Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The dull roar of the music still echoed in Louis' ears and slowly turned into a ringing, even though the concert had been over for hours. The thunderous applause from the fans, the sound of his own voice in the microphones, the glare of the spotlights - it was all too much. Too loud. Too much energy that he could no longer mobilise. Now he sat alone and exhausted in his hotel room, wedged between the four walls of a luxurious room that still felt cold and strange.

He stroked his hair sleepily, still dampened from the quick shower. A glance in the mirror told him what he already knew: his eyes were tired, deep shadows were visible underneath - which required everything from the make-up artist at every performance - and the wrinkles at the corners of his mouth looked deeper when he wasn't smiling. A smile that he only wore in public anyway. For the interviews, the fans, the cameras.

He had perfected the role of Louis Tomlinson, the always radiant, charming, cheeky entertainer. But nobody wanted to see the man behind it - the tired, injured boy who sometimes hardly knew why he kept going. He slumped down on the huge bed, which felt far too empty. It had been different before. He remembered what it was like to snuggle up to someone, to feel the the warmth of another body and to know that he wasn't alone. Harry. It had always been Harry. His heart tightened with pain, and Louis bit his lower lip to suppress the feeling.

He knew it was stupid. The break-up had happened ages ago, and he had learnt to function. ‘To move on,’ as they all said. ‘Cheer up, Louis. It'll get better.’
A bunch of phrases that meant everything and nothing at the same time. Because it had never got better. It had just got less intense. The memories no longer called out to him as loudly, but they were still there - a silent pain that never completely disappeared.

He reached for his smartphone on the bedside table and scrolled mindlessly through BlueSky1. Photos from tonight's concert were everywhere. Fans enthused about his performance, his voice, his smile.

‘Thank you for the best concert of my life,’ he read in one post. I'm glad, Louis thought, but it felt hollow.

His thumb stopped over another post in which someone wrote about Larry Stylinson. The name that never went away. Louis had spent years denying rumours, dodging interviews and making jokes about it, but the truth was he could never really let it go. Larry hadn't just been a ‘ship’ to him. It was a part of his reality. A reality he was never allowed to live free.

‘Larry fanfictions are amazing,’ one of the comments read. ‘Reading always helps me when I feel alone.’

Fanfictions? Louis frowned. He remembered how fans used to write stories about him and Harry. Stories in which they were together, happy, in love - everything that had been impossible in the real world. He had hated those stories back then. It was too close, too painful. But now? Now he felt lost enough to try it.

His fingers hovered briefly over the keyboard before he typed in the words: ‘Larry Stylinson Fanfiction Archive of our own'.

It only took seconds for his screen to be flooded with results. Millions of stories? Seriously? He clicked on the first link that led to the A03 site. Everything about the idea felt absurd, but he was too tired to think about it. Minutes later, he had created an account - under a pseudonym, of course.

Username ... he typed in ‘StylinsonsHeartbeat’ and smiled bitterly. But it fitted, didn't it?

The search bar was waiting for him. Larry Stylinson. The words on his screen seemed surreal, but he clicked ‘Search’: Stories with titles like ‘Midnight Memories’, ‘The Writer & the Porn Addict’ and ‘Radio Silence’ popped up. Louis scrolled through the endless covers - some were cheesy, others professionally designed. Curiosity won out over reason and he clicked on one of the stories.

Harry sat on the windowsill and stared out into the night. ‘Why did we do this to each other, Lou?’

Louis stood in the doorway, his hands clenched into fists. He didn't know the answer. There was no answer that could explain the years of pain and silence.

Louis swallowed hard. It was terrifying how close those words were to the truth. He closed his eyes as he saw the image of Harry's face before him. A face he had loved for so long. Eyes he had lost himself in and a smile that had always been just for him. Back then. Now Harry was as far away as a star he would never reach again

He put his mobile phone down and took a deep breath. Maybe he should try it himself.

It was a crazy thought, but maybe it would help. Maybe writing was the way to get rid of everything that was smouldering inside him. Eating him up from the inside. He hadn't written any songs for several months - the words he couldn't say weighed too heavily on him. But here, in this world, he could be honest. No one would know. No one would judge him for it.

With a determined jerk, he straightened up and opened A03. His finger hesitated briefly before he clicked on ‘Create new story’. The title came to him almost too quickly: ‘Behind the Heartbeat’. It was what he felt. Everything that was beating beneath the surface, where no one was looking.

Then he began to write.

Harry looked at him as if there was no other person in the world. ‘Do you ever think about what it would have been like if we hadn't been such cowards?’

Louis felt his throat tighten. ‘Sometimes.’

Harry laughed sadly and averted his eyes. ‘Sometimes isn't enough, though.’

Louis' fingers trembled slightly as he read the words on the screen. His own words. His own heart wrapped in text. It was bittersweet. Painful. But in the end, he added something he had never allowed himself in real life: hope.

