You drive me round the bend - l.s

Chapter 12

Louis wouldn't have just left, Harry was sure of it. Not the Louis Harry had got to know.

"Louis?" He sat up and rubbed his hands down his face, feeling a little disoriented.

No one answered.

A quick search through the hotel suite told him he was the only one there, but Louis' suitcase was opened on the floor by the bed, unfolded shirt hanging halfway out, his toothbrush discarded by the sink in the bathroom. The dent of his body was still cooling down on the sheets.

Harry showered quickly and pulled on the last set of clothes that didn't desperately need a wash. He made his way to the downstairs dining room to get some coffee, trying not to dwell on the way he could still feel Louis with every step. Harry had always liked the dull ache of it right after.

He was just about to order coffee when he spotted Louis picking at food at one of the tables in the corner. Rain sluiced down the ceiling-to-floor windows behind Louis' back. He looked small and lost in thought, his hair a mess.

Harry wanted to reach out and just... just touch him.

"Could you," he asked the barista, "bring it over to that table, please?"

"Of course, sir."

"Thank you." He stood in the same spot for a while, unsure and gathering courage. He breathed in and out, loosening the tense set of his shoulders on the exhale before he finally trudged his way towards an unsuspecting Louis.

He wondered if he could just lean down and kiss Louis as though it was a habit.

Best not. Not yet.

He sat down across the table quietly, but Louis startled anyway, jumping in his seat and dropping his fork. His wide eyes settled on Harry, his cheeks flushing.

"I was about to bring you some food," Louis said, shifting his gaze to the container Harry hadn't noticed until now, resting innocuously between them on the table.

"Well, um... I guess I could eat. Sex always makes me hungry." He rubbed the edge of the tablecloth between his fingertips and tried not to feel nervous. He didn't quite know where to put his hands or how to sit without feeling self-conscious. "Thank you."

Louis fumbled to pick up his fork, still not looking at him. "Harry—"

"I like you," Harry admitted, insistent and fast before Louis could talk him out of it. Before he listed all the reasons why Harry shouldn't. He just wanted to be honest, regardless of what Louis would tell him. Louis deserved to know how Harry felt. "I want you to give me a chance. Give us a chance."

The waitress chose that moment to bring his coffee and Harry smiled at her stiffly, his heart pounding as she set it down. He wondered if she could hear it.

"I can't," Louis said quietly and Harry stilled, his heart in his throat, "Not right now."

Harry's hand wilted down to his lap, his fingers curling into his palm. It was a bit difficult to speak. "Didn't... didn't it mean anything to you?"

Louis met his gaze, pushing his plate away as though he was no longer hungry. "Don't fucking say that, Harry. Don't--" He laughed without humour and raked a frustrated hand through his hair, messing it up even more. Harry's heart sunk somewhere to his feet. "You knew. I told you right before it happened that it was... it wasn't going to happen again. It can't, don't you get it?"

And he had. Louis had told him, but Harry had gone and put his heart on his sleeve anyway. He wasn't ready to give up yet. Maybe if he just tried harder, showed Louis how good they could be together. "Louis, please, let me prove it to you. I can—"