And What If I Were You

Chapter 2 - Part 21

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What if you wore my scars

What if you felt my pain

Could we fight and keep us safe

And what if I were you

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Friday, April 15, 2022

British Airways Flight 1389

Manchester to Heathrow

1.20pm. Somewhere over Northamptonshire...

Harry stares out of the porthole window, the sun filtering through the multiple layers of stretched acrylic and creating rainbow prisms on his hand where it's balled into a tight fist on his knee. The engines are sending vibrations through his body as the plane levels out at its cruising altitude. He can't see anything other than grey clouds from his vantage point high in the sky, the landscape hidden under a typical English afternoon.

40 fucking hours, or thereabouts, depending on the connections and weather. That's how long this journey is going to take.

Graham, his security guy, is sitting next to him and taking up enough room that he's encroaching on Harry's space even in their first class seats. He can't complain too much though, first is first, and Graham is built like a bus for a reason, so Harry will forgive him this triviality. He's not coming the whole way on the journey, just to Fiji, where he'll wait until Harry returns from the island with Louis and then they'll all head home together.

Harry doesn't really need security in most places, but at Heathrow and LAX it's wise to have someone with him, because he definitely doesn't need any issues on this trip with all the connections he has to make.

He tries to calm the anxiety pulsing in his veins, but it's no use because the devil on his shoulder just won't quit, constantly dragging him back under and reminding him about the situation he's found himself in; traipsing across the globe to retrieve his runaway husband.

Of all the scenarios he'd ever thought he'd find himself in, this definitely wasn't on his bingo card. At first Harry was devastated, of course, confused too, but above all else, worried. What could possibly have driven Louis to such extreme lengths as to up and flee their home?

Harry had been terrified of Louis being in some strange place, desperate to speak to him, to make sure he was okay, to understand what was happening, to beg him to come home, but Louis wouldn't talk to him aside from a cursory email reply that just assured Harry he was fine. Back then though, he didn't even know where Louis was, which just made everything worse. His traitorous brain had provided a whole swathe of potential options for what might have been going on and Louis running off with another man was high up on the list for longer than Harry cares to admit. It didn't fit the Louis he knew though, or at least, the one he thought he knew, but he's come to realise that perhaps he doesn't actually know Louis at all anymore. Surely, the man he fell in love with, who he had built a life with, could never have done something like this.

Thankfully, the 'other man' scenario doesn't appear to be the case, but it's almost harder to deal with the fact that there isn't someone else in the picture. If there was, this might be easier to reconcile. If Louis was running to somebody, instead of just running away from Harry, maybe Harry would've been able to accept it and let him be.

Harry had done everything he could on his own to try and track Louis down, but Louis had covered his tracks too well, effectively creating this parallel life that he could just step into. None of their friends or family knew anything and after a day of searching and hitting too many brick walls to count, he'd started contacting private investigators.

The first one Harry hired was Bob Blithe, who fit the bill on the slimy and sneaky scale, but he struggled when the trail reached a dead-end in the UK and Harry was back to the drawing board. He'd searched again and hired Cain Barrett, a much younger guy who was experienced with cyber investigation techniques, which expanded things significantly. It only took him a week to track Louis down. Harry had actually laughed out loud when Cain had told him where he was; in the middle of the fucking south pacific ocean on a tiny island called Pandanus. Jesus Christ. Cain's comment that it would've been difficult for Louis to find somewhere that was further away from the UK unless he went to Antarctica had cut Harry to the core.

Harry closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly through his nose. He rubs his hands up and down his thighs and manages to elbow Graham in the side in the process, so he starts bouncing his knee instead.

"Y'all good, Harry?" Graham asks.

"I'm fine, thanks. Sorry. Think I need a drink."

"We can get you one in the lounge at Heathrow."

"Just one?"

Graham chuckles. "As many as you want." He places a firm hand on Harry's knee until he stops bouncing it. "You can't make the plane go any faster by doing that."

Harry slumps back in his chair, defeated. "I just want to get there, get him, and get home."

"I know, man. I know. Did you end up emailing him?"

"Nope. Thought he might like the surprise." The snideness in his tone catches Harry off guard and he winces in response. He's not this guy. He just isn't.

In fairness, Louis does owe him an explanation, more than the few sentences he included in his note, and putting Louis on the spot and forcing him to face Harry will likely get a result in some form, but it's not really what Harry wants. None of this is what he wants. Harry's just so fucking hurt and heartbroken. He feels betrayed too, and it's manifesting in ways he isn't proud of.

"I very much doubt he'll like it, but I understand why you didn't give him the heads-up," Graham offers in the spirit of comradery.

At least Graham's on his side. "Exactly. It's not like he gave me any warning before he decided to throw our marriage on the trash heap." There it is again. The venom, the harshness, the judgement. He's really going to need to tamp it down before he sees Louis.

He closes his eyes and thumps his head back against the headrest. Graham must take the hint and he doesn't continue the conversation. He's a good guy, Graham. In his late-forties, tall and muscly, and commanding respect wherever he goes. He's ex-military with a habit-of-a-lifetime buzz-cut, married with three grown-up kids, hailing from the midlands, and perpetually dressed head-to-toe in black. It's a look, but it works for him, and for Harry too; no one bothers him when Graham is around, which is precisely what he needs on this trip.

After less than a minute he can already feel himself drifting. He's always been able to instantly fall asleep on any mode of transport, planes in particular, which is something he and Louis had in common. It made for challenging road trips filled with excessive amounts of caffeine to counter the risks of whoever was driving dozing off and killing them both.

A memory flashes behind his eyelids, the first painting of Louis' he bought long before he met him. Mesmerising swirls of blues and greys and black that had seemed to move on the canvas, pulling him in, suspending him in the limbo of that place between sleep and awake. It had spoken to Harry in a way no other artwork ever had and was the beginning of his obsession with everything Louis created as well as the man himself.