24/7, free from any phone)
3. Germany Telefonseelsorge 0800 111 0 111 or 0800 111 0 222 (24/7, free)
4. France Samaritans 01 42 96 26 26 (Available 24/7)
5. Spain Cruz Roja 717 003 717 (Available 24/7)
6. Italy Telefono Amico 199 284 284 (Available 24/7)
7. Sweden Mind 901 01 (Available 24/7)
8. Netherlands 113 Suicide Prevention 0800 0113 (Available 24/7)
9. Belgium Centre for Suicide Prevention 1813 (Available 24/7)
10. Norway Mental Health Helpline 116 123 (Available 24/7)
11. Denmark Livslinjen 70 201 201 (Available 24/7)

A/N - Tag - Dubious Consent

There is a scene in this chapter where Harry taps Louis to signal he wants to stop, but Louis continues.  I’ve tagged it as dubious consent, but it is very mild.

CHAPTER ONE

✨️ Hello there, baby! ✨️

‘ Having a baby is like falling in love again, both with your partner and your child.’

The hospital room had a cosy vibe as the sun started to rise, filling the space with a soft golden light. Everything felt calm and peaceful as the air hung heavy, thick with the tender stillness of early morning, where every sound seemed softer, every breath more profound.

The faint rustle of sheets and the distant, almost ghostly murmur of a nurse’s footsteps were the only signs that the world outside still moved. But within these four walls, it was as if time had paused, holding its breath in reverence for the fragile and exquisite moment that follows a life-altering event.

Harry was lying in the hospital bed, his chest rising and falling in slow, rhythmic breaths, a thin sheen of sweat still clinging to his brow. His dark hair, usually perfectly styled, was a tousled mess, sticking to his forehead in damp strands. But he didn’t care. Not about his hair, not about the discomfort in his body, or the ache in his limbs. All of that melted away as he gazed down at the tiny bundle that was now cradled in his arms.

Their brand new baby daughter.

The baby was wrapped in a soft white blanket and was impossibly small; her little face scrunched up in her sleep. Harry could hardly believe she was real—that this perfect, delicate little being was theirs. He reached out with trembling fingers, brushing a strand of downy hair from her forehead, and felt his heart swell with a love so intense it was almost painful.

His husband Louis sat beside him on the edge of the bed, his eyes never leaving their daughter’s face. He was smiling a soft, almost disbelieving smile, as if he too couldn’t quite grasp the reality of what they’d created together. His hand rested on Harry’s arm, his thumb absently stroking it in a silent gesture of reassurance and affection. It was a “thank you” for the beautiful little life Harry had just given them; not only that, but also for the wonderful and carefree marriage they had shared for the past seven years.

“I can’t believe she’s finally here.” Louis discreetly dabbed his eyes and cleared his throat. He hadn’t been prepared for how emotional it would be witnessing his child come into the world. “She’s…she’s perfect, Harry.”

Harry turned his gaze to Louis and their eyes locked. For a moment, neither of them spoke, caught in the overwhelming depth of the moment. It wasn’t just the baby—it was everything. The journey they’d been on, the dreams they’d shared, the struggles and fears and hopes. It all led to this tiny, perfect person lying between them.

“She is,” Harry murmured, his voice barely above a breath. “She really is.”

They both leaned in closer, their faces inches apart as they continued to marvel at their daughter. Harry could see the unshed tears shimmering in Louis’ eyes, but he wouldn’t say anything, because it only matched his own. It was a strange feeling, this mix of joy and vulnerability. He felt like he was holding his entire world in his arms, and it was both exhilarating yet utterly terrifying.

“Do you think we’ll be good at this?” Harry asked, his voice quivering with uncertainty. “At being parents, I mean?”

Louis’ smile widened, the small dimple in his cheek deepening as he nodded his head lightly. “I know we will be. Maybe not perfect, but we’ll figure it out, together, like we always do.”

Harry nodded, drawing strength from Louis’ confidence. He knew Louis was right. They weren’t perfect by any means, but they were perfect for each other; they always had been, and that was what truly mattered. As long as they had each other, they could face anything. Despite their belief in the strength of their relationship, unforeseen challenges were soon ready to test their resilience; they just didn’t know when.

The hours blurred together after that, a haze of whispered words, stolen glances, and lots of soft kisses. The external world appeared quite remote and inconsequential. Their focus had primarily shifted to the haven of warmth, love, and affection they had built together, a refuge that shielded them from all other worries.

When it was finally time to leave the hospital, Louis was the one who insisted on carrying their daughter’s car seat. He held her as if she were made of the most fragile glass, every step measured, every movement gentle. Harry followed close behind, one hand on Louis’ back, the other clutching the lightweight hospital bag. They exchanged nervous smiles, both of them equally in awe of the responsibility they now carried.

The drive home was quiet, the car filled with the soft sounds of the radio playing something mellow and soothing. Harry sat in the passenger seat, twisting to check on their daughter every few seconds, unable to keep his eyes off the mirror on the rear headrest that allowed them to see her. Louis drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on Harry’s knee, a silent promise of support.

Louis had fallen in love with Harry all over again today, but that was nothing new; he felt like that every single day. Right from the very beginning, Louis saw how sensitive, caring, and beautifully crafted Harry was. The way he cried watching movies, the willingness to help those around him. Compassion, empathy, and love had surely been built into Harry’s DNA, and that is what had drawn him to Harry in the first place. And now as he watches Harry stare at their daughter Abigail with such adoration, Louis finally understands the true meaning and value of the word “love.” 

As they finally pulled into the driveway of their small but comfortable sized house, a lump formed in Harry’s throat. This was it, the start of their new life. They were parents now, and the weight of that reality hit Harry all at once, making the whole thing feel a little terrifying. Louis turned off the car, and for a moment, they just sat there, both reluctant to break the silence, as if speaking might shatter the fragile magic of this new beginning.

“Ready?” Louis asked, turning to Harry with a soft, almost shy smile. After a year of Harry begging to start a family, they were finally about to step inside as a trio.

Harry nodded, his heart swelling with emotion. “Yeah. Let’s welcome her home.”

Together, they stepped out of the car, Louis cradling their daughter. Harry unlocked the front door, and they walked inside, the warmth of their home wrapping around them like a comforting embrace.

The nursery was already prepared, decorated with soft colours and whimsical flowers, a testament to the love and care they’d put into every detail. But for now, the crib would remain empty. Neither of them could bear the thought of placing their daughter down, not yet. They settled on the couch instead, Louis curling into Harry’s side as Harry held their baby delicately in his arms.

They sat there in silence; the only sounds were the soft breaths of their sleeping daughter and the quiet sniffles as they wiped away tears. It was perfect, this moment—this feeling of being a family, of being whole.

And as they sat there, their hearts overflowing with love and gratitude, they both knew, without a doubt, that they would do anything to protect this baby, to protect each other. No matter what life threw at them, they would face it… together. Because in this fragile, beautiful beginning, they had found everything they’d ever wanted, and neither of them had any plans on ever changing that.

🧸

Louis descended the stairs, the faint creak of the old wood beneath his feet mingling with the soft sounds drifting from the kitchen. As he reached the bottom, he paused, taking in the sight that greeted him: Harry, standing at the kitchen counter, effortlessly juggling tasks with a grace that made Louis’ heart swell with pride. Abigail was snugly strapped to Harry’s chest in a soft carrier, her tiny head nestled against his heart, her breathing slow and steady as she slept.

Harry, with one hand, was buttering toast, his movements careful and precise, while his other hand remained firmly placed on Abigail’s back, a constant, reassuring presence even in the midst of his multitasking. He wore an old, faded t-shirt that Louis had always loved on him, and his hair was a mess from what must have been a long, sleepless night. But the smile on Harry’s face as he worked and the gentle hum of a lullaby under his breath, made Louis feel like he was the luckiest man alive.

They have only had her home for three days, and yet Louis could hardly contain the joy bubbling up inside him. If this was the scene he got to witness every morning, he was certain he’d never need anything else to feel complete again. The warmth in his chest spread through his entire body, filling every corner with love and contentment. He wanted to freeze this moment, to live in it forever.

Harry glanced up and caught Louis watching him, his smile widening.

“Morning,” he greeted softly, his voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to disturb the sleeping baby. He set the toast on a plate and walked over to Louis, placing it in front of him on the table. As he did, he leaned in, pressing a quick, tender kiss to Louis’ lips.

“Good morning, my love.” Louis murmured against Harry’s mouth, his hand instinctively extending to briefly caress Harry’s cheek before releasing it. He turned his attention to Abigail, her tiny form wrapped snugly against Harry’s chest. Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to her soft forehead. “Good morning to you too, princess,” he whispered.

Harry chuckled softly, settling into the chair beside Louis, his hand still resting on Abigail’s back. “She’s been out like a light since I strapped her in here. Not that it helped much earlier; she had me up all night.”

Louis tore his gaze away from Abigail and looked at Harry, concern flickering in his eyes.

“I’m still so tired.” Harry admitted, running a hand through his messy hair.

“I feel guilty. You should have woken me, Harry. You know I’m a deep sleeper.”

Harry shook his head, a warm smile playing on his lips. “It’s alright, Lou. I know you need the rest; you are too grumpy otherwise.” Harry couldn’t help smirking; well, it was the truth. “Besides, you go back to work tomorrow, don’t you?” Harry asked.

Louis’ expression darkened slightly as reality set in.

“Yeah, I do. Not by choice though. We’ve used up most of our savings on baby stuff, and there’s still the mortgage to think about. With you on maternity leave, everything falls on me to make ends meet. Which I am happy to do. You, my sweet, just look after this precious girl of ours; don’t worry about me.”

Harry’s smile softened as he reached out to take Louis’ hand, squeezing it gently.

“We’ll manage; we always do. I’m just glad we’ve had this time together, all three of us.”

Louis nodded, his eyes lingering on Harry and Abigail, who fluttered her eyes gently.  “I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

“Me either,” Harry agreed.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, the weight of the world outside their small bubble seeming distant and unimportant. Louis felt a surge of determination as he looked at his family. He would do whatever it took to keep them safe, to give them the life they deserved. He’d work as hard as he had to, but for now, in this moment, all that mattered was the love they shared.

“Thank you.” Louis whispered, his voice full of emotion. “For everything, baby. I love you both with all my heart; you know that, right?”

Harry leaned over, kissing Louis’ cheek. “Of course, babe. We’re a family. Forever and always.”

As they sat there, hands intertwined, their daughter sleeping soundly against Harry’s chest, Louis felt a profound sense of peace. It was these moments—simple, ordinary, but filled with love—that made everything worthwhile. No matter how hard things got, as long as they never gave up on each other, they could face anything.

Was that test about to come much sooner, rather than later?

🧸

Louis stepped through the front door, weary from a long day at work, but the anticipation of seeing the two faces he’d missed so much filled him with warmth. However, instead of the quiet, welcoming home he’d envisioned, he was greeted by the shrill screech of the smoke alarm. The sound pierced through the air, and as Louis rounded the corner into the kitchen, he found Harry frantically waving a cloth at the smoke detector, trying to disperse the lingering haze of smoke.

“Damn it!” Harry muttered under his breath, his movements hurried and stressed.

In the distance, Louis could faintly hear Abigail’s wails from upstairs, her cries mingling with the chaos.

The sight tugged at Louis’ heart. He wanted nothing more than to drop his bag, wrap his arms around Harry, and tell him everything was okay. But first, Abigail needed him.

Harry caught sight of Louis, his face a mix of frustration and relief.

“Louis, go to Abigail! She’s been crying for a while now. I’ve almost got this sorted.”

Without hesitation, Louis nodded and quickly made his way up the stairs. The sound of Abigail’s cries grew louder as he approached the nursery, and when he pushed the door open, the room welcomed him like a sanctuary. The soft pink walls were adorned with hand-painted murals of delicate flowers, each petal a different shade of pink, blending together in a stunning display of art. The room was bathed in the gentle glow of the evening light, which filtered through the curtains and cast a serene ambiance over the space. Despite the current commotion, the nursery felt like a peaceful haven, lovingly crafted for their little girl.

Abigail was in her crib, her tiny face scrunched up as she screamed, her little fists flailing in the air. Louis hurried over, leaning down to scoop her up into his arms.

“Hey, hey, hey, come here, darling. Please don’t cry.” He gently rocked her as he held her close. “What happened, huh? Did Daddy burn some food?”

From behind him, Harry’s voice cut through the room, edged with a defensiveness that Louis instantly recognised.

“Not like I did it on purpose.” Harry said, stepping into the nursery.

He walked over, his expression taut with a mix of irritation and exhaustion. Without waiting for a response, Harry reached out and took Abigail from Louis’ arms, cradling her to his chest, his hand patting her back, trying to soothe her. Almost immediately, her cries softened, her small body relaxing against him.

Louis watched the exchange, noticing the way Harry’s shoulders tensed, the subtle stiffness in his movements. The way he’d taken Abigail from him, the clipped tone in his voice—it was clear that Harry had taken his comment to heart. Louis’ own exhaustion melted into concern. He knew that things hadn’t gone smoothly today, and it was weighing on Harry more than he was letting on.

“I know that, babe; I was only joking.” Louis said softly, stepping closer to him, his eyes searching his husband’s face. “What’s the matter? Did you have a bad day?”

Harry sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of the day’s struggles. He rocked Abigail gently, his gaze fixed on her as she began to drift off in his arms.

“Yeah, you could say that,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Everything just went wrong today. Abigail was fussy; I couldn’t get her to settle, and then I tried to make dinner, and…”

He trailed off, glancing over at Louis, his eyes clouded with frustration and fatigue.

“I feel like I’m failing at this, Lou.”

Louis’ heart ached at the sight of Harry looking so defeated. He reached out, gently placing a hand on Harry’s arm.

“You’re not failing, Harry. It has only been a few days,” he said firmly, his voice filled with love and reassurance. “You’re doing an amazing job. We’re both learning as we go, and some days are just going to be tough. But you don’t have to do it all alone. Let me help.”

Harry’s eyes met Louis’, and for a moment, the vulnerability there was raw and unguarded.

“I just wanted to make things easier for you, Lou. I know how hard you’ve been working.”

“And I appreciate that more than you know,” Louis replied, his hand moving up to cup Harry’s cheek. “But we’re a team, remember? We’ll figure this out together. I’m here for you, always.”

Harry leaned into Louis’ touch, closing his eyes as if trying to absorb the comfort and strength Louis was offering. When he opened them again, the tension in his face had softened.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

Louis smiled gently. “Don’t be. It’s been a rough day. Let’s just get through tonight, yeah? We’ll order some takeout, forget about the burnt dinner, and just enjoy the evening with our little girl.”

Harry nodded, a small but grateful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I’d like that,” he said softly, looking down at Abigail, who was now peacefully asleep in his arms. “I’d like that a lot.”

Louis and Harry settled onto the couch, the comforting aroma of their Thai food filling the living room. They each had a container balanced on their laps, chopsticks in hand, ready to indulge after the long day. Abigail slept peacefully in her rocker at Harry’s feet, her soft breaths the only sound breaking the evening stillness.

As they opened Netflix and began scrolling through the options, Louis spoke up, his tone warm and thoughtful.

“Oh, my mum rang me today. She wants us to bring Abigail over—not tomorrow, but the next day. She’s flying out the day after. I still can’t believe she went through with it and finished the course. I’m so happy for her though, so proud.”

Harry looked up from the screen, smiling as he glanced at Louis. “I still can’t believe she’s really doing it. An air hostess at her age…It’s incredible.”

Louis nodded, pride swelling in his chest. Jay had always been a force of nature, but after all her children had grown up and flown the nest, she’d confided in Louis about her long-held dream of becoming an air hostess. Everyone had laughed when she first mentioned it, dismissing it as a whim. But Louis hadn’t. He’d been the one to encourage her, to guide her through the process, and to push her to follow through with it if it was what she truly wanted. And now, after a year of rigorous training, she was about to embark on her first flight. But before she left, meeting Abigail was her top priority.

“Your mother is amazing,” Harry said, shaking his head in admiration. “I am beyond excited for her. But… It’s supposed to be raining all week. I think I even saw that a storm might be on the cards? That’s not looking good for your mum’s flight, but I don’t know if I wanna take Abigail out in the weather.”

Louis frowned, his chopsticks pausing mid air. “If we don’t take her there, Mum won’t meet her for another two weeks at least. Please, I really want to see her before she goes.”

Harry’s gaze softened as he looked down at Abigail, who was bundled up snugly in her rocker. He leaned forward, carefully lifting the blanket to cover her a little more, his protective instincts kicking in.

“I dunno…I want to see her too, but—”

“Harry.” Louis said, his voice gentle but firm, a plea in his eyes.

Harry sighed, meeting Louis’ gaze. He could see how much this meant to him.

“Alright. I’ll keep an eye on the forecast. If it’s just rain and nothing too bad, we’ll go.”

Louis’ face brightened instantly, and he reached over to squeeze Harry’s hand.

“Thank you. It’ll mean the world to her.”

Harry smiled, his worries easing at the sight of Louis’ happiness.

“Anything for you, Lou. And for your mum. She deserves to see her granddaughter before she jets off into the sky .”

Louis laughed at the way Harry dramatically emphasised the word “sky” with his hands.

“You’re such a weirdo.” Louis teased with a smug grin.

“Yeah, but you love me.”

“That I do.”

They shared a quiet moment, the flickering light from the TV casting soft shadows across the room. Harry squeezed Louis’ hand back, feeling a sense of contentment wash over him despite the concerns about the weather. They would make it work—just like they always did.

After all, that was their mantra, right?

‘ They would make it work—just like they always did.’

🧸

Louis woke the next morning to an empty bed, the absence of Harry’s warmth beside him immediately noticeable. He reached out, groggily searching for the baby monitor only to find it switched off. That wasn’t typical. Louis sat up rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and that’s when he heard it—the steady patter of rain against the window. A sigh escaped him as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, feeling the chill in the air. The rain was heavier than he’d expected.

He headed straight to the bathroom, the cold tiles against his feet jolting him fully awake. After relieving himself, he glanced around the bedroom, spotting a jumper draped over the back of a chair. It wasn’t his, but it was soft and warm, and he quickly pulled it over his head, shivering as the fabric settled around him. His hair was a mess, and he felt only half-awake as he trudged down the hallway towards the nursery, following the faint sounds coming from within.

As he entered the nursery, Louis found Harry standing by the change table, softly cooing at Abigail, who was lying there contentedly in a fresh set of clothes and a clean nappy.

“Another bad night?” Louis asked, his voice still raspy from sleep. “You’re up early, that’s all.”

Harry turned to him, his eyes soft before he looked back at their daughter.

“Haven’t been up too long. I think the rain woke this one up.”

There it was—that word. ‘Rain.’

Louis sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’ll be in the car, Harry. She won’t be getting wet. We’ve got heaters; it’ll be fine.”

Harry gently lifted Abigail from the change table, cradling her as he moved to walk past him.

“Shouldn’t you be getting in the shower? You’ll be late for work. Your breakfast is ready and on the kitchen island, and so is your coffee.”

Louis watched as Harry walked by, feeling a mix of emotions swelling in his chest. He loved how protective Harry already was with their daughter, how every decision he made seemed to revolve around her well-being. It touched him deeply—Harry’s innate instincts as a father were beautiful to witness. But it was just rain. A little bit of rain wasn’t going to hurt Abigail, especially when she’d be safe and warm in the car.

“I know you’re worried, love.” Louis said, his voice gentle as he followed Harry out of the nursery. “But she’s going to be fine. You’ve got everything under control.”

Harry paused, looking down at Abigail, who was still nestled comfortably. “I just… I don’t want to take any chances, Lou. She’s so small, and I just want to protect her from everything.”

Louis’ heart swelled with affection. He reached out, brushing a hand over Abigail’s head before placing a tender kiss on Harry’s cheek.

“You’re doing an amazing job, you know that? But we can’t keep her in a bubble forever.”

Harry gave a small, resigned nod. “I know. I just… I can’t help it. She isn’t even a week old yet.”

Louis smiled, leaning in to press another kiss to Harry’s lips, lingering for a moment. “And that’s one of the things I love most about you, but you worry too much.”

Harry’s tense shoulders relaxed slightly at Louis’ words, and he offered a small smile in return. “Go get ready for work.”

With a final, affectionate glance at his little family, Louis turned and headed towards the bathroom to start his day. The thought of leaving them behind on this rain-drenched morning was hard, but he knew they’d be okay. 

🧸

It had been a perfect day. Abigail had slept soundly, fed well, and Harry even managed to get some housework done—a rare victory Harry was starting to think. Louis was in high spirits too; a few clients had cancelled today, which freed up his schedule, allowing him to catch up on some much overdue paperwork. It felt like everything had fallen into place.

So now, as Louis lay pressed up against Harry’s back as it struck 11:11pm, he couldn’t resist the urge to kiss the soft, velvety skin of Harry’s neck, each touch of his lips light and lingering. The scent of Harry’s body wash, fresh and intoxicating, filled Louis with desire. He kissed Harry’s neck again and again, unable to stop himself, a soft moan explicitly escaping his lips.

Harry, as always, couldn’t deny Louis anything. Even when he wanted to, he found it impossible to resist him. But tonight, the tenderness was edged with a hint of discomfort.

“Babe, don’t kiss me like that.” Harry murmured, his voice betraying the effect Louis had on him. “Especially there. You know what it does to me, and I’m still sore down there. I can’t… mmm, Lou, Jesus.”

But Louis wasn’t listening. His hand slid around to Harry’s chest, teasing his nipples in a way that made Harry arch back against him, unable to hold back a sigh. Harry rolled over, their lips meeting in a slow, passionate kiss, hands exploring familiar territory with the kind of tenderness that comes from years of knowing exactly what the other needed. Their chemistry had always been undeniable, the spark between them never fading. Harry might argue that sometimes it got them into trouble, like when they got carried away in public.

But right now, all he could think about was how good Louis made him feel, especially now that he isn’t pregnant anymore.

“I can’t let you fuck me, not yet. I am still too sensitive and sore,” Harry whispered, his voice catching as he tried to resist the pull of desire.

Louis’ eyes darkened with longing as he watched Harry slowly run his tongue over his own lips, teasing him, driving him wild like Harry knows it does. And Louis knew exactly what Harry was implying.

“Oh fucking hell, yes! Babe, please.” Louis groaned, his body trembling with need. There was nothing in this world he loved more than Harry’s touch, those lips, nothing more intoxicating than the way Harry could drive him to the edge with just one look.

Harry’s movements were swift and determined as he pulled back the blanket, his fingers working quickly to strip away Louis’ boxers. Despite their recent intimacy, the urgency felt as though they hadn’t been close in ages, though that was a mere illusion. Even during Harry’s pregnancy, his heightened hormones had kept their physical connection frequent and intense, much to Louis’ delight, but with no bump now in the way, Harry was just as eager to return to their “normal” ways, but only when he was fully healed. 

As Harry’s gaze dropped to Louis’ length, he could see the raw desire ignite in his eyes. Louis felt a shiver of anticipation as Harry’s expression grew more focused. With deliberate precision, Harry wrapped his hand around Louis, his tongue trailing a slow, deliberate stripe from the base to the tip, pausing to circle the sensitive head and coat it with his warm, moist saliva.

Harry leaned in and took Louis into his mouth, the act both forceful and tender. He sucked with an intensity that spoke of his deep yearning, his movements a dance of urgency and sensuality that propelled Louis into a state of euphoric bliss. The feeling was overwhelming, each sensation heightened by the careful balance of aggression and intimacy.

“Sit up, babe.” Harry murmurs, his voice dripping with seduction. Louis quickly obeys, sliding to the edge of the bed, his heart racing under Harry’s intense gaze.

“Go your hardest.”

And fuck. Louis knows exactly what that means. He gets to fuck Harry’s mouth.

Wasting no time, Louis guides himself back into Harry’s mouth, his fingers tangling in Harry’s hair. He starts slow, gently rocking his hips, savouring the wet warmth that surrounds him. Louis looks down, meeting Harry’s seductive gaze—the one that silently begs for more, the same very eyes that scream, ‘harder, wreck me, now!’ A moan escapes Louis as his grip tightens, and he begins to move faster, thrusting deeper with each motion. Harry, ever the pro, takes him effortlessly, every slurp of spit pushing Louis closer to the edge.

Louis usually only gets this kind of blowjob on his birthday or special occasions like the holidays, so it’s no wonder he’s feeling euphoric right now as he continuously moans, his load begging to be released. Sweat beads on his forehead as Harry’s eyes start watering from the pressure and intensity.

Fuck, it does feel like Christmas!

“Fuck, fuck babe, ooh baby,” Louis pants with difficulty as he puffs out air, struggling to settle his rapid breathing.

Never, not once in their entire relationship, had they encountered a problem in the bedroom. They knew each other’s boundaries, understood each other’s desires, and made it their mission to ensure complete satisfaction, always doing whatever it took to please one another.

But tonight, all that was about to change, and boy was it about to redefine not only their relationship but their entire life.

Louis was right on the edge, every nerve in his body alive with sensation, his cock throbbing with each pulse of blood. He could feel the tingling deep in his veins, a wave of pleasure building, ready to crash over him. But just as he was about to spill his load…it happened.

Beside them, the familiar noise they had grown to love over the last few days interrupted their moment. Abigail wasn’t screaming, but her soft little whimpers were enough for Harry to recognise that she was getting hungry and that those whimpers would soon turn into a full blown scream any second. It was a sound he had quickly learnt to interpret; gentle but persistent, it was a stark reminder that their world had changed suddenly, pulling them from their heated passion back to the reality of new parenthood.

Or so Harry had thought anyway.

Harry taps Louis’ thigh, signalling him to stop so he can tend to Abigail, but Louis tightens his grip on Harry’s hair, refusing to let him go.

“Babe, I’m so close; just let me finish real quick.”

Louis thrusts faster now, desperate to reach his climax, but Harry taps his thigh again, more insistently this time, as Abigail’s cries grow louder.

Still, Louis persists on.

“Ooooh, oh, oh, fuccck.” Louis moans as he finally explodes into Harry’s mouth. The moment it’s over, Harry pulls away sharply, getting up and storming into the ensuite. He wipes his mouth, quickly gargles, and sanitises his hands with a furious intensity. The bathroom door slams, and Louis knows immediately that he’s messed up.

“You are such a prick. I can’t believe you just did that.” Harry snaps as he strides towards the door.

“It was 15 seconds, H! Babies need to cry; it’s good for their lungs.” Louis retorts, trying to downplay the situation.

But Harry doesn’t respond; he’s already off and entering the nursery, focused on Abigail, leaving Louis to stew in the tension he has just created.

“Fucking hell.” He mumbles, to no one but himself.

🧸

It was no surprise when Harry didn’t come to bed that night. Louis had laid there for hours, staring at the ceiling, waiting, hoping that maybe, just maybe, Harry would walk through the door and slide under the covers beside him. But the only sounds that filled the silence were the distant rustle of the wind outside and the faint tick of Harry’s antique clock on the nightstand. Every so often, he could hear Harry moving about the house—clanging dishes, the occasional click of a cupboard closing. The noises were distant, as though they were coming from another world, but they were there, constant and unwavering. He imagined Harry’s movements, packing things away, cleaning what didn’t need cleaning, as if keeping busy would somehow erase the tension between them. Eventually, Louis’ eyelids grew heavy, and the soft lull of sleep finally pulled him under.

When he woke the next morning, the first thing he noticed was the cold sheets beside him. The space where Harry should have been was untouched, the pillow still plump and uncreased, a stark reminder of the distance that had grown between them. Louis sighed, rolling onto his back and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He could hear the rain outside, a loud patter against the window, and for a moment, he simply lay there, listening.

With a reluctant groan, he pushed himself out of bed and wandered over to the window. The curtains, heavy and thick, barely let in the morning light. He grasped the edge of the fabric and gently pulled it aside, revealing the grey, overcast sky beyond. The rain wasn’t heavy, just a light drizzle, the kind that could easily ruin a day if you let it. But Louis wasn’t going to let it. Today was important—Jay was finally going on her first flight, and they were supposed to see her before she left. The drive was only an hour, a manageable distance, especially if they left soon. They could be back by the afternoon, rain or no rain.

Louis got dressed quickly, pulling on a pair of jeans and a sweater, the thick wool comforting against his skin. He ran a hand through his hair trying to tame the mess before heading downstairs. The house was quiet, except for the rain against the windows. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he spotted Abigail, still sleeping in her rocker, her tiny fists curled near her face, her little chest rising and falling with each breath.

Harry was in the kitchen, his back to Louis, busy packing away utensils, presumably his breakfast dishes. The clatter of ceramic and the swish of water in the sink filled the air, but Harry’s movements were methodical, almost robotic. Louis hesitated for a moment, watching him, before quietly sneaking over to his daughter. He stood over her, his heart swelling as he gazed down at her peaceful face. She was so small, so perfect, and the overwhelming love he felt for her was almost too much to bear.

Carefully, he reached out and took her delicate hand in his, his fingers brushing against her soft skin. He was so careful not to wake her, holding his breath as he marvelled at how tiny she was. God, he couldn’t put into words how beautiful she was, how much she had already stolen his heart. He would tread through heaven and hell for her, climb mountains and fight lions if it meant keeping her safe. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for his baby girl, nothing.

The rich smell of coffee suddenly filled his senses, drawing his attention away from Abigail. He turned around and spotted the mug sitting on the kitchen table, steam curling up from the dark liquid inside. Just like every other day since they got married, Harry had made his coffee, a small act of routine that Louis had come to cherish. For a brief, fleeting moment, hope blossomed in his chest. Maybe, just maybe, this was a sign that Harry had forgiven him for last night, that they could move past whatever had happened.

But when Harry looked up, his eyes meeting Louis’, that hope was quickly extinguished. The glare Harry shot him was cold, sharp, filled with an anger that hadn’t softened overnight. It was clear that what had happened between them wasn’t forgotten and most certainly not forgiven. Louis felt his stomach drop, the pit of guilt and regret growing deeper as he looked away, unable to meet Harry’s gaze any longer.

He swallowed hard, his throat tight, and turned back to the coffee, trying to find comfort in the warmth it promised. But even as he wrapped his hands around the mug, the chill of the cold sheets still lingered, a reminder that they had a long way to go before things would be okay again.

Louis’ eyes remained fixed on Harry as he debated whether to speak or not. The words hung on the tip of his tongue, heavy and uncertain. He knew he needed to say something to break the tension that had settled between them like an unwelcome guest, but the fear of making things worse kept him rooted in place. Harry’s back was still turned, the sound of dishes clinking together filling the silence. Louis swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest as he finally bit the bullet.

“Are you happy to leave within the next hour?” His voice was cautious, testing the waters. “Is that enough time to pack Abigail’s things?”

Harry didn’t respond right away. He simply turned around, his eyes locking onto Louis’ with an intensity that made the room feel smaller. The seconds seemed to stretch out, each one heavier than the last, until finally, Harry broke the silence.

“It’s raining,” he said, his voice flat.

Louis felt a pang of disappointment. This was not going the way he had hoped. He placed the coffee mug down on the table, the warmth from the drink doing little to chase away the chill that had settled in his bones. With a deep breath, he slowly walked towards Harry, their eyes trained on each other like magnets. The closer he got, the more he could feel the tension radiating off of him, the air between them thick with unresolved conflict. When he finally stood right in front of him, Louis reached out and grabbed a hold of Harry’s hand.

“Babe, please.” Louis said softly, his voice tinged with regret. “I am so sorry about last night.”

But Harry pulled his hand away, turning back towards the sink without a word. The rejection stung, and Louis frowned, his heart sinking. He took a step closer, determined not to let this moment slip away. Wrapping his arms around Harry, he hugged him from behind, pressing his cheek against Harry’s shoulder. The warmth of Harry’s body against his was a small comfort, even if the other man wasn’t reciprocating.

“Thank you for my coffee,” Louis murmured, his voice gentle.

Harry didn’t respond, but Louis didn’t miss the small, almost imperceptible smile that tugged at the corners of Harry’s lips. It was brief, gone in an instant, but it was there, and it gave Louis the courage to push forward. When Harry turned back around, Louis seized the opportunity to lean in and press a soft kiss to his lips. The contact was light, tentative, but it was enough to convey the depth of his remorse.

“It was wrong.” Louis continued, his voice earnest. “And I apologise. I love that girl so much, Harry. I would never intentionally harm her. She was safe. I don’t want to fight, darling, okay? I love you; I love you both. I was selfish, but it will never happen again, I promise you.”

Harry’s eyes, those deep, piercing green eyes that could see right through Louis, stared into his eyes with an intensity that left Louis breathless. There was a power in those eyes, a power that held Louis captive, made him feel both vulnerable and cherished all at once. He could see the conflict in Harry’s gaze, the war between his anger and the love they shared. Slowly, Harry sighed, his gaze drifting away from Louis and towards the window.

“It’s still raining,” Harry said, his voice softer this time, the edge of anger dulled.

Louis watched him closely, searching his face for any sign of lingering resentment. But as he studied Harry’s expression, he could see that the storm that had brewed between them was beginning to subside. The tension in Harry’s shoulders had eased, and the harsh lines of his frown had softened. The anger was still there, but it no longer had the same grip on him.

“And we’ll be in the car,” Louis said, his voice gentle but insistent. “Not in the rain.”

Harry didn’t take his eyes off the window, watching as the drizzle outside suddenly turned into a heavier downpour as if on cue just to rub it in, the raindrops now splattering against the glass with a rhythmic patter. He looked down at Abigail, who had started to stir in her rocker, her tiny fists clenching as she slowly began to wake.

“It’s not that I don’t want to see your mother and have her meet Abigail,” Harry said, his tone laced with concern. “I’m just worried about the weather, that’s all. I just have a gut feeling we should stay home.”

Louis held his gaze, his heart swelling with affection for the man standing before him. He knew Harry’s worries were genuine, that he was only thinking of their safety, but he also knew how important today was—for both him and his mother. And as much as Harry tried to hold firm, Louis could see the moment Harry lost the battle when Louis gave him the infamous puppy dog eyes. It was a look that had always had too much power over Harry, and today was no exception.

“Fine.” Harry finally relented, his resolve crumbling. “Give me an hour.”

Louis didn’t waste a second. With a surge of excitement, he frantically kissed Harry, pressing his lips against his in a series of quick, eager pecks. The relief and joy he felt at that moment were almost overwhelming, and he could feel Harry’s lips twitch into a smile against his own.

“Thank you,” Louis whispered, his voice filled with gratitude.

As they pulled apart, the rain outside continued to fall, but inside, the storm between themselves had finally passed. They still had work to do, still had wounds to heal, but for now, they were okay. And that was enough.

🧸

Jay had been absolutely ecstatic to meet Abigail. Louis’ mother was like no other—she was the type of woman who held an abundance of love in her heart for absolutely everyone she encountered. It was one of the things Louis admired most about her. The way she could light up a room with her presence, the way she made everyone feel like they were the most important person in the world, and the way she loved fiercely and without reservation. And now, with her first grandchild cradled in her arms, that love seemed to shine even brighter than before.

From the moment they arrived, Jay had been beaming, her joy practically radiating off her in waves. Abigail, nestled comfortably in her grandmother’s arms, seemed to sense the love, her tiny face calm and peaceful. Jay had taken 101 pictures—literally—documenting every tiny smile, every yawn, and every little movement that Abigail made. Louis couldn’t help but smile as he watched his mother fuss over his daughter, capturing each moment with a pride that made his heart swell.

Seeing how much Jay adored Abigail, how she looked at her with such pure, unfiltered love, made Louis feel something he hadn’t expected—complete. It was as though a piece of him had been missing, a piece he hadn’t even realised was gone, and seeing his mother with his daughter filled that void. There was something profoundly comforting in knowing that the love he had always felt from his mother was now being extended to the most precious person in his own life.

As the day went on, Louis and Harry found themselves snuggled up on the couch, enjoying the rare moment of peace. Jay sat nearby, cradling Abigail as though she were the most delicate thing in the world, whispering soft words of love to her. The atmosphere was warm, filled with the gentle murmur of conversation and the soft coos of Abigail as she wriggled in her grandmother’s arms.

The only hiccup in the day had come when Jay, ever the doting mother, had lightly scolded them for coming out in the rain. Harry, never one to miss an opportunity for a smart-ass remark, responded with, “Well, funny you should say that, Jay.”

Louis had rolled his eyes, but Jay had just laughed, brushing it off with the same easy going warmth she always had.

In the end, the day had gone smoother than Louis could have ever hoped. The tension from the previous night had melted away, replaced with the simple joy of being together as a family. As Louis sat there, watching his mother snuggle Abigail, he realised that moments like these were what made everything worth it—the love, the laughter, the memories that they would carry with them forever.

But the drive home from Jay’s house was anything but peaceful. The rain came down in sheets, drumming relentlessly against the roof of the car, each drop a reminder of how much Harry hadn’t wanted to make this trip in the first place. The windscreen wipers were working overtime, but even at full speed, they struggled to keep the glass clear. Louis’ knuckles were white on the steering wheel, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he tried to navigate the slick, winding roads.

“I told you we should’ve stayed home,” Harry muttered, staring out the passenger window, his voice low but edged with irritation.

Louis exhaled sharply through his nose but didn’t answer right away, biting back the urge to snap and keeping his focus locked on the road ahead.

Still, Harry’s words pricked at him, the tension between them thickening the already oppressive air in the car.

Louis knew Harry was just worried and exhausted, but they’d promised Jay they’d visit, and Louis hated breaking promises—especially with her leaving the next day. In all honesty, he was glad they’d made the trip. It had turned out to be a great day overall, so Louis focused on the positives instead.

“It’s just rain, Harry.” Louis finally replied, keeping his tone as even as he could. And yeah, he was getting tired of repeating that. “We’re fine. We’ll be home in no time.”

Harry’s eyes flicked to Louis, his expression tight.

“It’s not just rain. It’s pouring, Louis. And it’s getting worse by the minute!”

Louis sighed, his patience wearing thin.

“You’re overreacting.”

“I’m not overreacting!” Harry shot back, his voice rising. “You always do this. You never take anything seriously.”

“Can we not do this right now?” Louis interrupted, his grip on the wheel tightening as the wind picked up, buffeting the car. He could barely see the road ahead, the headlights struggling to cut through the deluge. But he refused to let Harry’s anxiety get to him. He could handle this.

“Please.” Louis said, his voice tight. He didn’t want to fight—not now, not with Abigail in the backseat, and certainly not in this weather.

Harry huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Fine. But when we skid off the road, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Louis bit back a retort, his jaw clenching as he gripped the wheel tighter. The rain was coming down harder now, and the wind was picking up, making the car shudder as it fought against the gusts. He felt a flicker of unease in his chest, but he pushed it aside, focusing on the road. The last thing he needed was to lose his cool. He tried to block out Harry’s frustration, tried to concentrate on the road, but it wasn’t easy. Especially not when Harry kept muttering under his breath, each word a fresh jab.

“Always so stubborn,” Harry mumbled, more to himself than to Louis. “If you’d just listen for once, then maybe –”

Louis took a deep breath, his patience wearing dangerously thin.

“I’m trying to drive, H.”

“And I’m trying to keep us alive!” Harry snapped back, his eyes now fixed on Louis’ face, searching for any sign that his words were sinking in. “Do you even care? Or do you just have to be right all the time? Slow down a bit or, better still, pull over.”

Finally, it went silent, and that was like music to Louis’ ears. There was nothing more in this world he hated most than fighting with the one person he couldn’t live without. But Abigail had spent all week crying through the nights, and Harry was exhausted. Louis had done his best to help out, but Harry insisted he go to bed knowing that Louis needed to go to work; they needed the money.

But it appears Harry wasn’t quite done yet as he breaks through the silence once more.

“You always think that nothing bad will happen just because you say so. Well, guess what? It doesn’t work like that, Louis! Look out there! Just rain, my arse!”

Louis felt a surge of anger, hot and sharp, rising up in his chest. He was about to respond when a sudden flash of lightning lit up the sky, followed by a deep rumble of thunder that shook the car. Abigail, who had been quietly dozing in her car seat, suddenly let out a sharp cry, her small voice rising in panic.

“Great.” Harry snapped, turning in his seat to try and soothe her. “This is exactly what I needed, not.”

“Shit.” Louis muttered, glancing back at their daughter in the rear view mirror. “ No need to be upset, sweetheart. We are almost home.”

“Of course she’s upset.” Harry snapped. “She’s scared. Just like I am.”

“I’m trying my best here!” Louis snapped back, his frustration finally boiling over.

Abigail’s cry grew louder and louder. Louis’ heart twisted at the sound of her cries, his irritation melting into guilt. He opened his mouth to say something, anything to soothe her, but before he could, Harry cut him off, his voice slicing through the tension like a knife.

