f a

Alla fine ho capito
che ti innamori solo di una persona
con cui ti senti libera di essere te stessa, 
e fragile quando ne hai bisogno.
Ma in giro non vedo altro che gente
alla quale non piace ascoltare,
che ama parlare solo dei propri problemi.
E’ proprio in momenti come questi che ti chiedi,
perché fai tanto per queste persone.
Non appartieni a questo mondo.

No one could specifically be blamed. Louis went out in search of his dreams, and Harry supported that. The love was still there - probably would always be - but so was that horrible gap wedged between them.

Two nights before it happened, Harry went drinking with Liam - their first time out together since Louis left - to some shady bar downtown, one of the only local places Harry knew he had enough cash for without having to stop at an ATM, his bank account nearly empty, anyway. He rested his forehead against the sticky bar top, closing his eyes. He knew Liam was staring, regardless.

“It’s like. I had so much faith that we could have made this work. Faith that no amount of distance between us could make a dent in who we are together. But.” He sat up, mindlessly peeled the label off of his beer bottle, gone warm already. “Faith wasn’t enough, I guess, and science got in the way. It’s a scientific fact that Louis and I are separated by 4,781 miles, by eight hours, by millions and millions of people who are living between us and, just. Science won.”

Liam didn’t say anything to that, simply placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeezed, ordered him another drink. It was the exact right thing to do for the exact wrong situation.

The day they decided to end it was a freezing cold October afternoon. Harry had on a sweatshirt, wool socks. They were Louis’.

“What happened to all of this being temporary,” he whispered into the phone, nervous to say it any louder. “The only thing that’s starting to feel temporary is…”

“Us,” Louis finished for him.


It felt like relief, really. They’d barely been going through the motions, pretending as if it was working, and when they hung up the phone, Harry didn’t feel like crying, didn’t feel sick, didn’t feel angry. He felt nothing. He took a shower, went for a walk, let the cold air numb his face, numb his fingers and toes and his already numbed mind.

The overwhelming agony came three days later.

It hit him like a tidal wave, knocking him over. Drowning and alone was the only way to describe it, Harry thought that first weekend without Louis, then nearly laughed. He’d been alone for a year. How was this any different?

He made an ass of himself during those first few weeks. He texted Louis absolute nonsense, just as a reason to reach out, putting in more effort than he had in months. When the meaningless texts didn’t work, he tried angry words. Immature, yes. Effective, no. He moved onto apologies around Thanksgiving, leaving Louis a string of sorrow voicemails, each one more pathetic than the next. Louis didn’t reply to a single message, everything gone unanswered.

The night before Louis’ birthday, Harry drunkenly typed out Maybe one day you’ll call me and tell me that you’re sorry too.

Louis never replied.

Harry hadn’t expected him to.


i could tell you i was under an enchantment that warped my whole personality… an inversion spell strong enough to let me lift the hammer of thor. not mention beat the crap out of him with it. i could tell you that. it’s all true.   for @bardinsp​ . )