‘But maybe,’ Louis whispered, ‘we'll get back someday.

He lowered his mobile phone and stared at the text while his heart raced. ‘Publish’ was written at the bottom of the screen. For a moment, he thought about deleting everything. But then he clicked on the Publish button.

At that moment, he felt more vulnerable than ever. As if he had served his heart to the whole world on a silver platter. But at the same time, there was a small spark of freedom. For the first time in a long time, he had the feeling that some of the pain was no longer just inside him.

Louis let himself fall back and closed his eyes. Maybe he would be able to sleep tonight. Maybe he wouldn't. But he knew one thing: someone out there would read his story. Maybe someone would understand what he was feeling. And maybe - just maybe - it would make him feel less alone.

Chapter Text

The moon poured a pale light through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Harry's luxury flat in London. The room was covered in darkness, with only the dim glow of his mobile phone illuminating his face. It was late, maybe three or four in the morning—sometime between midnight and dawn. Harry lay on his back, hands clasped under his head as he stared at the white ceiling as if it could give him answers to questions he had been harbouring for far too long.

It was another one of those nights when sleep never found him. Even after a long day of studio recordings, meetings, and endless conversations, he was restless, as always lately. Sometimes he thought sleep eluded him because he refused to quiet his thoughts. Thoughts of the past. Thoughts of Louis. Thoughts of what they once had—and what they no longer were. His heart tightened painfully.

He sighed softly, lifted his mobile phone, and unlocked the screen. Instagram? No. BlueSky? Impossible. Social media inevitably confronted him with memories he didn't want to see—old photos, hashtags, and fans who still kept ‘Larry’ alive after all these years. It wasn't their fault; they only meant well, but Harry could barely stand how close to the truth the fans were sometimes.

His finger hovered hesitantly over the website from A03. He had bookmarked it months ago because he had been curious. Fans had kept talking about fanfictions, and somehow, he'd stumbled upon it without really knowing what he was looking for. At first, he had laughed it off, but then ... then he had read them. Stories that were full of love, pain, and longing. Stories in which Louis and he were given a happy end that reality had denied them. Stories that touched something in him that he had thought he had forgotten.

He opened the app and scrolled through the hashtags. A new story had caught his eye earlier: ‘Behind the Heartbeat,’ written by a user called ‘StylinsonsHeartbeat.’ The title alone had touched him—something about it felt familiar.

Harry tapped on the story and began to read.

‘He looked at him and knew there would never be anyone else. Harry was the love of his life, and he knew that before he could even say it. It hurt to see him. It hurt not to touch him. But it was better this way. At least that's what he told himself.’

Harry's heart tightened as he read the words. A lump formed in his throat, and he swallowed hard. The writing style was simple, but the words ... the words cut deeper than they should. It was as if the author wasn't just telling a story but capturing a feeling on paper that Harry knew all too well.

He scrolled on.

Louis laughed softly, that typical, light-hearted laugh that Harry had always loved. ‘Do you ever think about what it would have been like if things had turned out differently?’

Harry's gaze slid across the screen. His chest rose and fell heavily. Of course, he thought about it. Every day. Every quiet minute, when the world was quiet and no one expected him to be Harry Styles, to be strong. When he sat in his huge, empty flat, just being Harry, and the silence screamed in his face that something was missing. Someone was missing. He was missing. Louis.

He pressed his knuckles against his lips and read on. It hurt. The story was bittersweet—just like reality. But at the end of the chapter came something that left him surprised: a glimmer of hope.

‘Maybe,’ he thought, ’there's still a chance for us. Maybe it's not too late.’

Harry lowered his mobile phone and stared at the ceiling. It was a long time before he stirred again. His heart was beating far too fast, and he felt strange—agitated, understood, and lonely at the same time. Who was StylinsonsHeartbeat? How could someone write something like that and hit the exact spot that he had buried inside himself for years?

He opened the comment function. His fingers trembled slightly as he began to type.
‘You understand love better than anyone. Please keep writing.’

He paused and reread his comment. It was a strange thing to write something like that to someone he didn't know, but it was the truth. Those words had awakened something in him that he couldn't put his finger on. Harry tapped ‘Post’ and put the mobile phone aside.

☆
Louis sat cross-legged on his hotel bed, his brow furrowed as he read comments on his story. It was a strange experience to receive so much positive feedback. He hadn't expected it. He hadn't even expected anyone to read the story. It had been just for him—a way to process the pain that was still gnawing at his heart.

One comment immediately caught his eye.
‘You understand love better than anyone. Please keep writing.’

Louis read the words once, twice, three times. His heartbeat slowed, and he felt a lump grow in his throat.

‘We'llBeAFineLine ...' he mumbled quietly and clicked on the username. Of course, it was just a meaningless profile picture, just a pseudonym. But the words touched him.

He didn't know why, but he suddenly felt less alone. Somewhere out there was someone who understood what he was trying to say. Someone who recognised the feelings in his words. Maybe, he thought, that was why people wrote stories—to stop feeling alone.

