My Life Is Worse Than Yours...

Chapter Eleven

It had almost been two months since Lily and Marienette's wedding. Almost two months since he had seen Louis, he hadn't even heard his voice, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to. Zayn had become good friends with Liam and Niall so he saw him often and occasionally asked how Louis was doing, but Zayn often shrugged off the question with "He's fine" or "Haven't seen him". He might have been lying, but Harry chose to believe him. It had been almost two months since the wedding and Harry decided that his empty apartment needed a Christmas tree so he had run down the street to where he saw a small car park that had been taken over by a few vendors who had driven the trees into the city on the backs of large truck which they now stood on to call people in. Its was the 15th of December so it was busier than before, people buying them last minute, desperate for the best looking tree. Harry didn't care about that, he just needed something to keep his ind occupied as he took a break from work. He wandered the rows of trees looking them up and down as light flakes of snow began to fall around his head. It was central London, so the flakes would never settle, but the air of serenity they brought with them as they fell as not a common sight. He settled on a tree that was just a few inches taller than him, paid in cash and gripped it by the stump to drag it back down the road to his apartment. 

'This was much easier last time.' Harry mumbled to himself as he thought back to the previous year and carrying a large tree, the weight shared, a mile to Louis' apartment before cramming it into the building's small lift. Even that had been a feat, so when Harry finally managed to get it back to his apartment, he was pleased with himself and propped it up in the stand in there corner of the room. He opened the small cardboard box of decorations he had bought; he did not have as many as Louis did, nor did they hold as much sentimental value. None of them had been made by him in primary school that his mother had insisted on keeping and displaying every year. None of them were made by his sister as a birthday/Christmas present. None of them were his favourite glass ornament that his grandmother had made for him - a misshapen duck, as Louis had called it. No, Harry's were all new, greens and reds lined with gold and silver sparkles. He wrapped white fairy lights around the tree and hung the ornaments before taking a step back and admiring it - he truly did like it. 

The sun had sunk behind the skyline as he looked out of the large window across the city, the snow still falling, It had begun to settle on the top of the buildings and roofs of cars. Harry stood and watched as he spotted a couple stood on the platform of their fire escape, arms around each  other swaying slowly in time to the swirling wind, back lit by small candles and warm light. It felt like a private, almost intimate moment, but he couldn't help but watch, their serenity provided him with a sense of peace and somehow cleared his in the middle of such a busy city. He turned away after a few more moments and moved towards the kettle, flicked it on and heaved himself up to sit on the counter. He noticed a small red light blinking in the corner of his eye and looked across at where it had been becoming from; it was his answering machine. He glanced down at it, a little bemused as he had been here all afternoon and not received a phone call, which means it has been there for hours and he didn't realise. He jumped off the counter and pushed the button on the machine. A familiar voice filled the room. 

"Hi Haz," Louis' voice said confidently. Harry's heart fluttered; he banished the feeling immediately, his face grew angry as he leant against the countertop. "I wanted to ring you for a while but haven't had the balls to do it. What can I say? I'm just an arrogant son of a bitch who can't admit when he's sorry. You probably won't but if you would give me a call back when you get this message? I want to talk." 

The machine beeped and switched off as Louis hung up the phone and Harry stood still in his kitchen. He burned with anger inside. Two months and that was all he got. He was going to call Louis just to shout at him for a poor excuse at an apology. No, because then that would on some level be recognising and accepting that as an apology. Did he want an apology, who knows. Should he apologise? What did he have to apologise for The kettle clicked and snapped Harry out of his own head, so he poured himself a a mug, sat on the sofa and absently watched the first programme that came on his TV.