The Rusty Old Minivan

Chapter 38

He stood there, forehead to the cabinet, staring at the bottle-stain of whisky on the kitchen counter and hated himself. His nails dug into his palms and when it started to sting, he pressed harder. He felt nailed to his spot, bare feet stuck to the linoleum-floors, teeth deep in his trembling lips, as the regret slowly seeped through his bones. He'd pushed away the one person, the only person in too long, who'd made him feel like something more than just a father, just a brother, just a provider and a care-taker. The one person who'd seen him as someone who needed to be held and protected too, once in a while.

As he stood there, wallowing in unwarranted self-pity, he almost didn't hear the knocking on the door. Almost.

"What?" he hissed, peeling his feet off their spot.

He marched through the flat, preparing to take his self-hatred out on an innocent neighbour asking to borrow a cup of sugar, and by the time he reached the front door, he was so riled up that he forgot to unlink the door-chain. The frail chain nearly snapped as he yanked at the door.

"Fucker," he hissed to himself, slamming it shut and fiddling the key off on jittery fingers. "What?!" he yelled, finally ripping the door open properly.

"I, uhm," Harry said, standing on the other side of it, "this is awkward, uhm, I left my phone on your dining-room table."

And just like that, all of Louis' anger dropped from his over-heated head to his toes and dissolved. His throat went dry.

"Can I- or will you - eh...?" Harry mumbled.

He just stood there, eyes wide and wet, arms slack by his sides, thumbs in his jean-pockets and palms open. He looked like one great big apology for his own existence.

And suddenly, Louis had the right words to say, had them right there in the inward hunch of Harry's shoulders;

"You should take your shoes off before you come in this time. I just hoovered this morning."

Louis turned before the cute little frown forming on Harry's face got to be too much for him. He began to walk back toward the living-room, listening intently to the slow rhythm of Harry's movements; closing the door behind himself. Putting the door-chain back in place. Toeing off his shoes. Hanging his coat. Stumbling over his own big feet as he tried to catch up to Louis without seeming too eager.

His phone was on the dining-table, just like he'd said. There was a new message blinking on the display. Louis couldn't help but smile to himself as he caught a look of it; gemma - what did he say??? text me when u can ive had my fingers permanently crossed for the past three hours for you its starting to hurt <3

Harry's steps faltered a few feet behind Louis. He didn't reach for his phone.

Louis didn't pick it up either. He tapped his fingers to the dining-table, trying to form his next words. He'd come this far. Now what?

"I miss you," Harry said then, so lowly that Louis almost didn't catch it.

But he did. He did catch it and he- "miss you too." He turned, backing himself up against the table and met Harry's eyes. He hauled himself up to sit on the edge of the table and cleared his throat. He still had to whisper his next words just to get them over his lips, "so much I can't stand waking up in the mornings, Harry."

Harry made a guttural noise, like he'd just been punched in the gut. "Yeah," he breathed, dropping his gaze and wiping the back of his hand over his nose to muffle a sniffle. "Yeah, that's... that's shit. Waking up."

"Without you," Louis said. The back of his eyes began to sting and he didn't care. "When I know what it's like to wake up with you."

Harry's bit into his lip. "Yeah," he said on a tiny little voice. His jaw twitched, so hard he was straining it.