He reached for his laptop and opened the document for the next chapter. His fingers flew over the keyboard, fuelled by a new energy he hadn't felt in a long time.

☆

Harry stared at the dark ceiling, the mobile phone in his hand. His heartbeat was still restless. He felt strange—understood and exposed at the same time. This story had touched him in a way he couldn't explain. The words seemed familiar, so close to what he had felt himself.

He sighed and closed his eyes. ‘Maybe ... maybe I should write too,’ he muttered to himself. It was a thought that surprised him, but he wouldn't let it go. Reading stories was one thing, but what if he could find his own words? What if that was his way of processing the things he couldn't say?

He decided to just comment for now. He could always write later.

☆

In the days that followed, a strange routine developed between Harry and Louis. Unsuspecting who was behind it, of course. Louis wrote chapter after chapter and published them with his heart pounding. Each time, he waited to see if ‘We'llBeAFineLine’ would comment again—and he did. The comments were never long, but they were honest. They showed that someone felt his words, as if they understood them.

Harry, on the other hand, eagerly awaited each new chapter. It was as if the stories did him a favour and gave him peace that he couldn't find anywhere else. He recognised himself in the characters, and recognised Louis—the Louis he had known. He commented regularly, almost as a compulsion, because he wanted ‘StylinsonsHeartbeat’ to continue writing.

One night, while Louis was sitting in his hotel room waiting for the latest comments, a message arrived that hit him particularly hard.
‘Your story gives me hope, even though I thought it was long-lost. Please never stop writing.’

Louis read the words with a furrowed brow. Something about it felt ... different. More personal. Almost too personal. He shook his head and pushed the thought aside. No one could know who he was. No one could know that this story was more than just fan fiction.

He opened a new chapter and began to write—with a lump in his throat and a faint smile on his lips.

Chapter Text

The laptop whirred quietly, its screen the only source of light in the dark hotel room. The pale glow bathed Louis' face in a pale blue, while the incessant clacking of his fingers on the keyboard was the only sound in the silent night. The hands of the clock on the wall moved inexorably forward, but time was of no importance to him. The world outside was asleep, but Louis' thoughts gave him no peace. It wasn't just another chapter that needed to be written—it was his escape valve, the only way to get the pain out of his chest.

The story he was writing had long since become more than just a diversionary manoeuvre. It had become a mirror—a place where he could get rid of the memories, he couldn't place anywhere else. What he wrote was so close to the truth that it almost hurt. He had only changed a few names and circumstances, but each chapter felt like a silent confession.

In the story:
‘It was late, well past midnight, when they retired to the cramped tour bus. The air was stuffy—the room was small. The others were long asleep—or at least pretended to be. Louis sat on his bunk, his back against the cool wall, while his eyes rested on Harry. The boy who could unhinge his entire world with a single smile lay just a few inches away. Close enough to touch him, but far away to actually hold him.

‘You're staring, Lou,’ Harry murmured with a smile, not opening his eyes.
Louis flinched slightly but couldn't help but smile back. ‘I'm not.’
‘You are.’ Harry slowly opened his eyes and looked at him. Green. Sure. Honest. ‘Is something the matter?’

Louis hesitated. For a moment, the question lay between them, unspoken but palpable: what are we actually? Instead, he said, ‘Thanks.’
Harry frowned and straightened slightly. ‘For what?’

‘... For being here, for being ... you.’ Louis' voice sounded soft, almost vulnerable, but in the darkness of the bus, every word seemed louder. Harry just smiled—it softened, that smile that meant everything to him. And then, without thinking, he took Louis' hand. Just like that. No hesitation, no pressure. Just warmth, a silent promise in a world full of uncertainties. Not another word was spoken, but at that moment Louis didn't feel alone.

Louis' fingers paused. His gaze flew over the scene as the hotel room faded around him. He was there again—in that cramped, stuffy tour bus, in a time long gone but still vivid in his memories.

He saw Harry in front of him. His smile, which meant more than words could ever express. His green eyes saw right through him, no matter how he tried to hide. The touches that never lasted long enough. He remembered how Harry always knew when he was lonely and would just hug him wordlessly. The feeling of lying awake at night, believing that they could outsmart the world, that maybe they had a chance after all.

A bitter smile flitted across his lips. ‘Foolish illusions,’ he muttered and stroked his hair with a nervous movement. But perhaps that was exactly what he needed: the illusion of a happy end.

He finalised the chapter and clicked on ‘Publish.’ Seconds later, the notification appeared: ‘Your new chapter is now live.

He sat back and stared at the screen. Almost immediately, the first notifications started rolling in. Votes and comments—it was surreal how many people got lost in his words—just like he did himself.

Then he saw it:
We'llBeAFineLine had commented.
‘Your words feel like music. Every chapter is like a little piece of truth. You write with so much heart—please never stop.’

