Where We Belong

Chapter 4

He doesn't ask about the kid. He just can't bring himself to.

He does ask about the woman, sometimes, when he's feeling particularly masochistic or just wants to see that pained grimace Harry makes, wants to see him hurt like he does.

Was it better with her?

Do you think about her, ever, do you think about her when you touch yourself, ever, do you think about her when you're with me?

Did you think about me when you put your cock up someone else, did you tell her about me, did you tell her about my shortcomings, how boring it'd gotten with me, how much more exciting it was with her, while she sucked you off?

At first, it's always a no, Lou, it was terrible, it was shit, it was the worst bloody shag in the history of shags! After a while, it becomes I honestly don't remember anything, I was too drunk. Eventually, it's just a sigh, like here we go again, and then silence, slipping away, giving up.

Louis wonders how many days, weeks, months, it'll be before Harry runs out of patience, runs out of love, and finally stops trying all together. Wonders how much leverage he has, how much pushing away it'll take. Thinks, if I mention it one more time, if I push him off one more night, if I twist the knife again, will this be the final straw, will this be the moment he throws the towel in the ring and decides right, this just isn't worth it.

And, oh, he hates this person he's becoming. He feels so bitter, so petty, so small, feels like he's shrinking more every time Harry looks at him.

"'ve you told'em?" Harry asks him one evening, when they're in the car, tense silence and tripping feet.

They're on their way to Stan and Emma's dinner-thing, because you've opted out of everything this last month, you lazy bastards, you better come or we'll bring the whole fuckin' party to you, and Louis feels a little like opening the car-door and flinging himself into the open street. It's been intentional, not seeing anyone. It's been necessary, for him. Harry's told him over and over, the only person who knew was Nick, I swear, but Harry also told him for eight years that the only person he wanted was Louis, so.

Even if they really don't know, he feels like they will the second they walk in. Feels like it sits on him, in his face, in his shoulders, in the way he shifts and shudders at the slightest brush of Harry's hand.

"Told'em what?" Louis asks, even though he knows. He wants to hear Harry say it, wants to force him to remind himself what he's done once again.

"'bout... stuff."

Louis glances over at him. He's got both hands on the wheel, tight enough to twitch, teeth chewing at his chapped lips. "What, that you're a fucking cheat?" he asks, reveling bitterly in the way Harry flinches, "no, I didn't tell'em. Did you?"

Harry takes his eyes off the road for a second, shooting Louis an incredulous look. "No!" he exclaims, "why would I- no."

"Hm," Louis says dryly, while relief rushes over him in waves, "never know with you," he mutters, eyes back on the road, "you always do as you please, don't ya?"

It isn't funny and it isn't meant to be.

Harry doesn't laugh either. "Right," he says, determined suddenly, "right, okay, I'm gonna turn back around, this is—"

"No, what the fuck are you—"

"Well, we aren't gonna have any fuckin' fun anyway, are we?" Harry snaps. He isn't turning around, but the look in his eyes tells Louis he would. "You don't wanna go, I don't wanna go, I-" he cuts himself off, licking his over his lips and then sighing hard, "can't we just have onenight, just one good night, where you don't talk to me like I'm fucking scum? It's been a fucking month and we still can't go one fucking—"