Fine Line || L.S.

The Emotional Center

With both the windows down, Louis sat rigidly in the passenger seat of Harry's car, feeling both safe and incredibly uncomfortable.

Did he even still know Harry? Who was Harry now? Louis wasn't sure, but he, despite everything, still trusted enough in Harry to be with him alone in the uncomfortableness. When Louis thought about it, broadly, as he rarely did, it was extraordinary that trust remained.

"When you'd get this?" Louis asked him, running his fingers along the upholstering of the centre console.

"Brand new," Harry replied, "got it for me for my birthday."

"Didn't know you were a car guy," Louis said, almost teasingly.

"I'm not," Harry replied, almost seriously.

How strange, Louis thought. Small talk with Harry.

"Where are we going?" Louis asked, unable to discern their direction in the darkness.

Harry glanced at him, and then back at the road, "I was going to head towards the old house."

"You sold the old house," Louis said, looking at Harry.

"No, I didn't," Harry said.

"What?" Louis asked. Louis had thought Harry had sold the LA house; that was the agreement: Louis sells the London house, Harry sells the LA one.

"Yeah, I just couldn't bring myself to sell it," Harry admitted.

Louis looked at Harry, and then out his window. Couldn't bring himself to sell it. Louis had managed to convince himself that Harry had burned every picture they had taken together, that Harry had been fine. Louis didn't know why he was a glutton for that pain-but somehow coping was easier when he imagined a universe wherein the aftermath Harry wasn't in as much pain as he was.

Pretty soon, he recognized his surroundings, even in the dark. It was his house. His old house. Harry's taste, mainly. A sprawling 70s-style, the landscaping sorely neglected, but their old passcode-0928-still opening the front gate.

"Wow," Louis said, "this is strange."

As Harry parked in front of the completely dark house, Louis continued, "Have you been here since we moved out?"

Harry shook his head, "Not really. Came once because I left some weed in your music desk."

Louis laughed, the lines appearing on the outer edges of his eyes, and Harry caught a glimpse of it, even in the dark. Louis could imagine Harry trying to remember where they hid their stash and knew right away when he heard 'music dresser' that Louis had helped him hide it. That was Louis' spot. He liked the thought of them scheming on where to hide their weed, but hated the thought of Harry coming back, alone, to their empty house, to find it.

They climbed out of the car and into the cool night air.

"I hope you have a key because I definitely don't," Louis told Harry, pushing his hair out of his face and following Harry towards the door.

"I do," Harry said and found a silver key with red nail polish on the top that Louis recognized. He had had one just like it.

Once the gate was closed behind them and they were in the front door, Louis breathed deeply.

It was as if he was 24 again. Suddenly, Harry disappeared and then reappeared, standing at the entrance to the front hallway, three years younger. Only in boxers, his hair longer, curlier.

Louis remembered it like yesterday. He had been with a friend who was in town for a few days, and when he arrived home, at almost 2 am, he fully expected Harry to be asleep. He was even looking forward to climbing into bed with Harry and then sleeping until he couldn't anymore.