Louis stared at the message, and a warm feeling spread through his chest. Something in those words struck him deeper than he wanted to admit. He didn't know why this reader touched him so much, but every comment from We'llBeAFineLine felt like someone was seeing him. Like someone understood what he was trying to say.

He typed a reply:
‘Thank you. That means more to me than you know.’

☆

In London, Harry lay on the sofa in his living room, mobile phone in hand, reading the new part of ‘Behind the Heartbeat.’ His eyes glided over the words, and with each line, something inside him tightened.

It was as if he was walking through a door that he had closed himself. A door behind which waited all the memories he thought he had buried. The memories that took him back to the nights in the tour bus, to the stolen moments and the secret touches. He could hear Louis' laughter as clearly as if it had been yesterday. He could feel the closeness of the bus, the whispering in the darkness, the feeling that no one else existed but the two of them.

His eyes wandered back to the text.

‘Us?’ Louis laughed bitterly. ‘Harry, there is no us.’
Harry raised his eyes, his heart contracting painfully. Louis saw the truth in his eyes. ‘Yes, there is, Lou. For me, there's only us.’

Harry lowered the mobile phone as he wiped a hand over his face. His heart pounded in his chest, and the words echoed in his mind. It was too close, too real. It hurt like hell.

‘Lou,’ he murmured softly and dropped his head against the back of the sofa. He knew it was just a story. A damn fanfiction. But it felt like the author was telling the truth.

He opened the comment bar and typed with shaky fingers:
‘Sometimes your words feel like you're reading inside my head. It hurts, but it's beautiful. Thank you.’

He reread his own words before clicking ‘send.’

☆

Louis stared at the screen of his laptop as the new comment from We'llBeAFineLine popped up. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, and a strange feeling spread through him.
‘Like you're reading inside my head...’

Louis bit his lower lip. Why did those words sound so ... familiar? Almost as if they were coming from someone he knew. Someone who carried the same memories as him.

‘No,’ he mumbled, shaking his head as if to shake off the thought. He couldn't have imagined it. We'llBeAFineLine was simply a reader who liked his stories. Nothing more.

But even so, he couldn't stop a small, telltale spark of hope from flaring up inside him.

The next night, after a concert that demanded everything from him, Louis lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. His own words haunted his mind. Flashbacks and memories—everything mixed together until he no longer knew where fiction ended and reality began.

He reached for his mobile phone and opened A03, only to read We'llBeAFineLine's last comment again.
‘Sometimes your words feel like you're reading inside my head. It hurts, but it's beautiful. Thank you.’

Louis' thumb slid hesitantly across the screen. He wanted to reply, to say something that expressed his own gratitude. But instead, he put the mobile phone aside and pulled the blanket up to his chin.

‘Whoever you are,’ he whispered into the darkness, ’thank you for being here.’

Chapter Text

The keyboard clacking once again filled the hotel room, which was bathed in a soft, dim light. Louis was sitting on his bed, his feet crossed cross-legged, the laptop on his knees. The empty cursor blinked at him as if he were mocking it. Starting a new chapter was more difficult for him today than usual. There was too much buzzing around in his head - things he didn't want to realise.

The last comment from We'llBeAFineLine had set off a monsoon of thoughts in him that he couldn't shake off.
‘You write as if you've been through these feelings yourself. It feels so ... real.’

The comment had hit Louis' chest like an arrow, and he had felt caught out, as if someone had seen through his words. Into his thoughts. Into his memories. Since then, he had been restless, nervous even. He read the comment again and again, as if he could find some hidden clue.

‘You write as if you've been through these feelings yourself...’

He closed the laptop and rubbed his face. ‘What am I doing here?’ he murmured quietly to himself. He knew he was in too deep. He had put too much of himself into the story. Perhaps he had already crossed the line into a story. It wasn't just escapism - it was a chronicle of his own past. A past that he couldn't even confide in anyone, let alone himself.

And yet he couldn't stop. Writing felt like a release. There were words for the things that had never been said. For what he had locked away for years. But now it was someone else reading those words, and that someone understood them in a way that troubled Louis.
He sighed deeply and opened the laptop again. He forced himself to look at the statistics of the story. The numbers kept climbing - thousands of people were reading his chapters, but it was only one comment that stuck with him. We'llBeAFineLine.
Who was this person? And why did it feel like they knew him better than anyone else?

At the same time, Harry was sitting in his flat, the only light coming from the screen of his mobile phone. He lay on his back on the bed, one hand clasped behind his head as his eyes glided over the last few chapters of Behind the Heartbeat again.
It was all too close. Too familiar. The dialogue, the small gestures, the quiet moments - he could see them, feel them. It was as if someone had put their shared past into words.
He wasn't an idiot. Harry knew that fanfictions were often based on assumptions, that fans made up their own versions of history. But this was different. It felt like the author had heard all the unspoken words, seen all the stolen moments.