“If you’d just listened to me to begin with, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Louis’ grip tightened on the steering wheel, his teeth gritting.

“Harry, I swear to god. I know you are tired, baby, but–”

“No!” Harry interrupted, his voice rising even louder. “You just do what you want and damn the consequences. “Just rain,” he mimicked in a condescending tone.

Louis’ heart was pounding now, a mix of anger and anxiety twisting in his gut. The road ahead was barely visible through the rain, and every instinct told him to slow down, but he was too rattled by their argument now, too distracted by the fight to think clearly.

And then Harry said it, the words that cut through Louis like a blade.

“You’re going to get us all killed if you don’t stop acting like you know everything! What parents in their right mind would take a baby out in this weather? Idiots, that’s who. Oh wait, that’s us. Well, one of us is at least.”

Louis’ breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening in shock and hurt. The words hit him like a physical blow, leaving him momentarily stunned. At that exact moment, another clap of thunder shook the car, and Abigail’s cries grew more frantic.

Louis’ patience had finally snapped. He turned his head to glare at Harry, the words poised on his tongue. Abigail continued to scream and Harry reached back in a bid to get closer to her. Louis twisted in his seat, his heart aching, his gaze locking on her tear-streaked face.

“For fuck’s sake, I’m doing my best here, H; just let it go.”

“Oh, you mean like how you let me go the other night?”

Louis is stunned. He thought they were past that.

“So that’s what this sudden mood shift is really about? I said I was fucking sorry.”

As the words left his mouth, guilt washed over him. He can’t believe he’s letting himself speak like this in front of their baby. She might not understand, but that doesn’t make it any easier to stomach.

He stares back at Abigail through the mirror, just for a second wanting to reassure her, to silently convey to her it was going to be okay. But that second was all it took.

Sometimes the road of life takes an unexpected turn, and you have no choice but to follow it in order to end up in the place you are supposed to be. And sometimes that road is wet and slippery and holds no traction.

Harry’s eyes widened in horror as he whipped around, his scream slicing through the air, sharp and terrifying. The sound pierced Louis’ ears, sending a jolt of fear racing through his body. His hands tightened on the wheel, his knuckles white, as panic flooded his system. He could feel Harry’s hand clutching his knee, the touch frantic and trembling as adrenaline surged between them, their terror now a shared, suffocating force.

“Louis, look out!” Harry’s scream was shrill, filled with panic, causing Louis to take one last look at Abigail through the mirror.

Louis whipped his head back to the road just in time to see a pair of blinding headlights barrelling towards them, too fast, too close. The car slid side to side, the road too wet and slippery. Louis had no control. His breath caught in his throat, his heart slamming against his ribs as he jerked the wheel to the left, but it was too late.

The impact was immediate, a deafening crash that tore through the air, the force of it ripping the steering wheel from Louis’ hands. The car spun out of control, metal screeching against metal, glass shattering, the world a chaotic blur of noise and fear.

All Louis and Harry could see now was the world turning sideways as the car tumbled over and over before finally coming to a halt. 

Louis barely registered the searing pain in his side, his thoughts consumed by a single, desperate scream.

“Abigail!”

Louis blinked, his vision blurring, his ears ringing. His chest felt like it was on fire, every breath a struggle. He tried to move, to turn, but his body refused to cooperate. Panic surged through him, a cold, unrelenting wave, as he realised he couldn’t hear Abigail’s cries anymore.

“Harry,” he croaked out, his voice barely a whisper. “Harry… Abigail…HARRY!”

But there was no answer, only the oppressive sound of rain, thick and suffocating. Louis forced his head to turn, his eyes searching through the haze. Why was everything so blurry? But all he could see was shattered glass and blood.

And then—nothing.

Darkness.

🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸

The Aftermath

Notes:

This chapter deals with the feelings of grief in the immediate aftermath of Abigail’s death

CHAPTER TWO

✨️ The Aftermath ✨️

‘ Grief never ends. But it does eventually change. Grief is a passage, not a place to stay. Grief is not a sign of weakness, nor a lack of faith.

It is the price you pay for loving someone.’

The house was eerily silent as they walked through the door, a heavy, suffocating quiet that neither of them dared to break. Louis barely registered the sound of the keys clattering onto the kitchen bench as they slipped from his trembling fingers. He paused momentarily, his thoughts grappling to comprehend the tumultuous array of emotions that were surging within him. The quiet was oppressive, pressing down on his chest, making it hard to breathe.

Across the room, Harry moved as if in a trance, his steps slow and heavy, like his body was being pulled down by an invisible weight. Louis watched, his heart aching, as Harry climbed the stairs slowly. He heard the bedroom door close with a soft click, a sound that felt too final, too real. Louis could only stand there, feeling another tear slip down his cheek, its warmth a stark contrast to the cold numbness he felt inside.

In the bedroom, Harry sat on the edge of the bed, his gaze locked onto the small pink urn cradled in his hands. His fingers traced the smooth surface, but the motion brought no comfort, only a fresh wave of agony that made his lip tremble uncontrollably. Hours had passed since the tears first began to fall, but the grief was as raw and overwhelming as ever, tearing through him with a relentless cruelty. His whole body trembled, but Harry didn’t seem to notice, too lost in the relentless cycle of memories and pain.

He hadn’t spoken in hours—not to Louis, not to the doctors, not even to his mother, Anne. The words felt trapped inside him, strangled by the grief that choked every breath. Instead, he curled up on the bed, pulling his knees to his chest, his body shaking as the doctor’s words echoed in his mind, cutting through him like a blade, shredding every happy memory he’d ever held.

“ I’m deeply sorry to have to tell you this. Despite our best efforts, the injuries your daughter sustained in the accident were too severe for her to overcome. The complications were simply too much for her fragile body. Unfortunately, she passed away not long ago.”

The pain was all-consuming, a darkness that seemed to seep into every corner of his being, leaving nothing but a hollow, aching emptiness.

Louis remained in the kitchen, feeling the distance between them growing with every second of silence. He wanted to reach out, to comfort Harry, to find some way to ease the unbearable sorrow that hung in the air like a thick fog. But the weight of his own grief held him back, pinning him in place, as the reality of their loss pressed down on him with crushing force.

Louis spent the night on the couch, staring at the ceiling, too exhausted to sleep, too heartbroken to move. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so powerless, so utterly lost in the face of something so enormous. He was afraid to close his eyes, terrified of what nightmares might come, and yet reality was a nightmare in itself.

He drifted in and out of a fitful sleep until the sound of Harry’s muffled sobs jolted him awake. His heart pounded in his chest as he scrambled to his feet, the dread in his stomach growing with each step as he followed the sound to Abigail’s nursery. When he reached the doorway, what he saw made his breath catch in his throat.

Harry was curled up on the floor, his back against the closet, rocking back and forth like a child, clutching one of Abigail’s tiny onesies to his chest. His face was a mess—eyes swollen and red from crying, cheeks stained with dried tears, and lips trembling as he pressed the fabric to his nose, inhaling deeply. He looked shattered, like the very essence of who he was had been ripped apart and scattered to the wind. When he noticed Louis standing there, their eyes locked, and for a moment, Louis could see the man he loved through the pain.

“I can still smell her, Lou,” Harry whispered, his voice breaking as fresh tears spilled down his cheeks.

Louis rushed to him, wrapping his arms around Harry, pulling him close. For the briefest of moments, Harry leaned into the comfort, letting Louis hold him, but it was over almost as soon as it began. Harry suddenly shoved Louis away, his grief turning to anger, wild and uncontained.

“Get out!” Harry’s voice was hoarse, torn from hours of crying and shouting.

“Harry, please.” Louis begged, his own voice trembling. “Don’t push me away, love, please, I—”

“I said GET OUT!” Harry roared, the sound so raw and broken it sent a jolt of pain straight through Louis’ chest.

Louis’ heart felt like it was shattering into a million pieces, the pain so intense he could hardly breathe. He had never seen Harry like this, and the hurt was so deep it ached in every breath, every thought, every single beat of his heart. He backed away slowly, his hands shaking, the tears he tried to hold back now falling freely.

When he reached the doorway, he hesitated, his hand hovering over the door handle. He closed the door but was then hit with a noise—the sharp, unmistakable sound of something smashing against the wall. Louis’ heart stopped, his body tensing as the sobs tore through him, his breath coming in short, painful gasps. He slid down the door, collapsing to the floor as he clutched his own chest, the pain unbearable and suffocating.

His mouth was so dry, his throat burning from the lack of water, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t think. He just sat there, crying uncontrollably, his body shaking with the force of his sobs. It felt like his world was crumbling around him, and he was powerless to stop it. The grief was too much, too overwhelming, and he felt like he was drowning in it.

Finally, with every ounce of strength he had left, Louis forced himself to his feet. He stumbled to the kitchen, his legs weak and unsteady. He gripped the edge of the sink with trembling hands, staring blankly at the water as it filled a cup. He took a sip, the cool liquid soothing his parched throat, but when he glanced to his right, his heart stopped.

There, in the drying rack, were two clean baby bottles.

Louis reached out, his hand shaking as he brushed his fingers against one of them, but the pain was too much, still new. He pulled his hand back as if it had been burned, the sight of the bottles bringing fresh tears to his eyes. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t face this reality, couldn’t bear the thought of a life without Abigail. The grief was suffocating, crushing him from the inside out, and he didn’t know how to survive it.

Louis sank to the floor again, his back against the kitchen cabinets, his head in his hands as he wept. The sobs came in waves, each one more powerful than the last, tearing through him with a force that left him gasping for air. He didn’t know how long he sat there, drowning in his own sorrow, but it felt like an eternity. He was lost in the darkness, with no way out, and the only thing he could do… was cry.

Louis felt like he was unravelling. His whole body ached to go back inside the room, to hold Harry and take away some of the unbearable pain, but the look in Harry’s eyes had cut him to the core. Harry’s words, laced with so much anger and grief, kept replaying in his mind. ‘ Get out, get out, get out.’ 

He hadn’t seen Harry like this—so lost, so unreachable—and it terrified him. But more than anything, it was the blame he saw in Harry’s eyes that haunted him. Louis could feel all of it.

The accident.

The loss.

The silent treatment at the hospital. 

Louis carried the guilt like a weight on his chest, a constant, crushing reminder of what he couldn’t undo.

🧸

Over the next few days, their home turned into a battlefield of silence and unspoken grief. Harry kept his distance, retreating into himself, barely saying a word. When he did speak, it was often with a sharpness that made Louis flinch. Harry’s tone was cold and cutting, and every snapped reply or dismissive glance felt like another nail in the coffin of their once-loving relationship. Louis tried to help, tried to be there, but every time he reached out, Harry pulled further away, the distance between them growing wider by the day.

Yet, beneath the anger, Louis could see glimpses of the Harry he knew—the one who was hurting just as much, who missed him, who needed him. Late at night, when the house was quiet and the darkness seemed to press in from all sides, Louis would catch Harry looking at him, the pain and longing in his eyes so intense it made Louis’ heart ache. But the moment never lasted. Harry would turn away, as if ashamed of the vulnerability, and the wall between them would go back up, stronger than before.

Louis wanted nothing more than to hold Harry, to tell him that he felt the same agony, the same pain. But every time he tried, the words got stuck in his throat, choked back by the fear of making things worse. He knew Harry blamed him, and Louis blamed himself too. How could he ask for forgiveness when he couldn’t forgive himself?

The tension between them grew, a constant undercurrent of pain and resentment that neither of them could escape. They tried to support each other, but the weight of the loss was too heavy, crushing the fragile attempts they made to reconnect. Every touch, every word was laced with the unbearable grief they shared, a grief that was slowly tearing them apart.

One night, Louis found Harry sitting on the edge of their bed, staring blankly at the wall, his shoulders slumped in defeat. Louis hesitated before sitting beside him, close but not touching. He could feel the distance between them, even though they were only inches apart. Louis took a deep breath, trying to summon the courage to speak.

“I miss you,” he finally whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I miss us.”

For a moment, Harry didn’t respond, his face a mask of pain and exhaustion. Then, without looking at Louis, he muttered, “I don’t know if we can get back to that, Lou. Not after… everything.”

The words felt like a punch to the gut, but Louis nodded, his throat tight. “I’m sorry, Harry. I’m so sorry for everything.”

Harry’s eyes flicked to him, and for the briefest moment, Louis thought he might reach out, might say something that could start to mend the rift between them. But instead, Harry looked away, his voice cold as he said, “It doesn’t change what happened.”

Louis felt his heart shatter all over again. He wanted to scream, to cry, to do anything to make Harry understand that he was suffering too, that they needed each other to survive this. But all he could do was nod, the tears he’d been holding back finally spilling over as he turned and left the room, the silence between them heavier than ever.

And so the days continued, a fragile dance of trying to support each other while the tension grew, the loss driving them further apart, even when they both longed to find their way back to one another.

🧸

The next day arrived, a heavy, oppressive cloud of grief hanging over their home. Louis had barely slept, the tension in the house too thick, too suffocating. He knew something had to give, but he wasn’t prepared for what was about to unfold.

The doorbell rang, and Louis moved to answer it, his heart heavy as he opened the door to find Jay and Anne standing there. Their faces were etched with concern and sadness, and Louis felt a fresh wave of guilt wash over him. Jay immediately pulled him into a hug, holding him tight as if trying to squeeze out some of the pain she knew he was carrying.

Anne was next, her eyes full of unshed tears as she embraced him.

“Can we have a minute?”

Louis nodded, unable to find the words to express how much he appreciated their presence, even if he felt like he didn’t deserve it. He stepped aside to let them in, noticing that Jay was holding something large, wrapped in brown paper. She caught his eye and gave him a small, sad smile.

“We brought you something; it isn’t much, but we thought you might value it,” she said softly. “I hope it might bring some comfort.”

And Louis knew that look from his mother. Why does he suddenly feel on edge?

Louis watched as she unwrapped the package, revealing a large framed photo of Abigail. It was a picture Jay had taken that night they visited, the night that God had so miserably taken their child. The sight of it hit him like a punch to the gut. Louis had his arm around Harry, who was cradling Abigail in his arms. Louis looked straight at Harry, scared, terrified, anxious even. But Harry’s eyes were glued to the photo, and although it hurt so much, Louis was grateful for the frame; it’s the only picture they have of the three of them. For a moment, it was like she was still there, her presence filling the room, and Louis felt those green eyes zoned in on him as if Harry was begging him to deal with it.

Jay carefully placed the frame on the mantle, her hands trembling slightly. Louis’ breath hitched, realising this felt eerily like something Harry specifically said he didn’t want to happen. Anne placed down a light pink ceramic memorial baby shoe, one she had made with Abigail’s name and ultrasound photo placed into it.

The weight of it all began to settle on him like a suffocating blanket. Jay, unaware of the internal struggle, turned to Louis, her eyes full of tears.

“I just thought… I thought it would help you both, to have something to remember her by, to say goodbye,” she said, her voice breaking. “To have her here with you, in some way.”

Louis swallowed hard, glancing towards the kitchen where Harry stood, his back to them, leaning against the counter. He hadn’t said a word since the moment they arrived. Louis could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he was gripping the edge of the counter as if it were the only thing holding him upright.

They all gathered around the table, Anne and Jay sitting down, their expressions somber.  But Harry lingered in the kitchen, not moving to join them. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken words, the air heavy with the kind of sadness that made it hard to breathe.

Anne, her voice trembling, finally broke the silence. “I’m so sorry for you both,” she said, her eyes brimming with tears. “I can’t imagine the pain you’re going through. I’m just… I’m so glad you have each other to lean on.”

Louis flinched at the words, his heart breaking all over again.

Anne got up from her chair, moving to hug Louis tightly. “I’m so sorry, Louis,” she whispered. “Is there anything either of us can do to help?”

Louis could only shrug his shoulders, his throat too tight to speak. But when Anne moved to hug Harry, Louis saw it—the intense, almost hateful stare that Harry directed at him. The room seemed to freeze, the air growing colder, heavier.

Anne pulled back from the hug, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. Jay, too, looked between the two of them, her face creased with worry. Harry finally spoke, but it was not what anyone was expecting.

“Help? Yeah, you can; you can both help by going home.”

“Harry!”

Louis couldn’t believe his ears. But then Harry gave him a look, a look that said, ‘Tell them.’

Louis’ eyes began to brim with tears, and he forced himself to meet Jay’s gaze.

“It’s all my fault,” Louis whispered, his voice barely audible but heavy with guilt. “I am so sorry.”

Anne and Jay exchanged confused glances. “What do you mean?” Jay asked, her voice soft but concerned.

Louis shook his head, tears spilling over. “Abigail… She would still be here if, if I hadn’t… fuck, I should have listened.”

Harry’s head snapped up, his eyes burning with that of pain and fury.

“Damn right you should have!” he spat back.

There it was—the beginning of what Louis had feared, yet somehow needed to hear. He could feel his own heart shattering, but he pressed on, needing this out in the open, and whether it was to allow Harry the release he needed or to confirm his own guilt, he still needed it.

“Say it, Harry!” Louis shouted, his voice trembling. “It’s my fault, isn’t it? If I had just listened to you and stayed home, then none of this would have happened. Say it!”

Jay reached out, her voice pleading. “Louis, no one thinks this is your—”

But Harry stepped forward, his face twisted with anger, making both Anne and Jay freeze in their tracks. 

“YOU ARE TO BLAME LOUIS! IF YOU HAD JUST LISTENED TO ME, OUR FUCKING DAUGHTER WOULD STILL BE ALIVE!”

The room went silent as Louis bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, trying to refrain from retaliating, because it’s not what he wanted to do. This man standing in front of him, heartbroken and utterly destroyed, was all bent up this way because of him, because of what he had done. Louis’ entire body started shaking with the force of Harry’s rage. He knew, deep down, that Harry was right. And that knowledge was killing him, piece by fucking piece.

Louis backed away slowly, his heart breaking with every step he took. He could barely see through the tears blurring his vision as he stumbled out of the room, his legs weak beneath him. He didn’t know where to go or what to do, so he just kept moving until he was out of sight, collapsing onto the couch as sobs wracked his body.

In the kitchen, Harry stood there, trembling with anger and grief, his fists clenched so tightly his nails drew blood. The silence that followed was inevitable, the weight of his words settling over everyone in the room. Anne and Jay exchanged worried glances, both of them realising, perhaps for the first time, the depth of the rift that had formed between their sons.

Louis’ cries echoed through the house, a heart breaking sound that tore at the very fabric of what remained between them. But neither Harry nor Louis moved to comfort each other, the chasm of guilt and grief too wide, too deep, for either of them to cross just yet.

🧸

It had been two weeks of unbearable silence. Not a single word exchanged between them, not even a fleeting glance. Louis had slipped into a routine, a monotonous cycle that felt foreign and disjointed, like a bad dream he couldn’t wake from. He went to work, came home, cleaned whatever he could get his hands on, and then retreated to the spare room to sleep, avoiding the cold emptiness of their once-shared bed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in their bed; in fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he had slept properly at all.

He had no idea what Harry did all day. Harry hadn’t returned to work, hadn’t even mentioned it. Some days, Louis wondered if Harry even left the house. There were moments, though, when Louis would hear the soft creak of the nursery door opening and closing, followed by the almost imperceptible sound of Harry’s footsteps as he moved about the room.

Sometimes, he’d hear the faint click of Harry’s bedroom door shutting quietly behind him, and then nothing. Just silence. Louis never followed the sound, never dared to approach the nursery or Harry’s bedroom. It was like their home had become a fragile shell, and one wrong move could shatter whatever remained between them.

He hated this. He hated every second of this aching distance that had sprung up between them. For seven years, they had navigated everything together, their lives intertwined in a way that seemed effortless and unbreakable. They had been the couple everyone envied, the ones who seemed to have it all figured out. They’d been partners in every sense of the word—best friends, lovers, and confidants. People used to tell them how lucky they were to have found each other, how rare it was to see a love so enduring, so steadfast. They had been perfect together, not in a superficial fairy-tale way, but in a way that was real and solid, built on years of shared dreams, hard work, and an unspoken understanding that they would always have each other’s backs. 

But now, that connection felt like a distant memory. Louis could hardly even catch a glimpse of Harry anymore, and when he did, it was as if he were looking at a stranger—a man he used to know but could no longer recognise. He couldn’t reconcile this version of Harry with the one he had built a life with, the one who used to make him laugh so hard his sides hurt, the one who held him close on stormy nights and whispered sweet nothings into his ear. Now, Harry seemed like a ghost, haunting the corners of their home, a lingering presence that Louis could feel but not touch.

The silence was the worst part. They had fought before, of course—they weren’t perfect, and they had their share of disagreements. But even their fights had a kind of rhythm to them, a give and take that always led back to understanding… to love . This silence, though, was something different. It wasn’t angry or loud; it was empty, like a void that had opened up between them, swallowing everything they once were. And Louis had no idea how to bridge it, how to reach Harry when he seemed so far away, so lost in his own grief.

He wanted to break the silence, to scream or cry or do anything that might bring Harry back to him. But every time he tried to find the words, he went blank. So, he stayed quiet, moving through his days like a shadow, wondering if this was it—if this was how they would end. He hated the thought, hated the idea that this silence, this unbearable stillness, could be the final chapter of their story.

🧸

Another three weeks had dragged by, the days blending into a continuous haze of silence and separation. Louis felt the ache of missing Harry deep in his bones, a persistent, gnawing pain that kept him awake at night and distracted him during the day. It was the kind of longing that clawed at his insides, leaving him feeling hollow and restless. He needed to see Harry, to hold him, to feel the familiar warmth of his body, and remind him how much he still loved him. They should be consoling each other, leaning on one another through this, but instead, they were like two ships passing in the night, caught in different currents, drifting further apart.

For the last hour, Louis had been listening to the sound of Harry crying from the other side of the house. He couldn’t see him, couldn’t reach him, but he could hear the faint, muffled sobs seeping through the walls, each one piercing his heart like a dagger. It was unbearable. He had been lying in the spare room, fists clenched, trying to convince himself to give Harry more time, to respect the space he seemed to need. But every tear-filled gasp he heard shattered his resolve a little more, until finally, he couldn’t take it anymore.

He swung his legs out of bed and padded down the hallway, each step heavy with the weight of his own grief and desperation. He knew this was risky. He knew he could be walking straight into another wall of silence or worse, but he couldn’t just lie there and listen to Harry fall apart anymore. Not when he was feeling just as broken.

After he made a small detour to the kitchen first, he finally reached Harry’s bedroom door, where he hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering just inches from the wood. He could still hear the soft sounds of Harry’s crying, and it broke something inside him. Swallowing hard, he finally raised his hand and knocked gently.

“Harry?” he called softly, his voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might cause the fragile connection to shatter. There was no response. Just the continued sound of Harry’s ragged breathing from the other side. Louis felt his heart sink a little more.

“I made you some coffee and some toast,” he added, trying to keep his voice steady, yet hopeful.

Coffee.

It was such a small thing, but it was also the only thing that hadn’t changed. Every morning, without fail, no matter how silent or distant Harry had been, there was always a steaming cup of coffee waiting for Louis on the kitchen table. It was there when his alarm went off, the first thing he smelled and saw every morning before work. He didn’t know when Harry had made it, or how he managed to slip out of his room to set it down without Louis catching a glimpse of him, but it was always there. It was a small comfort, a tiny thread of connection in the vast emptiness that had grown between them. If Harry could still do that, still care enough to make him coffee every morning, then maybe he didn’t hate him completely, right? Maybe there was still a chance.

But standing there now, outside Harry’s door with the coffee and toast in his hands, Louis felt that thread slipping away. He tried again, knocking a little harder this time.

“Harry, please. Just… let me in. We don’t have to talk; I just—I need to see you.”

There was a pause, a silence so thick it made Louis’ heart race. Then, finally, the soft creak of the door opened just a crack. Harry stood there, his eyes red and puffy, his face pale and drawn. He didn’t look like a man on the edge of breaking, because he had already broken, broke, and was barely holding himself together. 

Louis’ heart clenched at the sight.

‘This is my fault.’ Kept playing on loop in his mind.

For a brief moment, neither of them uttered a single word. They remained standing in their respective positions, their gazes locked upon one another, as the burden of everything unsaid hung between them, resembling a sombre cloud.

Louis could see the exhaustion in Harry’s eyes, the deep sadness that seemed to have taken root there. He wanted to reach out, to pull him into his arms and hold him until all the pain went away, but he didn’t know if Harry would let him.

“I… I thought maybe we could… go through some of Abigail’s things.” Louis said finally, his voice hesitant and unsure. “Pack them away, maybe. Together. I thought it might help. I don’t know, I just—”

Harry’s face contorted with pain, and Louis could see the flash of anger and hurt in his eyes, and fuck, now he realises he shouldn’t have said that.

“You thought that might help?” Harry repeated, his voice low and raw. “Help who, Louis? Me? Or your guilty conscience?”

Louis felt the sting of the words like a slap to the face. “No, I didn’t mean—”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Harry cut him off, his voice rising slightly. “You think packing away her things is going to make it better? Like it’s that simple? She’s gone, Louis. Do you hear me? SHE’S GONE! and putting her things in a box isn’t going to change that.”

Louis felt his chest tighten, the pain of Harry’s words cutting deep. “I know she’s gone, Harry,” he said softly, his voice trembling. “I know. I just… I thought it might help us… you know, to do it together. To try to, like, move forward, somehow.”

Harry shook his head, his expression one of frustration and disbelief. “You think I want to move forward? You think I’m ready for that? I can’t… I can’t just pack her away like she was some phase in our lives that’s over. I can’t.”

Louis took a step forward, reaching out a hand as if to touch Harry’s arm, but Harry flinched away, retreating back into the room.

“Harry, please… I’m not trying to rush you. I just… I miss you. I miss us. I don’t know how to do this without you.”

Harry looked down, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of his grief was too much to bear. “I don’t know how to do this at all,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. He looked up at Louis then, his eyes filled with a sadness so deep it was almost overwhelming. “I’m just… I’m so tired, Louis.”

Louis felt his heart break at the sight of Harry looking so lost, so defeated. He wanted to say something, anything to make it better, but he knew there were no words that could fix this, no magic phrase that could take away the pain. So he just stood there, silent and helpless, his own tears threatening to spill over.

Harry turned away then, stepping back further into the room as if Louis’ presence made him uncomfortable, and for a moment, Louis thought he was going to shut the door again, close himself off once more. But instead, Harry just stood there, his back to Louis, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

Louis took a cautious step closer, setting the coffee and toast down on the nearest surface. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what else to say; he was too scared to unintentionally cause any more pain. All he knew was that he needed to be there, needed to be close to Harry, even if he couldn’t reach him the way he wanted to.

He stood there for a long time, just watching Harry, his own heart aching with the need to comfort him, to take away his pain. But he knew that was impossible. All he could do was be there, a silent presence, hoping that maybe, somehow, it would be enough.

And then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, Harry spoke again, his voice a broken whisper. “I don’t hate you, Louis,” he said, his back still turned. “I just… I just want her back. I don’t know how to function without her.”

Louis felt a tear slip down his cheek, his own grief and love and helplessness washing over him. “Neither do I,” he whispered back, his voice choked with emotion. “But I know we can’t do this alone. We need each other, Harry. We always have.”

Like normal, Harry didn’t reply.

Louis knew better than to push any further. With a heavy heart, he slowly retreated to the doorway, cursing himself internally for always messing everything up. Every word he’d ever spoken had been misunderstood, and every attempt to reach out had always twisted into something unintended. Harry wouldn’t even look at him most times. 

Everything had gone to shit.

“I just want to help in any way I can. If I could take the pain away, H, I would; I would take it all. Please don’t shut me out.”

Harry didn’t respond, didn’t turn around, but he didn’t shut the door either when Louis walked away. And for now, that was enough. It HAD to be enough.

Their grief had twisted their once effortless communication into a minefield of misunderstandings and hurt. Louis, desperate to find a way back to each other, kept trying to bridge the widening gap with well-intentioned gestures, hoping they might bring some semblance of comfort or healing. But each attempt seemed only to deepen the divide. What Louis saw as a way to support and reconnect, Harry perceived as a disregard for his feelings—a rush to move past the pain he wasn’t ready to let go of. This disconnect only added to Harry’s frustration, making him feel even more isolated in his grief, while Louis felt like he was losing Harry all over again.

🧸

Over the next few days, the tension between Louis and Harry only intensified. It was as if they were living in two entirely different worlds under the same roof, each grappling with their pain in ways the other couldn’t understand.

Louis, needing to feel some semblance of control amid the chaos, began to throw himself into work with a fervour that bordered on desperation. He took on extra shifts, stayed late, and when he wasn’t at the office, he was at home scrubbing every inch of their already spotless house. His movements were mechanical, his face set in a tight mask of perseverance. He vacuumed, dusted, and polished until his hands were raw and his muscles ached, as if by sheer force he could cleanse their lives of the grief that now stained not only every corner of their home but his heart as well.

Harry, on the other hand, couldn’t bring himself to move. He sat in Abigail’s room for hours, sometimes just staring at the empty crib or the tiny clothes hanging in the closet. He would pick up one of her stuffed animals, clutching it to his chest as if it could somehow fill the hollow inside him. To Harry, every item, every scent in that room was a sacred reminder of their daughter—a part of her that he wasn’t ready to let go of. He saw Louis bustling around, cleaning, working, trying to erase every trace of their life before the accident, and it felt like a betrayal.

One evening, after hours of watching Louis rush around the house like a man possessed, Harry finally snapped.

“Can you just stop for a second?” he said, his voice doused with exhaustion and anger.

Louis paused, a cleaning cloth still in his hand, his face flushed with exertion.

“Stop what?” he asked, genuinely perplexed.

“This!” Harry gestured around the room.

“All of this! Acting like if you just clean enough or work enough, everything will go back to normal. Abigail …”

Harry paused and took a breath.

“You know what? Forget it. You doing all this, it’s not going to change anything, Louis.”

Louis flinched at Harry’s words, the pain cutting deep. “I’m not trying to change anything,” he replied, his voice tight. “I’m just trying to keep going. We can’t just sit here forever. I need to do something… anything, to not lose my mind.”

Harry shook his head, his eyes dark and tired. “And you think I don’t? You think sitting here, feeling like my heart is being ripped out every second, is something I want to do? But unlike you, I can’t just pretend it didn’t happen. I can’t just move on.”

“I’m not pretending it didn’t happen; fuck, that is not fair, Harry.” Louis shouted, the frustration bubbling over. “I’m just… trying to survive. We have to keep living. That’s what she would want.”

Harry’s face twisted with grief and anger. “Don’t tell me what she would want,” he said quietly. “What she would want would be to still be alive.” 

And well, that was a harsh reminder of how far apart they had drifted. Louis felt a wave of helplessness. “I just… Wow, ok… I don’t know what to do anymore,” he admitted, his voice breaking.

Harry’s eyes softened for a moment, but the pain was still there, sharp and unyielding. “Neither do I,” he whispered.

“But this… this isn’t it. We’re not even talking anymore, Harry. We’re not grieving together. It’s like we’re not on the same page, both stuck in different stages.”

Louis felt the sting of tears in his eyes. “I don’t care how much you lash out at me; if you need to, then do it, but I miss you, sweetheart; I really do,” he said, the words nothing more than a mere whisper.

Harry looked away, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his sorrow. “I miss you too,” he replied, but his tone was too distant, as if the words were coming from somewhere far away, and unfortunately Louis didn’t hear it.

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with all the things they wanted to say but just couldn’t. They were both trapped in their grief, in their own ways, unable to reach each other across the chasm that had opened between them. Louis wanted nothing more than to make him understand that he wasn’t trying to erase Abigail from their lives—he was just trying to find a way to live without her. But the words wouldn’t come.

And Harry, lost in his own pain, couldn’t see past the frantic way Louis was moving forward, mistaking his coping mechanism for a desire to forget. He wanted to tell Louis that he wasn’t trying to wallow, that he was just trying to hold on to the last pieces of their daughter he had left, but he didn’t know how to say it without feeling like a fool.

So, they stood there, two people in the same room but worlds apart, each grieving in their own way—lost and alone, even when they were side by side. But how much longer could this heartache go on before it became unbearable? Before one of them decides they can’t live like this any longer?

🧸

Louis stood outside the bedroom door, listening to the sound of the ensuite shower running. It was the first time he had heard it in days, and despite everything, it gave him a small glimmer of hope. The last time he had the opportunity to see Harry properly was three or four days ago, but it was difficult to be certain as the days all seem to roll into one. His hair had been greasy, and dark circles had formed under his eyes. He had looked worn down, lost in a fog of grief that seemed impossible to penetrate. Hearing the water now, Louis dared to believe that maybe, just maybe, Harry was beginning to take care of himself again.

Louis took a deep breath and turned the handle. As he entered, he was immediately struck by the stale air. The curtains were drawn tight, blocking out the light, and the bed was unmade, sheets tangled and bunched, as if it hadn’t been touched in weeks. There was a faint odour, something sour and unidentifiable, that made his stomach churn.

He hesitated for a moment, then moved to the window and pulled back the curtains, letting in a flood of light. The brightness was almost blinding, and he could see the dust motes floating about. He unlatched the window and pushed it open, letting in a burst of fresh air. The cool breeze was a relief, and he breathed it in deeply, feeling it cut through the heaviness in his chest.

The room was a mess. Clothes were scattered across the floor, mingling with empty bags of crisps and chocolate wrappers. Louis bent down, picking up a pair of Harry’s jeans, and tossed them into the laundry basket. He gathered up the discarded clothes, folding some and setting others aside to be washed. As he worked, he spotted a pile of tissues on the nightstand and in the corners of the room, crumpled and tossed haphazardly. He gathered them all, his hands moving with a sort of automatic efficiency, even as his heart ached.

At least Harry’s been eating, Louis thought, a small, bitter comfort. He cleared the food packaging away, picking up an empty glass and a few dirty dishes that had been left on the bedside table. He worked quickly, trying to bring some semblance of order to the chaos. As he straightened up, his eyes were drawn to the urn sitting on Harry’s side of the bed.

The sight of it made his breath catch in his throat. It was simple, unadorned—a small, pink urn with a tiny engraved heart.

Abigail . 

His fingers trembled as he reached out to touch it, brushing against the cold metal. He closed his eyes, his heart aching with a pain that had not dulled, not even slightly, in all this time. Silently, he prayed, begging whatever gods might be listening to turn back time, to give them another chance to hold her, to love her.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t hear the shower stop, didn’t notice the sound of the bathroom door opening. He was pulled back to the present by the sound of Harry’s voice, low and sharp.

“Don’t touch her.”

Louis froze, his hand still resting on the urn. He could hear the tension in Harry’s voice, the thinly veiled anger. He didn’t respond, didn’t move. His fingers lingered there, almost as if touching it could bring some sort of comfort, some connection to the daughter they had lost.

“I said, don’t touch it!” Harry’s voice was louder this time, more insistent.

Louis sighed softly, finally lowering his hand. He felt Harry’s presence behind him before he saw him—felt the warmth of his skin, the dampness still clinging to his body from the shower. Harry’s hand came down on his shoulder, a firm grip that sent a jolt through Louis. He hadn’t felt Harry’s touch in what felt like an eternity, and now it burned through him, both a comfort and a cruel reminder of all that they had lost.

The joyous moments, the smiles, the laughter, the tranquillity, their beautiful daughter, and now, it appears that their marriage may also be in jeopardy.

Harry guided him to turn around, his grip still firm, and Louis found himself face to face with his husband. Harry’s eyes were red-rimmed, his face drawn with exhaustion. But it was the look in his eyes that struck Louis the most—the mix of anger, grief, and something else, something softer, hidden deep beneath the surface.

Louis’ own eyes filled with tears, a few spilling over and trailing down his cheeks. For a moment, he thought he saw Harry’s expression soften, thought he saw the man he loved reaching out to him, ready to offer some small comfort. But it didn’t come. Harry’s face hardened again, his jaw clenching.

Louis’ lip trembled, his voice barely a whisper. “I am so sorry, love. Fuck, I am so sorry,” he said, his heart breaking with every word. He took a risk, a desperate leap, and leaned forward, wrapping his arms around him. For a brief moment, he felt Harry’s body stiffen against him, cold and unyielding, but then he felt it, the lightest touch, Harry’s hands, barely resting on his back.

God, he had missed this. Missed the feel of Harry’s skin against his, missed the way his touch could soothe even the deepest wounds. Louis closed his eyes, leaning into the embrace, trying to will Harry to hold him tighter, to let this be the beginning of something, of anything.

But then Harry’s voice cut through the silence, cold and detached.

“I need to get dressed.”

Louis’ eyes snapped open, the words slicing through him. He pulled back, his arms falling to his sides, feeling the sting of rejection, another slap to the face. Harry stepped away, his expression closed off and guarded. He turned towards the dresser, reaching for a pair of pants, leaving Louis standing there, feeling more alone than ever.

The brief moment of connection they’d shared was gone, replaced by the same walls of grief and blame that had kept them apart for so long. Louis turned away, wiping the tears from his cheeks, his heart aching with a longing that felt like it would never end.

And Harry, with his back turned, fought to keep his own tears at bay, his hands shaking as he dressed. The room was silent once more, the fragile peace they’d almost found shattered by the weight of their loss.

Their love still lingered, buried somewhere beneath the surface, but every attempt to reach it seemed destined to end the same way—in pain, in anger, in the unbearable silence that had become their constant companion.

They say that grief comes in two stages. The first being loss, where you grieve. And the second is the remaking of life, where you move on. 

Louis was starting to think that part two was never gonna be within Harry’s reach.

But what about Louis’?

🧸

Louis gripped the steering wheel tightly as he drove down the dark, winding road towards their house. The rhythmic hum of the car engine was usually a comfort after a long day, but tonight, it only added to the emptiness he felt. The radio was off; he couldn’t bear to listen to any more sad songs. His thoughts were louder than any music anyway, a constant, torturous loop of memories and regrets.

He passed the familiar street signs and landmarks, each one drawing him closer to the house he once loved, the home he and Harry had built together. But now, the thought of stepping inside felt torturous. A home that had once been filled with laughter, with the sound of Abigail’s soft coos and Harry’s warm voice, now felt cold and silent, a shell of what it had once been.

He didn’t realise he was crying until he felt the tears slide down his cheeks, blurring his vision. He blinked them away, sniffling as he approached a McDonald’s on the side of the road. Without really thinking, he pulled into the parking lot, the bright, fluorescent lights casting a harsh glow over the dashboard. He wasn’t hungry—he hadn’t been hungry in weeks. But he needed to stop. He needed to breathe.

Louis put the car in park and leaned back in his seat, his hands shaking as he wiped his face. He glanced at the golden arches through the windscreen, their cheerful glow mocking him. He couldn’t bear the thought of going home yet, not when the house was so empty, not when every corner reminded him of what they’d lost. If you’d told him seven years ago that he’d ever dread being around Harry, he would have laughed in your face. Harry was his person, his love, his forever. But now…everything was different.

He took a deep breath, then reached for his phone, his fingers trembling as he scrolled through his contacts. There was only one person he felt he could rely on now, the only one who could understand the depth of his pain without judgement. He pressed the call button and put the phone to his ear, closing his eyes as he waited.

After a few rings, a familiar voice answered, warm and comforting.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hi, Mum.” Louis managed to say.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, a moment of silence that seemed to stretch on forever. Then, Jay’s voice came through, soft and concerned.

“Louis? What’s going on?”

That was all it took. The dam broke, and Louis felt himself shatter. He let out a sob, one so deep it shook his entire body. The phone slipped from his grip, landing on the passenger seat as he buried his face in his hands, his shoulders heaving with the force of his grief.

He could hear his mother’s voice through the speaker, gentle and soothing. 

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s okay. Let it out. I’m here.”

He tried to speak, but he couldn’t, choked by the tears that flowed freely down his cheeks. He felt like he was drowning, suffocating under the weight of his own sorrow. 

“I—I don’t know what to do, Mum,” he finally managed to say between sobs. “I feel so lost.”

Jay’s voice was steady, unwavering. 

“I know, darling. I know. Losing a child is not easy. It’s the hardest thing a parent can go through. But you’re not alone. I’m here with you, always.”

Louis cried harder at her words, his heart breaking all over again.

“It’s not just Abigail,” he said, his voice breaking. “I feel like I’m losing Harry too. He’s so… distant. It’s like he’s not even here anymore. I don’t know how to reach him. I don’t know how to help him.”

Jay listened patiently, her heart aching for her son. She knew the pain of losing a child; she had lost her own once, many years ago.

“Honey, whatever tears you apart, just, don’t let it break your heart,” she said softly. “Time takes time to heal. Be brave, my love. Be strong. I know it’s easier said than done, but you have to keep going, for yourself and for Harry.”

Louis wiped his nose on his sleeve, trying to steady his breathing.

