petal [book 1] ❊ l.s.

fifteen - the other side

Louis spent every night that week wandering the desolate streets of Chicago, cold wind nipping at his nose. On the night that Harry left, it had taken him all of ten minutes to kick Eleanor out and leave Liam a seething voicemail message, but by the time he rushed out of the apartment complex, he was alone under the ominous glow of the streetlights.

Harry was gone.

He didn't give up, though. He couldn't just let go. Even though his life had become significantly more complicated since he met Harry, he couldn't let go without at least trying. As much as he couldn't accept the all-consuming love that Harry described, he couldn't picture a life without Harry in it, either.

So, every day after work, he dragged Niall around Chicago searching. He even guilted Liam into helping him, and as much as his friend had tried to drive him and Harry apart, even Liam seemed worried enough that he wanted to find Harry and make sure he was okay. Five days of searching was taking its toll, though, on all of them. There was no sign of Harry at his booth in the market square, and there was no sign of him among the nameless faces of the Chicago crowds.

Louis's spirits were just starting to fade when Niall called.

"I found him," his friend's voice came through the phone.

"Don't move. Don't let him move," Louis ordered. As hard as he tried to sound commanding, his voice shook, weak with desperation. "I'll be there in five minutes. I'm just a few blocks away."

"Okay," Niall agreed. He was standing outside of a run-down sandwich shop, staring down the street at a familiar curly-haired figure. Harry was sitting on the edge of the sidewalk, his knees folded up and a brown sandwich bag clutched to his chest. He looked cold and tired, his every movement slow, like it took so, so much energy -- and Niall's train of thought was interrupted when Harry raised his head.

Fuck. Harry had seen him.

"Hey," he called out awkwardly. He took a few steps closer, still staying far enough that he didn't have to look down on him. He didn't want Harry to feel intimidated, like he was trying to tower over him. "You alright?"

Harry curled further into himself; his skin had a glossy sort of paleness to it, his fingers twitching in the cold. At least he had some food, Niall thought sadly.

"Leave me alone," he begged weakly. "Please. Please, just leave me alone."

"Louis has been worried sick. You've got to go home, Harry. I don't know what happened with the two of you, but you have to talk to him. He deserves that much, at least."

Harry hesitated, plagued by the constant uncertainty that defined his relationship with Louis -- plagued by the fresh image of Louis and a naked girl on his couch -- and he shook his head. "I can't. I can't face him right now. He doesn't want me around, Niall, and I can't change that."

"He's been looking for you constantly. I don't think he's slept for the past week because he's been wandering around looking for you. Chicago's a big city when you don't know where to start."

"I can't. I'm sorry, but I can't."

"I already called Louis," Niall confessed. He glanced back toward the opening of the alley like his friend might appear out of thin air at the sound of his name. "He'll be here any minute. You have to go now if you want to avoid him."

Harry blinked, surprised, but he struggled to his feet, using the wall for support. If only he could wish the cold out of his aching joints. "You're . . . why are you helping me?"

Niall paused for a moment to think. Then he confessed: "I like you. And you're good for Louis, as much as he and Liam both drive me fucking crazy sometimes." He offered Harry a lopsided smile, adding, "And Louis needs to learn that he doesn't always get what he wants."