"If you weren't real I'd make you up"

final chapter

It's Harry's first day at his new job, the one at the radio station so far away from where he used to live and the person he used to be. It's cloudy, foggy and dark like the inside of his head when he thinks too much, but he's all fixed now, the medication working so much better. The places he cut his hands up that night on the bathroom floor are barely visible unless you know they're there, but he thinks some part of him probably died that night, died for real, because he can't quite feel like he used to, not since Louis never came back.

He's walking up to the building, climbing the big marble steps when he stops short, his heart jumping up into his throat and making it impossible for him to breathe, everything he has caught on the boy standing by the door. He knows that boy. He knows him better than he's known anyone.

I'm doing it again, he thinks wildly, panic welling up inside him, I was supposed to be better, they said I was so so close to better.

There's a hopelessness in his bones as he climbs the last few stairs, watching as his sunshine boy looks out across the street, a frown tugging on his beautiful lips. Why now? He wonders, but he can't be sorry, because he thinks maybe he'd rather be crazy and have him than be alone again.

Harry's only a few feet away from him, hands trembling with nervous energy, still utterly unsure of what he's going to do, when the other boy looks up, blue gray eyes he'd nearly forgotten meeting his. There's a brief pause where they just stare, the world dropping away for one beautiful moment.

"You were gone." Louis says finally, his voice like a surplus reprise, yanking him back to a time when he still used to feel. "You disappeared and I needed you."

"I didn't disappear, you did." Harry says, unable to make sense of the impossible man in front of him. "You said you were real."

"I am real." Louis says, wringing out his hands and biting at his bottom lip just like he always used to. In that instant, Louis is young again too, butterfly limbs and pond water eyes. "You were the one I made up, you were my coping strategy." He spits the last words out like they hurt.

"That's not what happened." Harry says, scrabbling frantically for words because nothing is making sense. He's always been the one that's real, Louis the product of his broken mind. "I'm crazy, I'm crazy and I made you up!"

Louis shakes his head, blue eyes flashing in confusion and sadness and something that could be hope. "No, no you didn't! I'm Louis Tomlinson, I'm twenty two, I'm from Doncaster, I have four sisters and when I was nineteen I had an imaginary friend because I'm an enormous fuck up."

Harry tries, deep inside his heart, not to hope. "I'm Harry Styles, I'm nineteen, I'm from Holmes Chapel, I have one sister, and when I was seventeen I made you up because I'm schizophrenic."

"You didn't make me up!" Louis says indignantly, and he's stepping forward like he wants to touch Harry, and then back like he doesn't know quite what he wants. "Look, look I'm real!" He's making a bit of a scene now, passerby trying not to watch as he raises his voice.

"You used to always say that." Harry says. "But it wasn't true, you lied to me."

"I am real though!" He turns, confronting a slightly alarmed looking young woman. "Can you see me?" She nods quickly, taking a step backwards. "Can you see him, the curly haired one?" She nods again, rushing off into the building.

Louis, for his part, just stares back at Harry, looking wild eyed and beautiful. Harry wants to take him into his arms and pet his hair until his breathing calms, to kiss his lips until he smiles again. "You're real."

Harry nods. "Yeah."

Louis shoves his hands into his pockets, looking down at the ground and then back up at Harry. He looks a little sadder now, a little less like he's going to break but a little more fragile, but he's Harry's Louis and he's just as real as Harry is. Deep down, Harry knows he always has been. "Can you-" Louis pauses, clearing his throat. "I want-"

Harry nods fervently, closing the space between them and hugging Louis so tightly he thinks he thinks his heart might burst with it. He can feel it as Louis pulls his hands from his pockets, wrapping them tightly around Harry waist.

He tucks his face into the collar of Louis' jacket, breathing in the warm scent of him. He still smells the same, like sunshine and warmth and home.

"Nice to meet you, Louis." Harry says softly, words nearly lost in the fabric of his jacket.

"You too, Harry."

"Are you alright now, do you eat?" Harry asks, clutching Louis tightly to him and hoping he'll be able to keep him.

Louis laughs, a soft self deprecating little noise. "Mostly. Are you okay? No more voices?"

"Mostly." Harry replies, pressing a kiss to Louis' neck before he can wonder if that's okay, if Louis' Harry used to do that.

Louis exhales brokenly, arms tightening around Harry. He feels solid, corporeal, and Harry wants to drown in it. "I loved you so much." He whispers. "You don't understand how I felt after you left."

Harry nods, his heart feeling full to bursting. "I do, I promise I do."

He knows this is strange, that under no circumstances should this make any sense to him, but clutching Louis in the London fog he feels at peace, like the broken pieces of his life are piecing themselves together.

As Louis breathes against him, he can feel all of his cracks filling up with gold.

"Don't let me go." Louis says quietly.

Harry smiles. "Never."