“I’m trying, Mum. I really am. But I don’t know if I’m strong enough.”

Jay’s voice was firm, yet full of love.

“You are, Louis. You’re stronger than you think. And you have to remember, Harry is hurting too. Probably in ways you can’t even imagine. When you carry a child, the impact hits a little harder. Even though Abigail is gone, Harry’s body still remembers. He’s got stretch marks and other little reminders that you don’t. He might still feel her kicks inside his belly or remember how he sat with her every night. Every little memory is overwhelming him.”

Louis closed his eyes, a fresh wave of tears spilling down his cheeks. He hadn’t thought of that, hadn’t considered how much harder it might be for Harry, carrying those physical reminders of the life they lost.

“I never thought about it that way,” he whispered. “I just… I feel like he is slipping further away each day. I miss him, Mum. I miss him so much.”

“I know you do, love.” Jay replied softly. “But don’t give up on him. Don’t give up on your husband. He’s still in there, still hurting, just like you. You have to keep fighting for each other, no matter how hard it gets. I really think Harry needs some sort of closure.”

Louis nodded, though he knew she couldn’t see him.

“Thank you, Mum. Thank you for listening.”

“Always, sweetheart,” she said. “I’m here whenever you need me.”

They said their goodbyes, and Louis hung up, setting the phone down on the seat beside him. He took a deep breath, wiping the tears from his face. His mother’s words echoed in his mind, filling him with a renewed sense of determination. He had to keep trying. For Abigail. For Harry. For their love.

He started the car and pulled out of the McDonald’s parking lot, his mind set. As he drove home, he felt a flicker of hope, a small spark of resolve. He would try to talk to Harry tonight, try to reach him yet again, to bridge the gap that had grown between them.

But as he turned onto their street, something felt off. The house looked darker than usual, the porch light off. His heart began to race, a sense of unease settling in his stomach. As he pulled into the driveway, his breath caught in his throat. Harry’s car wasn’t in the garage.

Louis sat there for a moment, staring at the empty space where Harry’s car should have been. A chill ran through him, and his hands tightened on the steering wheel. He had no idea where he might have gone.

Where was Harry?

He fumbled for his phone, his hands shaking as he dialled Harry’s number. It rang and rang, but there was no answer.

“Please, Harry,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “C’mon, answer.”

🧸

Louis tried to stay calm as he moved around the kitchen, but his mind was a whirl of worry. He kept telling himself not to think the worst, that Harry was probably just out for a drive to clear his head or maybe running an errand he’d forgotten about. But as the minutes turned into hours, it became harder to believe his own reassurances. The clock on the wall seemed to tick louder with each passing moment, each second adding to the gnawing anxiety in his chest.

To pass the time, he decided to make dinner, pulling the last of the chicken from the fridge. The cold meat stung his fingers as he sliced it, his movements mechanical. Cooking had always been a shared joy between him and Harry, a way to connect, to laugh, to forget about the outside world. But now, it was just another task, a way to fill the silence.

He went out to the garden while the chicken cooked. The flowers were in full bloom, their bright colours a stark contrast to the darkness that had settled in his heart. He picked a small bouquet, hoping the sight of them might bring a flicker of light back into Harry’s eyes. As he arranged them in a vase on the dining table, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia for the days when small gestures like this would normally make Harry smile.

But as the evening wore on, there was still no sign of Harry. Louis sat on the couch, a plate of now-cold chicken and vegetables untouched beside him. He flipped through channels on the TV, settling on some documentary about Wall Street he had no interest in. The words blurred together, the images passing without meaning. He wasn’t really watching, just staring, lost in his thoughts, his phone lying silent on the cushion next to him.

When he finally heard the front door unlock, it was nearly midnight. He jumped up, his heart leaping in his chest, a mixture of relief and anxiety coursing through him. Harry walked in holding two bags of groceries, his face drawn and pale. He looked terrible. Louis could see the redness around his eyes, the way his shoulders slumped as if carrying an invisible weight. It was clear he had been crying, and something about the way he carried those bags—almost like a shield—made Louis certain they were just a cover for wherever he’d really been.

“You okay?” Louis asked softly, stepping toward him. “I’ve been worried about you. You never answered my calls.”

Harry didn’t meet his eyes, moving straight to the kitchen counter to start unpacking the bags. “Been at the shops,” he mumbled, pulling out a carton of milk, a loaf of bread, some crackers, and cheese. Just the basics, nothing that would explain why he’d been gone so long. “Left my phone behind. It’s on silent.”

Louis didn’t believe him. He stood up, moving closer, his eyes never leaving Harry’s face. He could see the lie in the way Harry’s hands trembled slightly as he unpacked, the way he avoided looking at him. “The shops?” Louis repeated, his voice quiet but filled with disbelief. “It wouldn’t have taken you this long just to get that.”

Harry still didn’t look at him. “Yeah, well,” he muttered, “If you don’t believe me, then so be it.”

Louis could feel frustration bubbling up inside him. He didn’t want to fight, not now, not after the day he’d had, but he was so tired of all the half-truths, the way Harry kept shutting him out. “Harry,” he said softly, stepping forward, his hand reaching out to gently touch his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

It was then Harry finally looked up, his eyes sweeping the room as if noticing it for the first time. He saw the dinner laid out on the table, the vase of fresh flowers in the centre, the small attempts Louis had made to try and cheer him up. Louis held his breath, watching Harry closely, unsure of what would happen next.

For a long moment, they just stood there. Then, slowly, Harry’s expression softened, and he leaned forward, collapsing into Louis’ chest. Louis caught him, wrapping his arms around him tightly, holding him as if his life depended on it. He could feel Harry’s tears soaking through his shirt. Louis held him tighter, closing his eyes, trying to absorb some of his pain, to share in it, to let him know he wasn’t alone.

But something was different. Harry’s body felt stiff against his, his arms hanging limply at his sides again. The embrace didn’t feel like it used to; it didn’t feel right. It was as if Harry was holding back, keeping a part of himself distant, even now. And then, just as quickly as it had started, Harry pulled back, his face still wet with tears, but his expression closed off again.

“Thank you for dinner,” he said quietly, his voice flat and emotionless. “But I’m not really hungry.”

Before Louis could say anything, Harry turned and walked away, disappearing into the bedroom, leaving Louis standing there in the dimly lit kitchen, his arms still outstretched as if reaching for something he could no longer grasp.

Louis felt his chest tighten, a familiar ache spreading through him as he watched Harry go. The sight of the untouched dinner on the table, the flowers already wilting in the vase, kind of like his marriage he thought to himself, it made his heart sink even further. He had tried so hard to reach out to him, to break through the wall Harry had built around himself, but it felt like every step forward only resulted in two steps back.

He listened to the sound of Harry’s footsteps retreating down the hall, the door closing softly behind him. The house was silent again, which meant Louis was back to square one.

He glanced at the dinner table, at the plate of cold chicken and vegetables he had carefully prepared, and felt a lump form in his throat. It wasn’t just about the food, or the flowers, or the hours he’d spent waiting. It was about Harry. It was about losing him, inch by inch, day by day, and not knowing how to stop it.

He sighed, his shoulders sagging as he moved to clean up the untouched meal. He knew Harry was hurting, knew he was grieving in his own way, but he didn’t know how much more he could take. Every moment of tenderness turned sour, every small connection quickly severed—it was tearing him apart.

He cleared the table in silence, his movements slow and deliberate. The documentary on the television droned on in the background, but he couldn’t focus on it, couldn’t think of anything except the way Harry had looked at him, the way he had pulled away, the emptiness in his eyes.

When he finally finished, he turned off the lights and made his way to the bedroom, pausing outside the door. He could hear the faint sound of Harry moving around inside and could picture him lying there, staring at the ceiling, lost in his own thoughts.

He leaned his forehead against the door, closed his eyes, and whispered into the darkness, “I’m right here.”

But there was no reply, only the quiet sound of his own breathing and the cold, empty silence of the house.

🧸

Louis stood at the kitchen sink, staring blankly out the window at the overcast sky. The dull, grey clouds matched his mood perfectly. He absentmindedly wiped his hands on a dish towel, trying to shake off the numbness that had settled over him like a heavy blanket. The house was too quiet, the kind of silence that made every small sound echo, amplifying the emptiness he felt inside.

He heard a car pull up outside and glanced out to see his mother, Jay, stepping out of her car. She moved quickly, her expression set with purpose. Louis felt a surge of mixed emotions—relief at seeing her again, but also a prickling dread. He knew why she was here. Their phone call the other day had been heavy, full of tears and confessions, and he had no doubt she was coming to check on him.

The doorbell rang, and Louis took a deep breath before opening the door. Jay smiled softly at him, her eyes full of warmth and concern. “Hi, darling,” she said gently, reaching up to cup his cheek with her hand. He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes for a moment, savouring the comfort it brought.

“Hi, Mum,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. He stepped aside to let her in, and they moved into the living room. The familiar scent of her perfume, a mix of jasmine and vanilla, filled the space, bringing a small measure of comfort to the otherwise stifling atmosphere.

Jay glanced around the room, taking in the clutter that had accumulated—a stark contrast to the once neat and tidy home, because Louis had stopped cleaning; he was giving up too. She turned back to Louis, her expression softening. “I just wanted to check on you, love,” she said quietly. “How are things going?”

Louis sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. He felt the weight of her question settle heavily on his shoulders. “Not great,” he admitted, his voice cracking slightly. “I feel like… I feel like our marriage is falling apart. I don’t know what to do anymore. Harry… it’s like he’s given up on us.”

Jay frowned, her brow furrowing in concern. She reached out, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it gently. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” she said softly. “I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you. Maybe… maybe it might be beneficial if you both considered counselling? Just to have someone to talk to, to help you navigate through this?”

Louis hummed in agreement, a tired smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Maybe,” he murmured, more to himself than to her. He leaned in, wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug, burying his face in her shoulder. “Thanks for being here, Mum,” he whispered. He kissed her cheek softly before letting her go.

Jay gave him a final reassuring squeeze before turning to leave. As she walked to the door, she paused, glancing back at him. “Don’t give up, Louis. You both loved Abigail so much. Hold on to that love. It’s still there, somewhere.” She smiled sadly and then slipped out the door, leaving Louis standing alone in the hallway.

He watched her car drive away, the taillights fading into the distance. He turned away from the door, heading back into the house, when Harry’s voice suddenly cut through the silence.

“You think I’ve given up?” Harry’s tone was sharp, almost accusing. Louis turned to see Harry standing at the foot of the stairs, his expression a mix of anger and hurt.

Louis blinked, caught off guard by the sudden confrontation. “Harry, I—” he started, but Harry cut him off.

“You told your mum I’ve given up on us? That’s what you think?” Harry’s voice was low, but there was a dangerous edge to it.

Louis felt his frustration rising. “What was I supposed to say, Harry?” he shot back, his own voice growing louder. “You barely talk to me anymore. You avoid me; you hide in the bedroom or disappear for hours. What am I supposed to think?”

Harry’s jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “Oh okay, sorry for missing my daughter, who was cruelly taken from me,” he said through gritted teeth. “You act like you’re the only one who’s hurting.”

“I’m not saying that. When have I ever said  that?  Louis replied, his voice wavering. “But you act like I’m not grieving at all! Like I don’t miss her every single day, every single moment.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed, his face flushing with anger. “You think I don’t see you walking around here like a ghost, pretending everything’s fine?”

Louis felt a surge of anger because he felt like he was stuck on a record player, same conversations, same accusations, round and fucking round. “I’m not pretending anything,” he snapped. “I’m just trying to hold it together, trying to keep us from falling apart. But it feels like I’m the only one trying here!”

Harry’s face turned sour.

“You think this is easy for me?” he shouted. “You think I don’t feel the same pain? The same loss? I miss you.

Louis stared at him, his own eyes filling with tears. “Then why do you push me away?” he whispered. “Why do you shut me out?”

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. He looked away, his expression hardening. “Maybe because it’s easier,” he muttered, more to himself than to Louis. “Maybe because every time I look at you, all I see is… is…”

He trailed off, his voice breaking. Louis felt his heart tear just that little bit more. “All you see is what?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

Harry didn’t answer. He turned away, moving back toward the stairs, his shoulders slumped. Louis watched him go, feeling a mix of anger and sadness wash over him.

As Harry disappeared up the stairs, Louis sank down onto the bottom step, burying his face in his hands. He knew Harry was hurting deeply, knew he was struggling, but he didn’t know how to pull him back from the edge.

His mother was right. Counselling was all that was left.

Or was it?

Upstairs, Harry stood at the top of the stairs, just out of sight. He had heard every word between Jay and Louis earlier. He felt a cold, hollow ache in his heart. He felt utterly lost, or perhaps he was too trapped in a cycle of heartache, anger, and blame to realise how far he was pushing his husband away, or was that his intention all along?

So he stayed hidden, listening to the sound of Louis crying, his own heart breaking a little more with every tear that fell. And that, more than anything, terrified him—the realisation that he was too scared, too broken, to even try to fix what had been shattered between them. Maybe Louis was right after all. Had he given up?

🧸

Louis sat hunched over at the bar, his fingers loosely wrapped around a tumbler of whiskey.  He swirled the liquid, staring into it like it held the answers to all the questions plaguing his mind. The bar was comforting, with the hum of low conversations and the occasional clink of glassware filling the background. It was a Friday night, and the place was packed with people seeking refuge from their own problems, but all Louis could think about was Harry—his silence, his coldness, the widening gap between them that felt impossible to bridge. He pulled out his phone, the screen casting a pale glow on his tired face, and typed out a message with trembling fingers.

“I think we should see a therapist,” he wrote, his thumb hovering over the send button for a moment before he pressed it. He stared at the screen, waiting, hoping for some kind of reply. Any reply. But the minutes ticked by, and there was nothing. Not a single response. He felt a surge of frustration bubbling up inside him, mixing with the alcohol in his system. He slammed the glass down on the bar, startling the bartender, who shot him a wary glance.

“Another.” Louis demanded, holding up his empty glass. The bartender obliged, pouring another generous measure, and Louis downed it in one go. He knew he should stop, knew he was already too far gone, but he didn’t care. He wanted to drown out the thoughts, the pain, the endless loop of grief and guilt that played on repeat in his mind.

By the time Louis finally rolled out of the bar, it was 1:32a.m. He was drunk, but not so drunk that he couldn’t walk or think semi-properly. He had enough sense to leave his car in the pub’s parking lot, already dreading the Uber ride back tomorrow to retrieve it. But tonight, he needed to walk. The cool night air hit him as he staggered down the sidewalk, pulling his jacket tighter around himself, shivering as he made his way home.

When he reached his front door, he fumbled with the keys before finally managing to unlock it. As he stepped inside, the familiar scent of their home enveloped him—a mix of dirty dishes, a hint of leftover takeout, and something else, something that smelt like memories. He locked the door behind him, his movements slow and unsteady, and headed straight for the kitchen.

As he poured himself a glass of water, he heard a voice behind him, sharp and cold.

“Therapist?” Harry’s voice cut through the silence like a knife.

Louis didn’t turn around. He took a long sip of water, letting it cool his burning throat. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice hoarse. He could feel Harry’s eyes on him, piercing and judging.

“Drunk too, awesome.” Harry said, a note of disdain in his voice. “Why am I not surprised?”

Louis ignored the jab, though it stung more than he cared to admit. It wasn’t hard to tell he was drunk. His clothes were wrinkled, his hair dishevelled, and he reeked of liquor and cigarette smoke—a habit he’d picked up again recently, much to Harry’s disapproval.

Harry stepped closer, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression hard.

“You think a therapist is going to fix this?” he asked, his tone biting. “You think that’s going to solve everything?”

Louis turned to face him, his eyes narrowed. “I think it might help,” he said evenly, trying to keep his voice steady. “We’re not handling this well, Harry. We’re not handling each other well.”

Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes. “So, you think we should just sit in a room with some stranger and spill our guts, correct? Talk about our feelings like it’s going to magically make everything better?”

“It’s not about magic.” Louis shot back, his frustration growing. “It’s about trying to understand each other, about not letting this…This thing tears us apart.”

Harry’s eyes flashed with anger. “So you think I’m handling things wrong, is that it? You think I’m the one who’s broken and needs fixing?”

Louis shook his head, feeling his patience slipping away. “No, that’s not what I’m saying at all. I’m saying we both need help. We both need to talk about this, to deal with it.”

“Or just pretend it’s not there.”

Louis laughed, but there was no humour in it. “Pretending it’s not there? You are still going on about that.” He stepped closer, his face inches from Louis’.

“You think I don’t still hear her little cry at night, even when it’s not really there? That I don’t see her face every time I close my eyes? How do you ‘pretend’ that H, tell me, go ahead, please enlighten me?

Harry’s heart ached at the sincere pain in Louis’ voice, but he stood his ground and kept up those high walls. “I hear her too, Louis,” he whispered. 

“But this… this bullshit isn’t helping, Harry. The way we’re going, it’s just making everything worse.”

Harry glared at him, his jaw clenched. “And yet you think a therapist is going to fix that! When have you ever liked the idea of a therapist! You think talking about it is going to make it all go away?”

Louis felt his anger flare. “No, but it’s a start!” he snapped. “It’s a hell of a lot better than what we’re doing now, which is tearing each other apart.”

Harry’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowing. “Oh, I see,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “This isn’t even your idea, is it? This is your mum’s idea. She thought it would be good for us, didn’t she? Don’t pretend you thought of that to try and make yourself look better, Louis. Counselling…yeah, like that’s gonna bring her back.”

Louis felt something snap inside him, a dam breaking that released a torrent of pent-up frustration and pain.

“NOTHING IS GOING TO BRING HER BACK, HARRY!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the room. “AND WHEN YOU FINALLY BEGIN TO UNDERSTAND THAT, THEN MAYBE YOU WILL BEGIN TO FUCKING HEAL! BUT UNTIL THEN, STOP ACTING LIKE YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE IN PAIN. SHE WAS MY DAUGHTER TOO!”

The silence that followed was deafening. Harry stared at him, his face pale, his eyes wide with shock. For a moment, neither of them moved, the weight of Louis’ words hanging heavy in the air between them. Louis’ chest heaved with emotion. He could see the hurt in Harry’s eyes, the way his words had cut deep, but he couldn’t bring himself to take them back. He had come to a dead end. He has had enough of all this. 

Harry finally broke the silence.

“I… I can’t do this right now.” He said, turning away, his shoulders slumped.

He walked out of the kitchen, leaving Louis standing there, alone, the echo of his own words ringing in his ears.

Louis felt his legs give way, and he sank to the floor, his back against the cabinets. He buried his face in his hands, the tears coming hard and fast now. He didn’t know how they’d gotten here, to this place of pain, anger, and bitterness, but he knew one thing for sure—they couldn’t stay here. Something had to change; something had to give, or they’d both drown in this sea of grief.

“I can’t do this at all anymore.” He whispered softly to himself.

Louis didn’t know what he was doing. He couldn’t think straight, couldn’t see through the blur of alcohol and anger clouding his mind. All he knew was that he needed to get out of there—out of that house, out of the suffocating silence that filled every room. He needed air. 

He stormed into the bedroom, his movements frantic as he grabbed a jacket from the closet. He could feel the anger boiling over, hot and sharp, and he needed to escape before he did something he’d regret. With the jacket clenched in his hand, he marched back down the hall and yanked the front door open, stepping out into the cold night. He didn’t bother looking back as he slammed the door shut behind him, the sound echoing in the quiet neighbourhood. It wasn’t just a slam—it was a statement, a cry of frustration, of having had enough.

The cool air hit against his flushed face, and Louis welcomed it wholeheartedly. It was sobering, a sharp contrast to the heat of his anger and the dull buzz of alcohol still coursing through his veins. He walked quickly at first, his steps fuelled by rage, but as the adrenaline began to fade, he slowed. He didn’t know where he was going—he just walked. He walked and walked, his feet hitting the pavement in a steady rhythm that matched the pounding in his head. The streets were quiet and empty; the only sound was the soft whisper of his footsteps.

He had no idea how long he’d been walking. Time seemed to stretch and blur together, the minutes feeling like hours. Eventually, he found himself at a small playground, the kind that was tucked away in the middle of a sleepy suburb. He hadn’t been here in years—hadn’t even thought about it—but his feet had led him here, as if they knew something he didn’t.

Louis walked over to the swings, his movements slow and heavy, like he was wading through water. He sank down onto one of them, his hands gripping the cold metal chains. He didn’t move. He just sat there, staring at the ground, his feet kicking idly at the wood chippings. The grains scattered beneath his shoes, tiny pieces of the world falling apart.

His mind was racing, thoughts tumbling over each other in a chaotic mess. He felt the weight of everything pressing down on him—the grief, the guilt, the anger. It was too much. He couldn’t carry it all, couldn’t hold it together any longer. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he blinked them back, refusing to let them fall. He was so damn tired. Tired of fighting and tired of feeling like he was losing everything that ever mattered.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, lost in his own head. Hours passed, the world slowly shifting from night to dawn. He watched as the sky began to change, the dark blue giving way to soft hues of pink and orange. He watched as the first light of the new day crept over the horizon, painting the playground in a gentle glow.

Louis felt a shiver run through him, the cool morning air biting against his skin. He pulled his jacket tighter around himself, but it didn’t help. He felt cold, deep down in his bones. He’d never felt so alone, so utterly lost. He thought of Harry back at the house, and his heart twisted painfully in his chest. How had they gotten here? How had everything gone so wrong?

He didn’t have any answers. All he knew was that he couldn’t go on like this. He needed things at home to change; he needed Harry to want to change. But as he sat there, watching the sun rise over the empty playground, he felt a deep, aching uncertainty settle in his chest. He didn’t know if they could find their way back to each other, didn’t know if they even wanted the same things anymore.

As the first rays of sunlight warmed his face, Louis let out a long, shaky breath. He felt drained and hollowed out. But beneath all the exhaustion and despair, there was still a small flicker of something—something that felt like hope. Or maybe it was just desperation. He wasn’t sure anymore.

But as the day began anew, Louis knew one thing: he couldn’t sit here forever. He needed to face whatever was waiting for him back at the house, even if he didn’t know how to fix it. He needed to try. He stood up slowly, his legs stiff from the hours of sitting, and began the long walk back home.

He had one last idea up his sleeve, and he knew it was a terrible one. But honestly, he no longer cared what Harry might think about it. Louis wanted this—no, he needed it.

Someone once said, ‘In grief, the only way out of it… is through it.’ Louis is clinging to that hope because he knows there are only two possible outcomes to what he’s about to do: either Harry will hate him at first but come to thank him later, or this will be the end of their marriage.

Louis knows this is it—it’s make or break.

🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸

The Letter

Notes:

This chapter includes a memorial for Abigail.

CHAPTER 3

✨️ The Letter ✨️

‘ Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.’

Louis stood in front of the mirror, straightening the collar of his shirt for what felt like the hundredth time. He had chosen a simple, dark button-up—one he knew Abigail would have liked if she’d ever gotten the chance to grow up and see it. He ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath as he stared at his reflection. His eyes were puffy from lack of sleep, his face drawn and tired, but he hoped the effort he’d put into his appearance might mask some of the exhaustion. Today was important. He needed to look presentable at the very least.

As he walked downstairs, his heart pounded in his chest. He wanted to make sure everything looked perfect before Harry got back with Anne. He’d asked Anne to take Harry out for a few hours, and she had kindly agreed, understanding Louis’ desperate need for something, anything to help them start to heal. She knew about his plan, about the memorial he had quietly set up in the living room. He had told her in a hushed voice over the phone, and although Anne was hesitant at first, she agreed. At the present, he just wanted to make sure Harry had some last-minute space before he saw what Louis had gone ahead and done.

He walked into the living room and took a moment to survey the scene he had created. He had been meticulous and careful as to not overlook a single detail. The room was softly lit by candles, and he had rearranged the furniture, pushing the couch and chairs to the edges of the room to create a small intimate space in the centre. In the middle of the room stood a table covered with a white cloth, upon which Louis had placed a few cherished items: a tiny pair of shoes that had never been worn, a small stuffed animal, a framed photo of Abigail taken just days after she was born. A single white rose lay beside the photo, its petals fresh and delicate, as if it might wilt under the weight of their grief.

He had set up a few more photographs around the room, each capturing a moment that had meant something to them, however brief. A photo of Harry holding Abigail for the first time, his face alight with a love that had taken even him by surprise. Another of Louis, cradling her in his arms, smiling down at her with an expression of pure wonder. There was a peacefulness to those moments, a happiness that seemed almost foreign now.

On the far wall, Louis had pinned a sheet of paper where he had written out a few words, a tribute to Abigail. It was simple but heartfelt, his way of saying goodbye, of acknowledging her presence in their lives, however fleeting. He read over the words one last time, his throat tightening as he did.

‘For Abigail, who brought us love we never knew we could have and who took a piece of our hearts with her when she left.’

Louis’ nerves were a raw electric current coursing and crackling beneath his skin. His palms were clammy, his fingers twitching as he glanced around the room for the hundredth time, checking every detail. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, each beat like a drumbeat of dread, a relentless reminder of how much was riding on this. His throat felt tight, as if every breath he took was a battle against his own fear. What if Harry really hated it? What if he took one look at the flowers, the candles, the photographs lovingly arranged, and saw it as an invasion, as a betrayal? Louis’ stomach twisted with a nauseating mix of anticipation and anxiety, his mind a storm of doubt and second-guessing. He could almost hear Harry’s voice, feel his anger searing through the air. God, it was too late to cancel it now. Every second that ticked by felt like an eternity, stretching his nerves taut like a wire about to snap. But he knew he had to do this—had to try to bring some kind of peace, some kind of closure—but the mere thought of facing Harry’s reaction made his skin prickle with cold sweat.

He stepped back, hands trembling slightly, trying to find solace in the quiet. The room felt heavy with expectation, as if it, too, was holding its breath, waiting for what was to come. Louis knew he was taking a risk, but he also knew he couldn’t let things continue the way they were—walking on eggshells around Harry, pretending like they could somehow carry on without acknowledging the gaping wound in their lives.

As he moved to adjust a candle, he heard the faint sound of a car pulling into the driveway. His heart skipped a beat. Harry was back. He quickly glanced around the room one more time, making sure everything was in its place. The flickering candles, the scattered petals, the photographs—all of it was set to create a space of remembrance, a space to grieve together. Louis hoped, despite his fear, that Harry would see it that way.

The front door opened, and Louis turned to see Harry stepping inside, followed by Anne. Harry’s eyes were tired, his shoulders slumped with a weight that had only grown heavier over the past few months. He looked worn, exhausted in a way that went beyond lack of sleep.

“What’s all this?” Harry asked, his voice cautious, eyes darting around the room as he slowly began to take everything in.

Anne gave Louis a small, encouraging nod before quietly slipping out the door, leaving the two of them alone.

Louis swallowed, stepping forward.

“It’s… It’s for Abigail, a memorial,” he said softly, trying to keep his voice steady. “I thought… I thought it might help us, a chance to have a moment to remember her and… and say goodbye.”

Harry’s face changed in an instant, the weariness replaced by a flash of anger.

“A memorial?” he repeated, his voice rising. “You are fucking kidding me! I told you I never wanted this.”

“I thought—” Louis replied, his voice gentle but firm.

“You thought what?” Harry cut him off, his eyes blazing now. “You thought this was a good idea, to ambush me with this… this display?”

“It’s not an ambush, as such,” Louis said, his own voice rising slightly, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “I just… I needed to do something. We’ve been drifting apart, Harry. I thought maybe this could help us come together.”

“Come together?” Harry scoffed, shaking his head. “You think lighting a few candles and putting up some pictures is going to fix this? You think that’s going to make any of this okay?”

“I don’t think it will fix everything,” Louis said, his voice cracking slightly. “We can’t keep going like this; we need to let her go, H. That doesn’t mean she won’t be in our hearts forever.”

Harry’s face twisted with a mix of anger and pain. “I’m not ready for this,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’m not ready to say goodbye, to have everyone see my grief like it’s some kind of show. You did this without even asking me, without even considering how I might feel.”

“I did consider it.” Louis said, tears welling up in his eyes. “I’ve been considering it every day since she left us. I just… I needed to do something for her, Harry. I needed to feel like we were doing something to honour her.”

Harry turned away, his shoulders tense, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

“For us to stand around and cry and make a spectacle in front of everyone.”

“It’s not a spectacle,” Louis pleaded, his voice desperate now.

“Is that why my mother was so dressed up? Is she still here? Are there others?”

“Out the back.”

Harry shook his head.

“Only our family, that’s it.” Louis said quickly.

Harry’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his body trembling with a rage that seemed to consume him. “I can’t do this,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I can’t… I can’t pretend like this is okay. I’m not ready, Louis. I’m just… I’m not ready.”

Louis felt his heart break a little more with each word. He had known this was a risk, had known it could go either way. But standing here now, facing Harry’s anger and pain, he wondered if he had made a terrible mistake.

“I’m sorry.” Louis whispered, his voice choked with tears. “I just… I don’t know what to do anymore, baby.”

Harry didn’t respond. He just stood there, his back to Louis, his shoulders heaving with silent sobs. Louis wanted to reach out, to pull Harry into his arms and hold him until the pain went away. But he knew it wouldn’t be that easy. Nothing was easy anymore.

After a long moment, Harry finally turned around, his eyes red and swollen. “You should have asked me,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “You should have asked me. You knew how I felt about this.”

Louis nodded in agreement, tears streaming down his face. “I know,” he whispered. “I said I’m sorry, but I think you really—”

Harry looked around the room once more, his eyes lingering on the photographs, the candles, and the white rose lying on the table. “I can’t do this,” he said again, his voice breaking. “I’m not fucking ready, and you had no right to throw me in the deep end.”

And with that, he began to turn away out of the room, just as Anne entered through the back sliding door.

“Let me, just give us a minute. He will be down soon. I’ve got this.” Anne said with confidence as she disappeared up the stairs behind her son, leaving Louis standing there, alone amidst the flickering candlelight, wondering if he had just lost the last piece of hope he had left.

A good fifteen minutes later, Harry descended the stairs slowly, his steps heavy but measured, his eyes fixed on the floor as he approached the gathering below. He was dressed neatly in a crisp white shirt and dark jeans, his hair freshly combed back. Louis watched him from the bottom step, his breath catching in his throat at the sight, but Harry’s gaze remained averted, locked away in a distant place only he could see.

The entire family was already gathered now in the lounge room, their faces painted with a mix of solemnity and forced smiles. Louis had laid out snacks—simple things, crackers, cheese, some fruit, and glasses of water that glistened under the soft lighting. He wanted to create a sense of comfort, however small, in a moment that felt so charged and fragile.

As Harry reached the last step, Jay opened her arms wide, her eyes brimming with tears, and Harry stepped into her embrace without hesitation. Louis could see the way Jay’s arms wrapped tightly around him, holding him as if she could shield him from the pain. Harry’s face softened for a moment, melting into his mother-in-law’s hug, but as he pulled away, he seemed to gather himself, pulling on an invisible mask of composure. He moved slowly around the room, embracing each family member with a quiet dignity, exchanging brief words of gratitude, and accepting their condolences with a nod or a squeeze of the hand.

Every time Harry embraced someone, Louis’ own heart sank a little deeper. He could see the cracks in Harry’s brave face, the tremble of his lips, the glassiness of his eyes, but not once did Harry look his way. Not once did their eyes meet. Louis tried to focus on the guests, on keeping up appearances, but his gaze kept drifting back to Harry, searching for any sign, any glimmer of acknowledgment.  He could feel the tension pulling at him, fraying his nerves like a string stretched too tight.

Harry continued his rounds, greeting everyone with a quiet resolve, a soldier braving the battlefield of grief. Louis watched him closely, seeing the effort it took for Harry to hold himself together, to keep the pieces from falling apart. It was like watching a wave crash against a fragile shore, a silent struggle between maintaining strength and succumbing to the sorrow. He knew this was hard for Harry, harder than anything else, but it pained him to be shut out, to be just another body in the room rather than the person who once held his whole heart.

As the minutes passed, Louis felt the weight of the distance between them growing, an invisible chasm that seemed to widen with each step Harry took away from him. Even in a room full of family, surrounded by love and support, Louis had never felt more alone.

Louis’ speech.

That’s what it took for Harry to finally look at him. As Louis commenced speaking, uttering words he never imagined he would ever have to articulate, a profound emotional response swept over the entire room, including Harry himself, reducing everyone to tears.

Louis cleared his throat, feeling the weight of every eye in the room upon him. It wasn’t until he began to speak that Harry finally looked at him, their eyes locking for the first time all day. Louis’ voice trembled as he started, each word a painful step into the dark abyss of his grief.

“I want to thank everyone for coming today.” Louis began.

Fuck, when did it become so hard to breathe?

“I know it wasn’t easy for any of you to be here. It means the world to me, and to Harry, that you’ve taken the time to share this moment with us. To remember Abigail, our precious little girl.”

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself as his eyes welled up with tears. “It’s been… hard, to say the least. Hard to find the right words. Hard to make sense of something that will never make sense. Abigail was with us for such a short time… a week. Just seven days. But those seven days changed our lives forever.”

Louis paused, his gaze shifting to the small, framed photograph of Abigail on the table. His breath hitched as he felt the rawness of his loss tearing through him. “Abigail, sweetheart,” he continued, his voice softening as if he were speaking directly to her.

“You’re one of Heaven’s angels now, a perfect little star, and when you shine, the world can see how incredibly beautiful you are.

May you fly with magic wings on clouds so soft and white, and may your heart be joyful and your days be bathed in light.

And though our hearts are broken and your life was far too short, we thank you, sweetest angel, for the happiness you brought.

If every tear I shed for you became a shining star above, you would stroll in heaven’s garden, lit by everlasting love.

They say that time’s a healer, but I do not think that is true. My heart’s been aching oh so much, since the day that I lost you.

I had to say goodbye before I barely said hello. I wish I could have told you one last time,

how much I love you so.

You mean more than anything, even though we hardly met. Daddy loves you, baby, and I promise I’ll never forget.

Time has passed, and what I wouldn’t give, just to see my precious little girl live.

A minute, an hour, or just one day, I’d give up everything if she could stay.

Maybe I prayed too much or maybe not enough. But living with this pain is becoming way too tough.

I can’t hold you in my arms or look into your eyes; one precious sound I’ll always miss is your beautiful little cries.

It hurts me to see your Daddy crying and filled with so much pain. But you will always be our baby girl, and I love you just the same.

There are no words that can be spoken, My heart is shattered and completely broken.

I will miss you grow; I will miss you play. Maybe I deserve to feel this way.”

Tears began streaming down Louis’ face as he cupped a hand across his mouth.

A poem.

Harry never imagined Louis would write something so vulnerable, so heartfelt, for everyone else to hear. It’s the first time he’s seen Louis truly break down, to cry with an open heart. For the first time, Harry really sees him—sees the true depth of his pain. Even at the hospital after the accident, aside from those initial tears when they got the news and having faced the unbearable moment of leaving without Abigail in their arms, Louis had stayed calm, always putting on a brave face. Now, Harry understands that Louis had been doing it for him, trying to be strong, not just for himself but for both of them.

The room was silent, every person holding their breath, too afraid to move, too wrapped up in their own sorrow.

“I miss you so much.” Louis whispered, his voice cracking. “I miss the way you’d scream at the top of your lungs like you were ready to take on the world. I know it was only a week we had, but it was the best week of my life. It was a privilege to be your Daddy. You gave me a love that I never knew existed, and for that, I will be forever grateful.”

Louis glanced up, blinking back more tears, his vision blurring as he tried to keep his composure. He looked around the room, his eyes landing on Harry.

“And Harry… I want to thank you, too. For giving me her. For carrying her, loving her, even though it’s been the hardest thing we’ve ever done. I know we’re both broken right now. I know we’re lost. But I need you to know that, no matter how much pain we’re in, I wouldn’t trade those seven days for anything. I wouldn’t trade her for anything.”

A heavy silence fell over the room, punctuated only by the quiet sobs of their family members. No one moved; no one dared to break the moment. They were too busy wiping their tear-streaked faces, caught in the heart breaking reality of Louis’ words. And for a moment, all the hurt, all the anger, and all the things left unsaid hung in the air between Louis and Harry—a silent, painful understanding that their love for Abigail would forever be a part of them, no matter what happened next.

Harry is quite certain that he is no longer breathing as he steps forward, his arms instinctively reaching out for his husband. He wants to hold him, to pull him close, to share in the grief that has been tearing them apart. Before he has the chance, Louis turns his back on Harry, not intentionally but out of habit now. Instead, he moves into his mother’s embrace, clutching Jay as if she’s the last thing anchoring him to this earth. Harry’s arms fall to his sides, his chest tightening with what felt like rejection to him.

He watches them, feeling a sharp pang of isolation that slices deeper than he expected.

Louis has turned away from him.

Anne and Jay exchange a silent glance. Jay’s lips barely move as she whispers to Anne. “You need it too love; go ahead.”

Anne nods in understanding and quietly steps forward. She gently picks up the plaque from the table behind her, her fingers brushing over the engraved letters, her eyes wet with tears she’s trying to hold back. She places it carefully in the centre of the memorial and steps back, her gaze lingering on the photo of Abigail, her granddaughter, taken too soon. She reaches out, her fingertips just barely touching the edge of the frame, her breath quickening before she quickly retreats back to her spot.

Everyone watches Harry.

Waiting.

He can feel their eyes on him, a collective expectation that presses down on him. He feels a sharp, painful twist in his chest as he glances up and catches Louis’ gaze across the room. Louis offers him a small, broken smile, one that holds a thousand unsaid apologies and a mountain of shared pain. Harry’s own eyes fill with tears, the sight of Louis’ sadness cracking him open in a way he didn’t expect. He suddenly feels something shift inside him, a floodgate opening that he’s been trying to keep closed for so long.

He takes a step towards the table, his feet moving almost on their own. As he approaches, his eyes roam over the memorial—Abigail’s photo, the tiny pair of socks and shoes she never got to wear, the soft knitted blanket that once kept her warm. His eyes finally land on the plaque that Anne placed, the words blurring in front of him as tears spill down his cheeks. He can’t see the letters, but he knows what it says, knows the finality of those words.

‘No farewell words were spoken, no time to say goodbye. You were gone before we knew it, and only God knows why. We will see you again someday in the future, not so near. Until then, our baby girl, we’ll all love you from down here.’

The reality of it slams into him with the force of a tidal wave, and suddenly he’s falling.

Harry drops to his knees, clutching the plaque to his chest as if it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to this earth. A deep, guttural wail tears from his throat, the kind of sound that comes from the very depths of a shattered soul. It’s raw, primal, filled with all the pain he’s been trying to bury for so long. The room feels like it’s closing in on him, his entire world collapsing under the weight of his grief. He tilts his head back, his face turned towards the ceiling, and he cries out, a desperate, anguished scream that rips through the room. It’s a sound of pure, unfiltered agony, a cry for something he knows he can never have back.

Anne takes a step forward, her motherly instincts kicking in, but Jay catches her arm, her grip firm. “Let them be,” Jay whispers, her voice thick with her own unshed tears. “They need this.” Jay’s eyes lock onto Louis, silently urging him to go to him.

Louis, his own face wet, rushes to Harry’s side. He falls to his knees beside him, wrapping his arms around him, holding on as tightly as he can. Harry leans into him, his body trembling with the force of his sobs. His face is buried in Louis’ shoulder, and he cries like he hasn’t allowed himself to cry in months, letting out everything he’s been holding in.

“I just want her back,” Harry chokes out between sobs, his voice breaking with sorrow. “How do I say goodbye, Lou? I can’t… I just can’t do it; I’m sorry.”

Louis’ own tears flow freely now, his heart breaking all over again at the sound of Harry’s pain. “I don’t know how to say goodbye either,” he whispers.

Harry’s sobs grow louder, his cries echoing through the room as he clings to Louis, his grief finally spilling over in a torrent that feels like it will never end. Louis holds him tighter, rocking them both back and forth as if trying to soothe a child. “I’m here, Harry,” he whispers. “I’m right here.”

The room is filled with the sounds of their shared mourning, a symphony of heartbreak that reverberates off the walls. Anne, seeing the intensity of the moment, quietly gestures for the others to leave, to give the two men the space they need to grieve. They all slip out silently, leaving Harry and Louis alone in their sorrow.

As the door clicks shut behind them, Harry’s cries soften, though his body continues to tremble. Louis presses his cheek to Harry’s hair, his own tears mingling with his husband’s. And in the quiet aftermath of their pain, they hold onto each other as if they’re the only things keeping the other from falling apart completely. Tonight that would be enough, but tomorrow, well, that may be a totally different story.

The other family members leave and return to their homes not long after. Louis and Harry are so wrapped up in the heavy silence between themselves that they don’t even notice. The house feels different now—quieter, almost suffocating in its emptiness.