He read the last chapter again, and his heart tightened. Whether this was a good tug or the bad one, he didn't realise yet.

In the story:
‘You do realise this can't go on forever, don't you?’ Louis' voice was barely more than a whisper.
Harry's gaze rested on him, his eyes soft, and yet there was this pain that he couldn't hide. ‘I know.’
‘So why do we do it? Why do we lie to ourselves?’
Harry swallowed hard before answering. ‘Because it feels right. At least for now.’

There was silence for a moment. Louis looked at him - long, insistently - as if trying to memorise every detail. Then he murmured, ‘I wish now was forever.’
‘Me too, Lou.’

Harry's breath quickened as he lowered the mobile phone. ‘Me too, Lou.’ The words hurt because he'd thought them himself so many times without ever saying them out loud. They were too real, too deep. Whoever this author was, they wrote as if they had lived through it all themselves.

He stared at the comment bar and typed almost automatically:
‘You write as if you've been through these feelings yourself. It feels so ... real.’

He read through the message again. His fingers trembled slightly as he clicked ‘Send.’ Then he dropped the mobile phone next to him on the bed and ran his fingers through his curls. ‘Who are you?’ he whispered quietly into the darkness of the room.

When Louis reread the message, it felt like someone had pulled the floor out from under his feet.
‘Shit,’ he whispered, staring at the words that went through him so hard. It felt like a confrontation, even though it was just a harmless comment.
‘Like you went through those feelings yourself ...’

He bit his lower lip and stared at the screen, his thoughts a mess. Had We'llBeAFineLine noticed something? Had his chapters become too personal? Or was it just a coincidence that this user had left this particular comment?
He couldn't help but think about Harry. That was the problem: he was always thinking about Harry. When he was writing, when he was breathing, when he was just sitting in a room. Harry was everywhere, even when he wasn't there.

His finger hovered over the keyboard. He wanted to reply, to write something that sounded innocent and distant at the same time, but all he could think of was:
‘Sometimes it's best to write about things you know ...’

He deleted the message immediately. No, too obvious.

After a minute, he finally typed:
‘Thanks for saying that. Sometimes it feels like no one understands what you're trying to say. It means a lot to me.’

He sent the message, closed the laptop, and dropped into bed. He pulled the covers over his head and stared into the darkness. ‘Who the hell are you, We'llBeAFineLine?’ He whispered quietly.

But he wouldn't get an answer. Not today. Maybe never.

The next few days were a strange balance between relief and tension for Louis. He continued to write, each new chapter deeper and more honest than the last. The story took on more and more of his own past, and he knew he was entering into dangerous territory. But he couldn't stop.

The comments from We'llBeAFineLine came regularly. Always friendly, always profound. And they always hit Louis right in the heart.
‘You have a talent for describing things that you can't put into words yourself.’

‘Sometimes I think we have the same thoughts.’

‘It hurts to read because it's so true. Thank you for sharing this.’

Every time Louis read these messages, his heart beat faster. It wasn't just a reader; it was someone who felt the way he did. And that scared him.

He began to ponder. Who was We'llBeAFineLine? A fan? Someone who had been through similar things themselves?

Or was it ... Was it, Harry?

This thought shot through his head like a bolt of lightning, and he sat up with a jerk. No. That's impossible. Harry never had time for that. And what would he be looking for on A03 anyway?

But the thought was there - a small, nagging doubt that wouldn't let him go.

What if it was Harry after all?

Louis' heart was pounding hard, and he could feel the air in the room getting thin. He bit his lower lip and whispered into the silence, ‘If it's you, Haz... then stop confusing me like this.’

But the darkness did not answer.

Chapter Text

The sun had set long ago, but Harry was still sitting in his favourite armchair by the window, his mobile phone in his hand. His flat was silent, apart from the quiet hum of the fridge in the background. The screen in front of him was dark, except for the glowing words of ‘Behind the Heartbeat,’ which had captivated him so deeply that he didn't notice the time passing.
He was reading Louis' latest chapter—or rather, the “StylinsonsHeartbeat” chapter—for the third time. The words were like a familiar song lyric that had never been forgotten. They echoed in his head, awakening memories and feelings that he had tried to suppress for so long.

In the story
He felt his hand on his shoulder, warm and comforting, although he knew it shouldn't stay there. ‘We can't do this,’ he whispered, but his voice sounded weak, full of doubt.

‘Maybe we can't,’ the other replied, ’but we need it.’

Harry put the mobile phone on his lap and stared out of the window. ‘We need it.’ How many times had he had that thought? How many times had he wondered if it had really been wrong, all those moments they had shared in secret?
He pulled his legs to his chest and pressed his forehead against his knees. It no longer felt like a coincidence. Too many details in the story were too accurate, too real, too close to the truth. At first, he had thought it might just be a particularly talented fan, someone who really understood the chemistry between him and Louis.

