The clock beside the bed reads five o’clock am when Harry wakes up to find Louis’ side of the bed empty, again.
He lays there for a moment, watching the dim light steal slowly over the walls, but when he doesn’t hear any sounds coming from the bathroom, he frowns and kicks away the sheets, thinking that he’s gonna have to hold Louis a bit tighter next time. He winces against the cold air as he makes his way across the room to the window, squinting through the frosted glass of the window to search for a familiar face down below.
Unlike before, though, Louis isn’t there.
He isn’t there, and he isn’t throwing stones at the sun. Instead, the drive is empty and covered in snow and slush, stretching down into the line of pine trees that stand by the main road. The sun isn’t even out yet. There’s just a watery orange line of light spreading out along the horizon, fading up into the dark blue sky of early morning. From here, Harry can see the tops of houses in the distances—other houses, with their own people and story and lives inside of them.
But still, there’s no Louis.
Frowning, Harry turns away from the window and doesn’t even bother getting dressed before making his way down the stairs slowly, wooden steps whispering beneath his bare feet.
He finds Louis in the kitchen.
It’s dark at this hour—the whole room swims in shadows, dimness tinged blue by the glowing buttons on the microwave—so it takes a moment for Harry to make out the shape of Louis sitting there at the kitchen table, slumped over with his head in his hands.
“Louis?” Harry frowns, leaning against the doorframe.
Louis raises his head at the sound, blinking like he’s surprised to see Harry standing there. His blue eyes seem heavy and his hair is tousled with sleep, but Harry thinks he’s the most beautiful thing in the world.
When Louis doesn’t speak, Harry steps further into the kitchen. “Do you know what time it is, babe?”
“No. Didn’t check.” Louis says, looking back down at the table.
His words are strange, distant, and that’s when Harry notices that his hand is clenched around a cellphone, knuckles nearly gone white with the force of it. Harry’s eyebrows furrow as he reaches the table and sits down in the chair beside Louis’, their arms brushing together, spreading warmth. “Hey,” Harry says quietly. “Hey, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”
Louis takes a moment before he starts to speak. “Zayn told me,” he starts, his thumb playing over the cellphone buttons. “What they said on the radio, I mean. About you trying to kill yourself ‘cause you got rejected by a girl.”
Harry frowns, watching the side of Louis’ face in the dimness. “That’s why you’ve gotten up at five in the morning?”
“No,” Louis says as he flips the phone shut, thumbing over the front of it. “I came down for a glass of water, then I got to thinking.”
“About what?”
Louis glances over at him, and his blue eyes are steady, careful. “That maybe we should just do it now.”
Harry’s frown deepens. “Do what?”
“Come out,” Louis replies, his words leaving his mouth in a rush. They stumble over each other on the way out. “We could call up that fucking radio twat and let him know what’s really going on, yeah? Just you and me. Right now. We could do it.”
Harry stares at Louis for a moment, both of them facing each other as pale morning sunlight washes in through the sliding glass door, slipping slowly over the walls and over the stove and over the fridge, brightening the edges of everything.
“You want to come out?” Harry repeats, his mouth quirking up even though he’s trying to keep a straight face.
“Well, I just—” Louis breaks off, like he’s searching for the right words. Beneath the milky light of morning, he glows like something set on fire. “I just want you to know that I’m not ashamed of this, right? I never have been. I don’t want people thinking that you’re less than who you are because of me not telling them the truth.”
“Lou,” Harry blinks, letting the words sink in. His whole heart feels like it’s filled with glitter and helium, floating, up and up and up, flying—but beneath that, there’s something else, something deeper. He wipes a hand down his face, sighing. “Louis, I don’t want to come out.”
Louis stares at him for a moment, eyebrows furrowed. “What?”
Harry huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t want to come out,” he says again, putting more weight behind it this time. It’s strange saying the words now, because he’s spent so many years saying something else, but it’s true. He doesn’t owe that radio twat the truth. He doesn’t owe anybody anything. What he loves his for him. It’s nothing to do with shame or fear of rejection. It might have a little bit to do with preservation, with keeping love safe.
Louis’ still staring at Harry like he’s set himself on fire.
“You don’t want to come out?” He asks, and he’s speaking slowly, the look on his face somewhere between confusion and amusement. “Why not?”
“Because it’s never really been a secret,” Harry shrugs, keeping his eyes on Louis’. “I’m already out to everyone that’s spoken to me for more than five minutes, so.”
“Well, what about the fans?” Louis asks, starting to grin.
Harry laughs, shrugging again. “I reckon they’ve known for a while.”
Louis smiles, nodding. “Alright. No radio announcement, then.”
“No radio announcement,” Harry agrees slowly, and then he’s leaning in to rest his forehead against Louis’, eyes falling shut as their noses brush together in a sleepy sort of way, heady and intoxicating. He places his hand on the back of Louis’ neck, just feeling. “This is ours, yeah?”
Louis nods, swallowing. “Yeah.”
Harry grins, and he keeps his eyes closed as he shifts his head a bit, tilting his mouth up so that his lips brush against Louis’, soft and warm like the rising sun. Louis smiles before closing the distance between them. That’s the end of them speaking for a while.