Louis leads Harry upstairs with a slow, hesitant tread, their shared grief making every step feel like wading through thick mud. It’s been so long since they’ve been this close, close enough to touch, and yet the energy between them feels thick and unfamiliar. What once was a sanctuary now feels foreign, like they’re strangers in their own home. They fumble with their shoes, slipping them off without a word, their movements stiff and mechanical. When they finally climb into bed, it’s as if they’re both trying to remember how to be in this space together, how to be husband and husband, without the gaping chasm of their loss pulling them apart.

The bed, which once felt like a place of comfort, now feels vast and cold, as though it’s swallowed up the warmth they once shared. They settle into the sheets, the fabric soft against their skin, but it does nothing to ease the tension that hangs between them. Louis wraps an arm around Harry, pulling him close, but even this familiar gesture feels different—like they’re acting out a memory rather than living in the moment. Harry’s body is stiff, tense, as though he’s forgotten what it’s like to be held, to be cared for in this way.

For a long time, neither of them moves, the silence stretching out like a taut string, ready to snap at any moment. Louis holds Harry as tightly as he dares, afraid that if he lets go, even for a second, he might lose him all over again. He feels the tremor in Harry’s frame, the silent struggle to keep his emotions at bay. But then, slowly, as if the fight is too much to bear, Harry begins to crumble. His body softens in Louis’ arms, the tension ebbing away as he finally allows himself to sink into the embrace.

Harry’s breath hitches, his chest rising and falling with the effort to keep the tears at bay, but eventually, they spill over. He cries, deep, shuddering sobs that shake his entire being. The sound of Harry’s anguish is a knife twisting in Louis’ heart once more, each sob cutting deeper than the last. Louis tightens his hold, trying to offer whatever comfort he can, though he knows it will never be enough. How could it be, when the loss they’ve suffered is so vast, so consuming?

As Harry cries, Louis’ own tears slip silently down his cheeks, wetting the pillow beneath them. He presses his face into the back of Harry’s neck, feeling the warmth of his skin, the soft, steady rhythm of his pulse. It’s been so long since he’s felt this close to Harry, and yet the distance between them has never felt more profound. Louis wants to say something, anything, but the words don’t come; they never do, and all he can do is hold on, hoping that somehow, this will be enough to keep them from falling apart completely.

Eventually, Harry’s sobs begin to quiet, his body growing heavy with exhaustion. He falls into a fitful sleep, his breathing uneven and ragged, like he’s still fighting the grief even in his dreams. Louis stays awake, his eyes wide open in the darkness, as he takes in every detail of the man beside him. He runs his fingers gently down Harry’s arm, feeling the familiar curve of muscle and bone, the softness of his skin. He brushes a hand through Harry’s hair, letting the strands slip between his fingers, savouring the texture, the way it feels like silk against his skin.

Louis inhales deeply, breathing in the scent of Harry’s skin—a scent that’s as familiar to him as his own. It’s a scent that holds a thousand memories, of nights spent wrapped in each other’s arms, of whispered promises and shared dreams for their future. He memorised every freckle, every line, as if seeing them for the first time, as if he needs to burn them into his memory in case he loses this too.

He presses a kiss to the back of Harry’s neck, a soft, tender kiss that says everything he can’t put into words. It’s a kiss of gratitude, of longing, of a love that’s been tested and torn but not yet broken, not fully, he hopes. “Thank you.” The kiss seems to say, “For letting me back in, for allowing me to hold you, even when everything else feels like it’s slipping away.”

Louis stays there, his lips resting against Harry’s skin, as if by keeping this connection, he can hold on to the fragile thread of hope that still binds them together. And in the quiet of the night, as the house settles into stillness around them, Louis makes a silent promise to himself that no matter how hard it gets from here on out, no matter how much it hurts, Harry will always come first. No matter what Harry asks for, says, or does, Louis will always fall in line and comply, because Harry’s needs will always take precedence over his own; it always has.

Only then… does Louis fall asleep.

🧸

When Louis wakes the next morning, he barely needs to open his eyes to know that Harry isn’t beside him. The cold sheets tell him everything. He stares at the empty space where Harry should be, his heart sinking deeper.

The house is eerily still. No clatter of dishes from the kitchen, no low hum of the shower running, not even the faint murmur of the TV flickering in the lounge room. It’s as if the house itself has gone silent, mimicking the emptiness left in Harry’s wake. Louis takes a slow lap around the house, hoping—though deep down he knows—that maybe Harry’s just in another room. But room after room, there’s nothing.

It’s only 7:44a.m., but it feels much later, like time is dragging him into some hollow space. Louis stands in the kitchen, hands gripping the edge of the sink as he stares out the window. A million thoughts swirl in his head, none of them bringing him comfort.

He pulls out his phone and types a quick message to Harry: Where are you?

He waits, staring at the screen, though he already knows he won’t get a reply. It remains quiet. With a heavy sigh, Louis pockets the phone, the familiar knot of worry tightening in his gut. He wants to scream, to shout, to beg Harry to just answer him—for once. But instead, he just stands there, defeated, as the emptiness of the house continues on, becoming darker and darker each and every day.

Eventually, Louis forces himself into his morning routine. He showers, dresses, and grabs his things for work, but it all feels zombie-like, like he’s just going through the motions, like he is there but not really there. His mind never stops racing. Where is he? Why won’t he answer? The questions gnaw at him as he walks out the door, locking the empty house behind him.

At work, he hopes for distraction, for something to take his mind off the fact that Harry’s gone again, leaving him to wonder—again. But no matter how busy he tries to keep himself, that quiet, nagging loneliness follows him like a shadow.

By the time Louis arrives home that evening, his hand freezes on the key, fingers trembling as if the very air around him has thickened. A nauseating wave rolls through his stomach—not the kind you get from illness, but the deep, gut-twisting feeling that something is horribly, irreversibly wrong. His heart pounds in his chest, each beat like a hammer against his ribs. He exhales slowly, barely managing the courage to push open the door.

They say you should never ignore your instincts. They aren’t just paranoia; they’re primal, hardwired into your bones, your heart, your soul—an ancient alarm system designed to warn you when the world is about to shift beneath your feet. And tonight, as Louis steps inside, he understands that all too well. The door closes behind him with a soft click, but the silence that follows is deafening. He looks up, and there, in the centre of the room, stands Harry.

For a second, just a second, they meet eyes—blue and green—before Louis’ gaze drifts down to the floor. His breath catches as he sees the suitcases lined up at Harry’s feet, his vision blurring with the sudden onset of tears. His lip trembles uncontrollably as reality hits him.

“No…” Louis whispers, the word barely making it past his throat. “No, Harry, please…no…don’t do this.”

His voice cracks, soft but filled with so much pain. His feet move towards Harry instinctively, desperate but cautious, as if moving too quickly might make this worse.

“Don’t leave me, Harry,” he pleads, his voice a trembling mess of heartbreak.

But Harry just stands there, tears slipping silently down his cheeks, his face a mask of pain. Louis grabs his hands, gripping them tightly, fingers curling around Harry’s as if holding him in place, as if his touch alone could stop Harry from walking out the door. Their eyes meet again, and the love is still there, shining so bright amidst the darkness, but the pain—it’s too much, too domineering.

Without hesitation, Louis pulls him into a hug, clutching him like a lifeline, his body shaking with sobs. “Harry, I love you. You mean everything to me. We can get through this, please—this pain won’t last forever. I promise, we can find our way out. Just don’t leave… I need you. I need you, Harry.”

Harry pulls back, still silent, his tears flowing more freely now. He cups Louis’ face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that won’t stop falling. His eyes are dark with grief, full of unspeakable sorrow. And then, ever so slowly, he leans in, pressing their lips together in a kiss that’s more painful than comforting. It’s slow and deliberate, a final memory to hold onto—a goodbye wrapped in a kiss.

Louis can feel it. He can feel the way Harry’s lips tremble against his, the way his body feels like it’s trying to remember every detail of this moment. When Harry pulls away, Louis feels cold, empty. Harry rests his forehead against Louis’, his body shaking as he cries.

“I love you, Louis Tomlinson.” Harry whispers. “Always have, always will.”

Before Louis can respond, Harry presses an envelope into his hands, the paper crinkling beneath his trembling fingers. He looks down at it, confused, and when he looks back up, Harry is stepping away, reaching for the suitcases. Louis can’t move, can’t speak. His body feels frozen in time, his mind struggling to process what’s happening. It’s like watching his world collapse in slow motion, knowing there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

When the door creaks open, Louis snaps back to reality, his heart lurching in his chest. “Harry, wait!” His voice raw, and barely making it out as he stumbles forward slightly.

“We made a vow, Harry. ‘Til death do us part, always and forever… remember?”

Harry, with his back to Louis, stands motionless for what feels like an eternity. Louis watches, breathless, as the moment stretches out, hoping, praying that Harry will turn around, that he’ll drop the bags, that he’ll stay. But when Harry moves, it’s not towards him—it’s towards the door.

Louis watches as Harry turns the knob and walks out, closing not just the door behind him, but behind every dream, every memory, and every piece of the life they once knew.

Louis stands there for far too long, his body frozen, his eyes wide but unseeing. The world around him feels like it’s closing in, shrinking into nothing but a dull, oppressive silence. His husband of seven years, his partner of ten, his best friend of twelve—Harry—did not just walk out that door. It can’t be real. His mind refuses to process the moment, as if rejecting the very idea that Harry could just… leave.

He stumbles slightly, his legs weak beneath him, grasping onto the door frame for support. His stomach twists violently, and before he can stop it, he bends over and vomits straight into the flower vase by the entrance—the one, ironically, they received as a wedding gift. He wipes his mouth with the back of his trembling hand, the taste of bile bitter in his throat, but the cold numbness in his chest is far worse. He slides down to the floor, his back hitting the wall, the chill of the tiles beneath him barely registering.

He stares at the envelope in his hands as if it’s poison, his heart pounding in his ears. His fingers tremble, clutching the paper so tightly he’s sure it will tear, but he doesn’t care. He can’t open it. He won’t. The thought of reading Harry’s words, knowing it’s probably a goodbye, knowing it’s final, sends another wave of nausea. The urge to burn it surges through him, fierce and desperate, as if destroying it would somehow erase this nightmare. If he doesn’t read it, maybe it won’t be real. Maybe Harry didn’t leave.

However, each time he directs his gaze downwards, the sight of it, the letter, quivering in his grasp, serves as a cruel and unwelcome reminder that this is not a fleeting dream from which he can awaken.

The reality is undeniable: Harry is gone.

He stumbles his way outside to the garden, his movements sluggish, barely aware of anything around him. He lifts the lid of his little tin box, his fingers fumbling as he reaches for the pack of cigarettes inside. He lights one with shaky hands, pulling in a hard, fast drag like the smoke might somehow dull the pain. But it doesn’t. Nothing does. His fingers dig into his pockets, pulling out his phone. He dials Harry’s number once, twice, over and over again.

Nothing.

His thumb scrolls to Anne’s contact, and he dials her too—no answer. Over and over, he calls, his hand shaking as he presses the phone to his ear, but all he’s met with is silence. He glances back through the door, where he can see the letter sitting on the table where he left it, glaring at him like it holds all the answers he’s too terrified to face. His stomach churns. No, he can’t. He won’t.

He sinks down onto the outdoor patio chair, staring blankly into the darkness. The air is turning cold, the night creeping in, but he doesn’t feel it. He’s too dead inside to register anything, too numb to care. Hours pass, the sky growing darker, the stars flickering above, but Louis doesn’t move. His hand moves mechanically to rub under his nose, wiping away the wetness that’s begun to drip from the cold, but still, he sits frozen in place. His body is covered in goosebumps, his limbs stiff from the chill, but the cold doesn’t touch the real pain—the hollow ache gnawing at him from the inside out.

Reaching for another cigarette, his fingers come up empty. He looks down at the now-crumpled empty pack, shaking his head. There’s no way he’s smoked through an entire pack that quickly. But he has, and the realisation that hours have slipped by unnoticed hits him hard. He’s been chain-smoking all night, trying to escape the inevitable. And now, for the first time, he feels the cold biting at his skin.

He stumbles back inside, brushing past the table where the letter waits, still untouched. His eyes flicker towards it, but he turns away quickly, heading for a tissue to blow his nose instead. He wipes his face, his hands still trembling, and catches a glimpse of the letter again. His heart lurches painfully, yet he shakes his head. No. Not now. Not yet. He can’t face it.

He heads for the shower, hoping the hot water will wash away the numbness, the cold. But even as the steam surrounds him, as the water scalds his skin, nothing penetrates the emptiness. When he steps out, the first thing he does is check his phone again—still nothing. No missed calls from Harry, no messages from Anne. His chest tightens. He thinks about calling his own mother, needing to hear her voice, but when he looks at the time, he decides to wait until morning.

After getting dressed, he walks towards the spare room where he’s been sleeping these past few months, but he stops short at the door, staring down the hallway at the bedroom he once shared with Harry. A pull he can’t explain drags him towards it. When he steps inside, the room feels foreign, too clean, too sterile, nothing like it had been in the last few months. There’s no trace of Harry anywhere. It’s as if he’s erased himself from every corner of the room.

Louis pulls back the blankets, climbing into bed, bringing the fabric to his nose out of sheer desperation. But there’s no scent of Harry, no lingering trace of the man he loves. And that’s when it hits him—Harry’s really gone. Gone in every way that matters. The tears come before he can stop them, wrenching from his chest with a force that leaves him gasping for breath.

Through blurred eyes, Louis glances across the room, and a cold realisation dawns.

Abigail’s ashes are gone.

Panic floods him. He flings the blanket aside, rushing to Harry’s bedside drawer.

Empty.

Everything is gone. He stumbles to the nursery, his heart racing, his chest tightening with dread. Clothes, toys, the little things they had kept—everything is gone. Erased. Disappeared, like Abigail never existed.

Louis walks slowly through the empty room, each step a new wave of pain, the emptiness echoing in every corner. He can barely breathe as he moves back to his bed, collapsing onto the mattress. His hands reach for his own bedside drawer, hoping, praying for something—anything. And there, tucked in the bottom, is one item. A photo frame. Louis pulls it out with trembling hands, his vision swimming as he holds it close to his chest. It’s the picture Harry had taken of Louis and Abigail at the hospital.

It’s beautiful, perfect in every way. But it hurts more than anything Louis has ever felt in his life. He clings to it, sobbing into the silence, the weight of everything finally crashing down on him.

By 4 a.m., Louis still hadn’t slept. How could he? Every thought is consumed by Harry…wondering if he’s eaten, if he’s staying hydrated, if he’s warm enough. Each question irritates him at knowing the answers, making sleep near impossible.

Restless, he pushes himself to his feet and drifts into the kitchen, searching for some kind of distraction. As soon as he flicks the light switch, and like a moth drawn to a flame, his eyes instinctively lock onto the envelope still sitting on the table. It’s like it’s pulling him in, demanding his attention. He moves to the sink, fills a glass with water, but his gaze never leaves that damn envelope. He has done nothing but avoid it, but now it feels like it’s mocking him.

After a long, shaky breath, Louis grabs the envelope and makes his way back to bed, the paper crinkling in his hands. He tears it open without a second thought, because deep down he knows—if he doesn’t read it now, he never will.

🧸

After driving around for hours, Harry pulls the car over to the side of the road and shuts off the engine. He catches a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror and winces. His face is a mess, eyes bloodshot, cheeks streaked with tears. He wipes at his face with the back of his hand, but the redness won’t fade, and the exhaustion clings to him.

He just sits there gripping the steering wheel until eventually, with a shaky breath, he opens the car door, the roar of traffic snapping him out of his daze. He steps out, the cold breeze a shock to his system, but it’s the noise, the blaring horns, the rush of engines, that rattles through him, setting his nerves on edge.

Without a second thought, Harry moves to the back of the car, opening the door and reaching for the one thing he intends to leave behind…Abigail’s teddy bear. The soft fabric slips into his hands, and for a moment, Harry presses it against his chest, closing his eyes as if holding it could somehow mean holding her.

He walks to the side of the road, weaving through the bushes with the kind of familiarity that comes from doing this too many times before. The ground crunches beneath his shoes as he approaches the spot. His heart pounds in his chest when he reaches the small shrine he’s made by the roadside and drops to his knees. His hands tremble as they reach out, fingers grazing the little wooden cross he had placed in the dirt weeks ago, marking the exact spot where everything had been destroyed.

It’s a simple cross, but to Harry, it’s everything. He grips it tightly as he kneels in the same place where their car had been crushed, where his world had shattered beyond repair.

The wreckage may be gone, towed away long ago, but Harry still sees it. In his mind, it’s all there, the twisted metal, the shattered glass, and all the blood. He glances around, his eyes scanning the dirt beside the road. If he looks closely enough, he can still see the tiny fragments of smashed indicator lights, the minuscule shards of glass glinting in the fading light. It’s all still there, buried in the earth, just like the memories that haunt him.

“Daddy’s back,” he whispers, his voice barely audible, choked by the lump in his throat.

He places Abigail’s teddy bear gently beside the cross, his fingers lingering on the fabric for a moment longer before he pulls back, his hands shaking.

His shoulders droop. He is at a loss for what to do, uncertain of where to proceed from this point. The car is fully loaded with his possessions, everything he owns crammed into the back seat. However, it doesn’t matter; none of it does, as he has no home to return to, no place where he feels a sense of belonging.

He glances back at the car. Anne had been the one to buy him another one after the accident. But all Harry can see when he looks at it is the wreckage, the life they have lost. He doesn’t see the new car at all. He only sees the ruins of the old one, the last place he heard Abigail, the last place he saw her smile.

He kneels there for what feels like hours, his fingers gripping the dirt, his mind swirling with memories, regrets, and a pain so deep he can hardly breathe.

Even from where he is, he can hear the phone buzzing, rattling against the dashboard like a reminder of everything he’s running from. But Harry doesn’t reach for it. He knows exactly who it is…either his mother or Louis, and he can’t face either of them right now. Not with his mind so twisted, torn between the life he’s leaving behind and the unknown ahead of him.

Before he left, Harry had stopped by his mother’s house to say goodbye, not that Anne knew what was happening. The memory of her hug still clings to him, the way her arms wrapped around him, holding on just a little too tight, as if she knew something wasn’t right. He hated that moment. Hated the lie he told her when he said he’d be fine, that everything would be okay. As if he believed it himself.

He had pressed the letter that would explain everything into her hands before he left, his heart breaking as he told her to read it only after he was gone. Her eyes, so full of worry, had searched his face, but Harry couldn’t stay long enough for her to ask the questions he wasn’t ready to answer. He’d miss her more than anything, but he couldn’t let her see him unravel.

This was the only way he saw fit. To disappear. To make sure no one, especially Louis, could find him.

A clean slate. A fresh start. It’s what they all needed, wasn’t it? He tries to convince himself of that, even as doubt begins to creep in.

🧸

✨️ 3 MONTHS LATER ✨️

Louis stood at the doorstep of his house, the keys feeling heavier than they ever had. Jay’s voice sounded from behind him as he turned to face her, the insistence of her words still ringing in his ears.

“Just sell it, baby. You can’t keep living like this. This environment is not good for you. I don’t like seeing you this way.” Her concern was genuine, but the words felt like nails being driven into his veins.

The house that had once been a sanctuary, a home filled with laughter and warmth, had turned into a monument of his grief. Every corner of it whispered reminders of Harry and Abigail, turning every day into a relentless echo of his loss. Louis knew she was right, though. He couldn’t keep living here, but selling it felt like erasing the last remnants of their life together, like letting go and forgetting the only pieces of a shattered past that he had left.

After a long, anguished deliberation, Louis had settled on the next best thing.

He handed the house keys to Jay, her expression a mixture of sadness and concern.

She really didn’t like this.

“I can’t sell it, Mum. It’s not just in my name, and plus what if… he… comes home and—” His voice trailed off, the mention of Harry’s name feeling forbidden these days, by anyone, including Jay.

His mother’s gaze softened, but her worry was palpable.

“Chicago is a long way away, sweetheart. Are you really sure about this? Have you thought this through properly?”

Louis nodded, though the ache in his chest said otherwise. The weeks since Harry had left had been a blur of tears and desperation. He had tried to go on with everyday life, but each day felt like an insurmountable mountain. For weeks on end, he cried and screamed himself to sleep; it felt weird being on his own for so long at times. His grief had driven him to the brink, leading him to miss days at work until he was eventually fired. The house, once a haven, had become a prison, filled with echoes of a happier past.

There had hardly been any food in the house, and when Jay first noticed how severe the situation had become, she kindly insisted that Louis stay with her for a while. Louis accepted her invitation, as he was in need of companionship. To be honest, being alone in that house felt like being trapped in a time capsule, and that’s how he described it to his mother. Everywhere he looked, something reminded him of Harry or Abigail, and it became overbearing. He was beginning to develop a sense of resentment towards the house. Jay’s insistence on staying with her had been a lifeline, a temporary refuge from the crushing weight of solitude, but he couldn’t stay there forever.

“You know I have.” Louis said, his voice strained but resolute. “Plus, with Liam offering me free board until I get on my feet, I couldn’t really turn that down, could I?”

Liam, his childhood friend growing up, had drifted away when Harry entered the scene, their bond strained by distance and new priorities. It was then that their friendship took a backseat, and eventually Liam moved away to pursue his law degree. They had remained distant friends, so when Louis reached out last week, Liam was happy to help.

Liam had offered him a fresh start, a place to escape the pain that had seeped into every corner of his home. Jay’s face was lit with worry as she took in the finality of the situation.

Louis sighed, the irritation in his voice fading to weariness.

“It’s what he asked for, remember.”

Jay’s eyes filled with tears, and she gave him a sad smile knowing he was referring to the letter.

“Have you got everything? Haven’t left anything behind?”

Louis didn’t answer; instead, he embraced her tightly, feeling the warmth of her love as she whispered.

“I miss you already, son. Be good, be safe, and call me often!”

“I will.” Louis promised, his voice cracking as he let her go. He turned and climbed into the waiting Uber, the finality of the moment settling heavily on his shoulders.

As the door closed behind him, Louis glanced back at Jay, her eyes brimming with tears. He mouthed, “I love you.” and she responded with a tearful but loving nod as she mouthed it back.

The car pulled away from the curb, and Louis pulled out his wallet. His hand trembled as he unfolded the letter Harry had left him. He read the words again, the pain of Harry’s departure carving deeper lines into his heart. The letter, full of goodbye and heartache, felt like nothing but a bitter reminder of the love he had lost.

He folded the letter carefully, almost reverently, and slipped it back into his wallet.

“How dare you make me do this, Harry.” His voice was a whisper of anguish, lost in the hum of the car’s engine. The journey to the airport was a blur of muted colours and inner turmoil, as Louis grappled with the weight of his decision and the empty future that lay ahead.

🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸

New Life

CHAPTER 4

✨️ New Life ✨️

Louis walked through the door, his steps heavy with frustration. He barely glanced at Liam, who was lounging on the couch, eyes glued to the TV, with cheese puffs in his hand. Liam looked at his watch dramatically, his voice filled with a teasing edge.

“That’s a personal best. What was wrong this time?”

Louis didn’t bother responding as he threw his keys onto the kitchen counter with a clatter. He opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and headed straight for his room. As he passed by the couch, he muttered, “Too short,” his voice clipped and emotionless.

Liam watched silently as Louis’ bedroom door slammed shut, the sound echoing through the apartment. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. It had been four months since Louis had moved in, and it was becoming increasingly clear that Louis’ heart was still somewhere else—somewhere unreachable.

At first, the move to Liam’s place had seemed like the perfect distraction. Louis had thrown himself into his new job but barely speaking, his focus entirely on staying productive. For the first three months, he’d been quiet but determined, seemingly intent on keeping himself together through sheer willpower. Liam had been impressed by the work ethic, but he knew it was a front. Beneath the surface, Louis was hurting. The kind of hurt that no amount of work or distraction could cure.

Liam had seen the signs. Louis had started drinking more, the once occasional glass of wine turning into something far more concerning. At first, Liam tried to ignore it, thinking Louis just needed time. But when it became clear that his friend was spiralling, he stepped in.

One night, after Louis had stumbled in drunk, Liam couldn’t hold his tongue any longer. He sat Louis down for a long, heart-to-heart conversation. He told him what he had been avoiding saying for months—that sometimes, love doesn’t have a happy ending. It was a hard truth, but it was one Louis needed to hear. Louis had been clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, Harry would walk back into his life and they could resume back from where they once happily were. But he knew deep down that wasn’t going to happen.

“Sometimes,” Liam had said, “you have to accept that love doesn’t always end the way you want it to. That’s the way love goes, I’m afraid. But that doesn’t mean your life has to stop. I can’t tell you to slow down on the binge drinking; that is your choice, but I hate seeing you waste your life away.”

It was that conversation that marked a turning point. Slowly but surely, Liam managed to pull Louis back into the world. He convinced him to go out again, to start “living” instead of just “surviving”.

Louis had made a promise to reduce his alcohol consumption and only have a few drinks occasionally, and he remained true to his word. He demonstrated this commitment when they went out to bars, socialised with their new friends, and even when they shared moments of laughter on the odd occasion.

Louis had been hesitant at first, but over time, Liam could see the cracks in his friend’s armour beginning to heal. There were even moments when Louis would smile—a real, genuine smile that reminded Liam of the man he used to be.

But there was still one thing Louis wouldn’t do: date.

Liam had spent what felt like forever trying to get Louis to agree to just one date. At first, the mere mention of it sent Louis into a silent retreat. The thought of moving on, of being with someone who wasn’t Harry, seemed impossible to him. His mind was ready, but his heart wasn’t ready to let go. But eventually, after many deep, meaningful conversations, Louis gave in. For the sake of Liam, but also—though he’d never admit it—for himself.

The first date he went on had been a disaster. Louis couldn’t even remember the guy’s name, just that the whole thing felt off. The man had been more interested in a quick fling than anything real. After a few drinks, things escalated quickly between them, and Louis had tried; he really did. He thought maybe he could feel something, anything, that might remind him of what it felt like to be wanted again. But the second the man’s lips touched his, it all felt wrong. The scent of him, the way his mouth moved—it was all wrong. Panic surged through Louis, his chest tightening as memories of Harry flooded his mind. He ended the night in a full-blown panic attack, fleeing before things went any further.

And from that point on, every date followed the same pattern. Louis would agree to go, but they always ended with him coming home early, his eyes avoiding Liam’s. The excuses varied—‘The guy was boring,’ ‘They didn’t click,’ etc., etc.—but Liam knew better. He saw through it all.

Tonight had been no different.

Liam, still on the couch, heard Louis moving around in his room. He didn’t need to ask how the date went; he already knew. He could see through the forced smiles and the brave face Louis put on. It didn’t matter how many people Louis met or how many times Liam tried to encourage him to move on—because in Louis’ heart, no one could ever replace Harry.

🧸

“Hey.” Liam called out as Louis grabbed his keys, already halfway out the door. “Before you trot off, don’t forget we have the dinner party tonight at 7 pm.”

Louis paused mid-step, turning around with a look of confusion on his face. He had overslept that morning, was already running late for work, and the thought of navigating rush-hour traffic was enough to make his blood boil. Now, this?

“What are you talking about?” Louis muttered, eyebrows furrowed.

Liam rolled his eyes, exasperated. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been reminding Louis every few days for the last two weeks. “Seriously? Have you forgotten already? Louis, you promised—”

But before he could finish, Louis smirked, his expression shifting from confusion to playful mischief. “You prick.” Liam huffed, realising he’d been played.

Louis raised his hand in a mock salute, grinning. “See you tonight, Payno,” he teased, using Liam’s old nickname from their younger days.

Liam relaxed, shaking his head with a small smile. But as Louis made his way outside, his confident façade quickly faded. He bit his thumbnail anxiously. Shit. He’d forgotten.

Not only that, but he didn’t even have anything to wear. Liam had mentioned the dinner party weeks ago—something about his firm needing funds for a program they were running. At the time, Louis had only half-listened, nodding in agreement to come along for “moral support,” as Liam had put it. But Louis wasn’t stupid. He knew there was more to it. He could practically smell the setup a mile away. Liam was probably trying to set him up with someone from the firm, someone with a nice smile and a good job, someone who would check all the right boxes on paper.

It wasn’t that Louis didn’t appreciate it—he really did. Liam had been trying to help him move on for months now, trying to get him back into the swing of things, and Louis was grateful for his friend’s efforts. It was touching, even. But Louis felt exhausted by it all, drained from the countless failed dates and awkward encounters. He was beginning to think maybe this was it for him—maybe being single was the only way forward.

Fuck what Harry had wanted, Louis thought bitterly as he climbed into his car, the memory of Harry’s goodbye letter flickering in the back of his mind.

The drive to work was stressful, weaving in and out of traffic while mentally juggling all the things he had to do. And now, on top of everything, he had to figure out how to leave work early to find a suit. He spent the entire day behind his desk, barely able to concentrate, his mind fixated on how he was going to pull it all together by 7pm.

Every hour that passed, Louis glanced at the clock, his anxiety rising. He didn’t want to let Liam down, but the thought of putting on a suit and pretending to be interested in small talk with strangers felt like a monumental task. He imagined the fake smiles, the awkward silences, and the inevitable moment when Liam would nudge him toward some well-dressed guy with a hopeful look on his face.

It’s just one night, Louis told himself, trying to muster up some enthusiasm. You can do this. For Liam.

But deep down, all he wanted was to disappear into the familiarity of his routine. The dating scene had worn him out, and the idea of starting over with someone new felt foreign, like he was betraying the part of himself that still longed for Harry. Even though he knew he had to move forward, his heart wasn’t ready to let go.

By midday, Louis had run through half a dozen excuses in his head, trying to find a way to back out of the dinner party without disappointing Liam. But each time, he came up empty. He knew Liam meant well, and it wasn’t like Louis had anything better to do, anyway. Besides, maybe a night out would be good for him—even if it was uncomfortable. Maybe this time, things would be different.

With that half-hearted resolve, Louis spent the rest of the day trying to wrap up his work as quickly as possible, his thoughts drifting between his lack of a proper suit and the growing realisation that, deep down, he wasn’t just dreading the party. He was dreading what it symbolised—yet another attempt to move on from the one person he wasn’t sure he could ever truly leave behind.

Harry had kept his word. Since the day he left, there had been no communication at all. No calls, no texts, not even the vaguest sign of life. Harry had gone so far as to block Louis on all social media, ensuring that Louis couldn’t even scroll through old photos or linger on the remnants of their past life together. It had been complete radio silence for months, and Louis had begun to accept that maybe this was how it was meant to be—until today.

Louis was just about to clock out of the office when his phone rang. A smile crept onto his face when he saw his mother’s name flashing on the screen. She was FaceTiming him. Her warm, familiar face popped up on the screen, and he couldn’t help but feel a little lighter, even after a long day.

“Hey, Mum.” Louis said, leaning back in his chair. “What’s going on?”

“Hi, darling!” Jay greeted him with a smile. “How was your day?”

“Same old, same old. Just glad to be clocking out. What about you? Anything exciting happening?”

Jay chuckled softly, but there was something in her eyes—something Louis almost didn’t catch. “Not much, just the usual. Though, I did get some mail for you today.”

Louis raised a brow. “Mail?”

“All your mail is still being redirected here, remember?” Jay held up a large rectangular envelope in front of the camera. It looked official, the kind of envelope that made Louis’ heart sink a little.

“Go ahead, open it.” Louis said casually, trying to shrug it off. But Jay didn’t move. Her hand stayed still, the envelope held in place, and Louis could see the hesitation etched on her face.

“What’s wrong?” Louis asked, his voice softening.

Jay swallowed hard, her fingers trembling slightly as she gripped the edges of the envelope.

“Darling… I… I had to sign for it.”

The air shifted. Louis felt it—like the world was tilting under his feet, the ground threatening to fall away. He didn’t need to see what was inside. He knew. His body seemed to know before his mind could catch up, the pain already beginning to coil in his chest like a slow burn.

Although his throat was tight, Louis whispered. “Open it.”

Jay hesitated, biting her lip, her eyes filled with a sorrow she couldn’t hide. “Louis, maybe—”

“Open it,” he repeated, the demand in his voice barely restrained.

With trembling hands, Jay tore the envelope open, her eyes scanning the letter as the silence hung between them like a dark cloud. Louis watched her expression change, watched the way her face crumpled as she read the words that confirmed everything he feared.

“Read it.” Louis said softly, his voice breaking just a little. “Out loud, please.”

Jay shook her head, her lip quivering as she tried to hold back tears. “Louis, I really think you should—”

“Mum, just do it.” Louis begged, his eyes already burning with unshed emotion.

Jay drew in a shaky breath and began reading. Her voice was shaky as she began, “Dear Mr. Tomlinson, on behalf of our client, Mr. Harry Styles, we are writing to inform you—”

“Stop.” Louis cut her off sharply, his hand tightening around his phone. He didn’t need to hear the rest. He didn’t want to.

Divorce.

Of course. He could already feel the words suffocating him, wrapping around his throat like a noose. He didn’t need to hear it out loud to know what it meant.

“I’ve got to go.” Louis muttered, his voice cold and distant. Before Jay could protest, he hung up.

The phone slipped from his hand and fell onto the desk with a dull thud. Louis sat there, stunned, staring blankly at the empty office around him. The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, the only sound in the suffocating silence. He’d known this day would come—he’d prepared himself for it. But some small part of him, some fragile hope buried deep inside, had prayed it wouldn’t.

But now… it was here. And instead of the tears he had expected, there was only anger. Hot, boiling anger that pulsed through his veins like wildfire.

“Fuck you, Harry.” Louis whispered to the empty room, his voice low and venomous.

“You want me to move on? Fine. You asked for it.”

His hands clenched into fists as he sat there, the pain simmering beneath the surface. There was no more heartbreak to give. No more tears to shed.

Just anger and a determination to get laid at tonight’s festivities.

Louis had no idea why he was hell-bent on revenge. Maybe it was the anger simmering just beneath the surface, that feeling of wanting to prove something, even if Harry would never hear of it. But none of that mattered now. What mattered was that he looked damn good and felt in control, even if that control was nothing but a desperate attempt to forget, just for a night.

He’d made it to the store half an hour before the event, his mind still a storm of fury and heartbreak. There had been no time to browse or fuss over fabrics. Louis had grabbed the first snug-fitting suit he could find, a sharp black one that hugged his body in all the right places. It was cheaper than he would have liked, but he didn’t care. He liked the way the jacket cinched at his waist and the trousers accentuated his legs. If nothing else, he looked good. He caught a glimpse of himself in the shop mirror before leaving—the suit perfectly showcasing his toned arms, his broad shoulders, the definition in his thighs. Maybe it was petty, but looking like this made him feel like he was winning some invisible battle.

Liam had called about ten minutes ago, apologising that he’d been held up but promising he’d meet Louis at the venue as soon as he could. Louis was fine with it. He knew the location well enough—it wasn’t far from their place—and he didn’t mind arriving solo. Tonight wasn’t about Liam. It was about drowning this gnawing anger and doing something reckless.

When he arrived at the venue, Louis was hit with a wave of opulence. The kind of money that dripped off the walls, the chandeliers, the gold accents. Waiters floated around with trays of champagne, endless lobster, and dishes he could barely pronounce, let alone recognise. He grabbed a glass from one of the passing trays without thinking twice and downed it in a single gulp, the bubbles tingling on his tongue, a sharp contrast to the dull ache in his chest. Immediately, he reached for another, letting the alcohol start to blur the edges of his thoughts.

As he scanned the room, it felt like he was on a hunt. He could appreciate the expensive scenery, the delicate food and drinks, but his focus wasn’t there. No. He had one mission tonight, and it had nothing to do with small talk or making connections. He needed a distraction. He needed to find someone—anyone—to fuck.

His eyes roamed the room, observing the guests as if they were prey. They were all dressed immaculately, chatting, laughing, glasses of champagne sparkling in their hands. Louis felt a brief, bitter pang of envy, wondering how they could all seem so carefree. But then, he saw him.

Standing near the bar, casually sipping from his glass, was a man who was—simply put—breathtaking. Louis’ breath caught in his throat for just a moment, his gaze fixated. The man had dark hair styled effortlessly, his shoulders broad under the cut of his suit jacket, and that ass—God, that ass. Louis bit his bottom lip, his eyes slowly tracing over the man’s body, appreciating every line, every angle. He hadn’t realised his feet were already moving, slowly drifting towards him, as if he were drawn by some unseen force.

Louis stopped abruptly and watched like a hawk. He needed to be sure. There was something about the way the man moved, the way he signalled with his hands—elegant but subtle gestures that seemed to speak volumes, even from a distance. Louis could tell by the slight cock of his hip, the way he leaned casually into the conversation he was having. Yes, he was gay in some way. The way he spoke, how he angled his body towards the man next to him, it all but confirmed it. His gaydar had almost always been on point, but with saying that, he hadn’t looked at other men in so long he wasn’t sure if he should trust his own judgement right now.

Without bothering to wait for Liam to show up, Louis was already moving again, closing the distance. His heart pounded with something that felt like adrenaline. Maybe deep down, he knew this was wrong. That he wasn’t ready. But the anger swirling inside him, the desire to numb it, was much stronger.

He watched as the man excused himself from the bar and started walking towards a corridor,clearly heading in the direction of the restrooms. Louis followed, his eyes never leaving him, his steps quickening until he was just behind him.

Halfway down the hall, Louis sped up, his shoes echoing faintly off the marble floors. He increased his stride until he was walking side by side with the man, their shoulders nearly brushing. Louis could feel the heat from the stranger’s body and could catch the faint scent of his cologne, something musky and intoxicating.

“Hey.” Louis’ voice was low, dripping with intent, his eyes locked on the man beside him.

The stranger glanced sideways, his gaze meeting Louis’ with an instant, electric spark. Something in that look stirred Louis—something he hadn’t felt in far too long. The man’s lips curled into a slow, teasing smirk, his eyes dancing with curiosity but also feeling like somewhat of a challenge.

“Well, hey yourself. Caught you staring before.” His voice was smooth, almost playful. “Been eye-goggling me all night, huh?”

Louis didn’t miss a beat. He stepped in just a little closer, his own lips curving. “Can you blame me?” He let his gaze slide down the man’s body before meeting his eyes again. “You make it hard to look away.”

There it was. That unspoken understanding. The heat between them thickened, no need for more words.

Louis didn’t waste time. With a sharp tug on the man’s tie, he yanked him into the restroom, slamming the door shut behind them. The man let out a low chuckle, but Louis wasn’t interested in small talk. His lips met the man’s with a hunger he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in what seemed like forever, hands roaming, fingers gripping fabric as the urgency of the moment consumed them both.

It was quick and impulsive, everything Louis needed in order to feel in control again, to prove something to himself—and maybe, on some level, to Harry. The man’s breath hitched, their bodies pressed against the cold wall, and that was all the confirmation Louis needed. No names exchanged. No pretences. Just raw, fleeting satisfaction.

Louis stepped out of the restroom pleased with himself, casually wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a smirk playing on his lips. He ran his hands down the front of his snug suit, trying to smooth out the wrinkles and regain some composure, though the smug satisfaction on his face was undeniable.

As he glanced up, he spotted Liam approaching, a grin already forming on his friend’s face. “That suit is going to bring attention to you tonight. It looks great,” Liam complimented.

Louis smirked wider. “It already has.”

Liam’s jaw dropped, his eyes widening in playful shock. “You little minx!” he teased, his voice full of mock scandal. But before Louis could revel in the moment, the restroom door creaked open beside them.

The man emerged, smoothing his own tie as he stepped into the hall. His eyes met Louis’ first, a wicked smile flickering across his face before he turned his attention to Liam. Extending a hand, he said smoothly,

“Nice to see you, Liam. Looking lovely tonight.”

But something shifted in Liam’s expression. The playful, relaxed look vanished, replaced with a stiffness Louis hadn’t seen in a while. Liam managed a soft, polite smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Oh,” was all Liam could manage in response, barely touching the man’s hand in acknowledgement.

The man turned back to Louis with a knowing nod before walking off, leaving Louis’ eyes glued to his retreating figure.

“Fuck, he was good.” Louis muttered under his breath, still watching the man disappear from view. “So tight and… fucking hell, I don’t even know his name.”

Liam, his face unusually sombre, glanced down the hall where the man had just disappeared out of sight.

“His name is Zayn. He works in my building.”

The weight of those words didn’t immediately hit Louis. He was too caught up in the post-fling haze, his mind still wrapped around the moment that had just passed. But there was something in Liam’s tone, something that finally made Louis pause. He looked at his friend more closely, noticing the change in demeanour for the first time.

Liam straightened up, his tone more distant now. “I have some clients I need to go say hi to. I will catch up with you soon, yeah?”