But now?
Now he wasn't sure.
His fingers hovered over the comment box before he finally typed:
‘It's almost like you're telling our story ... ‘Who are you for real?’

He stared at the words that suddenly seemed so difficult on the screen. His heart beat faster, and he knew he was crossing a line. Should he really ask? Would it hurt him even more if the answer wasn't the one he was hoping for?
He deleted the message, closed the app, and put the mobile phone away. He couldn't risk getting too far into it. But the feeling remained—that nagging suspicion that he knew who was behind those words.

At the same time, Louis was sitting in a café somewhere in the city, his hood pulled low over his face to avoid being recognised. In front of him was a notebook in which he was planning the next chapters of his story. He had quickly made writing on A03 a regular ritual—it had become his refuge, his outlet.
But today he was distracted.

He flicked through the pages of his notebook, but the words of We'llBeAFineLine were buzzing in his head. The mysterious commentator wasn't like the other readers. They had a way of writing that went so deep it sometimes took Louis' breath away. It was as if this person wasn't just reading his story but him.

‘Sometimes I get the feeling that you've experienced it yourself. Your words go straight to the heart. Thank you for sharing that with us.’

Louis chewed nervously on the end of his pen. ‘Why do you feel so familiar?’ He couldn't let go of the question.
He closed the notebook and picked up his mobile phone. Part of him wanted to write a message to We'llBeAFineLine, directly and honestly: ‘Who are you? Why do you understand this so well?’ But he knew he would never dare.
Instead, he opened A03 and scrolled through the comments of the last chapter. And there it was again: the comment from We'llBeAFineLine.
‘You describe the kind of love you can never quite let go of. It feels like you know it yourself.’

Louis' heart tightened. It was exactly what he was doing—writing about a love he could never quite let go of. About a love that had shaped him so much that it seeped into every line of his story, whether he wanted it to or not.

He typed a reply:
‘Sometimes it's best to write about things that are too close to talk about.’

He hesitated briefly before clicking ‘send.’ He placed the mobile phone on the table and buried his face in his hands. It felt like he was revealing too much, and yet he couldn't help it.

Harry opened A03 again, almost as if he had sensed that a reply was waiting for him. As he read the message from ‘StylinsonsHeartbeat,’ a smile tugged at his lips—a sad, thoughtful smile.

‘Sometimes it's best to write about things that are too close to talk about.’

It was exactly what Harry himself had always felt when he wrote songs. The best lyrics came from pain, from the things you couldn't say out loud.
His thumb moved slowly across the screen as he wrote a reply:
‘You can see that. Your words have that honesty you can only feel when they're real. Thank you for doing this.’

He paused briefly before clicking ‘Send.’ When the message was sent, he leaned back and dropped the mobile phone on his lap.

‘What are you doing here, H?’ He shook his head and laughed quietly at himself. But he couldn't stop. He had to know where this story was going—and whether his suspicions were correct.

Louis read the new commentary just a few minutes later. His stomach turned when he saw the words.
‘Your words have that honesty you can only feel when they're real.’

It almost felt like this person could see through what he was doing. As if We'llBeAFineLine could see exactly how much of himself was going into this chapter.

He thought of the voice in his head that had been nagging him for days: ‘Could it really be Harry?’

He had pushed the idea aside again and again. It was impossible. Harry would never do something like that, would he? And yet ... the words felt so familiar. The way We'llBeAFineLine commented on his texts reminded him of the conversations they used to have.

Louis shook his head and rubbed his forehead. ‘No, it can't be,’ he muttered to himself.
But he couldn't let go of the thought.

Over the next few days, the comments between them almost became a conversation. They unconsciously revealed more and more about themselves without giving anything away directly. Louis continued to write, delving deeper and deeper into his memories, and Harry commented, each time with a mixture of praise and thoughtfulness.

But with each new chapter and each new comment, it became harder for both of them to ignore the truth.

Chapter Text

It was time to show his face in public once again. This particular event—according to his management—he needed to be there. Louis sighed in frustration and walked down the red carpet into the hall.
The venue was overwhelming: glittering chandeliers hung from the high ceiling like frozen waterfalls, and a thick carpet in royal red muffled the footsteps of the elegantly dressed guests. A babble of conversation, laughter, and the occasional clink of glasses floated through the air as waiters in immaculate suits glided through the crowd with flutes of champagne.

Louis felt like he was in a show where he was just an extra. He knew the rules—charming smiles, polite nods, casual compliments—but today everything felt heavier. Like a second skin that no longer fits.
He stood at the edge of the room, half hidden behind a high table with a vase full of white roses. An almost untouched glass of champagne stood on the table in front of him. His fingers slid along the glass while he stroked the display of his mobile phone with his other thumb without really doing anything.

We'll Be a Fine Line.
The name suddenly popped into his head. This user had been an integral part of his life for days. The comments, the words full of understanding and authenticity, had accompanied him like a constant whisper. He didn't know who was behind the name, but it felt as if he could rely on this person.

