Louis' house

6. the second tear

It's the first snow of the year, Harry sits on the porch, wrapped up in a blanket with a steaming cup in his hands, staring at the glistening flakes slowly falling down.

It's not really cold enough for the snow to turn the ground white, but at least it's snowing. Harry has always loved snow, he finds it calming. Like right now. Well, as calm as he can be. This is a disaster, his whole life is a disaster right now.

After crying in the attic of Louis' childhood house, after sobbing in his ex boyfriends arms, after shaking until his whispers and gentle touches calmed him down again, he tried to run. He helped Louis get all his stuff into the car, but he avoided him. He took the attic-stuff, while Louis took the room-stuff.

Louis was understanding, let Harry have his space and on the drive home they were silent. He only asked him if he's alright when Harry said he'd take a nap.

Harry said yes. Harry lied. He's not alright. He's a right mess.

What are you supposed to say? No, I just realised my soon-to-be-husband is only half of what you were? No, I noticed I'll never have anything even close as amazing as what we had ever again? No, I think I might have fucked up the best thing in my life when I let you go? He couldn't say that, so he settled for yes, I'm fine.

Right now, he wishes to be a fucking snowflake and just land on the floor and melt, a beautiful thing people like to look at, that just dissolves into nothing and everyone moves on, maybe even steps on it.

Sadly, Harry isn't a snowflake, so he stays where he is on the porch and takes slow sips from his tea that only warms him up mildly. His mind is buzzing with two names.

Francis and Louis. Francis or Louis.

He doesn't even know what exactly he's comparing here, and he feels horrible for comparing whatever it is, unconsciously.

Francis, Louis, Francis, Louis, Francis, Francis, Louis, Louis, Louis. Francis.

Harry sighs, rubs his temple and pulls his phone out of the pocket of his hoodie. After three rings, Francis answers. "Hi babe"

"Hi" Harry sighs, trying to mask his exhaustion. He hasn't even been doing anything, and he's still exhausted.

"Why're you calling?"

"I just..." Why is he calling? "I miss you" Does he?

"I miss you too" Francis responds, there are voices in the background. "But I'll be back tomorrow"

"I know" Harry mumbles and closes his eyes. He won't cry again. "Can we go out then? When you're back?"

"Yeah" says Francis and Harry hears his smile. It's not fair that he has his attention when he's a ton of miles away, and over the phone. He wanted his attention weeks ago. Now he can't enjoy it.

"Really?" He asks because there is no 'business meeting', 'can't', or 'busy' as an answer, just a simple yeah. "Proper date?"

"Proper date" Francis confirms, "Restaurant, pub, whatever you want"

Harry lets out a breath of relief. Maybe it was just a phase of overworking, maybe he got over it. Maybe everything is going to be alright. Harry's eyes involuntarily flicker over to Louis' house. "That sounds amazing"

"Oh and in two days I invited some of the lads from work over, yeah? Just chatting over dinner and beer, personal and not work for once. I thought we need to be closer for the environment and all"

"Sounds great" Harry replies and takes another sip. Actually, it doesn't. He doesn't like when a lot of lads come there, they're always loud and obnoxious and sometimes rude. Especially working at Francis' firm, they're all pretentious rich bastards. Well, the few Harry has met over the years were, at least. They were straight old-fashioned sexist assholes. Maybe the ones Francis invited are different, he doesn't want to judge without meeting them.