Before Louis could respond, Liam was already walking away, leaving Louis standing there confused. He had no idea why the atmosphere had shifted so suddenly, but something had definitely changed.

🧸

Louis spent the rest of the night sipping champagne and watching Liam from across the room, trying to make light of the sudden tension. During the auction, he even raised his hand jokingly for a Victoria’s Secret bundle of bags filled with “mysterious goods.” The room laughed, and Louis turned to Liam, hoping for more than the half-hearted chuckle he received. But the flicker of amusement faded just as quickly as it appeared, leaving Liam quiet and distant, as though he was present but not really there.

Despite his best efforts to lift the mood, Louis’ attention kept drifting back to Zayn. There was something about him—something easy, like the way Louis felt when he first met Harry. That unspoken connection, the natural way conversation flowed. Zayn had this air of confidence without being arrogant, a calmness that drew Louis in. Every time he caught a glimpse of the man, he found himself biting his lip, unable to resist the pull.

By the time the event wound down, Louis was seated at the bar, next to Zayn, champagne glass still in hand. They talked for hours, their conversation flowing as effortlessly as the drinks. Zayn’s voice was low, smooth, like the kind of voice that made Louis lean in, eager to hear more. They talked about their work, their lives, and their ambitions. Zayn wanted to move up in his field, maybe even start his own firm one day. Louis spoke of getting back into design, something he’d left behind after the accident but was now beginning to rediscover.

It was refreshing, for once, to sit with someone and not feel the need to escape. Zayn was different. Louis didn’t feel that familiar itch to pull away, to run. There was no Harry in the back of his mind, haunting him like a ghost. In that moment, Zayn felt like a blank slate, a new chapter. Someone who didn’t come with the weight of history.

Louis didn’t notice when Liam left. Liam had watched them from a distance—smiling, flirting, laughing—and had slipped away without saying goodbye. He had seen enough to know that Louis had either forgotten about the crush Liam had once confided in him about Zayn or, worse, that Louis just didn’t care.

Either way, it hurt.

But Louis, oblivious to Liam’s departure, stayed behind with Zayn long after the event had ended. Their connection only grew stronger, and when Zayn suggested heading back to his place, Louis didn’t hesitate. The night blurred into early morning, and everything about it felt like freedom. Freedom from Harry. Freedom from the grief that had consumed him. It was the first time in a long time Louis let himself feel like he could move on.

Harry who?

The hours that followed were electric—intense, raw, and without the heaviness of his past weighing him down. Louis hadn’t expected to feel this alive again.

But as the morning light filtered through the curtains and Zayn rolled over in bed, the perfect night turned into something else entirely.

Zayn’s hand lazily trailed down Louis’ arm before his fingers stopped at the scar, the scar.

“What’s this from?” he asked, his voice soft and curious.

Louis froze. The scar wasn’t painful anymore, not physically, but the memory was. A wave of cold dread washed over him, crashing through the comfortable warmth they’d built. He pulled back, the sheets rustling as he quickly slid out of bed, reaching for his clothes.

Zayn sat up, confused.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine.” Louis cut him off, his voice tight as he pulled his shirt over his head, avoiding Zayn’s eyes. “I just… I need to go.”

“Stay,” Zayn pleaded gently, watching as Louis fumbled to get dressed. “Please. You don’t have to go.”

But Louis was already halfway out the door, the room suddenly suffocating. He couldn’t stay, not now. The rush of emotions was too much, too raw, and all the old wounds had been ripped open again.

“This was a mistake,” Louis rushed out. “I am so sorry.” And with that, he exited the door.

The scar on Louis’ arm was a brutal reminder of the night everything shattered, literally and figuratively. It was from the accident, where a large shard of glass from the windscreen had ripped through his skin, tearing open his arm as the car spun out of control. When Zayn’s fingers had brushed against the jagged mark, it was as if Louis had been transported back in time to that horrific night. All he could see was blood, so much blood pooling on his arm and soaking through his shirt as his vision had blurred from dizziness and fear. He remembered the deafening silence that followed the crash, the eerie absence of sound after the chaos, and how that silence had terrified him more than the actual pain. Abigail, who had been crying only moments before, was suddenly quiet, too quiet. That stillness, that cold, haunting silence, was the worst of it all. It was the moment Louis knew something was horribly and irreversibly wrong. And now with Zayn’s touch, all of it had suddenly come flooding back with an overwhelming wave of grief.

Out on the main road, Louis fumbled for his phone, ready to call an Uber when he saw a missed call. He blinked at the screen, his heart almost palpitating. It wasn’t the missed call itself that startled him, but the name: Anne.

Anne hadn’t spoken to him since the split. She had pulled away, slowly and quietly, after everything had fallen apart. Even Jay and Anne’s once-close friendship had disintegrated, something both Louis and his mother mourned in their own ways. They both suspected Harry had something to do with it, though neither had ever confronted him about it.

Louis stared at the screen for a moment longer, debating whether to call her back. But not yet. He needed to get home first, to think, to figure out what the hell was happening. The scar throbbed again, not from pain, but from memory, and Louis felt the weight of everything crashing back down.

🧸

Louis stepped out of the shower, steam curling around the mirror as he dried himself off. The warm water had done little to soothe the ache deep in his bones, a familiar heaviness that seemed impossible to shake. He threw on a pair of loose joggers and a worn t-shirt, grateful that it was Saturday and he didn’t have to face work today. He moved slowly, still lethargic and restless from last night.

His phone buzzed again. He sighed, picking it up from the nightstand, frowning when he noticed the battery icon flashing red. “You too, huh?” he muttered to the phone, feeling like everything in his life was running on empty lately. He grabbed the charger, plugging it in as he settled on the side of his bed.

The missed calls caught his attention: one from his mother and, strangely, another from Anne. They hadn’t spoken in so long. And a message—his stomach tightened as he opened it: “Louis, please call me immediately.”

Something in the words, in the urgency of his mother’s tone, made his heart skip a beat. His fingers hovered over her contact, about to press the call button, when his phone vibrated again. An unknown number flashed on the screen. He hesitated, then answered.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Tomlinson?” The voice was calm, professional.

“Yes, this is he.”

“This is St. James Hospital. We understand via our records that you are Harry Styles’ husband and listed here as his next of kin; we felt it necessary to inform you—”

Louis’ breath hitched. He froze. “Hospital?” he repeated, his voice barely a whisper.

The person on the other end continued, the words coming from literally miles away. Louis sat in stunned silence, horror slowly spreading across his face as he listened. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe properly. His mind reeled, his body filling with a pain so intense it was like every muscle had been hit at once.

“Thank you,” he muttered, barely audible, as the call ended. The phone slipped from his hand, falling limply to his lap.

He felt paralysed, his chest tightening painfully, his vision blurred with tears. A sharp, cold fear shot through his veins, making him shake uncontrollably. His hands fumbled as he tried to pick up the phone again, his fingers trembling so badly that he nearly dropped it.

He pressed his mother’s contact, and the phone rang. It felt like an eternity before she picked up.

“Louis?” Her voice was frantic, the worry clear.

“Mum,” he choked out, barely holding it together. “I just got a call. Harry, he… Mum, he…”

He couldn’t finish the sentence. His voice broke, and the weight of what he’d just heard crushed him. Tears flowed freely now, and all he could do was hold the phone to his ear, unable to speak, shaking from head to toe with the overwhelming fear and grief.

Harry had tried to kill himself.

🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸

The Return

Notes:

a/n This chapter contains a matter of fact conversation between a doctor and Harry’s family, of injuries sustained and the details of a note left behind. The description/injuries are not graphic/gory.

CHAPTER 5

✨️ The Return ✨️

Louis stepped off the plane, the familiar scent of his hometown hitting him like a punch to the gut. It was almost laughable how quickly the memories came rushing back, as though he had just been there yesterday, instead of months. The heartache, the pain, all of it resurfaced, coiling tight around his chest. He hadn’t expected to feel it this strongly, not so soon. He fumbled with his phone, dialling his mother’s number.

“Hey, Mum. I’m here.”

“Good, I’m just driving in circles. No parking anywhere,” Jay replied, her voice laced with the usual warmth, though slightly strained.

“Alright, see you soon.” He hung up and made his way outside, the colder air feeling oppressive, almost suffocating.

When he finally got into the car, the silence was immediate and heavy. There were no words exchanged, not even a glance in his direction. Jay knew better than to push him right now. Louis sat in the passenger seat, his leg bouncing uncontrollably, anxiety gnawing at him from the inside. He stared out the window, watching every tree, every street sign pass by, bringing him one step closer to the place he had been dreading.

The tension in the car was unbearable, but he couldn’t speak, couldn’t get his mouth to form any words. His throat was tight, his hands clenched into fists on his lap. His heart pounded so hard he was certain Jay could hear it. When the car slowed down, it took him a moment to realise they were pulling over.

Only then did Louis register where they were. “Oh, I, um… I was going to stay… um…”

Jay looked at him, her eyes widening slightly. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry, I didn’t think. I just assumed… But that’s okay; we can go to mine.”

“No, it’s fine.” Louis cut her off, not wanting to make a fuss. He stepped out of the car, his legs feeling weak, like they could give out at any second. As they walked up to the house, he could already see how well his mother had looked after the place. The garden was neatly trimmed, the windows cleaned, everything in its place, just as it had been when… when everything fell apart.

“I got you some milk and a small amount of food for you.” Jay said, her voice soft as she tried to ease the tension as they stepped just inside the doorway.

Louis turned to her, and the weight of everything, the stress, the pain, the overwhelming sense of loss that had been gnawing at him for months, finally broke through. The tears came, spilling over before he could even stop them. His body shuddered as he cried, sobbing in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to since it all happened. It felt like something inside of him cracked wide open, raw and exposed, and there was no stopping it now.

Jay immediately rushed over to him, wrapping her arms around him tightly. “Shh, shh, it’s okay, baby. Let it out.” She whispered, her hand running up and down his back. Louis sank into her, his knees buckling as she held him up. His mother’s presence felt like it was the only solid thing left in his life.

Through the sobs, Louis managed to choke out, “What happened to him, Mum?”

Before she could respond, her phone rang. She pulled away, just enough to glance at the screen. “Sorry, it’s Anne. Give me a second,” she said, answering quickly. “Hello, sweet.”

Louis stood there, wiping at his tears with the back of his hand, his chest still heaving as he tried to calm down. He didn’t even need to look around to remember. The memories flooded in anyway, the endless nights of fighting, the tears, the anger. He hated this house, hated everything it represented. It was where they had lived as a family and, inevitably, where they had fallen apart. It made him feel sick.

When Jay hung up, her face was serious, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Anne wants us at the hospital. ASAP.”

Louis didn’t ask why. He didn’t need to. Without a word, they both headed straight back out the door, the heaviness in his chest growing with every step.

🧸

As soon as he and his mother stepped through the automatic doors, Louis froze in the hospital entrance foyer. His feet refused to move. It felt eerily familiar, resurfacing too abruptly in his memory. Almost a year had elapsed since he last set foot in this location, nearly a year since the devastating loss of his beloved daughter. His heart pounded in his ears, his mind spinning with thoughts of the family he no longer had.

He hadn’t seen Harry in so long. Not since everything had fallen apart. And now, the idea of seeing him, of seeing what state he was in—if he was even alive—left Louis rooted to the spot. The unknown was suffocating him. What would Harry look like? Was he hurt, disfigured? Would he even recognise the man he had once loved so deeply?

Jay walked a few feet ahead before realising Louis wasn’t beside her. She turned quickly, hurrying back to him, her face full of concern.

“Honey, what’s wrong?”

Louis swallowed hard, unable to find the words at first. He could feel the trembling in his hands, the fear eating him up. “I don’t know if I can do this,” he admitted. “I don’t know if I want to see him. I don’t know if he’s okay… or if I can handle it if he’s not.”

His mother’s face softened, her hand gently cupping his cheek. “I know this is hard, and it’s a scary time. But I promise you, everything will be okay. Whatever happens, we are right here to help you.”

Louis looked at her, the weight of her words doing little to ease the tightness in his chest. He nodded, even though the fear still lingered, eating away at the courage he was trying to muster. He took a deep breath, feeling the air rush into his lungs like it was his last chance to breathe before drowning.

“Alright,” he whispered, nodding again as he tried to suck it up, steeling himself for what was to come. His legs felt heavy as they made their way towards the elevator, the quiet hum of the hospital around them only adding to his anxiety. Every ding of the elevator made his heart jump, and when they finally reached the right floor, Louis sucked in a sharp breath. His hands were clammy, his pulse racing as he stepped out into the corridor.

The corridor stretched before him, white and sterile, the quietness of it all so unnerving. At the end of the hall, he spotted Anne, sitting by herself. She hadn’t seen them yet, and for a moment, Louis felt a pang of shock. It had been so long since he’d seen her, he’d almost forgotten what she looked like. Time had worn her down, too.

As their footsteps echoed through the quiet hallway, Anne finally looked up, her face lighting up with relief. She stood immediately, walking straight towards Louis with her arms wide open.

“Oh, darling,” she breathed, wrapping him in a tight hug, her voice trembling slightly. “Boy, am I glad to see you.”

Louis hugged her back, feeling her warmth, but it did little to quell the fear bubbling inside him. He wanted to ask her so many things, but the words just wouldn’t come. The anxiety, the memories, the thought of what might be waiting for him just beyond those doors ahead—it was all too much.

Louis pulled back slightly from Anne’s embrace, his eyes full of emotion as he looked into hers. “I missed you,” he said softly, his voice thick with the weight of the time between them.

Anne smiled through her tears, her hands gripping his upper arms as she looked at him like she was seeing him for the first time in years. There was pride in her eyes, mingled with sadness, like a mother who wished things had turned out differently. “I missed you too,” she said, her voice soft and tender. “I really wanted to stay in contact, but Harry… he…”

Just hearing Harry’s name made Louis’ heart clench painfully. He tried to steel himself, but the flood of memories made it hard to breathe. “I figured something like that went down.” Louis replied, his tone low and understanding. He glanced between his mother and Anne, the tension in the air palpable. Swallowing the growing lump in his throat, he asked, “Is he okay, Anne? Please, just tell me. What happened?”

Anne’s composure cracked. She brought her hand to her mouth, already beginning to cry. Her legs seemed to buckle beneath her, and Louis quickly reached out, guiding her back down to the chair. She was shaking, her breath coming in ragged, uneven bursts. “They called me,” she stammered, her voice trembling. “They said they found him… he was…” Her words caught in her throat as she struggled to continue. “Louis, he hasn’t been in a good place.”

Louis felt the ground shift beneath him, a sickening dread rising in his chest. His stomach churned, the thought of Harry hurting, of Harry struggling, twisting inside him like a knife. He hadn’t been prepared for this—not for the fear, not for the guilt that all came rushing back with the force.

Jay moved beside Anne, gently rubbing circles into her back as Anne’s sobs continued to shake her. Louis stood frozen, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, trying to keep himself together. He wanted answers, but he was terrified of what they might be. What could have driven Harry to this point? The man he once knew seemed so far away now.

Just as Anne was about to speak again, a door down the hall opened, and a doctor emerged, walking towards them. His face was serious, professional, but there was a gravity to his expression that made Louis’ stomach flip.

“Mrs. Cox.” The doctor addressed Anne, his voice calm but urgent. “Could I have a word?”

Anne wiped at her eyes and straightened herself, nodding quickly. “You can speak freely. We are all family here. Louis… he is Harry’s husband.” Her voice cracked on the word, but she pressed on, determined.

Well, technically he still was.

The doctor glanced between them, then gave a short nod, his expression unchanged. “Alright. Harry is doing okay, but his injuries are severe. There is significant bruising and lacerations across his body. The impact was violent.”

Louis felt his breath hitch in his throat. His hands trembled slightly as he forced himself to listen.

“Right now, we’re hopeful he’ll recover physically.”

Anne sniffled, her hand still pressed to her lips, while Jay continued to comfort her silently. Louis, on the other hand, felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. Every word from the doctor felt like a punch to the gut. He knew they weren’t telling him everything—not yet. There was more to the story, something they weren’t saying, but he didn’t push. Not yet.

Instead, he stood there, numb and shaking, his mind struggling to process what he had just heard. Harry was alive, and yet somehow, despite everything, Louis felt like he was the one needing a doctor if the fast beat of his heart was anything to go by.

Louis knew it. The doctor’s face changed slightly as he continued.

“Like I said, Harry is stable for now,” he continued, his voice steady but grave. “When he was brought in, he had overdosed on a significant amount of prescription medication mixed with alcohol. We had to pump his stomach immediately to prevent further absorption, and even then, it was touch-and-go.”

Louis’ breath caught in his throat. Pills? Alcohol? His heart dropped further. The reality of it settled in, the thought of Harry deliberately putting himself in this position twisting painfully in his gut. He could barely stand hearing it, but the doctor continued, his words relentless.

“His system was overwhelmed, and we’re still working to keep his vitals stable. His blood pressure dropped dangerously low, and he’s severely dehydrated. We’ve had to put him on IV fluids and other medications to help counteract the effects. Right now, he’s unconscious, and we are keeping it that way via sedation to ensure he doesn’t wake up in distress.”

Anne sobbed quietly beside Louis, her head bowed, but Louis remained frozen. He couldn’t find any words, his body feeling heavy, leaden with guilt and fear. Every detail the doctor shared pulled him deeper into a sense of helplessness.

“We’re monitoring him closely for any lasting effects from the overdose,” the doctor added, his tone softening slightly. “Once he stabilises, he’ll be moved to a more secure unit in the psychiatric ward, given his suicidal state when he was admitted. We want to ensure he’s safe and receives the right care moving forward.”

Louis’ chest felt tight, his heart hammering against his ribs. His mind raced with the implications—Harry being moved to the psychiatric ward, Harry in such a dark place that he had to be kept under watch. The reality of how broken Harry was settled in like a weight he couldn’t escape.

The doctor hesitated, then sighed, as if bracing himself to share more. “In addition to the overdose, Harry sustained several injuries from the crash.”

That word cut through Louis like a knife. Crash? No, not again.

“When he lost control of the vehicle, it went off the road and collided with the barrier before coming to a full stop. Fortunately, the car didn’t enter the river below, although the police believe that was his plan, as they already stated to you. He wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, so his body took the full impact.“

Louis flinched, his heart pounding faster now.

“He’s suffered multiple fractures—his left arm is broken, and there was a dislocation in his shoulder. His ribs are bruised, and we’re monitoring for any signs of internal bleeding. His head also hit the dashboard, resulting in a severe concussion. We performed scans, and while there’s no immediate sign of brain damage, we can’t fully assess until he wakes up.”

Louis felt like he might collapse. Every word felt like a physical blow, each new injury adding to the crushing weight in his chest. He ran his hand through his hair, gripping the strands tightly as if the pain could somehow balance out the overwhelming emotions flooding him.

The situation had become dire, with the doctor’s words hanging heavily in the air. The pills, the crash, and the resulting injuries were stark reminders of Harry’s significant decline, a descent that Louis had been totally unaware of.

“We are managing his pain and again, once he’s stabilised physically, we’ll transfer him to the psychiatric unit where he’ll be under constant care for his mental health.” the doctor concluded. “He’s at high risk of another attempt, so we’ll be watching him closely, keeping him safe.”

Louis’ stomach twisted. The enormity of it all—the overdose, the crash, the broken bones, the mental collapse—made him feel like he was drowning.

“When will we be able to see him?” Jay asked, her voice gentle but steady.

“Once he’s transferred, family members will be allowed to visit. But right now, we’re doing everything we can to ensure his immediate safety. The last 24 hours have shown improvement; that’s a good start,” the doctor replied.

Louis nodded stiffly, his throat tightening. His whole body felt numb, like his emotions were sharp and uncontrollable. He wanted to see Harry, to hold him, to make sure he was okay—but the fear of seeing him so vulnerable, so hurt, was paralysing.

He glanced at his mother, then back at Anne, her face pale and tear-streaked. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. This wasn’t what he had ever imagined. And yet, here they were—waiting for answers that none of them could ever be prepared for.

The doctor excused himself, offering a final nod before disappearing down the hall, leaving an unbearable silence in his wake. Louis stood frozen, his mind spinning with too many unanswered questions. His pulse thundered in his ears as panic began to settle deep in his chest. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think—Harry was hurt and broken, and Louis had no idea how it had all come to this.

With a desperate plea, he turned towards Harry’s mother, his voice cracking. “What happened, Anne? Where did they find him? What crash?”

Anne stared at Louis, her tear-filled eyes wide with grief, her face streaked with sadness and fear. She looked utterly defeated. She tried to speak, but no words came, just a sob that escaped her throat. Turning to Jay, she pleaded silently, her eyes begging for some kind of release. Jay nodded, understanding without a word, and Anne abruptly stood, her hand covering her mouth.

“I need air,” she muttered, her voice barely a whisper as she walked away quickly, her steps uneven and shaky. She disappeared down the hall, leaving Louis and Jay alone.

Louis’ chest heaved, every breath more laboured than the last. He couldn’t stop shaking. “Mum,” he pleaded, his voice breaking as his desperation spilled over. “What happened? Please, what happened to my baby? Please, Mum, how did this happen?”

Jay looked at him, her eyes filled with sorrow. She sat down beside him, reaching out to take his trembling hands in hers. Her touch was warm, but it did nothing to steady him, to calm the storm inside. She stared at him, her heart breaking as she saw the fear in her son’s eyes—the same fear she had seen the moment he last held his daughter at the hospital, this very same hospital. But this was worse. Much worse.

“My love.” Jay began, her voice heavy with grief, “Anne…Anne said they found him out on Highway One. He had been drinking, and…” Jay’s voice faltered, choking on the words she didn’t want to say. Louis’ eyes were wide, pleading for more, needing to know the truth.

“And… and the pills, Louis. He took too many. The police believe he took the pills and alcohol to numb the pain for when he planned to drive off into the river. They found a note not far from the crash site, at Abigail’s little vigil on the side of the road.”

Vigil? He thought, What vigil?

“That’s how they knew he was trying to…”

Jay’s voice cracked, breaking under the weight of the words she could barely get out.

Louis shifted uneasily, his stomach twisting into tight knots. He could see it in her face, the way her mouth trembled and her hands fidgeted. She was battling with herself, torn between protecting him and telling him the truth he so desperately sought after.

“Mum, what did it say?” His voice was barely a whisper.

Jay’s eyes darted away, her anxiety palpable. Louis could see it now—she was debating whether she should say it aloud, whether she could even bring herself to relive the horror.

“You’ve read it, haven’t you? Do you remember what it said? Please tell me if you do.” His words were quiet, pleading.

She nodded, a slight, pained gesture that held more weight than any words could. “Of course I remember,” she said softly. “No parent could forget words like those. He’s my son-in-law, Louis, and I love him too. Those words… they’ll haunt me for the rest of my life. So yes, sweetheart, I remember exactly what the note said.”

Louis swallowed hard, unsure if he still wanted to know what it said anymore. His mother, who had always been the strong one, the unshakeable pillar of their family, now looked as fragile as glass, shattered in a way only a parent could. He didn’t know if he was ready for this—maybe he never would be—but he just needed to hear it.

“Mum. Please.”

Jay couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eyes. She stared at the floor, her shoulders sagging under the weight of the truth she carried. How could she possibly tell him knowing it’s going to upset him? It had been quite challenging for her to personally read the content when Anne presented it to her after receiving it back from the police. She hadn’t held herself together when she read his short goodbye. Therefore, she could only imagine how difficult it would be for Harry’s spouse, her beautiful son, to listen to it.

“It said…” Her voice wavered, “It said, and I quote.”

‘It hurt so deeply when I lost you, baby girl, and I miss you terribly. I miss Daddy too, because I stupidly pushed him away and let him go. But I can’t live without either of you anymore. I love and miss you both so much, but the good news is I will see you very soon, princess.’

Louis’ knees buckled beneath him, the reality crashing into him. “No,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“Lou, he did this the day his lawyer called him to tell him it had been done, that the papers had been delivered and signed for. I think he was too sad, baby.”

“No, Mum, no…” His legs gave out, and he sank into the corridor chair, but even that felt like too much to bear. The chair didn’t hold him for long as the grief tore through him, overwhelming and unrelenting. He slid down, collapsing onto the cold hospital floor as his sobs erupted from deep within him.

That is exactly what Harry would do. To end his own life in the very same spot where their daughter took her last breath.

Jay knelt beside him, her own tears falling as she reached for her son, cradling him in her arms, trying to hold him together as he shattered. “Louis, love, I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry…”

No one knew that Harry’s mental state had been deteriorating slowly, day by day, until he had become a danger to himself in ways no one saw coming. The loss of Abigail had hollowed him out, leaving an emptiness that swallowed everything good in his life. Every morning felt like an impossible mountain to climb, and every night he sank further into a suffocating despair. He isolated himself, cutting off friends and family, retreating into a dark place where he could no longer feel anything but the ache of loss and guilt. It wasn’t just the grief of losing their daughter; it was the slow, agonising erosion of his sense of purpose, the belief that life could ever be normal again. His relationship with Louis had been a casualty of this descent, each moment of silence between them adding to the chasm that tore them apart. Harry couldn’t express his pain, so he let it fester, slowly becoming consumed by the belief that the world, and Louis, would be better off without him. By the time the suicidal thoughts took hold, they felt more like an inevitability than a choice, a quiet surrender to the crushing weight of his own mind. No one saw how deep his darkness went until it was almost too late.

But Louis couldn’t hear his mother, couldn’t feel anything except the excruciating pain tearing through his chest, as though his heart was being ripped from his body. His sobs echoed through the empty corridor, raw and agonised, a sound of grief so deep that it clawed at anyone within earshot. It was the kind of pain that words couldn’t touch, the kind of grief that left nothing but ruin in its wake.

From just outside the door, Anne watched through the glass, her hands trembling as she pressed them against her face. She could hear Louis’ cries even from where she stood, the muffled sound tearing through her as though it were her own son on that floor. Louis had always been like her own, and seeing him this broken, this wrecked, was more than she could bear.

It felt like a scene from a sad movie, one she wished she could stop, one where she could rush in and change the ending, but she couldn’t. All she could do was watch, helpless, as the man who had once brought light to Harry’s life crumbled into pieces, his own heart breaking in sync with Harry’s. She watched as Jay tried to comfort him, but it was clear—there was no comforting a pain like this.

Anne turned away, tears streaming down her face, her body trembling as she pressed her back against the wall. Her heart ached, not just for Harry but for Louis, too. She had always known their bond was deep, but this… this was unbearable. She wiped her eyes with trembling hands, forcing herself to take deep, steady breaths as the reality of the situation weighed heavily on her shoulders. Anne felt guilty. Louis had been in Chicago, but she had been right here. Why didn’t she see this coming? How did she not prevent this?

Inside, Louis’ cries grew softer, but the agony was still there, acute and pulsing, as he lay curled on the floor. Jay continued to rub his back, whispering words of comfort that did nothing to ease the anguish her son felt.

The air in the hospital corridor was heavy with grief, as if the very walls had absorbed their pain. And even though Harry was the one behind those hospital doors, it was Louis who felt as though he had lost everything.

Louis’ sobs were ragged, barely contained, as he clung to his mother’s arms, his voice trembling with desperation. “Let me see him… please, let me see him,” he choked out between gasps for breath, the words barely making it past his tightening throat. His entire body was shaking, consumed with a powerful, unfiltered grief that left him unsteady.

A nurse, noticing the commotion, rushed over, her face lined with concern. She knelt beside him and touched his shoulder lightly. “Sir, are you alright?” she asked gently, but Louis hardly heard her. He turned to her, his tear-streaked face pleading, broken.

“Please… let me see him.” Louis begged, his voice hoarse and thick with tears. “That’s my husband in there. Just for a moment… Please, I need to see him.” His voice cracked as he said it, his hands gripping her arm with a desperation that was almost painful for both of them.

The nurse hesitated, glancing towards the door to Harry’s room, her face softening with sympathy. “I’ll see what I can do,” she murmured before standing and quickly heading toward the nurses’ station.

Louis was left waiting, his breaths coming fast, anxiety gnawing at him with every passing second. He turned towards the door of Harry’s room, staring at it as though his entire world was behind it. His hands trembled uncontrollably, and Jay tightened her grip on him, trying to steady him as best she could.

The nurse returned not long after, her expression serious but kind.

“You have two minutes,” she said softly. “I’ll take you in.”

Louis’ heart lurched, the relief mingling with the sharp fear of what he was about to see. He swallowed thickly, nodding as he stood, his legs feeling weak beneath him. His chest tightened with each step as the nurse led him towards the door.

The moment it opened and Louis stepped inside, the world seemed to slow down. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes fell on Harry, lying motionless in the bed, tangled up in cords and monitors. The steady beeping of the machines filled the room, a cold reminder of the fragile state he was in. The sight was almost unbearable.

Harry looked so small, so fragile, swallowed by the hospital bed, his pale skin almost translucent under the harsh fluorescent lights. His face was bruised, and his arm lay in a cast at his side, while a tube protruded from his nose. The gentle rise and fall of his chest was the only sign that life still remained in him.

Louis felt his knees buckle beneath him, the sight stealing the air from his lungs. He had to fight to stay upright, his hand gripping the edge of the door frame for support. His mind reeled, struggling to reconcile the man he loved with the broken figure lying in that bed. This wasn’t Harry. It couldn’t be. The vibrant, smiling Harry who once lit up every room he walked into… How had he ended up like this?

His feet felt heavy, like they were glued to the floor, but slowly—ever so slowly—Louis forced himself to move forward, as if afraid of disturbing the air around him. Every step was cautious, hesitant, as though he were approaching a ghost.

When he finally reached the bedside, Louis stood frozen, staring down at Harry, his eyes wide with shock and pain. He was afraid to touch him, afraid to cause him any more pain, but he needed to. He needed to feel some kind of connection, to know that this was still real, that Harry was still here, still fighting.

His hand hovered over Harry’s for a moment, trembling before he finally gathered the courage to gently stroke the top of it, his fingers barely grazing Harry’s skin. The touch sent a jolt through him—Harry’s hand was so cold, so still. It broke something inside Louis, something that had been holding him together.

Tears welled up in his eyes, spilling over as he reached down and carefully picked up Harry’s hand, cradling it in both of his. His touch was tender, as if afraid Harry might break under his fingers. His thumb brushed softly over the back of Harry’s hand, his grip tightening just slightly as he brought it up to his lips.

Louis pressed a gentle kiss to Harry’s fingers, his lips trembling as they rested against his skin. “H…” His voice was a whisper, barely audible over the steady hum of the machines. “I’m here. You silly boy, I’m right here.”

The words tumbled out in a choked sob as Louis lowered Harry’s hand, holding it tightly against his chest, as if he could somehow transfer his own strength into the man lying before him. “You haven’t lost me; you never did. God, Harry, wake up. Please wake up.” His voice cracked, breaking apart as he pleaded, the words desperate and with so much emotion.

Louis leaned forward, his forehead almost touching Harry’s arm, as though by getting closer he could somehow will him back. “Don’t do this. Please,” he whispered, his tears falling freely onto the sheets, soaking into the fabric as his body shook with grief. “Don’t leave me, Harry. I can’t do this without you anymore. I can’t…”

The minutes felt like hours, the weight of his pain suffocating him as he clung to Harry’s hand like it was his lifeline. He kissed it again, his lips lingering this time, his tears wetting Harry’s fingers.

“I love you.” Louis whispered, his voice shaking. “I’ve always loved you. You have to know that… you have to.”

He waited, hoping—praying—that Harry might stir, that he would open his eyes, even just a flicker. But there was nothing. Only the steady, relentless beeping of the machines, marking each second of Harry’s fragile life.

Louis sobbed again, his body trembling.

The pain, the fear, the guilt. The sadness. The regret.

The LOVE.

He felt it all.

He kissed Harry’s hand one last time before lowering it gently back to the bed, his own heart breaking into a thousand pieces.

The nurse stepped quietly into the room, placing a hand on Louis’ shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, her voice filled with sympathy. “Your time is up.”

Louis nodded, his face wet with tears, but he didn’t move right away. His eyes stayed fixed on Harry, as if he couldn’t bear to leave him, couldn’t bear to walk out of that room and let go. But eventually, he forced himself to stand, his hand lingering on the bed rail as he took one final, shaky breath.

“I’ll be back,” he whispered, his voice barely holding together. “I promise you, I’ll never leave you again.”

🧸

The days that followed Harry’s accident blurred into one long, exhausting wait. Louis, Anne, and Jay took turns keeping watch at the hospital, their lives reduced to a cycle of waiting, worrying, and hoping for any sign of improvement. The hospital noise became their new reality, as did the uncomfortable chairs that dug into their backs, the sound of beeping machines, and the hurried footsteps of nurses and doctors who were always bustling about.

Despite their efforts to take shifts—one going home to shower, another grabbing some food—Louis barely left Harry’s side. He had sat there, day and night, eyes glued, as if watching him could somehow keep him alive. Jay and Anne had pleaded with him to go home, even just for a few hours, but Louis refused. He was afraid, terrified that if he left, something might happen.

The doctors gently encouraged him to rest, to go home and sleep in a proper bed. “You need to take care of yourself too,” one had said, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. But Louis simply shook his head, ignoring the dull ache in his body from days of sleeping in hospital chairs. Every time he closed his eyes, nightmares of Harry slipping away plagued his thoughts. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—leave.

By day six, things still looked bleak. Harry was stable, but there had been no significant change. The doctors had said his vitals were good, but it was his brain activity that had been concerning them all week.

Louis sat by his bed, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the back of Harry’s hand. His mind was a storm of guilt and fear, every possible worst-case scenario playing out behind his eyes.

Finally, after days of pleading, Jay insisted Louis return to his old house even just for a nap. “You’re no use to him like this,” she said softly, her voice firm but filled with love. She’d noticed how his body was stiffening from the chairs, how his exhaustion had reached the point of delirium. Reluctantly, Louis had agreed, trudging back to their place, but even as he lay down, he couldn’t shake the guilt. His eyelids felt heavy, and though he fought to stay awake, sleep took him under almost instantly.

Back at the hospital, everything had changed.

It was early in the afternoon when the doctor came into Harry’s room, his expression lighter than it had been in days. “He’s doing much better,” he told Anne and Jay, who were taking their turn at Harry’s side. “We’re going to wake him up naturally from his sleep now. We reduced the sedation this morning, and his body is responding well.”

Anne’s breath caught in her throat, her heart skipping a beat. For the first time in days, hope blossomed in her chest. “Are you serious?” she whispered, her voice shaky with emotion.

The doctor nodded, smiling softly. “Yes, I think we’ve finally turned a corner.”

Jay immediately pulled out her phone to message Louis, but she hesitated when she realised he’d finally gone to rest. Still, she sent him a message, and Anne did the same, telling him to come back as soon as he could. But Louis was so deeply asleep, beyond exhaustion, that he didn’t hear the notifications buzz beside him.

From then on, things at the hospital moved fast. Jay waited outside as the doctors reduced Harry’s sedation more, and slowly, he began to stir. His fingers twitched, and his eyelids fluttered before he finally opened his eyes, squinting against the harsh hospital lights. Anne was at his side instantly, her hand gently stroking his arm, tears already streaming down her face.

“Harry… sweetheart, can you hear me?” She whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Harry blinked, his gaze unfocused, his face scrunched up in confusion. He was groggy and disoriented, his mind still catching up with what had happened. His mouth opened as if to speak, but no words came out at first. Anne kept focused on the relief of seeing her son awake, alive. All that mattered was that Harry was still here, and now he was awake.

The doctor stepped forward, checking Harry’s vitals, speaking calmly, assuring him that everything was going well. Harry barely nodded, his movements sluggish, his brain clouded by exhaustion and medication. He wasn’t coherent, and Anne didn’t push him. For now, she was just grateful to see his eyes open, to know he was still with them. She held off mentioning Louis, wanting to wait until Harry seemed more himself.

The nurses came and went, checking on Harry, making adjustments, and eventually, Harry’s mind started to clear. His eyes began to focus more, and though his body was weak and battered, there was a flicker of recognition in his gaze.

Then, suddenly, a shadow passed over his face—a look of sadness, of regret. Harry’s lips trembled, and tears welled up in his eyes as he turned to his mother. “I’m sorry, Mum. I just… I just couldn’t do it anymore. I—“ His voice broke off, shaky and trembling.

Anne rushed to his side, bending down to cradle his head as best she could. “No, no, shh.  Don’t say that. It’s okay, sweetheart, it’s okay. You don’t need to worry about any of that right now.” She whispered, her voice filled with love, her heart breaking at the sight of her son in so much pain. Harry cried into her arms, his shoulders shaking as he released the weight of everything he’d been carrying.

Moments later, the door swung open, and the doctor who had left and now returned, clipboard in hand, was ready to assess Harry’s recovery. “I’m glad to see you’re awake properly,” he said, offering a reassuring smile. “Everything on paper looks good—your vitals are stable. Other than some broken bones that will take a while to heal, you’re in a much better condition now.”

Harry listened quietly, staring down at the bed sheets in front of him, his fingers gripping the fabric. He didn’t say much, just nodded, a solemn look in his eyes. The doctor continued, explaining that Harry would be moved to another ward immediately, a place where he could continue to recover and address what led him here.

Harry didn’t argue. He knew he needed help, knew he wasn’t ready to face the world just yet. His eyes stayed downcast, focused on the rumpled sheets, his mind elsewhere.

As the doctor finished, Anne excused herself and stepped out into the hallway, needing a moment to collect herself. She found Jay waiting there, and the two women shared a look, both of them worn but relieved.

“He’s awake.” Anne whispered, tears shining in her eyes. “He’s awake, and he’s doing better.”

Jay gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. “Thank God,” she breathed. “I just got hold of Louis—he’s on his way back; he’s almost here.”

Anne nodded, her heart still racing from the emotional whirlwind. “I haven’t told Harry about him yet… I just didn’t want to overwhelm him.”

They both looked down the corridor, and just then, they saw Louis approaching. His face was still pale, his eyes red-rimmed from exhaustion, but there was a spark of hope in his gaze as he rushed towards them.

Jay stood and moved towards him, intercepting him before he could get closer to Harry’s room. “Louis, listen,” she said gently, her hand on his arm. “Harry’s awake, but he doesn’t know about you being here yet. He’s just starting to come around, and the doctor said he’s improved a lot.”

Louis’ breath caught in his throat, his eyes wide. “He’s… awake?” he whispered, barely able to believe it. “Can I see him? Is the doctor still in there?”

Jay’s heart ached for him, knowing how much he’d been waiting for this moment.

“Well….”

Just as she said this, the door to Harry’s room opened, and a nurse wheeled him out on the hospital bed, preparing to move him. Louis was too focused on his mother to notice at first, but Harry saw him, his eyes widening in panic.

Anne, standing just a few steps away, saw the look on Harry’s face—the fear, the guilt. He shook his head quietly, his lips forming the word “no,” pleading with her not to say anything. Her heart sank, torn between the two people she loved most in the world.

She gave Harry a sad, sympathetic smile, one that silently begged him to reconsider, but before she could say anything, the bed was wheeled away, taking Harry out of sight.

Only then did Louis finally turn, his gaze following the bed as it disappeared down the hallway. He hadn’t seen Harry’s face, hadn’t noticed the look of despair. All he knew was that Harry was alive, and that was enough—for now.

“When can I see him?” Louis asked again, his voice breaking.

Anne swallowed hard, her heart heavy. “I don’t know, sweetheart. He just got moved,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. “But he’s going to be okay.”

🧸

When Louis found out that Harry didn’t want to see him, it was like a knife twisting relentlessly inside of him. It stung; of course it did, but deep down, a part of him had expected it. After everything that had happened between them and with an impending divorce on the horizon, why wouldn’t Harry push him away? It didn’t make it hurt any less, though. Every day since Harry had woken up Louis had waited anxiously in the waiting room for Anne, and every day, Louis had asked her the same question: “Can I go in today?” And every day, she’d smile sadly, her eyes soft with sympathy as she shook her head no.

Louis had begun to dread those moments, seeing the pity in her gaze, hearing the reluctance in her voice. She always looked like she wanted to say something more, to give him some kind of hope. But the truth was, she had been trying. Louis knew Anne was doing her best to convince Harry to let him in. He could hear the frustration in her voice sometimes, the quiet sighs when she came out of the room. She wasn’t hiding it well anymore. But every time she had brought it up with Harry, he would instantly shut it down.

“I don’t want to see him; I can’t,” he had said at one point, his words heavy with exhaustion.

Anne couldn’t bring herself to tell Louis that. How could she? She knew how much he was suffering, how much he worried… how much he still cared. She couldn’t stand to see him lose hope completely. But after a few days, it became obvious. Louis wasn’t asking as much anymore. His shoulders drooped when he sat in the waiting area, his eyes distant as Anne came and went from Harry’s room. The exhaustion on his face wasn’t just from lack of sleep anymore—it was emotional, a deep sense of deflation that had taken over his entire being. Watching Anne walk into Harry’s room every day while he stayed stuck outside was beginning to feel like it was literally killing him.

