Fine Line || L.S.

We'll Be Alright

"Hello?"

It hit Harry like a brick wall. His voice. For what like the first time in several eternities. His voice.

"Hey," Harry breathed.

"Harry?"

"Yeah, it's me."

The line is silent, Harry still living in that moment when he heard his voice again. Inside of him, things were both knocked over and put together, he felt like he was both falling apart and that things were falling together.

"Hey." Louis sounded strained, almost hesitant.

"Um, I just wanted to return your call," Harry said, surprised he was becoming so reserved, so unbothered.

"Yeah," Louis laughed weakly. "I told you not to call back."

"I thought I should," Harry said. "I just wanted to let you know I heard it."

He could imagine Louis nodding, pinching the bridge of his nose. He imagined his contorted face. He imagined his keeping in of all the pain he was feeling.

"Yeah," Louis said, "well, I meant what I said about the album."

"Thank you," Harry said genuinely, in disbelief he still couldn't be open with Louis.

After another bout of silence, Louis said, "I think my favourite song was Fine Line."

Harry's chest tightened and was warmed for a moment, but it cooled once he answered, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Louis answered quietly. After more silence, Louis continued, voice quiet and tense. "I'm really sorry about what I said, Harry."

Harry exhaled slowly, his chest rising and falling more quickly.
"It's okay," Harry said. "I understand."

"No, it's not," Louis told him. "I shouldn't have said what I said."

Harry nodded but was silent, and suddenly wondered if calling him was a mistake.

"I'm sorry, it's late. Are you in LA or at home?" Harry asked him, trying to distance himself, for some forsaken reason, every time he became vulnerable.

"I'm in LA," Louis said. "Stayed here for the New Year."

Harry's stomach dropped. Louis was in LA. He could be mere blocks from here, up just when he was up, and decided to pick up the phone.

He was talking to Louis. Louis.

After another rigid silence, Harry said, "I'm in LA too. I'm pretty much here all the time."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Harry milled over everything he could think to say, face serious and focused on the issue at hand.

"What are you doing right now?"

The question caught Harry off guard-he was asking it, they were his words, yet, he did not expect himself to be able to say it. It felt too open. Too clear of a message.

"Um, I'm just at home," Louis answered. "What are you doing right now?"

"I'm at home, too," Harry told him, feeling as those he was on the cusp of something.

After another silence, Harry asked, "Louis, can I pick you up?"

He heard nothing, was afraid that he came on too strong. That Louis just isn't interested anymore. That maybe he never agonized over this, that every day he wasn't plagued by it. That maybe it didn't creep in the shadows of everywhere he went.

"Yeah, you can," Louis responded, and Harry smiled. He smiled, for the first time since Louis picked up the phone, after a day that felt like it gave him no reason to smile.

"Will you text me your address?" Harry asked, feeling a sudden urgency.

"Yeah," Louis said, "yeah, I'll do it as soon as I hang up."

"Okay," Harry said.

"I'll see you soon," Louis told him and hung up.

See you soon, Harry thought. See you soon. He hadn't seen Louis in a year. But he was seeing him tonight. Harry got up and changed from his current ensemble, washed his face, and brushed his teeth. He got in his car and drove to Louis's house--he lived ten minutes away. Harry had been just ten minutes away, they were breathing the same air.

Louis lived in a white house down an embankment, had a beautiful garden, and had a beautiful view of the city. It was nothing like any house they had owned together-it had modern outdoor furniture, a sleek, clean look. Their places were always cosy, snug fits for their stuff, and old. Was it just another thing Louis gave Harry? Not his style, but Harry's, and Louis gave it precedent?

Harry's heart was pounding as he walked to the door and texted Louis he was there.

In thirty seconds Louis was out. There he was. He looked beautiful-a little tired, for sure, but his face was bright, his hair was freshly cut, he wore a sweatshirt Harry didn't recognize. He looked soft, full, happy. Harry was relieved. He was there, Louis was with him. To be so in love and then be so out of it, Harry thought, what a loss.

Louis smiled weakly, and Harry mimicked him, not being able to take his eyes away. Before he could stop himself, he reached out to Louis, wrapping his arms around him like he used to.

For a horrifying moment, Louis was rigid, his shoulders tense. But then he relaxed, and Harry felt his hands holding clumps of his jacket, gripping him. He was real again to Harry. He became demystified, the fog was clearing. He was no longer a memory; he was real and tangible.

"Hey," Harry whispered.

"Hey," Louis responded, just as quietly.