Fine Line || L.S.

Beachwood Cafe

Harry met his gaze, smiling markedly unhappily.

"We fucked up," Louis said quietly, still managing to look at Harry.

Harry nodded, "Yeah, I think we did."

"Will we just keep fucking up?" Louis asked him, not anticipating how worry-ridden he would sound.

Harry shrugged, "I don't know mate."

Louis nodded, and then turned away from Harry, not liking how it still felt Harry could see right through him.

He remembered coming home for the first time after his mom died, and how Harry would sit out here with him when he would wake up and want a cigarette. Refusing himself sleep, he would wrap an arm loosely around Louis's shoulders as they went outside, and would sit in two patio chairs at the edge of their patio. Sometimes Louis would want Harry to touch him—hand on his knee, holding gently the back of his neck, thumbing at his ear. Other times he would just want to sit there in silence. Harry could almost always tell.

Harry was good to him. He remembers the mistakes he made, but the good things he did, the goodness of who he was, seemed a lot more pressing. Louis began to cry, thinking about how their relationship changed after his mom died, how he treated Harry, how much Harry tried to do for him.

He wasn't crying for long when Harry approached him, a hand placed on the back of his shoulder, and then holding his shoulder, firmly and comfortingly.

"You ok?"

Louis couldn't look at him, so he didn't. He just nodded and wiped his cheeks with the ends of his shirtsleeves.

"Hey," he heard Harry say, quietly, strained. Louis looked at him. Tears pooled in his eyes. He nodded at Louis, "I know how you feel."

Louis nodded, looking at Harry. At his hair and eyebrows and scruff and lips. Every emotion in one in that boy. He gently put his hand over Harry's, the touch of it both saddening and exhilarating. They stood there for a while, in silence.

"Hey," Harry said softly, "I think I'm going to spend the night here. I want you to, but I can drive you home if you don't want to."

Louis nodded, "I'll stay here."

Harry watched him, and after a moment's hesitation, "Does Eleanor know you left?"

Louis pinched the bridge of his nose and nodded, "Yeah."

Harry gently squeezed his shoulder and then brought his hand away. "I'm going to go to bed. I'm exhausted. I'll sleep in a spare room."

"Are you sure?" Louis asked. "I don't mind."

"No," Harry smiled sweetly, "you deserve your mattress. I'll see you in the morning."

Louis watched him go back inside, disappearing from view. He went back in soon after him, keeping the bedroom door cracked and turning on the bathroom light. He looked at the bed from the bathroom and remembered how many times he had watched Harry from that vantage point.

Harry usually wanted to sleep after they had sex. Louis usually wanted to take a walk or shower. It depended on the day and the circumstances, but that was the overarching rule.

He could remember how Harry's bare ass would look, or his long legs. He smiled to himself, but only briefly. This wasn't what he wanted to think of. He wanted to go to sleep. But he couldn't stop his train of thought.

He remembered a particularly beautiful afternoon they both happened to be home and had the luxury of staying in bed.

Harry had woken up first, and upon finding Louis hard, had begun to make good work of him. It started the day on a good note, and Louis was so flattered by the gracious favour, he went down on Harry a bit later and still remembered what Harry said after he came.