Eventually, Anne couldn’t take it anymore. She saw it in the way Louis sat slumped in his chair, his hands fidgeting restlessly in his lap. The light in his eyes had dimmed, replaced by a hollow sadness that she couldn’t ignore anymore. She approached him cautiously, her heart heavy with what she was about to say.

“Louis, love, Harry told me to tell you…” She began softly, her words careful yet still delicate. “That he’s okay. Or, well, he said he will be okay. But…” She paused. “He wants you to go home, sweet. He doesn’t want to see you.”

She watched as Louis’ face crumbled, the impact of her words sinking in. He didn’t say anything at first, but she saw the tear that slipped down his cheek. He wiped at it quickly, as if embarrassed to cry in front of her. For the first time, he felt a strange kind of shame around Anne, and that hurt more than anything. She had always been a safe place for him, someone he could be vulnerable with. But now, even she couldn’t protect him from this.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words died on his tongue. There was nothing he could say to make this better. Nothing that would change Harry’s mind or fix the broken pieces between them. So instead, Louis nodded, biting back the lump in his throat. He took a long, hard look towards Harry’s room before turning away without another word.

The walk back home felt like a journey to a place he no longer belonged. The streets, the familiar sights, all felt distant, foreign, like they were from another life. When he reached the front door, he stood there for a moment, hesitating. He hated it—hated everything about this place now. But he had nowhere else to go. Not right now.

Inside, the house was spotless. His mother had done a fantastic job looking after it while he was in the U.S. and with all the time he’d spent at the hospital, everything was still neatly in its place, the air fresh and clean. But that only made it worse. It didn’t feel like home. It didn’t feel like his life anymore. It was just… empty.

Louis wandered aimlessly, his body moving on autopilot. He found himself staring into the fridge, though he wasn’t hungry. His stomach was twisted in knots, a constant reminder of how Harry still didn’t want him. After a moment, he shut the fridge door, the cold air doing nothing but enhancing the chill in his chest.

Something pulled at him, a quiet, nagging sensation that led him down the hall. He knew where he was going before he even got there, and yet it still hit him like a punch to the gut when he stepped inside Abigail’s old room. The room was empty, cold, stripped of everything that had once made it hers. The cheerful decorations, the soft toys—all gone. It was just another empty, lifeless space now, but it felt more suffocating than any other part of the house.

Louis stood in the middle of the room, his heart aching in a way that made it hard to breathe. The memories of her face, her little lungs crying out for him when she woke, the way she scrunched her little nose when she was asleep—none of it was here anymore. Just silence. Crushing, unbearable silence.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

He hated how cold and empty the place felt, hated the way everything reminded him of what he’d lost. He was hating everything really. The chime of his phone echoed in the emptiness, and he is surprised to see Liam’s name.

Liam had been unusually reserved when Louis told him he was flying back home. He didn’t offer a detailed explanation for his sudden departure, only briefly mentioning that it had to do with Harry and that it was urgent. There was an unsettling vagueness to his reply of “Okay,” leaving Louis feeling like there was more left unsaid, but the urgency of the situation didn’t allow for deeper probing.

The message from Liam was simple, yet brimming with unspoken concern:

“Are you okay? Did you sort out stuff with Harry? Zayn said he hasn’t heard from you either, and I’m worried. I just got home from work, but I’m free if you need to chat.”

Memory is a strange thing, unpredictable and merciless in its timing. The brain has a way of drawing forward moments long buried, bringing them back as vividly as if they had just happened. In that moment, completely unbidden, Louis was blindsided by a memory so sharp it felt like it had been lying in wait.

Liam’s words from the past echoed in his mind, crystal clear, as if they were being spoken directly into his ear: “Louis, this guy at work, Zayn, God, I think I’m in love with him so badly.”

Why now? Why, of all times, did this memory have to resurface? The nausea hit him immediately, overwhelming in its intensity, forcing him to cover his mouth to keep from dry heaving. He had messed up. The image of Liam’s face when he had first seen Zayn that night flashed through his mind—the way Liam had quietly withdrawn into himself, the hurt and confusion masked by a forced smile. But Liam had never said a word about it, not then, not ever. Even now, Louis realised, Liam hadn’t brought it up, as if he’d chosen to quietly shoulder the pain to spare Louis.

Louis’ stomach churned with self-loathing. He stumbled into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water, and leaned over the sink, trying to steady himself. How could he have been so blind? So selfish? He hated himself for hurting the people he cared about, and it felt like every time he turned around, he was somehow doing it all over again. It was as if the universe was conspiring to punish him for his mistakes, out to totally destroy him, and he was powerless to stop it.

His heart raced, a violent mix of guilt, anger, and betrayal coursing through him. Anne’s voice then echoed faintly in his mind, ‘He wants you to go home,’ followed by the devastating image of Harry lying in that hospital bed. It was too much. His grip on the glass tightened until, without thinking, he hurled it across the room. The sound of it shattering into a thousand pieces barely registered as he stood there, his body trembling, staring blankly at the mess he had made.

He typed out a response to Liam as fast as his shaking hands could manage:

“I am so sorry.”

His heart sank when Liam replied.

“What? For what?”

Still, Liam wasn’t saying anything, just as Louis had feared. Liam was one of the kindest, most selfless people Louis had ever known. He would never bring it up, would never make Louis feel worse, because he cared too much about Louis’ happiness, even if it meant suffering alone. That realisation was the final straw, tipping him over the edge.

He turned back towards the sink and vomited, the weight of his mistakes crushing him literally from the inside out.

By the time he cleaned himself up, choosing to ignore the broken glass, he plumped down on the couch. He couldn’t sleep in his old bed; he couldn’t do it.

Where to from here? He thought to himself.

Harry was awake, alive, and getting better—and for that, he was beyond grateful. But it didn’t change the fact that Harry didn’t want to see him. It didn’t change the gaping hole left in his life, the one that Abigail and Harry had once filled with so much joy and delight.

He didn’t know what to do anymore. Didn’t know where to go, whether to stay here or go back to Chicago. There was nothing left for him here anymore, not really. And yet, the thought of leaving felt like giving up, like letting go of that last piece of his family.

Of all the times he had stepped back into this house since he had been back, only now does he see it sitting there on the coffee table.

The envelope, holding the divorce papers.

To sign or not to sign, or maybe it’s simply when should he sign? 

No, screw that; those thoughts can wait until tomorrow.

🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸

Rebuilding

Chapter 6

✨️ Rebuilding ✨️

Louis stood by the front door, his bag slung over his shoulder, though he hadn’t packed much—he hadn’t needed to. He hadn’t unpacked much when he returned, as if some part of him always knew he wouldn’t stay long. His eyes scanned the room, lingering on every small detail as if he could somehow sear them into his memory forever.

The ceiling lights that once flickered above their late-night conversations, the door frames that Harry used to lean against when he was deep in thought. He turned his gaze to the windows—those same windows where Harry used to sit for hours, a book in hand, lost in a world only he could see. Louis could still picture him there, sunlight spilling across his face, his lips curled into a faint smile as he read those romantic love stories he adored so much.

He looked to the couch in the living room, where they had spent countless nights, snuggled together, watching movies and whispering inside jokes. That couch had seen them through everything—the highs, the lows, the moments that felt like forever. Now it was just an empty piece of furniture, and all the warmth it had once held was entirely gone.

Climbing the stairs, his eyes drifted down the hallway, towards their bedroom door. So many memories lived behind that entrance. Nights of soft whispers in the dark, of tangled limbs and laughter. That bedroom had been their sanctuary, the place where they had bared their souls to each other, where they’d held each other through the good and the bad. Louis could still feel Harry’s touch on his skin, the way his hands had moved so gently yet confidently, as if they had known each other for lifetimes. And they had, in a way—Harry had been Louis’ entire world.

His chest tightened, and his gaze fell to the spot where they had laid Abigail down to nap, so many times, her tiny body cradled by the softness of the blankets. He could almost hear her faint breathing, see her little fingers twitching as she dreamed. Those were the good days, the days when everything felt right, when they were a family. He blinked quickly, forcing back the tears that were already burning the corners of his eyes.

Then his attention was drawn to the kitchen table, that old, worn piece of wood that held so many of their memories. It wasn’t just a table. It was where they had shared countless laughs and smiles over takeout, but also where they had also sat in comfortable silence, enjoying each other’s company after long exhausting days. It was also where, in a fit of drunken passion one night, Louis had wrecked Harry—his mind racing, his heart pounding, unable to get enough of the man he loved. He should smile at that memory, at the sheer heat and intensity of it. But instead, his lips trembled, and his throat tightened painfully. There was simply no room for joy in these memories anymore.

This house had been their home, the place where their lives had been so beautifully entwined. Now, it was just cold and bitter even, a never-ending painful reminder of everything he had lost.

Louis clenched his jaw, his heart shattering all over again. He had fought so hard to hold on to hope, to believe that maybe, just maybe, Harry would want him back. But that hope had now disintegrated, piece by painful piece, until nothing was left.

He couldn’t stay here any longer. He couldn’t keep walking through this house, haunted by the memories of what they had been. It was time to let go.

Time to move on.

As much as he wished things could be different, Louis knew the truth. Harry was never coming back; Harry didn’t want him anymore; he had made that very clear. He was clinging to a ghost, a past that was gone, and staying in this house was only prolonging the inevitable.

He took a deep breath, his chest aching.

It was time to sell the house.

With trembling hands, Louis reached for the door handle. His vision blurred, tears finally spilling down his cheeks as he opened the door and stepped out for the final time, leaving behind the life they had once built together.

🧸

Louis’ footsteps echoed faintly in the hospital corridor as he approached the last corner before the elevator waiting area. He knew his mother would be there, waiting with Anne, but he wasn’t ready to face them just yet. It appeared that the significance of this particular moment was more substantial than he had initially anticipated, as if the gravity of his choice was finally exerting its full impact upon him.

As he neared the corner, he slowed to a stop, just out of sight. He knew he shouldn’t listen—it was wrong, intrusive—but he couldn’t help himself. He needed to hear something, anything, to convince himself that leaving was the right decision. That Harry would be okay, that he would be okay.

He strained to hear their voices, and then Anne’s words drifted just loud enough to hear.

“I don’t get it, Jay. I can see it on Harry’s face—he loves your boy terribly. I’ve tried convincing him to see Louis, but he…” Anne trailed off, shaking her head in frustration. “He’s so stubborn.”

Louis swallowed hard. He could picture Harry’s face so clearly—those deep green eyes that once held all the love in the world for him, now filled with walls he couldn’t tear down.

Jay’s warm voice broke through, gentle yet certain. “Those boys have loved each other from the very beginning, Anne. The love they share, it’s not the kind you come across often. They might be apart right now, but I feel it, deep in my bones—they were meant to be. They can’t function without each other. This whole incident with Harry proves it. They’ll find their way back; I know they will. Our boys are strong, and when they love, they love with all their might.”

Louis had to press his fist to his mouth to keep from making a sound, every word his mother said cutting deeper into his heart because everything she had said was true. His throat burned, and it took every ounce of strength not to crumble right there in the hallway. He felt so fragile, as if one wrong move would shatter him entirely.

But he couldn’t stay hidden any longer. He had to face them.

Gathering himself as best as he could, Louis turned the corner, his eyes already brimming with tears. The moment Anne saw the bags slung over his shoulder, her expression twisted with heartbreak.

“No, love, please don’t go.” She begged before even saying hello, her voice cracking. “Harry doesn’t—”

“—want me here.” Louis finished quietly, his tone resigned, void of any last hope. He forced a small, sad smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. Anne’s lips trembled, but before she could say anything more, Jay stood and opened her arms wide, pulling her son into a tight embrace. Louis melted into her, resting his head against her shoulder, letting the weight of his sorrow sink into the warmth of her love.

She knew. She didn’t need to say anything. Jay understood that, for now, this was the only way Louis knew how to do right by Harry. And she also understood that, even though it was breaking his heart, he had to go back to Chicago.

After a long, silent moment, Louis straightened up and pulled a key from his pocket. “Here’s my key,” he murmured, handing it to his mother. She took it carefully, her fingers brushing against his for a second longer than necessary, as if she could somehow hold onto him through this simple exchange.

Louis bent down, placing his bags on the floor. His hands shook slightly as he unzipped the front pocket, pulling out a yellow folder. Jay’s breath hitched when she saw it; she knew what this was, but seeing it in her son’s hands made the reality of it all so much worse.

“Louis…” Anne’s voice broke from behind him. “Oh, this can’t be happening; I can’t… I can’t do this.” She turned away, covering her face with her hands as silent sobs wracked her body.

Louis looked over at her, guilt gnawing at his insides. He didn’t want to hurt her—didn’t want to hurt anyone—but this needed to be done. He needed to make a clean break, even if it felt like ripping his soul apart in the process.

“I’ve signed them,” he said quietly, handing the folder to his mother. “Please give them to Harry. He’ll file them.” His voice trembled, but he held himself together, though barely. He couldn’t let himself fall apart—not here, not now.

Jay took the folder, her hands shaking. She wanted to ask about the house, about the future, but when she saw how deeply Anne was affected, how broken she already seemed, she held her tongue. She knew Louis had made up his mind, but she wasn’t sure if it had all been arranged fully, the whole, done, signed, and delivered aspect. He had texted her earlier, telling her he had spoken to a real estate agent, signed the papers, and made arrangements for whenever the house sold. There was no turning back now.

Tears streamed down her face as she nodded. “Okay, sweetheart,” she whispered. She wanted to say more, to tell him that she still believed in him and Harry, that maybe this wasn’t the end but the beginning of something new. But the heartbreak already on their faces made it impossible to speak those hopeful words.

Louis forced a shaky breath, his heart heavy. He wanted to say goodbye, to tell his mother how much he loved her, how much he wished things could be different, but the words caught in his throat.

“I love you,” Louis mouthed silently to his mother before pulling her into a final tight hug, holding on as if it might be the last time. When he finally pulled back, his eyes landed on Anne, who still had her back turned. His heart ached with uncertainty—should he say something? Should he just leave quietly?

Before he could decide, Anne turned to face him. Her face was flushed, her eyes swollen and glistening with tears. Without hesitation, she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around him with all the strength she had left.

“You will always be my son-in-law, you hear me?” Her voice trembled, thick with emotion. “I love you, Louis. We all do.”

Louis clung to her. Anne had always treated him with a love and kindness that went beyond being just his mother-in-law. In many ways, she had become a second mother to him. And now, letting go felt impossible. But he knew he had to. Reluctantly, he released her, though every fibre of his being screamed to hold on.

He stood there, torn between two worlds—the one telling him it was time to leave and the one begging him to stay. His heart pounded as he looked between Jay and Anne, his throat tightening as he tried to find the right words.

“I love him more than anything,” he finally whispered, his voice cracking. “And, um… if he needs me or… if anything happens, you know, just um…”

He couldn’t say it. The words too heavy to speak aloud. But he didn’t have to. The way his eyes flickered desperately between the two women, the way his breath hitched as his composure crumbled, said everything.

Jay and Anne both began to cry, their silent understanding filling the space between them.

Louis swallowed hard, his voice barely a whisper. “Just… just ring me, yeah?”

They both didn’t say a word. They didn’t need to. They simply smiled sadly, offering him the quiet reassurance that they would always be there for him.

He exhaled deeply and pivoted. He collected his belongings and mentally reinforced what he already knew.

‘This is what Harry wanted.’

Without any further delay, he departed without a backwards glance, each stride akin to a metaphorical nail piercing his heart. He stepped into the lift, and as the doors closed behind him, Louis felt like he was leaving more than just the hospital behind. He was leaving behind the life he had built, the man he had loved more than anything, and the hope that somehow, everything could be fixed.

✨️ TWO MONTHS LATER ✨️

Louis stood just inside the doorway, watching as Liam and Zayn walked in, side by side. There was a warmth between them that felt effortless, a fondness that radiated from the subtle glances they exchanged, the way Liam’s lips quirked into a smile whenever Zayn did something as simple as walk beside him. Louis hadn’t felt this sense of ease around Liam for a long time, but now, watching the two of them together, he finally felt the knot in his chest begin to loosen.

When Louis had returned to Chicago, his first priority was to fix the damage he had caused with Liam. It hadn’t been easy; there were late-night conversations filled with apologies and awkward pauses, but in the end, it turned out that Liam and Zayn had become the perfect match for one another. They balanced each other in a way Louis hadn’t expected, and though there was a time when seeing Zayn would have sent a pang of guilt through him, that time had passed. Funny enough, their brief hookup had become a distant memory, as if it never happened. It was easier to laugh about it now, and Louis was surprised to find himself growing closer to Zayn, the man who constantly had him laughing with his dry humour and quick wit.

At first, it was awkward—an understatement, really—but Zayn had a way of easing the tension. Before long, Louis found himself feeling completely at ease around him, even enjoying his company. Zayn had become a good friend, someone who made him laugh when he hadn’t thought he could anymore. Watching him and Liam now, so smitten and wrapped up in each other, made Louis feel a bittersweet pang in his chest. There was an ache, a reminder of what he didn’t have anymore, but it was softened by genuine happiness for them both. For the two people who had never made him feel more wanted, more accepted, than anyone else in his life.

He smiled to himself as Zayn teased Liam about something, Liam’s face lighting up in response. They deserved this happiness, and despite the ache, Louis was truly glad for them.

Four weeks ago, Louis had received a call from his real estate agent. The house had sold. It was all done and dusted. Since Louis had signed the papers before leaving, his part in the sale was already complete. It had been one of the hardest decisions he’d ever made—letting go of the home that held so many memories of his life with Harry. But he knew it had to be done. He’d handed over Harry’s details to the agent, knowing Harry would need to sign the final paperwork. It was a strange feeling, knowing the house was no longer theirs. Another chapter, another part of his life… erased.

As much as it hurt, though, there was also a sense of relief. The house was sold, and with it went the ghosts of the past. It was another step forward, another chance for him to breathe again.

And then there were the divorce papers.

Louis had signed them, but he hadn’t heard a word since. Not from Harry, not from anyone. It was as if the whole thing had disappeared into the void. He didn’t ask about it, didn’t bring it up with anyone, not even his own mother. He figured if something was wrong, he would have heard by now. So, no news must be good news, right? He told himself that over and over, convincing himself that the silence meant everything had gone through smoothly.

That part of his life was now over, too.

Yet, as Louis stood there, watching his friends, he felt something shift inside him. He wasn’t weighed down by the thought of the house or the divorce, not in the way he had been before. Instead, there was a lightness in his chest, a quiet sense of closure. He wasn’t erasing his past—he couldn’t, even if he wanted to—but he was letting it go, piece by piece. It no longer held him captive.

He could breathe again. Time really is a healer.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Louis had allowed himself to smile—genuinely smile—at the simple joy in front of him. The laughter, the love, the warmth of friends who had been there through it all. He was healing, slowly but surely. And while he might not be there yet, he could feel it—he was finally beginning to find his way back to himself.

With a sigh, Louis retreated to his room, the one place where he could let his mind quiet down for a bit. He’d barely been in there for a few seconds when there was a knock on his door.

“Oi, me and Zayn are heading over to Jenny’s. Are you coming?” Liam’s voice came through the door muffled but cheerful.

Jenny’s Pub was far from fancy, but that was the charm of it. It had this old-school, no-frills atmosphere with worn wooden tables, neon signs that flickered, and bartenders who knew the locals by name. Louis had fallen in love with the place the first time he’d been there, especially their deep-dish pizza, which, in his opinion, was the best in Chicago.

Louis scrunched his nose as he thought for a second, a grin spreading across his face. “Only if you grab me a bottle of Pepsi from the fridge first.”

Liam opened the door, leaned against the doorframe, and gave him a deadpan look. “Lazy ass! Fine, but only if you buy the first round at the pub?”

“Done deal!” Louis laughed, tossing a pillow at Liam as he walked away.

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll regret that when you see what I order!” Liam called over his shoulder, shaking his head with a smirk.

As Liam disappeared to grab the drink, Louis turned towards the mountain of clothes that had accumulated on his bedroom floor. He wasn’t quite sure when he had let it get so bad, but he ignored it for now, spotting his phone vibrating on the nightstand. It was ringing, and he barely registered it before lunging over the pile of clothes to grab it.

Louis had grown used to the weekly updates from his mother since his return to the States. Every Friday, like clockwork, she would call to check in, her voice always gentle but oddly cautious. She’d tell him how Harry was doing—never too much, just enough to keep him informed. There was something in the way she spoke, though, a hesitancy that Louis couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t that she was keeping a secret, not exactly, but it always felt like she wasn’t telling him everything either. He couldn’t figure it out, and recently, his mother had become harder to read. She was always careful with her words, leaving him wondering if there was more to the story than she was letting on.

He already knew who it would be, so without thinking, he answered the call, not even looking at the screen.

“Hello, Mum,” he said, his voice casual.

But there was a pause on the other end, and instead of his mother’s familiar voice, he heard something else entirely.

“Hi, Lou.”

It wasn’t his mother.

It was Harry.

Louis froze the moment he heard it—that voice. He hadn’t heard it in what felt like forever, and yet it was unmistakable.

Two simple words that sent his heart through to his throat, his mouth suddenly dry as he struggled to make sense of it all. It couldn’t be. He was sure he was imagining it. His brain scrambled, still processing the fact that it was Harry— the Harry , his Harry .

There was a long, awkward pause, both of them seemingly at a loss for what to say next. Louis’ hand shook slightly as he held the phone to his ear, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts but not one word forming on his lips. He wanted to speak, to say something, anything, but all he could do was sit there, stunned into silence.

Harry must have sensed the tension because his voice, soft but hesitant, came again.

“Sorry to just call out of the blue. If you’re busy, I can go and—”

Louis’ breath hitched, but still, no words came out. His mind was screaming at him to respond, to tell Harry not to hang up, but he was paralysed by the shock of hearing him again after so long.

He remained silent, his throat tightening as he tried to comprehend that this wasn’t some trick his mind was playing on him. But Harry, mistaking his silence for rejection, continued awkwardly, his voice laced with hesitation.

“I’m sorry. This was a stupid idea.”

Louis heard a soft exhale, the sound of someone giving up, and before he could find his voice, the line went dead, and all he was left with was an endless dial tone.

It took a moment for Louis to fully register what had just happened. His mouth parted as if to call out to the silence, but it was too late. Harry had hung up, and once again, he was gone, just like that.

“Harry,” he whispered to no one, his voice cracking.

Louis just sat there, his mind struggling to catch up. He stared blankly at the phone in his hand, his heart pounding in his chest. That voice—Harry’s voice—so soft, so familiar, it had shaken him to his core. The sound of it had tugged at memories he’d tried to bury, feelings he thought he had tucked away for good.

“Hi, Lou.”

He replayed the words in his head. They felt like a dream, surreal and distant, but there they were.

Real. And now… gone.

Harry had called, and Louis had said nothing. Not a single word. He’d just sat there in shock, his mouth dry, his brain unable to process that it was Harry—the Harry—on the other end of the line.

His hand trembled slightly as he lowered the phone. His thoughts raced in every direction, panic rising in his chest. He frantically stared at his screen, realising that the call had come from a private number. He had no way to call him back. No way to fix the mess he’d just made by doing absolutely nothing.

“No, Louis, you freaking idiot!” he muttered under his breath, his frustration bubbling over as he tossed the phone onto the bed beside him. His chest felt tight, his mind spiralling with every ‘what if’ he could think of.

Just then, Liam popped his head into the room, waving a bottle of Pepsi like it was some grand prize. “Talking to yourself again? They say that’s the first sign of madness, you know.”

Louis didn’t answer, his mind still reeling from what had just happened. He must have looked pale, because Liam’s casual grin faltered as he stepped inside.

“Are you okay? What’s the matter?” Liam asked, concern quickly replacing his usual humour.

Louis blinked, his throat tightening as he struggled to find the words.

“Harry. He… Liam, Harry just called me.”

Liam’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he said nothing, waiting for Louis to continue.

“I—” Louis swallowed hard, his voice cracking. “I stupidly said nothing, and he hung up.”

Liam frowned, glancing at the phone on the bed. “Then call him back.”

Louis, unable to help the sharpness in his tone, snapped back without meaning to.

“If I could, I would! It was from a private number. Anne said he changed his.” His words came out more biting than intended, a product of his anger with himself rather than Liam.

Liam raised his hands in mock surrender, stepping back a little. “Alright, alright,” he said gently, quickly recognising that Louis wasn’t upset with him but with the situation. His expression softened as he thought for a moment, then offered,

“Maybe ask your Mom for his number? Wouldn’t she have it?”

Louis didn’t reply, too wrapped up in his self-blame to even consider it. Liam, sensing that Louis needed some time, gave him a small, understanding smile before backing out of the room.

“Take a minute, mate. If you need me, text me. We are off now, so let us know what happens.” he said softly, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

Louis stood there, alone once more, his head buzzing with a thousand thoughts. He felt as though he was suffocating in his own frustration, his heart still racing from the mere sound of Harry’s voice. His mind was stuck, replaying the moment over and over, cursing himself for freezing.

He called.

Harry had called him, and he had let it slip through his fingers. The things he could have said—what he should have said—pressed down on him, but the chance was gone now.

He ran his hands through his hair in frustration, biting back tears. All this time, all the distance, and yet… Harry had reached out. And he had let the silence swallow them both.

He sat down on the edge of his bed, staring at his phone like it might give him some kind of answer. He was lost in a sea of confusion and regret, unsure of how to move forward from this. But one thing was clear—Harry wasn’t as far out of reach as he had initially thought.

Maybe Liam was onto something. Frantic, he scrambled for his phone, his fingers shaking as he fumbled to dial the one person he knew could help—his mum. She would have Harry’s number, right? She had to. She was the only lifeline left.

“Louis?” she answered, mum mode automatically activated sensing the urgency.

“Mum.” Louis breathed out, barely holding his voice steady. “Mum, I need Harry’s number! Please!”

There was a pause on the other end, just long enough to make Louis’ heart race even faster. He could almost hear the hesitation in her silence.

“Louis…” she began slowly, carefully, and he instantly knew something was wrong. “I can’t give you that; I’m sorry.”

Louis blinked, his stomach dropping. “What do you mean, you can’t? Mum, please! He rang me, and I—”

He tried to explain, tried to make her understand, and he didn’t care how desperate he sounded.

“Look, it doesn’t matter. I need to call him back. I can’t— I can’t just leave things like this!”

Jay’s sigh came through the line, soft but full of conflict.

“Louis, sweetheart, I want to help; believe me, I do. But Harry… he asked me a long time ago not to give his number to anyone. Not under any circumstance.”

“Mum.” Louis practically pleaded. “Please. He called me, and I—I just need to talk to him; I didn’t say anything, and he hung up. I—” He was rambling, trying to push past how shitty he felt, trying to make his mother understand just how much he needed this.

“I understand, but—”  Jay said softly, and Louis could hear the strain in her voice, the heartbreak she felt for him. “But I can’t, Louis. I promised him.”

Louis clenched his fist, trying to contain the frustration building inside of him. “You’re really not going to give it to me? Mum, he called me! Isn’t that enough?”

Jay’s voice trembled slightly, surprising Louis with how pained she sounded. “It’s not that I don’t want to help you, Louis. God, you know I want to. But Harry’s like a son to me too, and he made me promise not to give it to anyone. I have to honour that.”

Louis swallowed hard, his desperation only growing. “But—” His words faltered, his breath shaky. “But he called. Doesn’t that mean something? Doesn’t that mean he wants to talk?”

Jay was quiet for a moment, and Louis could almost picture her biting her lip, torn between her love for him and her loyalty to Harry. “He did?” she finally asked, surprise lacing her words. “Harry actually really called you?”

“Yes, that’s what I’m saying.” Louis whispered, his voice barely audible. “Out of the blue. And I… I couldn’t even say anything, Mum. And then he just hung up.”

Jay sighed again, the sound full of empathy and pain. “I mean, that’s lovely, son, but even so, I can’t break my promise to him.”

Louis sat there, his heart sinking, feeling utterly defeated. He had no way to reach Harry, and the one person who could help him—his own mother—was bound by a promise she couldn’t break. He wanted to argue more, to plead with her again, but he knew deep down it wouldn’t change anything.

“I’m sorry, love.” Jay said softly, the weight of her apology heavy in the air. “If I could give it to you, I would. You know that.”

Louis closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to keep himself from completely falling apart. “Yeah,” he muttered quietly. “I know.”

The silence stretched between them, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, Louis cleared his throat, forcing himself to sound stronger than he felt.

“Thanks anyway, Mum.”

“I’m so sorry, Louis.” Jay repeated, her voice thick with regret. “But… maybe it’s a good thing he called. Maybe it means something.”

Louis nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “Maybe. Guess I will never know now,” he murmured, though his heart felt far too heavy to believe it just yet.

“Louis….Don’t be like that. I love you, sweetheart, okay.” Jay added, her voice soft and warm, the way it always was when she tried to comfort him.

“I love you too, Mum. I have to go.” Louis whispered before the call ended, leaving him alone with deafening silence.

Harry had called… and now, Louis had no way to reach him…or did he?

✨️ 15 HOURS LATER ✨️

Dinner time at the Tomlinson house was always a whirlwind of chaos, and tonight was no exception. The aroma of burnt chicken wafted throughout the house, a reminder of Jay’s long, exhausting day. She had worked tirelessly all day, and now, faced with a mountain of bills scattered across the kitchen counter, she felt like she was on the edge of a breakdown. Her middle children, a pair of unruly ten-year-olds, were engaged in an all-out brawl over a toy, their voices piercing through the cacophony of clattering pots and pans.

“Guys, please! Knock it off!” she exclaimed, frustration creeping into her voice. She hurried her movements, hoping that if she moved fast enough, they would quiet down, their mouths stuffed with food instead of words.

As she scrambled to salvage the dinner plans, her eyes darted to the clock. She was exhausted but determined to feed her kids, bathe them, and get them into bed as soon as possible so she could finally relax. With a quick decision, she abandoned the burnt chicken and began prepping a meatloaf, her hands moving on autopilot.

“Need a hand?”

The voice startled her. She spun around to see Louis standing near the kitchen table, his backpack still slung over one shoulder. Relief washed over her, and she quickly set down the mixing bowl.

“Oh my god, why didn’t you tell me you were coming home?” she exclaimed, rushing to him. They embraced tightly, and in that moment, the warmth of their connection provided a much-needed reprieve from the chaos surrounding them.

As they pulled apart, Jay searched her son’s face, and he returned her gaze with a knowing look. She was far from oblivious; even with the children pulling her in every direction, she could read him like an open book. She knew why he had returned home. But tonight, they wouldn’t speak of it. Instead, they fell into a familiar rhythm, working side by side to serve dinner as the children’s bickering quieted in the face of their older brother’s presence.

The table was soon set, the meatloaf steaming in the centre as the younger siblings shuffled into their seats, settling down with plates piled high. Jay watched as Louis interacted with them, a smile forming on her lips. The room felt a little lighter with him home, even if just for a moment.

Once the children were tucked away in bed, the house settled into a serene hush. Jay and Louis collapsed onto the couch, the familiar theme of “The Nanny” playing softly in the background, a nostalgic comfort for both of them. Louis sank into the cushions, feeling the weight of the world lift off his shoulders for the first time in what felt like ages.

Jay turned to her son.

“I still can’t give it to you,” she said softly, a reminder of the boundary that still existed between them.

Louis offered a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I know. Um, how is he?”

Jay sighed, a hint of relief in her voice as she began to share the details of Harry’s journey. “He spent the first month in a hospital facility. A lot of self-reflection, learning about himself… coping mechanisms. He worked with a really good therapist and made great progress. He’s been working through all the pain and feelings he had harboured.”

She paused, recalling the conversation with Harry and how much brighter his demeanour had become. “He only returned home a few weeks ago. He’s doing really well.”

“Have you seen him?” Louis asked, his gaze dropping to the floor.

Jay felt her heart clench at the sight of her son’s expression. “I have,” she admitted, trying to infuse her voice with encouragement. “He looks a lot better.”

The silence that followed felt heavy, almost suffocating. Jay sensed the struggle within him, the longing mixed with uncertainty. “I’m sorry, Louis,” she said, her voice gentle. “I know it’s hard.”

“I just… I miss him,” he finally admitted.

Jay nodded, her heart breaking for him.

“I know. Excuse me for a second. I’ll check on the kids,” she said, standing and making her way to the hallway, giving Louis a moment to gather himself. When she returned a few minutes later, she wore a smile, the kind that spoke of new hope.

“Lottie is going to watch the children. How about you and I take a drive? Just like we used to in the good old days when you were still little?”

For some reason, that suggestion made Louis feel a flicker of comfort. He could see the weariness etched on his mother’s face, and he knew that this little escape would do them both good. “Sure,” he replied, a bit of excitement creeping into his voice. “I can drive.”

Jay shook her head. “No, let me,” she said, her tone light but firm. They stepped outside, the cool night air wrapping around them as they climbed into the car. They settled into a comfortable silence, sharing soft smiles as Louis gazed out the window, the jet lag making his eyelids heavy.

As they drove, the familiar streets of his childhood blurred past them. Louis felt the rhythm of the car, the steady hum soothing him, lulling him into a peaceful state. He didn’t realise how long he had been zoning out, but the brief moment of tranquillity morphed into a longer pause, and before he knew it, he had drifted off to sleep.

When the car came to a stop, the sudden jolt of the brakes snapped Louis awake. His eyes fluttered open in a panic, but instead of taking in his surroundings, his focus immediately went to his mother.

“You okay? Do you want me to drive?” he asked, voice groggy but more worried than anything.

Jay smiled at her son’s offer, though there was a nervousness behind it. She patted his knee gently, her touch light but trembling.

“No, it’s fine,” she replied softly.

“I stopped because I need to tell you something.”

Louis frowned, recognising the apprehension in her tone. She was scared to tell him something; he could tell.

“What’s going on?” Louis’ voice was cautious now.

Jay took a deep breath, steadying herself before speaking.

“Before we left home… I messaged Harry.”

Louis’ brow furrowed, his heart almost skipping a beat at hearing his name. Louis watches her with a serious expression, eager to hear more. “Okay…” His voice was calm, but his eyes betrayed his curiosity. “Why?”

“I told him you were at my house.” Jay explained, her gaze shifting. “And I asked if you could see him.”

Louis’ eyebrows shot up in shock. “What?”

Jay hesitated, suddenly unsure of herself. “You said you wanted to contact him, so… I asked.”

Louis nervously ran a hand over his mouth, the movement displaying how anxious he was.

“Yeah, I wanted his number, not to see him. I don’t think it’s a great idea.” His voice grew quieter, more vulnerable. “I don’t know if I could do that anymore, Mum. It’s too hard. I’ve moved on. I just… wanted to talk, see what he wanted.” He paused, his heart pounding. “Wait a second. What did he say?”

Jay’s silence was telling. She looked at him, knowing the next words would rattle him.

“He said to bring you over. So… I did.”

He followed her line of sight, and everything inside him seemed to still. The scene beyond the window hit him with a force that left him feeling uneasy, like the ground beneath him swallowed him without warning.

“What… Why are we here?” His voice exhibited a slight tremor, conveying a palpable sense of susceptibility and ambiguity.

Jay’s answer was soft, almost like she didn’t want to say it.

“Like I told you,” she said quietly. “He asked me to bring you to him… so I did.”

Louis’ eyes filled with tears as he stared at the house in front of him—their house. The one they’d once shared. “No,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Mum… tell me he didn’t.” His voice was fragile, barely holding on. “Please, Mum, tell me he didn’t.”

Jay’s expression was pained, filled with sadness Louis had rarely seen from her.

“He did,” she admitted. “When he first found out about it going on the market, he couldn’t let the place go. Anne begged him to move on, to start fresh, but he refused. He said he couldn’t, wouldn’t, let those walls that held his home, his memories, be taken away. So he bought it, Louis. He bought back your house, in full, under his own name.”

Louis froze, his mind spinning. Harry had bought the house. The house he thought they had lost forever to some random buyer… It was Harry’s.

“He’s waiting for you, Louis.” Jay said quietly.

Louis couldn’t move. He was stuck in place, glued to the seat. Could he do this? Could he step back into that house—into his past—and see Harry again after all this time? He has no clue what to say or what to expect, but his mother had already made the decision for him.

“Call me if you need a lift.” Jay said gently, sensing his internal struggle.

Too stunned to respond, Louis simply nodded. His body felt disconnected from his soul, everything moving in slow motion. “And Louis,” Jay added softly as she opened the door to leave. “Please be gentle with him.”

He didn’t even register her leaving. The next thing he knew, he was standing on the front porch, staring at the door. Did he zone out? He hadn’t heard the car drive away, hadn’t felt his own feet moving closer and closer. It was like his body had taken over, instinctually racing to bring him back to where he was meant to be.

Home .

Inside the house, Harry was a wreck. His pacing footsteps echoed softly through the room, back and forth, over and over, his mind in all sorts. He had never expected to see Louis again—certainly not tonight. And now, here he was, with no time to prepare, no plan, just a tangle of nerves pulling him in every direction.

Jay, who had called him earlier, wasn’t exactly being truthful. In fact, she had told a little white lie that might come back to bite her later on. She had said Louis wanted to see him. But that wasn’t quite right, was it? It was more of Jay’s doing than either of theirs. She had orchestrated this reunion because, deep down, she knew her son needed it. And Harry? He might not have admitted it, but he needed to see Louis too. Yet, as he paced the room, anxiety gnawing at his insides, Harry wasn’t sure if this was the right time.

Out front, Louis stood frozen, his finger hovering over the buzzer far too long. His mind swirled with nerves. When he finally pressed it, a wave of nausea hit him hard. He felt sick to his stomach, the bile rising as he heard footsteps approaching from inside the house. The door swung open, and for a moment, Louis could barely breathe.

But then he saw him…Harry.

Everything else disappeared—his nerves, his sickness, all of it. It was like his body forgot how to be anxious, and instead, all he wanted was to wrap Harry in a tight hug, to feel that old comfort again. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not yet.

Harry looked so much better than the last time Louis had seen him. The memory of their last meeting—Harry pale, weak, in a hospital bed—was still fresh in his mind. But the man in front of him now? He looked… healthy. He looked strong. Better.

Louis realised Harry was sizing him up too, both of them silently taking each other in as if seeing one another for the first time.

Words weren’t coming easily, and Louis, feeling the weight of the moment, skipped the pleasantries entirely.

“This feels weird,” he blurted out, laughing awkwardly, as if that could somehow smooth over the emotional mess inside.

He glanced around, the house that was once theirs standing before him, but it felt so unfamiliar. So foreign. Like he didn’t belong. It was like pretending that all those years spent there had never happened, as if he was some outsider visiting a stranger’s home.

Harry, leaning against the doorframe, gave a small nod, his voice soft. “Yeah, it does.”

He stepped aside, giving Louis space to enter. And Louis did, reluctantly crossing the threshold that once meant everything to him. Now it felt like he was walking through a memory, distorted and distant. The first thing he noticed was how much everything had changed. New furniture, new artwork on the walls, even the light fixtures were different.

Louis couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out before he had a chance to bite them back.

“Wow, you really went out of your way to erase every memory of me, huh?” His voice was sharp, though he tried to play it off with a scoff, attempting to mask the hurt with humour.

Harry didn’t flinch. He didn’t take offence—he knew Louis too well for that. He could see through the bravado, the edge in Louis’ tone, recognising it as a sign of struggle, not spite. And as much as he wanted to say, ‘I could never erase you, nor would I want to,’ the words stuck in his throat. Instead, Harry just offered a sad, quiet smile.

Louis stood in the centre of the room, a thousand emotions colliding behind his eyes, full of things he should’ve said months ago but didn’t. He wanted to shout at Harry for walking away that night, for leaving behind the beautiful life they’d built together.

At the same time, though, he wanted nothing more than to fall into him, to let the tears they’d never shed finally break free—tears for everything that had brought them to this point. He longed to feel Harry’s arms around him one last time, if only for the simple fact that he was standing right there, close enough to touch.

He longed to ask him everything—how he’d been coping, what he’d done since they fell apart, and why, despite all the pain, he couldn’t stay away from this house… from him.

Harry stood there mirroring the same unbearable tension. His eyes never left Louis’, a torrent of confessions swelling behind them. He wanted to tell Louis how many times he’d regretted that moment—the door closing behind him, the distance that grew with each day. He wanted to say that he hadn’t slept right since, that no matter where he went, it always felt like something was missing, like half of him had been left behind. He wanted to apologise, not just for scaring Louis with the hospital visit but for every hurtful word, every silent night that led them to that point. But he also wanted to show how hard he had fought to put himself back together, to be better, both physically and mentally.

