Louis was running. Running as fast as he could as the icy wind whipped at his face, a warm hand in his.
"Don't stop running, Lou!" Harry's voice sounded like home and he was going to forget that. He wouldn't even know how to miss it once he finally woke up.
"I want to keep this one," he whispered to Harry as Harry tugged him along, toward the cliff face where they'd spent their last moments as boyfriends.
After that they'd been fiancées. Louis didn't want to forget this part. He didn't want to forget the way his hand had trembled as Harry slipped the ring onto his fourth finger on his left hand.
Harry the sneaky bastard who'd proposed just hours before Louis had planned to propose to him.
There, on the grassy cliffs of that Irish landmark with the fog rolling in and obstructing any view that wasn't Harry's forest green eyes, they'd made a promise to each other. A promise to share a life and a future and Louis didn't want to forget that, not really.
He heard a thunderous crack as he pushed forward, lungs burning with exhaustion. They'd tried this all night. There were only a few more memories left and then Harry would be gone. He had to stop it.
He braved a glance over his shoulder and watched as the ground gave way from behind them. The memory was collapsing. There was nowhere left to run but Harry kept pulling him toward the cliffs.
"Come on, Lou, don't let go," he pleaded as he tugged Louis closer and closer to the cliff face.
Louis' foot caught on a rock and he stumbled, letting go of Harry's hand.
For one brief second the world froze and it was just Harry. Harry standing on the edge of the cliff, hair whipping violently as the wind from the angry Irish Sea blew salt across their faces.
"Hey!" Louis yelled as loud as he could, staring up at the darkening sky "can you hear me? I don't want this anymore! I want to call it off!"
And then just like that, the earth fell from beneath his and Harry's feet and they both plunged into darkness.
: INotes:
(See the end of the chapter for .)
Chapter Text
Present Day
Louis opened his eyes, arm shooting out to silence his screaming phone. He hated waking up to his alarm. Louis wasn't good at waking up. He felt pretty certain that there was a time in his life where this wasn't the case, but he couldn't quite remember. His brain felt foggy, as it usually did when he first woke up. Louis couldn't remember the last time he'd really remembered a dream. Maybe he didn't even dream, but there was always a strange nagging feeling that he was forgetting something that lasted into his second cup of tea.
It was Thursday. Thursdays Louis didn't need to be at the shop until noon, so he usually sipped his tea slowly and took his time singing in the shower before he trotted off down the street on his way to work. Louis didn't mind his job, not one bit, actually. He loved it there, which was a good thing because he owned the place and all.
Louis' beloved bookstore was named after, apparently, the best beaches in New York. He couldn't quite put his finger on why it had felt like there was no other possible option of what to name his store, but it didn't matter. It felt poetic and that's all that people wanted in their friendly neighbourhood book store, right? So Montauk it was. Montauk, the tiny bookshop with the killer barista with the most piercing eyes in all of Manchester, Louis' best friend, Zayn.