His mobile phone vibrated, a short notification. A new comment. Louis forced himself not to look immediately. Not now, not here. He let the mobile phone slide back into his pocket and tried to focus on reality.

It was the kind of event he had seen dozens of times: a showcase for the music and entertainment industry. Big names, bigger egos, and an even bigger dose of fake endearment. But today it felt different. Heavier. More intimate.

And then he saw him—Harry.

He was standing at the other end of the hall, surrounded by a small group of people, radiating that effortless elegance that always left Louis speechless. The emerald green suit Harry was wearing made his eyes sparkle, and his smile... this smile. It was warm, genuine, and seemed to mesmerise everyone around him.
Louis' heart skipped a beat, and he instinctively averted his eyes. But it was as if Harry had an invisible gravity that kept drawing him back.

Why did it still feel like that?

He hated himself for it. Hated the way the mere sight of Harry awakened memories in him—of moments long gone. Nights on the tour bus that were far too short and yet endless. Conversations that were only held through furtive glances. Touches that were secret and yet full of meaning.
Louis forced himself to breathe calmly. He had moved on. He had had no other choice.
But then it happened.
A movement from the corner of his field of vision made him look up. Harry leaned forward, a slight smile on his lips, and said something to the surrounding group. Louis couldn't hear the words, but suddenly a sentence caught his attention.
‘Do you remember? ‘He looked at him like he was the last little light of the world’.

Louis' breath caught.
That was a phrase from his story. A sentence he had written himself.
For a moment, he felt frozen. The surrounding noise became a dull hum, and all he could hear was that sentence. His own words, spoken by Harry.
His fingers tightened around the glass of champagne in his hand as his gaze fixed on Harry. If he squeezed any harder, the glass would shatter in his hand. He seemed relaxed, continuing to joke with the group as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
But Louis knew better. This was no coincidence. Or was it?

Louis had to know. He couldn't just stand there and pretend nothing had happened. His feet were moving before his mind properly registered it. He made his way through the crowd, step by step, until he finally stood in front of Harry.
‘Louis,’ Harry whispered when he noticed him. His smile was soft, affectionate, almost shy. ‘I didn't even see you coming.’
‘Harry,’ Louis replied; his voice was more brittle than he wanted.

For a moment, they were alone, despite the surrounding crowd. Louis searched for words, but his mind was blank.
‘You seem ... nervous.’ Harry finally said, his tone gentle, almost caring. It didn't look any different inside him.
‘I,’ Louis laughed briefly, a forced, almost mechanical sound. ‘No, I ... am just tired.’
He was actually telling the truth. All those nights lying awake—because of him.

Harry studied him, his gaze penetrating but not unpleasant. It was a look that made Louis feel like Harry could see right through him.

‘Hey,’ Harry finally whispered, placing a hand on his arm. The touch was light, fleeting, but it made Louis' heart skip a beat. He froze briefly. A touch from Harry in public. A warmth spread through that exact spot.
‘It's okay,’ Harry added, his voice low. ‘I just wanted to say that it's good to see you. Really.’
‘It's good to see you too,’ Louis murmured back, his words barely more than a whisper.

For a moment, everything was silent. The world around them faded, becoming a blurred background noise. There was only Harry—his gaze, his closeness, his scent.
Louis wanted to say so much, but he couldn't get a single word out. Finally, he nodded and withdrew, his heart heavy and his thoughts confused.

Back in his hotel room, Louis sat on the edge of the bed and stared at his mobile phone. A03 was open, and he scrolled through the comments under his story.
One of them stood out.
We'llBeAFineLine: ‘You write as if you've experienced these feelings yourself. It's so real, so touching.’

Louis read the comment over and over, his mind a mess.
This can't be. It can't be.

But the truth was now almost impossible to ignore.

Later, Louis was lying awake, his mobile phone still in his hand. The words of We'llBeAFineLine echoed in his head, mingling with Harry's voice, with the quote he had heard in the hall.
Everything fit together. The comments, the words, the way Harry had looked at him today.
Louis closed his eyes.
He didn't want to see the truth, but it was unavoidable.
And yet—he wasn't ready to accept it. Not now. Maybe never.

Then there was a knock at the door.

Chapter Text

Louis hesitated. The knock on the door sounded demanding, but not impatient. A single knock, then a pause. Then another. It was the middle of the night, and his heart began to beat restlessly against his ribs. Who the hell could it be? Was it safe to open the door? Maybe a fan who thought it was okay to knock on his hotel door? Just as an aside. It wouldn't be okay.
His stomach tightened as he took a deep breath and walked slowly to the door. He laid his hand on the handle, his breath hitching for a moment. The silence of the room was almost oppressive. The air conditioning hummed softly, the distant murmur of the city sounded like a distant heartbeat, and yet everything seemed to be centred on this one obstacle between him and the stranger beyond.