But neither of them moved. Neither spoke. They stood there, staring at each other with so much to say but no confidence to say it, both paralysed by the fear that one wrong word would send the other away.

Louis glanced at Harry, wondering how this was all supposed to go. How were they supposed to face each other now, after everything that had happened? After all the time apart, all the silence? Neither of them had the answers, but the weight of not knowing was impossible to ignore. So Louis just bit the bullet.

“You look good, H.”

It wasn’t a compliment, not really. It was Louis’ way of acknowledging that Harry looked better—healthier than the last time, when he was pale and motionless in a hospital bed. The memory lingers on for a moment for both of them.

Harry knows what Louis means. He’d learnt from Anne that Louis had been there, sitting beside him while he was unconscious, his presence a secret that neither of them had addressed until now. Harry had posed the question, and Anne had been unable to conceal the truth from him.

“Thanks,” he replies, and although it may be a succinct response, the briefness of the word betrays the conversation he’s not ready to touch. He feels Louis waiting for more, waiting for him to open up, to talk about it. But he can’t. Not yet. He owes Louis an explanation—he knows that—but the words simply won’t come.

“I’m still a little sore here and there.“ Harry adds, gesturing vaguely to his side, as if a physical ache could explain the deeper pain between them. It’s all he’s willing to offer, his way of skimming the surface without diving into the depths of what really happened. The hospital, the pills, the attempt, the way everything spiralled. He doesn’t want to bring that back into the room. Not when they’re barely keeping things ‘normal.’ The last thing he wants to do is make things more awkward or encourage the possibility of them fighting.

“Would you like a coffee?” Harry asks, trying to shift the conversation to something safer.

“Anything stronger?” Louis quips, though he knows the answer before it comes.

“No, sorry.”

“Coffee it is, then.”

They sit and talk for an hour, but it’s all meaningless small talk, like stuff on the news and the weather. Louis, after relaxing a little, casually mentions moving to Chicago with Liam and starting a new job. Harry’s stomach twists, but he masks the hurt behind a well-rehearsed smile. The thought of Louis starting a new life—without him—stings more than he lets on. Louis seems to sense it, a flicker of guilt flashing across his face, but neither of them dares to address it.

“Can I use the bathroom?” Louis asks, and it sounds wrong the moment it leaves his mouth, like he shouldn’t have to ask permission in a house that used to be his home. It’s weird.

Harry can’t help but smile at the absurdity of it.

“Yeah, sure. You remember where it is?” It’s a joke, but he gets what he was after…. Louis’ smile.

Louis rolls his eyes, smirking just a little, and for a brief moment, it feels like old times.

The ice had finally broken.

Like maybe, just maybe, they might find some semblance of the ease they once had. But the elephant in the room is still there, stomping around, and neither of them knows how to acknowledge it.

As Louis steps out into the hallway, his feet betray him, drawing him towards the door of their old bedroom. He remembered how hard it was to sleep after Harry had left, how empty that bed felt. Now he wonders how Harry does it. He hesitates, his hand hovering near the doorknob, but just before he proceeds, something else catches his eye. The door to the room across the hall is open.

Abigail’s old room.

He steps closer. The last time he saw it, it had been bare—stripped of every trace of her after Harry packed up and left. But now, her things are back. Not unpacked, nor set up, which is good because honestly that would have scared Louis for Harry’s mental state, but there, in boxes, it’s all scattered across the floor. A few of her old teddy bears peek out from the open tops, soft and familiar. It hits Louis all at once, the weight of seeing her belongings again, as if she might cry from the other room at any given moment. It hurts more than he could have imagined.

“I don’t know what to do with it.”

Harry’s voice cut through the silence, startling him. Too focused on the room, he hadn’t heard Harry creep up on him.

Louis stares at the boxes, his throat tight, unable to tear his eyes away as Harry moves past him, stepping into the room. Harry picks up something from one of the boxes—Louis can’t quite make it out—but it looks like a photo frame. Harry holds it for a moment, studying it, before gently placing it back. With a sad voice, Harry’s face softens.

“I shouldn’t have taken these away from you like that. I’m sorry, Louis. I really am.” Harry says, his voice cracking over his guilt.

Louis can only nod, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from crying. The apology stirs something deep in him, but it doesn’t ease the ache. It’s a start, but it can’t undo the months of pain.

As much as they both want to fix things, neither knows how to take that first step.

Louis takes a deep breath and forces himself to speak.

“Why don’t we… Why don’t we go through some of her things? See what we want to keep or discard; maybe decide who gets what?” His voice wavers slightly, but he manages a soft, encouraging smile.

Harry looks up, his eyes misty but his lips pulling into the faintest hint of a smile. He wipes his eyes quickly with the back of his hand, trying to compose himself.

“I’d love that,” he says.

They settle down together, side by side, like old times—almost. Box after box, they gently unpack Abigail’s belongings. A stuffed rabbit Louis remembers buying her the day she was born, her favourite blanket still soft to the touch, clothes she’d never got to wear, and the little onesie she was brought home in from the hospital. That one, Louis nor Harry could bear to part with.

They share small smiles, sometimes quiet laughter at a memory that sneaks up on them, like the vampire dummy Lottie had brought as a joke that Abigail wouldn’t sleep without and the bib that Anne made her that said, “If both daddies say no, come ask your two grannies.”

For a moment, it feels like they’re on the same page again, like they’re healing, piece by piece, as they decide together what to keep. Harry sets aside her teddies, and Louis folds her clothes with care, both of them handling her things as if they’re brittle, as if letting go of anything too quickly might break them. Louis’ heart feels it, feels that tug of therapeutic mending.

Hours pass by with a blink of an eye, neither of them realising it, but the rhythm between them feels easy, too natural, until Louis notices Harry has stopped. He’s standing perfectly still, his hand frozen on a box. There’s a shift in the air, a tension that tightens around them.

“There’s… there’s one more thing.” Harry whispers, his voice cracking like a dainty thread ready to snap. Without another word, he leaves the room.

Louis doesn’t hesitate. He finds himself following, though Harry hasn’t asked him to, his heart pounding in his chest. He knows where Harry’s going before he even sees it, but that doesn’t stop the wave of grief that crashes into him when he reaches the bedroom doorway.

Harry is standing in their old bedroom, his back to Louis, but Louis can see the trembling in his shoulders. He doesn’t need to see Harry’s face to know he’s holding something emotionally heavy—he can feel it.

It’s then that Harry turns, and Louis’ heart shatters all over again.

In Harry’s hands are Abigail’s ashes.

Louis freezes, his legs suddenly weak. He wasn’t expecting this—he thought they’d put all the pieces away, that they’d made it through the hardest part. But here it is, the cruel reminder of everything they lost, of everything they can never get back.

“What do we… how do we… God, Lou, I miss her. I don’t know what to do anymore.” Harry chokes out, his voice breaking, tears already welling up in his eyes. He clutches the urn like it’s the last piece of her he has left, his fingers digging into it as though he can’t bear to let go.

And that’s all it takes. The dam breaks. Louis feels the sharp sting of tears rising, his breath catching in his throat as he rushes to Harry, no longer caring about holding anything back. He takes the urn from Harry’s trembling hands, carefully placing it on the bedside table, his fingers brushing the cool surface as if to say goodbye once more.

He doesn’t care about any repercussions. He turns, pulling Harry into his arms, holding him tightly. Harry crumbles against him, sobbing into his chest, his entire body shaking with the force of his grief. Louis can barely hold himself together, his own tears falling freely now, but he doesn’t let go. He grips Harry tighter, his hand gently rubbing the back of his neck, whispering soft, incoherent words of comfort that neither of them will remember but that somehow will make the moment a little less unbearable.

“I’m sorry.” Harry gasps between sobs, his voice muffled against Louis’ shirt. “I’m so sorry for everything.”

Louis shakes his head, his own voice barely a whisper. “Don’t. Don’t be sorry.” His throat feels raw, but he forces the words out. “We both miss her. God, Harry, I miss her so much. I always will.”

The grief between them is palpable, thick, like a current that pulls them under. For so long, they’ve been drowning alone, but now, in this room, with Abigail’s ashes beside them, they cling to each other like lifelines, riding out the waves of pain together.

Time seems to stretch endlessly as they stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, both of them broken, but somehow less alone in their suffering. Louis presses his cheek against Harry’s hair, his tears mixing with the dark strands, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he lets himself truly feel the depth of their loss.

When the sobs finally start to subside, when the air between them is quiet again except for their ragged breathing, Louis pulls back just enough to look at Harry, his hands still resting on his shoulders. Harry’s eyes are red, his face streaked with tears, but there’s a quiet understanding between them now—a mutual acknowledgement of the pain they’ve carried for so long.

Louis takes a deep, shaky breath and gently wipes the tears from Harry’s cheek with the pad of his thumb. “We’re going to be okay; we will get through this,” he whispers, though the words sound more like a plea than a promise. But for now, they’re enough.

Harry nods, his lips trembling as he whispers back, “Together, like it always should have been.”

And for the first time in a long time, Louis believes him.

But then, Harry adds on.

“As friends.”

Louis isn’t sure if Harry’s words are a question or a statement. But right now, it isn’t important. He just pulls Harry into another hug, feeling the warmth of him, the solid presence that has been absent for far too long. There’s something comforting in the way their bodies fit together, something that feels so heartbreakingly right, even with the pain of loss between them.

For a moment, Louis lets himself sink into it, lets the tenderness of Harry’s embrace calm the turmoil inside him. Then, slowly pulling back, he clears his throat, trying to steady himself.

“Do you want me to make you a hot chocolate?” he asks, his voice soft but steady.

Harry looks at him, surprised, and Louis smiles gently. It’s what he used to do—years ago, when Harry would get stressed or anxious, Louis would make him a hot chocolate, something sweet and warm to settle his nerves. It had always worked. Louis can see the flicker of recognition in Harry’s eyes, the memory of simpler times before everything fell apart.

But before Harry can answer, Louis glances at the clock on the wall. It’s late—much later than he realised. No wonder his eyes felt heavy; exhaustion was starting to settle into his bones, and he knew he should go.

“It’s getting late. I should go,“ he begins, his voice hesitant. “But it was really good to see you again, Harry.”

The deflation in Harry’s face is immediate, as if the very air has been sucked out of him. His shoulders slump, and his eyes—those sad, pleading eyes—turn away for a moment before flickering nervously back to Louis. “What’s wrong?” Louis asks, his brow furrowing in concern. Harry looks… scared, and it throws Louis off.

Harry bites his lip, his eyes darting towards the floor.

“I… I was wondering if you’d stay the night?”

The words tumble out awkwardly, like he hadn’t fully planned on saying them. He glances up at Louis, his expression raw, vulnerable in a way that Louis hasn’t seen in years. “It’s late, and I could… I could set up a bed in the lounge for you.”

Louis blinks, confused. Why does Harry seem so upset? It’s not like they haven’t spent nights apart before. Something deeper is bothering him, something unspoken hanging heavy in the space between them.

Before Louis can respond, Harry speaks again, this time more urgently, more desperately.  “There’s so much I want to say to you, Lou. To explain. I just… I don’t want to be alone tonight.” His voice cracks on the last word, and it’s enough to break Louis’ heart all over again. He hates how broken Harry sounds, how defeated and fragile the man he once knew seems now.

It would be strange to stay; Louis knows that. It would be weird, uncomfortable even, given everything that’s happened. But then he looks into Harry’s eyes—those sad, tired eyes that seem to beg him for something more—and Louis feels the pull. He can’t leave. Not like this.

“Okay.” Louis says quietly. “I can stay. But we’ve had a big evening, yeah? We can talk tomorrow. Alright?”

Harry nods, relief washing over him so visibly that it makes Louis ache all over. He watches as Harry moves around the room, gathering pillows and blankets to make a bed for him. There’s a quietness to his movements, a kind of tenderness that reminds Louis of the man he used to love—the man he still loves, in ways that are complicated and painful.

Once the makeshift bed is ready, Harry lingers awkwardly in the doorway, as if wanting to say something more but not finding the words. “Goodnight, Lou,” he murmurs, and for a brief moment, it feels like old times—except everything is different.

“Good night, Harry.”

Louis lies down, pulling the blanket over him, but sleep doesn’t come. The house feels foreign, like it’s no longer the home he once shared with Harry. Everything feels off—like the walls are too close, the air too thick with memories. It’s strange knowing Harry is so close, in the bedroom they once shared, yet the distance between them feels insurmountable.

He turns over, trying to get comfortable, but his mind won’t shut up. Hours pass, the minutes dragging on, but Louis doesn’t sleep. He can’t. Every time he closes his eyes, the weight of everything crashes down on him. The grief. The loss. The love that still lingers, unresolved and heavy in the pit of his stomach.

After three hours, Louis gives up on trying to sleep. He lies on his back, staring up at the ceiling, his ears straining to catch the faint sound of Harry’s snores drifting down the hall. The steady, rhythmic sound should be comforting, but it only makes Louis’ heart ache more. He doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to stay in this house, but he doesn’t know if he’ll ever hear Harry’s snores again after tonight.

And so, he listens. For hours. He listens to every breath, every soft exhale, letting it wash over him like a lullaby that never quite soothes him. Because as much as he wants to sleep, as much as his body is exhausted, Louis doesn’t want to miss a second of it.

At some point he had dozed off; it must have been nearing dawn because he remembers hearing the sound of birds. The grey light of early dawn crept in through the curtains as Louis stretched, his back aching, stiff from the unforgiving cushions of Harry’s new couch. It was nothing like the old one they used to share—this one was hard, unwelcoming, a poor replacement for the comfort they once had.

Then it hit him. Something had pulled him from sleep, something familiar.

No. He almost said out loud.

His eyes darted towards the kitchen, his senses sharpening. The scent was unmistakable, and what was wrong with one more added knife twisting in his chest? Slowly, almost unwillingly, he turned his head, following the aroma like a lead weight dragging him under.

And there it was.

On the kitchen table, just like old times, a steaming cup of coffee waited for him.

🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸

Rekindling

CHAPTER 7

✨ Rekindling ✨️

Harry stepped out of the shower, looking fresh and clean, water droplets still clinging to his damp hair. Louis couldn’t help but stare for a moment, feeling that same magnetic pull in his chest. After everything, the love was still there, steady as ever, even if it felt like neither of them knew what to do with it anymore.

“Thanks for the coffee.” Louis said softly, his voice breaking the silence.

Harry looked over, the urge to smile winning. “Are you hungry?”

Louis raised an eyebrow.

“When have I ever skipped breakfast?”

Harry chuckled, his smirk growing wider.

“Well, there was that one time when—”

“H, I’m hungry.” Louis cut him off with a grin, not ready to dive into old memories just yet. “But I’m easy, though. You don’t have to cook. We can just head out and grab something at the bakery or café if it’s easier.”

Of course, Harry could have taken the easier route, but he desired this experience. He felt a sense of nostalgia, and that deep-rooted need to care for Louis struck once again.

Harry shrugged, brushing the suggestion off like it was nothing.

“It’s fine. I cook every morning anyway.”

Louis swallowed, his earlier ease quickly fading. He had wanted a reason to leave the house, a way to escape the memories that seemed to hang in every damn corner. And now, instead of getting out, he was going to sit here and watch Harry make breakfast—just like old times. That thought alone made his stomach twist with a mix of fondness and discomfort.

He watched Harry move around the kitchen, his movements precise and familiar, as if no time had passed at all. Louis still knew exactly where everything belonged, with Harry having meticulously returned each item to its rightful place when moving back in. The effortless rhythm of it all felt so achingly normal that it was almost cruel. But this wasn’t old times. Things weren’t easy like they used to be. And as much as Louis tried to convince himself it was just breakfast, he knew it was more. He just wasn’t sure how much more he could handle.

They sat down, plates warm between them, and even in the silence, there was an easy feeling. They’d laughed while Harry cooked, shared a few memories, even some smiles. But as they began to eat, something in Harry shifted, a heaviness in his expression that Louis recognised too well. He knew what was coming before Harry even spoke.

Harry set his fork down, a faint sadness in his eyes as he turned to Louis.

“I’m sorry,” he began quietly. “For how I left things. For walking out on us.”

Louis immediately raised his hand, wanting to shut it down before it went any further.

“Harry, it’s fine. We don’t need to—”

But Harry wasn’t fine about any of it. He needed to do this; he needed Louis to hear. “I’ve been going to therapy,” he continued, his voice steady but charged. “I’ve been working through everything. I need you to understand why I left like that, why I didn’t come back. And I need to apologise properly.”

Louis kept his eyes on his scrambled eggs, determined to anchor himself, but Harry’s words had already begun to seep in, each one burrowing deeper than the last. Harry continued to speak, his voice steady yet tinged with urgency, as if these thoughts had been trapped for far too long and were finally breaking free.

“I used to think staying quiet was strong.” Harry admitted, glancing down at his hands. “I thought that holding everything in made things easier for you. But all it did was push me further away. And it made things so much worse for both of us.”

Louis felt himself nodding, even though he kept silent, unwilling to interrupt. Harry took that as a sign to go on. “Therapy showed me that I was hiding, avoiding the hard parts instead of facing them with you. I know now that I should’ve leaned on you instead of shutting you out. When we lost her, I… I couldn’t deal with it. And it’s not that I didn’t want to be there for you. I just didn’t know how, and I’m truly sorry for that.”

Louis finally looked up, the weight of the words hitting him fully.

“Harry, you were grieving. It’s o—”

But Harry shook his head. “No, it’s not, not by a long shot. We were supposed to get through that together. And instead, I left you to handle it alone. I see that now, how much I let you down.”

Louis swallowed hard, the gut-wrenching memories resurfacing. He’d buried them down deep long ago, fully convinced that it was better to let go and move forward. Yet here was Harry, unearthing them with a strange sense of clarity, each word painfully true. Louis nodded slowly, letting it all wash over him. But he stayed quiet, sensing that Harry needed this, probably more than himself.

Harry looked at him with a rawness that hadn’t been there before, an openness Louis had almost forgotten he was capable of.

“I miss you, Louis.”

Louis stares back at him. He doesn’t want this—doesn’t want to feel the ache creeping back into his chest, the walls he’d carefully built crumbling under the intensity of Harry’s confession. He clenches his jaw, pushing it right back down.

But then, for reasons he can’t even explain, something just… snaps.

“You miss me?” Louis blurts out, the words sharp and accusing. “You miss me, Harry? He repeats mockingly.

Harry’s brow furrows, his voice calm but strained. “Of course I do. I wouldn’t be saying it if I didn’t.”

Louis shakes his head, his appetite forgotten as he pushes his plate aside. “You don’t get to say that now, after all this time of… nothing.  You don’t get to just sit there and tell me how much you miss me like it changes anything, erases everything.”

Louis has no idea where this is coming from. No, that is a lie. He does.

Every thought and feeling is reverting back to the initial burst of pain, because people tend to lash out, either at others or at themselves, to turn the anger outwards when all they have done is held it inwards for so long.

“I’m trying to make things right.” Harry says evenly, though Louis can hear the edge in his tone, the frustration barely restrained. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Louis lets out a bitter laugh, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, you’re here now. After leaving me to pick up the pieces. After disappearing, after—” He cuts himself off, his throat tight, but it’s too late. The floodgates are open now. All that pent-up emotion is about to come out at full speed.

“What?” Harry presses, his eyes narrowing slightly. “After what, Louis?”

Louis stares at him, the anger bubbling over. “The letter, Harry. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Harry freezes. For a second, his face betrays him—a flicker of guilt, recognition. But then he masks it, tilting his head as if confused. “What letter?”

“Don’t.” Louis snaps, his voice rising. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know. Don’t pretend you didn’t leave me that letter, Harry. You wrote down all those things you wussed out on saying to my face and then just… left. And you expect me to believe you don’t remember?”

Harry looks away, his jaw tightening.

“I don’t remem—”

“Bullshit.” Louis interrupts, slamming his hand down on the table.

“You don’t remember, huh? Well, guess what… I do.”

They connect eyes finally, and Louis stares at Harry with such an intensity it literally scares him.

“I remember exactly what it says.”

Louis clears his throat before confidently speaking. Harry is more than surprised when Louis begins to accurately recite the entire letter, demonstrating to him that his former lover had reviewed the note repeatedly since he got it.

“ Lou,

I’ve spent hours staring at this page, trying to find the words that could possibly explain what I feel, how much I love you, and why I’m writing this letter at all. You need to know first that I love you with everything that I am. That hasn’t changed; it never will. You are the love of my life, Louis, and nothing—not time, not distance, not even this pain we’re both drowning in—can take that away. But even though my love for you is as fierce and as constant as the day we first met, I can’t keep living like this.

Every day, I look at you and I see her. I see our sweet Abigail in your eyes, the same eyes she shared with you. I see her nose, her tiny smile, every little piece of her reflected back at me in you. And it breaks me. It shatters me in ways I can’t even begin to explain. I want to reach out, to hold you, to find comfort in you the way I used to, but all I see is that day. I see you rolling your eyes in the car when I asked you to pull over, like none of what I said mattered, and I see how you brushed the whole rainy day aside like it was nothing. And then the crash… God, I can’t unsee it. I can’t let it go, baby.

I know you didn’t mean it. I know it wasn’t your fault, but when I look at you now, all I feel is the weight of our daughter’s absence. Every time you touch me, every time you say my name, I’m reminded that she’s gone. And as much as I want to forget, as much as I want to bury it deep and move on, I can’t. The guilt has wrapped itself around me so tightly, and I can’t breathe, Lou. I know you feel it too, but this—us—it’s suffocating me.

Before Abigail, I was the happiest man alive. You gave me everything I ever needed. When we got married, I felt like the luckiest person in the world, like I’d found a love so pure, so genuine, that nothing could ever break us. I will never forget that day, Louis, the way we laughed, the way we promised each other forever, the way you looked at me with nothing but love. I’ve held onto those memories, trying to convince myself that we could find our way back to that happiness. But the truth is, we can’t. Not like this.

I can’t be the man you need anymore. I can’t be your husband when all I feel is the constant reminder of what we’ve lost. As much as it pains me to say this, I need you to let me go. We can’t have a life together, Lou. Not like we planned. Not anymore. You deserve so much more than this broken shell of a man that I’ve become. You deserve someone who can look at you without flinching, someone who can hold you without feeling sick, someone who can love you the way you deserve to be loved, without any regrets, without anything holding them back.

I want you to move on, love. I want you to find someone who can appreciate every bit of love that you give in return so beautifully. Someone who will see you for the incredible man you are without the shadow of the past haunting them. I wish more than anything that I could be that person for you, but I can’t. I am sorry. And I know you’ll be so upset and devastated and angry at me for leaving, but please, understand that I’m doing this for you as much as I am for myself.

Thank you, sweetheart, for the love you gave me. For being my everything when the world was still so bright and full of hope. I will carry that love with me for the rest of my life, but I need to let go of the life we once dreamed of, because that dream is long gone.

Please don’t try to contact me or come searching for me, like I know you will want to. Not even my own mother will know my whereabouts. I know you, Louis, better than I even know myself, and as much as this will break your heart, I trust that you’ll respect my decision. I don’t hate you, not even close. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.

I love you, always.

Harry ♡”

Right now, Harry feels sick. Any minute now he expects to see vomit projectile from his mouth because his stomach is cramping. Louis remembers all of it. Every word, each and every one of those 758 words.

“How did you, how did, every word!?!”

“How the fuck did you expect me to forget that, H?”

Harry finally meets his eyes again, and there’s a flicker of something raw and unguarded.

“I was a coward, okay.” Harry admits quietly. “I didn’t know how to say it to your face, so I wrote it down. I thought…I thought it would be easier for us.”

“Easier for you, you mean.”

“Because I was scared!” Harry shouts, his composure finally cracking. “I was scared of losing us even more than we already had. I thought I was doing what was best for both of us, and it killed me every day. You think I don’t regret it? You think I don’t hate myself for that letter, for every single mistake I made? Fucking hell, I had to block you on everything after I saw you out with others. It wasn’t easy to watch you move on.”

“You fucking told me to!”

Louis recoiled, momentarily speechless, as his mother’s admonition, ‘Be gentle with him,’ resonated inside himself.

Harry’s chest rises and falls as he tries to steady and keep calm. For the first time, Louis sees the full extent of Harry’s guilt, and it’s almost too much to bear.

The silence between them is deafening. Harry shifts awkwardly, his hands trembling slightly as he searches for the right words.

“Louis, I didn’t mean—” he begins, but Louis cuts him off with a sharp wave of his hand.

“Just stop, please.” Louis says, his voice brittle, on the edge of breaking. “It doesn’t change anything.”

“But I need you to understand.” Harry presses, leaning forward. “I made so many mistakes, Lou, but I never stopped—”

“Don’t.” Louis snaps, his chair scraping against the floor as he abruptly stands. His hands are trembling, and he clenches them into fists at his sides. “Don’t say you never stopped loving me, Harry. Because that’s not enough. If it wasn’t enough when you left, it’s not enough now.”

Harry feels the blow like a physical strike, and the guilt deepens in his gut. “I just want to fix this,” he pleads, his voice breaking. “Please, Louis.”

Louis shakes his head, his eyes shining but refusing to let the tears fall. “You can’t. Some things… some things are just too broken.”

The tension boils over, and they argue again, voices rising and overlapping, neither truly hearing the other. The pain is too fresh again, the wounds too deep. Eventually, Louis takes a step back, his shoulders slumping as if the fight has drained what little energy he has left.

“I can’t do this,” he says softly, almost to himself. He looks at Harry, his expression filled with a sadness so profound it makes Harry’s throat tighten.

“I’m glad we got to see each other again, H, but I have to go. I need to get back to Chicago. I’ve already taken too much time off work.”

Harry’s heart lurches, panic setting in.

“Louis, please—”

“I’m glad you bought the house.” Louis interrupts, his voice heavy with bittersweet sincerity. His eyes scan the room, taking in every little detail. He forces a small, sad smile. “To live here, well, you’re much stronger than I was.”

Harry is desperate to close the space between them, but Louis is already moving towards the door.

“Louis, wait—”

Louis pauses, hand on the doorknob, but he doesn’t turn around. “Take care of yourself, Harry,” he says, his voice barely audible.

And then he’s gone.

The door closes with a quiet click, but to Harry, it’s deafening. He stands there, frozen, his breath caught in his chest. He wants to scream, to run after Louis, to beg him to stay. But no sound comes out, and his legs refuse to move.

Louis is confused. He wanted to fix things; he missed Harry; he needed Harry. He loves Harry. So why on earth did he just act out that way?

Why?

Tonight, unfortunately, his pride triumphed over his heart, empathy, and love. Instead of resolving their issues like he wanted, Louis found a certain satisfaction in walking out, mirroring that past hurt, allowing Harry to fully experience the pain Harry had once left him in.

So why now does Louis want nothing more than to turn back around and go inside?

By the time Harry finally stumbles to the window, he sees Louis outside, shoulders hunched, typing away on his phone. Harry presses his forehead to the glass, his hand curling into a fist against the cool surface.

This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go.

✨ SEVERAL HOURS LATER ✨

The knock on the door is frantic, loud enough to echo through the house, and Jay hurries to answer, her heart racing with worry. She swings the door open, her expression tight with concern, but it softens the moment she sees Harry standing there.

His face says it all—red-rimmed eyes, trembling lips, and a desperation that almost brings her to tears. He doesn’t need to say a word.

Jay’s hand instinctively goes to her chest as she lets out a soft sigh. “He already left for the airport a while ago,” she says gently, her voice filled with sympathy.

Harry’s lip trembles harder, and for a moment, he looks as if he’s going to say something. But no words come.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed back the tears. Then, without a sound, he turns on his heel.

“Harry, wait!” Jay calls out, stepping onto the porch after him, but he doesn’t stop.

He’s running before she can even finish her sentence, feet pounding against the pavement as he races towards his car. Jay’s voice fades behind him, her concern swallowed by the rush of his thoughts.

He throws himself into the driver’s seat, hands gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles whiten. He doesn’t even notice the tears streaking down his cheeks until one drops onto his hand.

“Don’t let him go” is the only thought screaming in his mind. Harry starts the car, his heart hammering as he pulls out onto the road, heading for the airport as fast as the traffic will allow.

🧸

The airport is a blur of noise and movement, but Harry is singularly focused. His eyes dart from the massive departures board to Gate 14, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps as he sprints toward the gate. He weaves through the crowd, narrowly avoiding a man with a luggage cart, muttering apologies as the man’s bag slams against his side.

When he reaches the gate, his stomach sinks. The door to the jet bridge is already shut, the gate attendant calmly typing at her station.

“Excuse me.” Harry manages, his voice tight and breathless. “The flight to Chicago—has it…has it taken off yet?”

The woman looks up, her expression polite but firm. “The flight is in its final boarding stage, sir. The doors are closed.”

His eyes dart to the jet bridge, as if sheer willpower alone could reopen it. “Please,” he says, his voice cracking. “You don’t understand—I need to be on that flight. Is there any way—”

“I’m sorry,” she interrupts, shaking her head gently. “Once the doors are closed, we can’t allow anyone else to board.”

Harry’s hands grip the edge of the counter. His breathing is uneven, and for a moment, he can’t speak. He stares at the closed door, his mind racing with all the things he didn’t say, all the things he should have done.

Fumbling for his phone, he dials Louis’ number. The line rings once. Twice. Then the automated voice cuts through:

“The person you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone.”

The soft beep follows, but Harry doesn’t speak. His lips tremble as he lowers the phone, staring blankly at the screen. He considers leaving a message, pouring out everything in a desperate attempt to bridge the distance between them. But something inside him stops him.

He turns back to the attendant, clinging to a sliver of hope. “Are there any more flights to Chicago today?”

She checks her screen, her fingers tapping away, and Harry’s heart feels like it’s balancing on a knife’s edge. Finally, she looks back at him.

“No, I’m sorry. This was the only direct flight today.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He stands there, motionless, as the reality sinks in. He’s too late. There’s no second chance, no backup plan. Louis is gone, and there’s nothing Harry can do to change it.

“Thank you,” he mutters hoarsely, stepping back from the counter. His feet feel heavy as he turns and begins walking aimlessly through the terminal. The noise around him—the announcements, the conversations, the rolling of suitcases—fades into a muffled hum.

He grips his phone tightly, staring at Louis’ name on the screen. He could try again, leave a message, beg him to call back. But he doesn’t.

This is it, he thinks bitterly. The universe has spoken… it’s over.

He swallows the lump in his throat, his vision blurring as he steps outside into the cold air of the pickup zone. The ache in his chest feels unbearable, but he doesn’t cry. He simply stares at the steady stream of cars, his mind replaying every moment of the last 24 hours.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. But maybe endings don’t come with closure. Maybe they just leave you standing there, watching someone walk away, or in this case, fly away…unable to do anything to stop it.

🧸

A month had passed, but for Louis, time felt like a sluggish tide, dragging him through his days. Work kept him busy, but his mind often wandered, lingering on Harry. Chicago had its distractions, but none strong enough to shake the guilt and sadness that clung to him. He hadn’t told anyone how much he missed Harry—how he still played their last conversation over and over in his head, wishing he’d done things differently.

That Sunday, Jay called. Louis wasn’t sure if she sensed his restlessness or if she simply missed hearing his voice, but her timing couldn’t have been better.

“You sound tired.” Jay said, her voice warm and motherly, as always.

Louis smiled faintly, leaning back in his chair. “I’m fine. Work’s been busy; you know how it is.”

Jay didn’t buy it, but she didn’t press. Instead, they talked about everything and nothing—her work, the weather, a funny story about one of her neighbors.  It was only towards the end of the call that Jay’s tone shifted.

“Have you heard from Harry?” she asked gently.

Louis froze for a moment, his grip tightening on the phone. “No,” he replied, his voice carefully neutral. “Why?”

There was a pause, as if Jay was weighing whether or not to continue. “I saw him,” she said finally.

Louis sat up straighter. “You saw him? Where?”

“The day after you left, while I was at Anne’s.” Jay said. “He showed up crying, Lou. He was upset—heartbroken, really. He told me he went after you at the airport, but he was too late. He said he couldn’t stand how things ended between you two.”

Louis felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. “He… he came to the airport?”

Jay sighed. “He did. He came to the house that night, ran out of here like a man on a mission when I told him you’d gone.  By the time he got there, you’d already boarded. He told me he tried calling you, but your phone was off.”

Louis rubbed a hand over his face, his heart sinking. He hadn’t even checked his missed calls that day—he’d been too consumed by his own emotions.

“He said he went back to therapy after that,” Jay continued softly. “He’s trying to work through everything, Lou. He didn’t want to let things stay the way they were.”

Louis swallowed hard, his chest tightening in a way that wasn’t physical but felt just as unbearable. “Why are you telling me this?” he asked quietly.

“I know you said you didn’t want to hear about him anymore, but—”  Jay said simply. “Well, because you deserve to know. You both do. And… well, I didn’t think you’d ask for it, but—”

There was a rustling sound on her end, and then she added, “I’ve got his number, if you want it.”

Louis stared at the wall in front of him, his mind racing. He hadn’t asked for Harry’s number, hadn’t even thought about reaching out. But now that Jay had offered, the idea planted itself firmly in his mind.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Because I know you, Louis.” Jay said, her tone gentle but firm. “You’re stubborn, but you’re not heartless. And I think you miss him just as much as he misses you.”

Louis closed his eyes, the weight of her words settling over him. He didn’t respond right away, but Jay didn’t push. She simply gave him the number and told him to take his time.

“Do what feels right. But don’t let fear stop you, Lou. Life’s too short for that.”

After the call ended, Louis stared at the number he had written down. His heart ached with the memory of Harry’s smile, his laugh, the way his voice softened when he said Louis’ name.

For the first time in weeks, Louis let himself wonder: What if this wasn’t the end?

🧸

Louis spent the entire day with his phone practically glued to his pocket, his fingers twitching every now and then as if they had a mind of their own. He went through the motions at work, but his thoughts were completely consumed by one question:

Should I call him?

By the time he got home, he was no closer to an answer. Liam was sprawled on the couch with a bowl of popcorn, watching some crime documentary.

“You look like you’re about to combust. What’s going on?” Liam said without looking up.

Louis groaned, tossing his bag onto a chair and collapsing beside him. “I’m just…thinking about calling someone. Someone important.”

Liam finally glanced his way, raising an eyebrow. “Important, huh? Work thing?”

“Nah, more like a Harry thing,” he admitted, and it certainly caught Liam’s attention.

Li continued to munch on his popcorn for a moment longer.

“Well, without knowing details, the way I see it is you’ve got two choices. Call and risk whatever it is you’re afraid of, or don’t call and risk never knowing what could’ve been. Either way, the choice comes down to one thing—what does your heart say?”

Louis rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress a faint smile. “Did you get that from one of your inspirational calendars?”

Liam grinned, unbothered. “Doesn’t make it any less true does it? You and I both know which choice you’d regret the most, so just… listen. As my wise calendar once told me before: “If you don’t make the time to build a life with the person you desire, you’ll eventually spend a lot of time living a life you didn’t want.”

The words hit harder than Louis anticipated, making him pause. A flood of memories and feelings rushed through him, all centred on Harry—each one vivid, each one stronger than the last. When did his chest become so tight?

“You good?” Liam asked casually, tossing a piece of popcorn into the air and catching it with an impressive snap of his mouth. His nonchalance was so typical that Louis couldn’t help but smile. Somehow, Liam always managed to cut through the noise in his head and make everything clearer.

Louis stepped closer, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Liam’s forehead.

“I’m good now,” Louis said, his voice warm with gratitude. “Calendar wisdom or not, you’ve given me some clarity. You’re an angel. I love you; you know that, right?”

Liam smirked, unable to hide his smugness. “Well, I do have a way with words.”

“Yeah, memorising them off a piece of paper,” Louis quipped.

The bowl of popcorn flying towards Louis’ face was swift and entirely expected. He ducked, laughing, but not before a few stray kernels bounced off his cheek.

“Fair play!” Louis said, raising his hands in surrender.

“Damn right.” Liam shot back, still grinning. “Now go figure your life out before I start quoting tomorrow’s calendar too.”

Louis chuckled, but as he walked away, Liam’s words stayed with him. Sometimes, wisdom did come from the most unexpected places—even a calendar.

That night, as Louis lay in bed staring at the ceiling, Liam’s words wouldn’t leave him alone. He thought about Jay, about Harry, about the number he now had. Finally, with a deep breath, he grabbed his phone from the nightstand and dialled.

It was early morning in England. Louis figured Harry might be awake, though a part of him hoped the call would go to voicemail. But on the third ring, Harry picked up.

“Hello?” Harry’s voice was groggy, but unmistakably him.

“Hey, it’s, uh… it’s Louis,” he said, his pulse racing.

There was a brief pause before Harry replied, sounding more awake. “Louis. Hi. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t expecting to call.” Louis admitted, forcing a nervous chuckle. “Sorry if I woke you.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m glad you called.”

The conversation started awkwardly, like two people trying to navigate an unfamiliar dance. They talked about trivial things—work, the weather, what they’d been up to. But eventually, the elephant in the room became impossible to ignore.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about…our last conversation.” Harry said hesitantly.

Louis tensed, gripping the phone tighter. “Yeah?”

“I didn’t handle things well.” Harry continued. “I was…caught off guard, and I said things I regret.”

Louis sighed, rubbing his forehead. “H, we don’t have to do this. Really. I’m not—”

“No, let me finish.” Harry interrupted. “I need to say this. I’ve been working on myself, you know? Therapy’s helped, but I’m still learning. I just… I’m sorry, Lou. For everything.”

Louis felt a lump rise in his throat but pushed it down. “It wasn’t just you. I said things too—things I shouldn’t have. We both messed up.”

Harry chuckled softly, the sound warm despite the tension. “Yeah, we did. A real pair of idiots, huh?”

“Something like that.” Louis replied, a small smile tugging at his lips.

There was a comfortable silence for a moment, and then they both spoke at the same time.

“I’m sorry—”

“No, it’s okay—”

They both laughed, the tension easing.

“Let’s just agree that we both said things we didn’t mean.” Louis said.

“Deal.” Harry replied, his tone lighter now.

By the time they hung up, Louis felt a strange sense of relief. They’d decided to remain friends, and for the first time in a long time, it felt like they were on the same page.

Over the next few weeks, they texted constantly. At first, it was sporadic—checking in here and there. But before long, their messages became a daily ritual.

“Have you seen this show? You’d love it.”

“Made your favourite dinner today. Thought of you.”

“Work was a nightmare. Tell me something funny.”

The texts were simple, sometimes silly, but always heartfelt. And though they both told themselves it was just friendship, deep down, neither could deny that they were texting a lot more than they probably should be.

🧸

Louis stepped off the plane feeling a knot of apprehension twisting in his stomach. He hadn’t told his mother he was coming; he wasn’t even sure how to explain why he was there. But when he knocked on her door that afternoon, her expression told him she understood without him needing to say a word.

“Louis.” Jay said softly, pulling him into a warm hug. She lingered for a moment, her hand rubbing his back like she used to when he was a child. When she stepped back, her smile was tinged with sadness. “He’ll be glad you’re here.”

That night, Louis couldn’t sleep. His thoughts circled endlessly, wondering what he would say, how Harry would react, and whether he’d made the right decision. It wasn’t until the sun began to rise that he finally felt a sliver of resolve.

That morning, after his mother kissed his cheek and told him to take his time, Louis made his way to the spot he knew Harry would be. It was instinct, really; there was only one place Harry would go today.

As Louis approached, he saw Harry kneeling by a small stone, arranging flowers with careful precision. The sight of him was enough to make Louis pause, his heart tightening in his chest.

He didn’t mean to sneak up, but his steps were silent on the soft grass. Before he could think better of it, his hand fell to the small of Harry’s back, a touch so familiar yet so foreign now.

Harry flinched slightly, startled, but when he turned and saw Louis standing there, his expression softened. For a moment, he held himself together, his face a mixture of surprise and longing. But then a tear escaped, trailing slowly down his cheek. Without hesitation, he leaned forward, his head resting against Louis’ neck.

Louis let out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding and wrapped an arm around Harry, his other hand gently rubbing small circles on his back. It wasn’t a long embrace, but it was enough—enough to remind them both that they weren’t alone in this.

When Harry pulled back, he wiped his eyes quickly, as if embarrassed. “I didn’t think you’d come,” he admitted, his voice hoarse.

Louis smiled faintly, shaking his head.

“It’s okay, H. Of course I’d be here.”

As Harry stepped aside, Louis knelt down and placed the small bundle he’d brought with him—a bouquet of soft pink roses and a tiny teddy bear. He laid them carefully beside the stone, which was adorned with trinkets and fresh flowers, signs of Harry’s meticulous care over the months.

