Past Hopes

The lighter spun nervously in his hands. Round and round. Stop. Round again.

His left knee wouldn't stop tapping. He craved for a cigarette but Harry would kill him if smoked up his hotel room.

He didn't know what he was doing here.

What he had been thinking.

When he heard, that Harry and he would be playing a concert at the same city at the same day, he saw it as an opportunity. Catching up. See, how the other was doing.

Not as if he didn't know how Harry was doing. Everyone knew how he was doing. The megastar. Selling out MSG 15 nights in a row. Being a movie star. Dating a director. Being an absolute sensation.

But they hadn't spoken in months. Hadn't seen each other even longer. The fans liked to think they were all tight friends. But they weren't. Not anymore. Maybe never would have been, if they hadn't ended up in a band together. If they never had been forced to spend five years together. All the time. Now, they hardly talked. He was still in contact with Liam. And from what he gathered Harry and Niall seemed to hang out from time to time. But the last time they all came together? That was well documented. No secret meetings since then. Fuck, they didn't even manage to get one group picture together for the 10th anniversary of the band.

They were fucking losers.

Sometimes it felt like he was the only one who still had fond memories of the band. Who didn't resent everything that happened during One Direction. Who loved to spend so much time with his bandmates.

So when the chance popped up to see Harry again after all this time – especially with his insanely busy schedule -, he jumped on it.

Now sitting here in this fancy hotel room, Harry's private and official clothes strewn around, he regretted his impulsive decision. He glanced at the door wondering, if he could sneak out again. He would come up with a lame excuse. Harry would never call him out. He would have to talk to him for that.

But in that moment the door opened and Harry walked in. A jacket was covering part of his colorful stage outfit, to keep him warm and from getting a cold. The red and orange pants were sticking to trained legs and hurting his eyes. Clothes, he would never touch, even with a stick. The brown locks were sweaty and an absolute mess from all the times Harry must have combed his fingers through it while on stage.

Some things never changed.

Hazel eyes met his. Weary. A forced smile.

"Hi."

His voice sounded exhausted.

"Hi."

He rose from the couch, his fingers tightening around his lighter. Harry's eyes flickered to the offensive device and found his face again.

"Do you mind, if I take a shower real quick?"

"No. Sure. Go ahead."

He waved his hand stupidly towards the bathroom as if Harry needed his permission to use his own shower.

When the door clicked, he sank back to the couch and sighed.

This was such a big mistake.

Covering his eyes with palms, he tried to slow his racing heart. He lowered his hands again and grabbed the water bottle in front of him. Harry didn't have any alcohol in the room. Of course. When had Harry become such a health freak? He had become a little extra in the last two years of the band but nowhere near this excessive. If Harry saw what he drank and ate in a day, he would probably be appalled.

The bathroom door opened and Harry stepped out only covered in a towel around his waist. His mouth dried up in an instant. His eyes raked over the singer's body, watching the muscles move. Harry had lost weight. A lot of weight. He looked good but started to lean towards a-little-thin side.