With a slight creak, he opened the door a little. His gaze first fell on bright green shoes, the size of which looked damn familiar. His breathing quickened, and his fingers tightened around the door. He knew even before he looked up, even before his gaze slid up to the glittering emerald green trousers. His chest tightened painfully. No, this couldn't be happening. It couldn't be!
But when he finally managed to summon the courage to follow his instinct and look further up, his eyes met those emerald, green, piercing eyes that he would recognise even in his sleep.

Harry!

Louis' world seemed to be out of balance for a moment. What kind of balance? It had been unbalanced since the breakup.

Harry, his Harry, stood in front of him and wordlessly asked to be allowed to enter with his eyes only. Louis turned round wordlessly and left the door open. It was Harry's choice what he did with it. Perhaps he hoped he would.

The hotel room door closed with a muffled click, and for a moment it was silent. Only the hushed hum of the air conditioning and the uneven breathing of Louis and Harry filled the room. The city lights filtered through the half-open curtains, casting a soft, diffused light on the furnishings.
Louis had his back to the door, his hand in his hair. Was this what he wanted? Did he want Harry to be here? His heart was screaming, YES! YES! YES! But his head? He was confused. He had barely looked at Harry before he had left the event. His heart was beating so loudly that he felt as if Harry could hear it.

‘Nice room,’ Harry murmured softly, his voice barely more than a whisper. He stepped up to the large window, let his gaze wander over the city, and ran his fingers through his hair.
‘Yes,’ Louis croaked without moving. His throat felt dry, and his thoughts were racing. Why was Harry here? Did he invite him? Louis had only perceived the rest of the evening through cotton wool. If so, why had Harry agreed?

The unspoken words hung heavy between them, and the tension in the room was almost palpable.

‘Aren't you going to tell me what's going on?’ Harry finally asked, without turning to face him.
Louis flinched. ‘I ... I don't know what you're talking about.’
‘Lou.’

There it was. Lou.
Goosebumps spread across Louis' spine. That soft ‘Lou,’ like he'd heard so often from Harry. It was just his name, but the tone of voice, the mixture of gentleness and firmness, made Louis close his eyes. It sounded so loving. He could feel Harry's outgoing heat, as if he were on fire. He swallowed.

‘Harry, I can't do this,’ he whispered.
Harry moved closer to him, and Louis felt his gaze on him. ‘What can't you do?
‘This.’ Louis turned to him and made a helpless gesture into the air. ‘Us. This conversation. It's ... it's too much.’
Harry slowly stepped closer, his footsteps quiet on the carpeted floor. ‘I don't think it's too much,’ he said quietly. ‘I think you're scared.’
‘Of course I'm scared!’ Louis blurted out, his voice brittle. ‘I'm scared because ... because it's always been like this. Because I don't know if I'll survive this again.’
Harry paused, just a step away from him. His eyes searched Louis', and for a moment there was only silence. A silence that said it all.
‘I'm here,’ Harry finally said. ‘I'm here, Lou. That's all that matters.’

The words were simple, but they struck Louis deeply. Before he knew what he was doing, he had taken a step forward and clawed his hands into Harry's suit jacket.

‘Why are you doing this, Haz?’ Whispered Louis, his voice trembling.
‘Because I've missed you so much, Lou, and I always will,’ Harry replied. There was such determination in his tone that Louis almost broke down.
Harry's fingers caressed Louis' cheekbones; his touch was gentle yet full of longing. His lips drew closer to Louis' face, as if he wanted to close the distance between them.
Louis closed his eyes as Harry's breath brushed his cheek. He sighed as if he was letting go of a burden he had been carrying for years. ‘Me too,’ he said hesitantly. What was he doing here?

And then there was no distance between them.
Their lips touched gently, a kiss full of tenderness, uncertainty, and suppressed passion. Harry's hands slid into Louis hair, while Louis’ fingers explored the fabric of Harry's jacket, as if to rediscover the memory of his skin.
The kiss became more intense, their tongues dancing a familiar dance as if they had never stopped kissing. Harry's hands travelled over Louis' back, feeling the warmth and strength he had missed for so long.
He had missed Harry's hands and his mouth on his skin; the way he could make him shiver was without compare.

Louis moaned softly into the kiss as Harry's fingers undid the buttons of his pyjamas, revealing the warm skin beneath. Harry's touch was like sparks, igniting a blazing fire that had been dormant inside them for a long time.
They undressed each other, their clothes landing in a mess on the floor. Harry's eyes lit up as he looked at Louis' naked body; the tattoos that covered his skin were like a map of their shared past. How much he had missed him.
Louis ran his hands over Harry's chest, feeling the muscles tense under his touch. He let his hands slide lower, licking over Harry's nipples and sliding down onto his knees. Harry moaned, his hands gripping Louis' hair as if he had to hold on to him to keep from floating away.

‘Slow down, Lou,’ Harry whispered, his voice a wheezing breath. ