Undercover (Larry Stylinson)

45. for the first time

Harry's POV 

I don't know why I did it. 

I mean I do. 

I know very well. Of course I know. 

It's just hard to admit to myself the reasoning. 

Three months went by with no word from Louis. Liam hadn't heard from him, or if he had, he wasn't telling me. My drinking was getting worse. My flashbacks were getting more intense. 

I didn't have anyone here in Massachusetts and I lived completely alone. Misery was my best friend. 

Once and a while, I guess Liam would see me trudging down the driveway and would feel sorry for me and invite me over to play Poker with him and Zayn. But it just wasn't the same. Even when I was starting to have a good time, my eyes would wander to the vacant bedroom, which Zayn had made a recent habit of tossing his stuff into, and my heart would start to ache. 

I would sit there, finishing the game with a plastered on smile and a glassy stare. But as soon as it was over, I would go home and sob into my hands in the shower. Or cry into my pillow. Or  curl up against the wall, while clutching a bottle of bourbon, and weep softly. 

With time, I stopped going to Poker night when Liam invited me. I told him it only made me feel worse and he agreed to give me my space. Ultimately, the only person I was talking to on the day to day was Niall. 

Thankfully, Niall was doing so much better in New York. He definitely still had his dark days, but he had everything under control with his medication and was seeing a highly regarded psychiatrist in Brooklyn. 

I couldn't bare to burden him with my problems, so I didn't tell him how bad things were for me. I just told him that Louis and I broke up, that he moved away. But I didn't want to get him down more. I didn't want to sulk about it or complain to him. 

This was my problem. And my problem only. 

A few weeks ago, Niall invited me to come out and visit him in New York. 

"I can sense you're having a rough time, Harry," Niall said over the phone one afternoon. "I can hear it in your voice. What do you say you come visit again, yeah?"

"O-okay," I replied, coughing to regain my composure. "I mean, yeah. It would be fun to see you. Next weekend maybe?"

"Sounds good, I'll make sure I'm free."

On the five hour bus ride to New York, I listened to Twenty One Pilots and tried to sleep. My eyes stayed shut, but I could never really seem to get out of my head. I was feeling anxious. I was always feeling anxious, always waking up in a panic in the middle of the night, desperate to check my phone. Desperate to find that one, miraculous message that I had been waiting for all this time. A message from Louis. 

But of course I never got one. 

Now wasn't any different. Every time I nodded off, I would always wake up a few minutes later to check my phone compulsively. 

It's not gonna happen, I told myself. Just go to fucking sleep. 

It was never that easy though.  Eventually, I just gave up and decided to make little doodles in the notes on my phone until it got dark and the brightness hurt my eyes too much to keep drawing. 

I arrived in New York at around 9:30. Traffic had been light, so we were a bit earlier than I had anticipated. 

Niall and I had planned to meet at an Irish pub in the East Village called McGreevy's. It used to be our favorite spot to hang out back when we both lived here. We had picked up quite a few people there between the two of us, if I recall correctly.