Core 'ngrato [L.S]

Killing Lies

Harry didn't remember the last time had talked to Louis. It'd probably been at least a week—an unheard of time for them—and their last text exchange in his phone had been of Louis describing, in excessive and wistful detail, all the things he wished they were doing, all the things he planned for them to do. 'Tonight, we'd be going for a walk,' it had said, and it made Harry's franticly-excited-because-everything's-still-so-new-here blood settle into something more sweet and solid and home-like. 'We'd walk to our favorite bridge and we'd laugh about how shitty today was and I'd tell you everything and you'd make it better. Then we'd buy cheap wine and drink it by the water and we'd probably fuck right there, let's be real.' Harry had laughed, bright and warm and curled into his phone. 'I miss you so much, H,' it said. 'I love you so much.'

The words were whispered into Harry's skull and it was Louis' voice. He fell asleep with his phone in his clutch, listening to those words, dreaming of a bridge and sliced blue eyes and lips that held the world together.

It only occurred to him, after days upon days of silence, that he'd never responded.

And he'd been shitty lately, is the thing. He'd been swept up in writing his short stories and bonding with professors and going out all the time with his new friends and spending too much money and never getting sleep and he never had any free time. He was always at the bakery or always at a lecture or always at some pub or diner and he felt bloated and a bit unhealthy and a bit off-kilter but he was experiencing life, wasn't he? It's what he came here to do, wasn't it?

But along the way he brushed aside Louis and he missed him, is the thing. He missed him like a deep-settled ache in his bones and his breathing and he missed him every single moment of every single day.

It was a cloudy morning with sporadic drizzle.

He'd texted Louis the day before, promising to call him later that night. It was the first contact they'd had since Louis had sent that last message and it'd been about two weeks, give or take. The longest they'd ever gone. Harry just never had time. So it probably came as no surprise when Harry hadn't actually ended up calling the night before.

He knew it was shitty, he knew.

He knew it but he wanted to make it up to him, make it right. Return everything to normal. Because Louis was always going to be his number one, his forever, and he wanted to reassure him because Louis' voice had been so sad recently. Even sadder after Harry'd mentioned that, maybe, he could get a job here. Just at a small business for a local children's magazine, but his counsellors had told him it was a great stepping stone.

"I could live here, right? I know plenty of affordable flats. And I could make my way up, Lou. Just stay here for a year or two to get some experience. And I could write on the side, you know? It's brilliant. I think things are coming together."

"Yeah," Louis had said, his voice almost strangled. "You sound so excited, Harry. I'm so happy to hear you sound like that." But why had it sounded like Louis was almost crying?

Harry hadn't questioned it, just ploughed on excitedly and it never was addressed. That was the last time they'd talked on the phone, not just texted. A month and six days ago.

So when Harry left his flat that morning, the rain gently pattering onto his sweatshirt as he walked purposefully to the tattoo parlour near his friend's flat, he had every intention of making it up to Louis. Every intention of reassuring him. Because couples need that every once in awhile, right?

The ship hurt a bit. The needle jabbed in and out of his skin and black ink was smudged away with a dirty rag but each sting made Harry smile and it made his eyes prickle the tiniest bit, the hairs on his neck stand, because he was inking Louis into his skin and he was making a promise.