“Happy first birthday, baby girl.” Louis murmured, his voice barely audible.

His eyes drifted down to a folded piece of paper resting at the base of the stone. It was a letter, written in Harry’s neat handwriting, signed simply, Love, Daddy and Papa. Louis’ throat tightened, but he said nothing.

“The roses are perfect.” Harry said after a moment, his voice thick with emotion.

Louis nodded, glancing at the vibrant blooms. “I thought she’d like them.”

They stood there for a while, side by side in the stillness. No words were needed; the presence of each other said everything. The memorial site, with its tiny tokens and vibrant flowers, was thriving—just like the love they still carried for their daughter.

🧸

The restaurant was small but elegant, dimly lit, and far too romantic for what Louis thought this dinner was supposed to be. He had to push the thought aside that it felt a little too much like a date. Harry had texted him that following morning to ask if he wanted to grab dinner, and without thinking too much about it, Louis had agreed. Now, sitting across from Harry, Louis realised he might have thought about it too much—especially when Harry showed up looking like that.

Harry had always been effortlessly handsome, but tonight, there was an extra polish to him. His dark curls were perfectly tousled, his shirt crisp, the top two buttons undone in a way that made Louis swallow hard. And it wasn’t lost on Louis that he, too, had spent an embarrassing amount of time picking out his outfit, making sure everything fit just right.

Their meal was wonderful. They laughed about old memories, joked about silly things, and even flirted lightly—though neither of them acknowledged it. Louis couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so at ease around Harry, and for a moment, he allowed himself to bask in the warmth of it.

But as they lingered after dessert, sipping their drinks and savouring the moment, Louis noticed the shift. Harry’s smile faded slightly, replaced by an expression Louis had come to recognise over the years—nervous, hesitant, like he was building up the courage to say something.

Louis set his glass down.

“What’s wrong?”

Harry fiddled with the edge of his napkin before finally meeting Louis’ gaze.

“I think I’ve found someone I want to date.”

The words hit Louis like a freight train. He blinked, trying to process them, but all he could manage was a quiet, “Oh.”

Harry rushed to explain. “I just wanted… I don’t know, your approval maybe? This is weird, I know. I just… I thought I should tell you.”

Louis felt like he’d forgotten how to breathe. His throat tightened as he forced himself to nod, even though every fibre of his being screamed for him to get up and leave. The relationship he had rebuilt with Harry was fragile, but it was everything he’d ever wanted. He couldn’t let his jealousy ruin it.

“That’s beautiful, Harry. I’m glad to hear that.” Louis managed, his voice steady, though his heart was anything but.

Harry’s brows furrowed, and for a moment, he looked unsure. Louis could sense his hesitation and fought the instinct to dig deeper, to find out who this person was and why Harry seemed so uncertain.

“What’s wrong?” Louis asked softly. “Is there a but? Why do you look sad?”

Harry diverted his gaze, looking everywhere but at Louis. Then, as if mustering every ounce of courage, he looked back at him, his green eyes intense and searching.

“Yes, there is a but. The problem is, Lou.” Harry began, his voice quiet but unwavering, “He lives in Chicago.”

For a moment, Louis’ brain didn’t register the words. He just stared at Harry, still reeling from the earlier revelation. Harry continued speaking, his voice softening with each word.

“He sends me good morning texts, checks on me all the time, and he looks adorable when he smiles.” Harry’s eyes were unwavering now, locked onto Louis as he leaned slightly forward. “I miss him, Louis.”

It was only then that Louis looked down and noticed Harry’s hand, his pinky softly brushing against his own. The touch was light but electric, and as recognition dawned, Louis’ breath caught.

Harry wasn’t talking about anyone else. He was talking about him.

“I miss you, Louis.” Harry said again, his voice trembling slightly.

Before Louis could respond, Harry began to ramble, his words tumbling out in a rush.

“I know I messed up before. I blamed you when I shouldn’t have, and I did some stupid shit. I didn’t mean to push you away, and I hate that I worried you. I just… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry—”

Louis reached out, grabbing Harry’s hand and squeezing it tightly, cutting him off mid-sentence. Their eyes met, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Louis saw the raw, unfiltered Harry he’d missed so much.

“Stop.” Louis said softly, his voice steady but his grip firm. “H. I’m right here.”

Harry swallowed hard, his lips trembling as he nodded. The air between them was charged, but for the first time that night, Louis felt properly alive again.

🧸

Louis pulled the car up to Harry’s house, the engine’s hum fading into silence as they both sat there, the moment stretching between them. They’d been smiling since they left the restaurant, and though they’d laughed and joked on the drive over, now a new tension hung in the air. Not the bad kind, Louis thought. The kind that made the air feel tingly.

Harry cleared his throat, his hand lingering on the door handle. “Thanks for tonight,” he said softly, his voice carrying a warmth that seemed to seep into Louis’ chest.

“Dinner was… nice.”

Nice. The word felt too small, too inadequate to describe what had just happened between them. Louis simply nodded, though his eyes refused to leave Harry’s face. There was something magnetic about him tonight—maybe it was the way his curls framed his face so perfectly or how his dimples deepened when he smiled. Whatever it was, Louis couldn’t look away.

“Yeah.” Louis finally replied, his voice almost a whisper. “It was really nice.”

But his gaze betrayed him, flickering to Harry’s lips for just a second too long. Harry noticed, of course he did—Louis had always been terrible at hiding what he was feeling.

And Harry knew him. Better than anyone. He knew what Louis was thinking, knew that a storm of thoughts was likely spiralling through his head right now. Louis could overthink himself into inaction if given the chance, but Harry wasn’t about to let that happen tonight.

Harry tilted his head slightly, his eyes locked on Louis. He licked his lips—not in a showy or deliberate way, but just enough for the action to seem effortless. His tongue swept over his lower lip and then his upper, leaving them glistening. It was subtle but unmistakable: an invitation.

Louis saw it. He knew what it meant. But his body was slow to respond, his nerves holding him hostage even as his heart screamed for him to move. He shifted slightly in his seat, his hand inching towards Harry’s face, but he hesitated. His mind raced with questions: What if this is a mistake? What if this ruins everything we’ve rebuilt?

But Liam’s words echoed in his mind.

‘Take the risk.’

Louis let out a shaky breath, his thumb grazing Harry’s chin, the touch featherlight but grounding. Slowly, ever so slowly, he leaned forward, their faces just inches apart. He could feel Harry’s breath on his lips, warm and steady, and it was almost enough to give him the courage he needed.

Almost.

“Are you sure?” Louis asked, his voice barely audible but heavy with the weight of his emotions. He needed to hear it—needed the words to make this real.

Harry’s lips quirked into a soft smile, his eyes glinting with a mixture of exasperation and affection. “Kiss me, you fool,” he whispered, his voice low and rough and filled with more certainty than Louis had ever felt in his life.

And that was all it took.

Louis closed the distance between them, his lips brushing against Harry’s with a tenderness that made his heart ache. The kiss was slow at first, cautious, as though they were both testing the waters. But then something shifted.

Louis tilted his head, his hand moving to cup Harry’s jaw as he deepened the kiss. It wasn’t hurried or frantic—it was deliberate, full of a kind of love that had been building over time. Harry’s lips were soft and warm, and they moulded perfectly against Louis’, like they were always meant to be there.

Harry’s hand moved to Louis’ neck, his fingers tangling in the hair at the nape as he pulled him closer. The kiss became more certain, more desperate, as though they were both trying to pour every unsaid word, every missed moment, into it.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested together, both of them breathing heavily. Louis’ eyes fluttered open to find Harry staring at him, his gaze filled with so much love and vulnerability that it nearly took Louis’ breath away.

Harry’s lips curled into a small, teasing smile. “Took you long enough.”

Louis let out a laugh, soft and disbelieving, as he shook his head. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are.” Harry snorted, his voice light but his eyes still serious.

Louis didn’t reply, not with words anyway. Instead, he leaned in again, his lips meeting Harry’s in a kiss that promised one thing: they were never leaving each other again.

🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸

Moving On

Notes:

a/n This chapter contains a conversation about future children after infant loss.

CHAPTER 8

✨️ Moving On ✨️

It took six weeks for Louis to officially move back to England. Some might say it was a hard choice for Louis to make, while everyone else around him would highly disagree. Harry had hoped for an easy, stress-free transition straight back into their old home, but Louis had been adamant about not rushing things. He needed to do this the right way, for both of their sakes. Staying with his mother for a while felt like the most logical choice—it gave him space to adjust without the intensity of stepping directly into their old life together. Jay, ever the supportive mother, had been thrilled to have Louis back under her roof, and even though Harry tried to mask his disappointment, it was obvious to everyone where he stood on the matter.

Those six weeks weren’t just about packing boxes and arranging flights, though; they were filled with long, heartfelt conversations that laid the groundwork for this new chapter. Harry had reluctantly agreed to Louis’ conditions, knowing deep down they were necessary. They talked about everything—their past mistakes, their fears, and their hopes for the future. Well, almost everything.

One evening, about two weeks before Louis’ move, the discussion had turned to communication. During one of their late-night calls, Louis had spoken firmly but gently.

“I need to know we’re on the same page, Harry. I need to hear it from you—that you’re not going to bottle things up anymore?”

Harry had nodded, even though Louis couldn’t see him. “I promise. No more shutting down, no more disappearing into myself. Therapy’s helped me a lot, Lou, and it’ll keep helping me. But…you might have to remind me sometimes.”

Louis’ heart softened at Harry’s vulnerability. “And I’ll try therapy too,” he admitted quietly, the words feeling foreign but necessary. “I’ve been thinking about it, and maybe it’s time. I can’t keep ignoring the things I’ve buried either. If we’re doing this…I want to do it right.”

Harry’s voice had wavered with emotion. “You have no idea how much that means to me. I want us to work, Lou.”

The silence on the line stretched out, thick and oppressive. Harry’s grip tightened on the phone as his heart pounded erratically. He didn’t need to hear the words to know what was coming; he could feel them in the tension, in the quiet inhale on the other end. Louis was searching for the right words, but Harry already knew. He braced himself, the weight of the moment settling as Louis finally spoke.

“Harry… I need you to promise me something. I need you to tell me you’re not going to leave me again. That you’re not going to up and disappear on me. I can’t lose you; I can’t go through that again. You have to be 100% sure about this, H.”

Harry felt a tear slip down his cheek, but he was relieved Louis couldn’t see it. He quickly wiped it away, determined not to let his sadness be mistaken for doubt.

“I love you, Louis Tomlinson. I love you so much. I’ve missed you like crazy. My heart belongs to you—it beats only for you. I couldn’t leave you again, even if I wanted to. My mind, my body, my soul… they won’t let me.”

H hesitated, the panic rising in his voice.

“Not that I would. Oh God, Lou, I swear, I’m not going anywhere. Ever again. You have my word.”

Louis wanted to laugh, to lighten the mood, but he couldn’t. He needed this moment. He needed the reassurance, so when he spoke again, his voice came out steady, serious, and full of longing.

“You’re my everything, Harry. Do you hear me? Everything. Everything I do, everything I say, every dream I have, every breath I take—it’s all for you. So if you’re sure, if you’re absolutely certain that you want me, know that I’m serious about all this. I want nothing more than to be back in your arms. I need to be back with you.”

The next words to come were all Louis needed to hear.

“Hurry back, Lou.”

🧸

The logistics of moving back had been challenging in their own right. Louis had a job to resign from and belongings to sort through—some of which he realised he didn’t want or need anymore. The process was cathartic in a way, shedding the weight of his Chicago life as he prepared to step back into something familiar, yet entirely new. He’d kept in close contact with Harry throughout, their phone calls growing longer and more frequent as the move drew nearer.

When Louis finally landed back in England, Jay was there to greet him at the airport, practically vibrating with excitement. She fussed over him endlessly, making sure he had everything he needed and insisting on cooking all his favourite meals. Louis was grateful for her warmth, even if he couldn’t ignore the way his thoughts often drifted to Harry.

Harry had kept his distance out of respect for Louis’ wishes, but it wasn’t easy. The texts they exchanged were light and casual on the surface, but there was an unspoken eagerness in every word, every emoji. When they finally saw each other a few days after Louis arrived, it was at Jay’s insistence.

“Go on, love,” she said, practically shooing Louis out the door. “He’s been patient long enough.”

The reunion had been tentative but warm, with Harry trying his best not to overwhelm Louis. Still, the longing in his eyes had been impossible to miss. They talked for hours, catching up and navigating the delicate balance between who they’d been and who they were still becoming.

Despite Harry’s best efforts to convince Louis to move in immediately, Louis held firm. “I need time,” he’d said, his voice steady but kind. “We need time. I want this to work, H. I really do. But we can’t just fall back into old patterns. This has to be different.”

And so, Louis settled in with his mother, taking it one step at a time. Each day felt like progress—a little closer to the life they were rebuilding together, but with the space to ensure they didn’t lose themselves along the way.

🧸

The weeks that followed were filled with slow, calculated steps towards rebuilding what Harry and Louis had lost. They approached each day cautiously, as though handling a fragile, irreplaceable artifact.  Their first date was simple—dinner at a cosy Italian restaurant Harry had raved about. Louis had been sceptical at first but found himself laughing more than he had in months. Harry was still the same charming, easy going man he remembered, but there was a vulnerability now, a quiet determination to make things right.

Their second date was a walk through a local park, the crisp air carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers. They meandered along the paths, occasionally brushing shoulders, both of them hyper-aware of the brief contact. Harry had brought a thermos of tea, something Louis teased him about endlessly, but it warmed them both as they sat on a bench, sharing stories and quiet moments about life over the last few months.

Each outing brought them closer, and by their fourth date—a cosy movie night at the local theatre—it was clear they were falling into a rhythm. They weren’t just reminiscing about the past; they were building something new, something stronger, just like they had hoped.

That night, as Louis pulled the car into the driveway of his former home, Harry glanced at Louis, his eyes soft and hopeful.

“Do you want to come inside for a bit?”

Louis hesitated, gripping the edge of his seat. It wasn’t the first time Harry had asked, but tonight felt different. The evening had gone so well, almost too well, and he could feel the familiar pang of fear clawing at him. But there was something in Harry’s expression—a quiet plea, a promise of safety—that made him nod.

“Yeah,” Louis said, his voice barely audible. “I’ll come in.”

Harry’s smile was immediate, lighting up his face as he opened the door and led the way inside. The house smelt like him—warm and comforting, with a hint of the lavender candles Harry was obsessed with. Louis stood awkwardly in the entryway until Harry took his coat, brushing their fingers together in the process.

“Wine? Tea? Water?” Harry offered, but Louis shook his head.

“I’m good,” he murmured, following Harry into the living room. They settled onto the couch, the silence between them heavy but not uncomfortable. Harry turned to Louis, his expression tentative.

“I’ve missed this,” he admitted, his voice soft. “Having you here.”

Louis swallowed hard, his heart thundering in his chest. “I’ve missed it too,” he said, the words barely escaping.

The air shifted between them, charged and electric. Harry’s gaze flickered to Louis’ lips, and Louis felt his resolve crumble. Before he could second-guess himself, he leaned in, their mouths meeting in a kiss that was tentative at first but quickly deepened.

Harry’s hands slid to the back of Louis’ neck, his fingers tangling in the soft hair there, as though grounding himself. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver racing down Louis’ spine, igniting a spark that had sadly felt lost for months. It wasn’t just heat; it was their connection, a deep and unshakeable tether that they’d both thought might never be restored. Yet here it was, their touch alone proving each other wrong.

Louis moved closer in order for Harry’s thumb to graze the sharp line of Louis’ jaw, tracing it with a reverence that made Louis’ chest tighten.

Their lips met in a kiss that wasn’t rushed but purposeful. It was a reunion, a declaration, a promise. The kiss was soft at first, testing the waters, before it deepened with an intensity that stole the air from their lungs. Louis’ hands roamed up Harry’s chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath his palm—a rhythm that matched his own.

Every touch, every caress, carried a weight of emotion too heavy for words. Their movements were unhurried, savouring the way their bodies remembered each other. It was as if they were piecing themselves back together, rediscovering something precious and irreplaceable that had been waiting for them all along.

“Bedroom?” Harry whispered against Louis’ lips, and Louis nodded, his breath hitching.

They barely made it to the room, a trail of discarded clothing marking their path. Harry’s back hit the bed first, and he gazed up at Louis with a mixture of anticipation and worry. Louis paused for a moment, standing at the foot of the bed, taking in the sight of Harry sprawled out before him. His skin was flushed, his chest rising and falling as he waited for Louis to make the next move.

Harry looked up at him, his eyes glassy with emotion. “I love you,” he said, the words raw and unguarded. Words he had wanted to say for so long.

Louis paused, his chest tightening.

“I love you too. Never stopped, never will,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion.

“Are we really doing this?” Harry asked, his voice shaky but needing that confirmation that they both wanted this.

Louis looked up at him, his gaze steady.

“We are,” he said firmly. “And we’ll keep doing it, one step at a time. No matter what. We are going to be okay. I just know it.”

Harry nodded in agreement, but despite his own words, Louis’ fears still lingered, but they were outweighed by the overwhelming love he felt in that moment. If this was their chance to start over, he was willing to take the risk.

Louis crawled onto the bed, his hands smoothing up Harry’s sides, the touch firm and reverent.

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” Louis murmured, his voice low and rough with desire.

Harry flushed deeper, his lips parting as he let out a shaky breath. “I think you’ve mentioned it once or twice.”

Louis leaned down, pressing open-mouthed kisses to Harry’s collarbone, the curve of his neck, and the sensitive spot just below his ear that had always made him shiver. Harry arched up against him, his hands tangling in Louis’ hair as a soft moan escaped his lips.

It had been so long since they’d been like this, yet their bodies seemed to remember each other instinctively. Louis’ hands roamed over Harry’s chest, fingertips brushing over his nipples, drawing a sharp intake of breath from the man beneath him. He smiled against Harry’s skin, trailing kisses lower and lower until he reached the line of Harry’s hip bones.

“You’re teasing.” Harry said, his voice breaking slightly, but there was no real frustration in his tone—only need.

Louis looked up at him, his blue eyes dark with heat. “I’ve waited for this, Harry. So I’m not rushing anything.”

That earned him a breathless laugh, Harry shaking his head. “You haven’t changed one bit.”

Louis moved back up, kissing Harry deeply, their tongues meeting in a slow, sensual dance. The heat between them built steadily, their bodies pressing closer, hands gripping and exploring with increasing urgency.

“Turn over for me.” Louis whispered against Harry’s lips, and Harry complied without hesitation, his trust in Louis evident in every movement. Louis took his time, his hands kneading into Harry’s shoulders and down his back, lips following the path of his touch. He lavished attention on him, drawing soft whimpers and gasps that only fuelled his own desire.

“God, Lou.” Harry murmured, his voice thick with pleasure.

Louis kissed the small of Harry’s back before settling himself behind him. He reached for the bedside drawer, grabbing the bottle of lube and condoms he knew Harry had stashed there.

As he prepared Harry, Louis’ touch was both steady yet tender, his fingers moving with practiced care that had Harry gripping the sheets, his breaths coming out in uneven pants.

“Okay?” Louis asked, pressing a kiss to Harry’s shoulder.

“Perfect.” Harry replied, his voice strained but full of want.

When Louis finally pushed into him, they both stilled, overwhelmed by the connection. Harry’s head fell forward, a low moan spilling from his lips as Louis pressed deeper. They moved together, slowly at first, finding a rhythm, the sensation heightened by the months they’d spent apart.

Louis leaned forward, wrapping an arm around Harry’s waist to pull him upright, their bodies flush against each other. Harry’s head fell back onto Louis’ shoulder, his hands gripping Louis’ thighs as their movements grew more intense.

“You feel so good.” Louis murmured into Harry’s ear, his voice husky and full of emotion.

Harry turned his head slightly, capturing Louis’ lips in a messy, passionate kiss, their moans swallowed by each other. Their bodies moved in perfect synchrony, each thrust and roll of hips bringing them closer to the edge.

When they finally fell over the precipice together, it was with a shattering intensity that left them both trembling. Louis held Harry tightly, burying his face in the crook of his neck as they came down, their breaths mingling in the quiet aftermath.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment, the silence filled only by the sound of their racing hearts. Eventually, Louis pulled out and collapsed onto the bed beside Harry, pulling him into his arms.

Harry rested his head on Louis’ chest, his fingers idly tracing patterns on his skin. “That was…”

“Yeah.” Louis agreed, not even hearing the rest of the sentence, pressing a kiss to Harry’s temple.

It wasn’t just about the physical connection—it was about everything they’d been through to get here.

Through the loss of their daughter, their separation, their divorce, Harry’s time in the hospital, their time apart, their reconciliation, and the move back to England.

They had made it.

But was this all too smooth sailing? Louis couldn’t help but wonder as he lay on the bed, the quiet of the house pressing in around him.

🧸

The past couple of months had been like a dream—family dinners where Jay and Anne exchanged thrilled glances, outings that felt like a return to their best days, and moments so beautiful Louis could hardly believe they were real. It felt like every step they took together was the right one, as though the universe had finally decided they deserved a break.

Exactly three and a half months after returning to England, Harry had looked at Louis with those puppy-dog eyes, pleading with him to move back into their house. At first, Louis had laughed, brushing it off with a sassy quip about Harry being desperate for company. But deep down, he’d known it was inevitable.

It was time.

Still, the decision hadn’t come lightly. Moving back into the house they’d once shared was a huge step, and Louis was determined not to rush it.

“We’re doing this the right way this time,” he’d told Harry firmly, setting boundaries they both agreed on. “Communication, respect, patience, love, openness, honesty. All of it.”

The day Louis had finally said yes, Harry’s joy had been palpable. He’d hugged Louis so tightly he could hardly breathe, whispering.

“You won’t regret this, Lou. I promise.”

But now, as Louis stood in what used to be their shared bedroom, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. The house still felt like it belonged to Harry—his scent lingered on the furniture, and his touch was evident in the way everything had been meticulously arranged. Louis’ things were nearly all moved in now, but it didn’t feel like his space yet.

Harry, of course, had been nothing but accommodating, giving Louis the freedom to decide what stayed and what went. He’d even suggested repainting the walls again, something Louis had scoffed at but secretly appreciated.

The transition was mostly smooth. They spent their days laughing over which items to donate, arguing playfully about Harry’s obsessive need to alphabetise the kitchen pantry, and curling up together at night to watch movies. It was domestic bliss—everything Louis had once dreamed of.

But in the quiet moments, when Harry was at work and Louis was left alone in the house, doubt crept in. Was this what he really wanted? Was it too much, too soon?

He tried to push those thoughts aside, focusing instead on how good things had been between them. Harry had been patient, attentive, and endlessly loving. He’d even suggested they start planning a weekend getaway, just the two of them, to celebrate Louis being back home.

And yet, as perfect as everything seemed, Louis couldn’t shake the nagging thought: Is it supposed to be this easy?

It was the kind of perfection that felt precarious, like a bubble waiting to pop. But for now, Louis decided to lean into it, letting himself believe that maybe, just maybe, things really could go smoothly this time.

As he unpacked the last of his boxes, he reminded himself to have faith. They’d worked so hard to get here, and he wasn’t going to let his fears ruin it. He’d just have to wait and see if the bubble could hold.

Then it happened.

Louis was 99% moved back in before they finally hit their first rough patch. It came up so casually, so unexpectedly, it was almost laughable how neither of them saw it coming.

Harry had been rearranging some things in the spare room when he called out, “I was thinking we could turn this into a gym. I’ve been meaning to get back into a routine.”

Louis, leaning against the doorframe with a cup of tea in his hands, raised an eyebrow. “A gym? Really?”

Harry chuckled and nodded. “Yeah, why not? It’ll be practical, don’t you think?”

Louis took a sip, considering it. “I mean, I guess… for now, it could work.”

Harry was smiling at first, but the moment Louis added “for now,” the warmth in his expression faltered. “What do you mean, for now?”

Louis, oblivious, grinned. “Well, when we want to have another baby, we’re going to need this room. Unless you’re planning on buying a bigger—”

“There isn’t going to be any more babies, Lou.”

The words hit like a freight train. Louis blinked, lowering his mug slowly as if he hadn’t heard him right. “What?”

Harry’s face was steady, his tone calm, but there was a finality in his words that sliced through Louis. “I don’t want to have any more kids.”

It took a moment for the gravity of the statement to sink in. Louis’ smile disappeared completely, replaced by a look of utter disbelief.

“Harry… What are you talking about?”

“I mean it, Louis. I’ve thought about this a lot. After Abigail…” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “I can’t go through that again.”

Louis stared at him, his heart racing in his chest. “You can’t go through it again? What about me, Harry? You know I want a big family. You have always known. You think I haven’t thought about her? I carry that pain every day too, but—”

“I know you do.” Harry said softly. “I know you do, and I’m not saying it’s easy for me either. But this is different, Lou. I just… I can’t do it. I’m sorry.”

There was a look on Harry’s face that said it all. He was serious—dead serious. Louis felt the walls of the room close in on him. His chest tightened as if the air had been sucked out. This wasn’t just an argument; this was a life-altering conversation.

“You never said anything.” Louis whispered, his voice trembling. “You never told me you didn’t want kids anymore. I thought we both…” He trailed off, his throat tightening. “I thought we’d try again one day. Together.”

Harry sighed, his hands falling to his sides. “I thought it was obvious. After everything, I thought you understood.”

“Understood?” Louis repeated, his voice cracking. “Harry, we never talked about this! How am I supposed to understand something you never said?”

Harry looked away, guilt flashing in his eyes. “You’re right. We should’ve talked about it. I just… I didn’t know how to bring it up. And then when you came back, everything was so good, I didn’t want to ruin it.”

“Well, congratulations.” Louis said bitterly, tears threatening to spill. “You’ve ruined it now.”

“Lou…” Harry stepped closer, his expression pained. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m just being honest like you asked me to. I just can’t do it again. I can’t handle the risk, the fear, the heartbreak. It’s too much.”

“And what about me?” Louis asked, his voice rising. “You think I don’t feel the same fear? The same heartbreak? But I still want this, Harry. I want a family. I want a future with you that includes more than just us.”

Harry’s jaw tightened. “I know you do. And I want a future with you too. But I don’t think I can give you what you want, Lou.”

The words shattered something inside Louis. He stepped back, his hands shaking. “So that’s it, then? You’ve already made up your mind?”

Harry didn’t reply immediately. He looked at Louis, his eyes filled with sorrow, but he didn’t waver. “I had to be honest with you. It’s not fair to keep this from you.”

Louis shook his head, tears streaming down his face now. “You should’ve told me. Before I came back. Before I moved back in. You should’ve told me.”

Harry swallowed hard, his own eyes glassy. “I know. I’m sorry.”

But sorry wasn’t enough. It didn’t mend the cracks that had just splintered through Louis’ heart. He turned away, unable to look at Harry any longer.

For the first time since coming back, Louis felt like he didn’t belong there anymore.

Louis packed a small bag and went to stay with his mother. It wasn’t a dramatic exit, but it was a necessary one. He needed space—space to think, to breathe, to process what Harry had told him. Jay welcomed him with open arms, her sharp eyes immediately recognising the hurt her son carried.

She didn’t press for details right away, though. Jay had always been good at waiting until Louis was ready to talk. Instead, she made him tea, tucked a blanket around him on the couch, and sat beside him while the television hummed softly in the background.

Across town, Anne picked up the phone and called Jay. The two mothers had grown close over the years, their shared love for their boys forging a unique bond. This time, however, their conversation was heavy.

“I’m worried,” Anne admitted, her voice trembling slightly. “If Louis doesn’t come back…”

Jay frowned, stirring her tea absentmindedly. “Anne, don’t go borrowing trouble. Let’s give them some time. They have learnt lessons; they have both grown within themselves. Let’s have some faith.”

“But Harry…” Anne hesitated, lowering her voice. “He’s been through so much, Jay. If Louis leaves for good, I’m scared of what that might do to him. You’ve seen how fragile he can be.”

Jay’s heart ached at the concern in Anne’s tone. She knew Harry’s struggles intimately; she had been there, watching alongside Anne as he fought to rebuild himself after Abigail’s loss. But she also knew her son. Louis was as stubborn as they came, but he wasn’t heartless.

“He won’t leave for good.” Jay said firmly, though her own worries lingered. “They love each other too much for that. Let’s trust them to figure it out.”

Anne nodded, though her fear remained like a shadow in the back of her mind. She would never voice it to Louis, never lay the burden of Harry’s mental health on his shoulders, but it stayed there, haunting her thoughts.

That evening, as Louis sat at the kitchen table, his hands wrapped around a warm mug, Jay finally spoke.

“Alright, spill,” she said, her tone soft but insistent. “What’s going on?”

Louis sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s Harry. He doesn’t want kids. Like…ever.”

Jay’s brow furrowed. “He said that?”

“He was dead serious.” Louis replied, his voice breaking slightly. “I just… I don’t know how to process it. I thought we’d have a family again someday. I thought it was something we both wanted.”

Jay reached across the table, placing a comforting hand over his.

“Sweetheart, after everything you two have been through, can you really blame him? Losing Abigail broke him, Louis. It broke both of you.”

Louis blinked back tears, his throat tightening. “I know that. I do. But I thought we’d heal together. I thought someday he’d be ready to try again.”

Jay squeezed his hand. “Maybe he will. Maybe he won’t. But you can’t rush him, Lou. And you can’t make decisions for him. He’s scared, and honestly, I don’t blame him for that. You’ve got to meet him where he’s at right now.”

Louis bit his lip, her words sinking in. “And if he never changes his mind? What then?”

Jay leaned back, her gaze steady. “Then you decide what matters more to you. But let me ask you this: Do you love him enough to wait and see? Or is this something you can’t compromise on?”

Louis didn’t answer right away. He stared down at his tea, his thoughts a whirlwind. Jay didn’t press him, allowing the weight of her words to settle.

Louis stayed with his mother for a few more days, letting the rawness of his emotions settle. He thought about what she had said, and more importantly, he thought about Harry. How scared he must have been to say those words, knowing it could hurt him, knowing it might risk everything they had worked to rebuild.

He lay awake every night, staring at the ceiling, his mind racing with possibilities.

He missed the warmth of Harry beside him, the way everything felt right when they were together. Now, with the empty space in the bed, nothing felt natural, especially after just getting him back. This decision was weighing heavily on him, and Harry wasn’t there to help him navigate it like he always did. Was this emptiness his conscience’s way of telling him just how much he truly needed Harry?

He thought about the life they’d rebuilt together and about the future he’d always imagined. But he also thought about what Jay had said—the messy, unpredictable nature of love. Could he live with the uncertainty? Could he put his dream of a bigger family aside for the man he loved?

The next morning, he still didn’t have an answer. He spent the day distracted, replaying their conversation and imagining what life might look like if it were just the two of them. By the time the sun set again, Louis felt no closer to a decision.

But then, as he watched his mother step back into the living room that evening after tucking his siblings into bed, it struck him—the answer had been there all along.

He loved Harry—deeply, profoundly, in a way that words could never truly capture. It was the kind of love that felt etched into his very soul, something only the deepest parts of him could ever fully understand.

As they sat in front of the TV, Louis finally spoke. “I’ve thought about what you said,” he said quietly. “I love him more than anything,” he said quietly. “If it means my life is just with him, then… so be it.”

Jay smiled softly. “That’s the thing about love, sweetheart. Sometimes it’s messy, and it’s rarely what we expect. But it’s worth it.”

🧸

When Louis finally called Harry the next day, his voice was calm but determined.

“Can I come over? We need to talk.”

Harry agreed immediately, though his tone was hesitant, as if he feared what Louis might say.

When Louis had arrived, he didn’t waste time.

“I’ve been thinking,” he started, his voice steady. “About what you said. About the spare room. About kids.”

Harry’s face tensed, but Louis held up a hand to stop him.

“I get it.” Louis said. “I get why you feel the way you do, and I’m not going to push you. I love you, Harry. I love us. And if our future is just the two of us, then that’s enough for me.”

Harry’s shoulders sagged in relief, his eyes glassy as he stepped closer.

“Are you sure?”

Louis nodded, his chest tightening at the sight of Harry’s vulnerability. “I’m sure. I don’t need a family. I just need you. YOU are my family.”

For the first time in days, they both smiled—a fragile, hopeful smile that promised they’d figure it out.

Life together soon settled into a rhythm that felt effortless, like slipping into a favourite sweater. Between work, shared dinners, and quiet evenings spent wrapped in each other’s arms, Harry and Louis had rebuilt a home together—one filled with warmth and laughter. It was everything Louis had dreamed of and more. A year had passed since Louis moved back in, and if he were being 100% honest, he couldn’t have been happier.

One quiet afternoon, Louis was folding laundry on the couch while Harry rummaged through the dryer. Watching Harry move about the room—his curls falling in his face, his casual grace—Louis felt butterflies. It was moments like this, the small, mundane ones, that he cherished the most.

“Hey, Harry.” Louis called, his voice soft but steady.

Harry popped up from behind the washing machine, a stray sock in hand.

“Yeah, love?”

Louis pressed his lips together, a nervous smile playing at the corners.

“Let’s get remarried.”

Harry froze, the sock slipping from his fingers. He blinked at Louis, his face unreadable at first. Then, as he straightened, a smirk tugged at his lips. Slowly, he walked toward Louis, his excitement poorly hidden behind that teasing smile.

Louis, however, began to panic at the lack of an immediate response.

“I mean, if it’s too soon, or you don’t want to, that’s okay! Oh God, I was going to re-propose or something, but I don’t know why I just blurted it out. I was watching you move around and got lost in how beautiful you are, and—”

Harry cut him off with a deep, searing kiss, his hands framing Louis’ face. When he finally pulled back, his voice was low and steady. “We are married, baby. I never filed the papers.”

Louis’ mouth fell open, his eyes wide. “W-what?”

Harry’s grin grew as Louis lunged forward, smashing their lips together once more. Their kiss was fervent and needy, Louis’ hands gripping Harry’s waist as if afraid he’d slip away. When they finally broke apart for air, Harry chuckled, his voice filled with mischief.

“So you liked me doing laundry, huh?”

Before Louis could respond, Harry turned and leaned against the washing machine. He dropped his shorts to the floor, his leg lifting seductively to rest on the edge.

“Well, Mr. Tomlinson, what are you waiting for? Come and get me.”

Louis’ laughter quickly turned into a low growl as he stepped closer, his hands running up Harry’s exposed thigh.

“You’re so bloody cheeky,” he muttered before pressing a kiss to the back of Harry’s neck. His fingers teased Harry’s entrance, eliciting a desperate moan.

“Get in me, Lou. Now!” Harry gasped, his voice breaking with need.

“But what about—”

“Now, Louis!”

Louis didn’t hesitate, his movements fuelled by both passion and love. He kissed along Harry’s spine as he entered him, their bodies moving together in perfect sync. Harry’s hands braced against the washing machine as Louis thrust deeply, their breaths mingling in the air. The room filled with the sounds of their pleasure, each moan and gasp a testament to how much they had missed this—how much they had missed each other.

When they finally collapsed against each other, spent and sweaty, Louis pressed a kiss to Harry’s temple before they cleaned up and redressed. It wasn’t until they were back on the couch, catching their breath, that Louis broke the silence.

“I thought we promised to always use a condom, H.” Louis’ voice was soft but firm, his brows furrowed in concern. “You made me promise, and I’ve never gone without. What was that?”

Harry’s expression shifted. He reached for Louis’ hand, squeezing it gently.

“I’ve been thinking about it myself,” he began, his voice low. “And look, don’t get too excited, okay? But I’m willing to compromise. I don’t necessarily want to try for a baby, but I don’t want to prevent one anymore either. If it happens, it happens.”

Louis’ breath hitched, his eyes filling with tears.

“Harry…”

Harry pulled him into a tight embrace, his own voice wavering. “I love you, Lou. More than anything. Just… let’s not make a big thing of it, okay? Let’s just see what happens. If it’s meant to be, it’ll happen.”

Louis clung to him, his tears dampening Harry’s shirt as he nodded. His heart felt full, overwhelmed by the depth of Harry’s love and willingness to meet him halfway.

“I love you.” Louis whispered, his voice breaking.

“I love you too.” Harry replied, pressing a kiss to the top of Louis’ head. They stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, ready to face whatever the future held.

✨️ 7 MONTHS LATER ✨️

Louis pushed open the front door, exhaustion etched on his face. It had been a long day at work, and truth be told, he missed working with Liam. They still spoke on the phone often, and Louis was thrilled to hear from him that afternoon that he and Zayn were finally engaged. But there was something about seeing his old friend in person every day that Louis sorely missed.

He kicked off his shoes, letting them land haphazardly near the entrance, and called out, “Babe, I’m home. Where are you? I’ve got something to tell you!”

But only silence greeted him.

He wandered into the kitchen, immediately noticing a steaming cup of coffee on the table. He didn’t think much of it and continued walking down the hall towards their bedroom. “Harry, love, you home?” he called again, peering into their empty bedroom.

Frowning, Louis turned back towards the kitchen but stopped mid-stride. Something tugged at his attention, and he took a step back to glance into the gym room.

“That’s weird,” he muttered to himself.

He shook off the unease and headed straight for the coffee on the table. Taking a large gulp, he let the warmth spread through his tired body. It was only then that he noticed the little wrapped gift sitting beside the cup.

He froze, his heart suddenly hammering in his chest. He stared at the package, too scared to touch it, too scared to look too closely. Tentatively, he reached for it, his fingers trembling as he picked it up. Slowly, he peeled back the wrapping, his breath catching as he revealed the contents.

It was a pregnancy test.

A positive pregnancy test.

Louis gasped so loudly that he swore he stopped breathing for a moment. His mind raced, struggling to process what he was holding. He didn’t hear the soft footsteps approaching behind him, didn’t register the movement until a pair of arms wrapped around his waist.

He flinched slightly but instantly relaxed when Harry’s familiar warmth enveloped him. Harry nuzzled his cheek against the crook of Louis’ neck, his voice soft and steady.

“I’m not angry. Scared, but not upset. I’m happy, Lou.”

Louis turned in Harry’s arms, his face lighting up with the biggest smile. Without hesitation, he kissed Harry deeply, pouring every ounce of his excitement and love into the kiss. When they finally pulled apart, he held the test up between them.

“We’re pregnant? We’re pregnant, Harry! We’re really pregnant?”

Harry smiled, his eyes glistening.

“We are.”

Louis laughed, clutching the test in disbelief. He kissed it, unable to contain his excitement.

Harry’s laughter turned into a cringe.

“Lou, I peed on that!”

Louis froze, his expression twisting in disgust as he dropped the test like it was on fire.

“Ew!”

Harry couldn’t contain his laughter as Louis lunged forward, cupping Harry’s cheeks with both hands. Louis stared at him so intently, so full of pure adoration, that Harry felt his soul relax.

“It might take a year; it might take a day. But what’s meant to be will always find its way.” Louis said softly, his voice steady and full of conviction.

Harry blinked, confused. “Huh?”

Louis chuckled, his nose wrinkling in amusement. Harry raised an eyebrow, although he already knew the answer.

“Wait. Is that off the calendar Liam sent you?”

Louis laughed again as he mimicked his friend’s old words.

“Doesn’t make it any less true, though, does it?”

Harry shook his head, smiling fondly.

“Touché.”

For a moment, they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms in the quiet of the kitchen, their hearts brimming with hope and love for this journey of parenthood once again. This time, no matter what life threw their way, they knew they would face it side by side. They WILL conquer it all—the good, the bad, the ugly—together.

There’s something remarkable about two people who always find their way back to each other, no matter the distance or circumstances that pull them apart. It’s as if fate itself is on their side.

Love is a wild, uncontrollable force. When we attempt to tame it, it breaks us. When we try to confine it, it traps us. And when we seek to understand it, we’re left feeling more lost than before.

The people who are meant to be in your life will always gravitate back towards you, no matter how far away they wander…even if that place is as far away as Chicago.

🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸

It’s funny how as humans, we only understand death once it has placed its hands upon one of our own, someone we truly, deeply love and adore.

Grief is the final act of love we give to those we’ve lost. Where there is profound grief, there was once profound love. Yet, the people we love never truly leave us, for grief and love are intertwined—inseparable. You simply cannot have one without the other.

There are some things even death cannot touch. So, be grateful and cherish every fleeting moment, every shared laugh, every quiet embrace with your loved ones. Life is precious, far too short, and very unpredictable.

In saying that, when loss strikes, may there be comfort in knowing that someone so extraordinary will never be forgotten. Their presence lives on—in memory, in love and in the lives they’ve touched. Forever.

🦖🦕🦖🦕🦖🦕

Rest In Peace

Liam James Payne

29th August 1993 ~16th October 2024

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