the royal family of the music industry

13. Miss You

Harry Styles, 2017

Harry sits on his bed, the moon shining through the space his curtains leave open.

He can't sleep.

After Louis had sung always you, Harry had kind of stormed upstairs into his room and involuntarily, the memory of Louis leaving him had replayed over and over again in his head. He had ignored it for so long. Had stopped thinking about it and had hated everything that reminded him.

But now it might be time to think about it again. Because now, Harry is living with Louis again and he will see him almost every day. He still doesn't know why Louis did what he did. He just needs an answer at least. An explanation and then, maybe, he can finally get over Louis if he doesn't want him back.

But there is still that note.

The note he had found in his closet.

He had kind of forgotten about it, even though he had opened the photo album a week ago, he didn't remember seeing it.

But it has to be there.

Harry sighs and runs a hand through his curls.

Should he risk it? Should he read it?

He so desperately wants to know.

But he's had enough heartache for a year this day, so he decides against it, laying back down and staring at the part of the stone floor the moon illuminates.

He still can't sleep and groans while rolling around for the sixth time in his bed, staring at the ceiling without falling asleep.

He wants to read it. But he also doesn't want to.

Fuck, he needs to do something.

Groaning, Harry throws the duvet off of himself and stands up, his bare feet hitting the cold stone, making him shiver.
Everything in this caste is so damn cold, starting with Louis.

Harry grabs a blanket from an armchair and swings it around himself, making the red fabric fall down his shoulders all the way to his feet like a cape to keep him warm between the cold walls from this castle.
He looks like a very tired superhero.
Smiling slightly to himself at that thought, Harry opens his door and steps out of his tower into the hallway and walks over to the staircase.

As he walks downstairs, the blanket waving with every movement behind him, he spots a cup of tea on the lowest step. Raising his eyebrows and shrugging, Harry bends down to pick it up and carry it with him down the second flight of stairs.

When he turns the corner, he stops abruptly.

There is a beam of light that comes from the door to the kitchen.
And there is a voice.

Louis' voice.

What is he doing up so late? Harry knows he should clear his throat or knock on the door that is not closed completely, or he should just do anything to announce himself. He shouldn't just stand there listening to what seems to be a phone call.

But he does.

"-can't forgive myself." Is what Louis says, in a tired voice that is accompanied by the noise of a whisk in a bowl.

"What?" He asks and is quiet for a while, before talking again. "Exactly. And then I just sang it and the way he looked at me was so... I don't know Lottie, it's really bad right now."

Harry is holding his breath as Louis pauses again, listening to what, apparently his sister Lottie, says.

"Yes, i know. I think I-" He cuts himself off and the stirring noise stops has he breathes heavily.
"Lots, I think I still-"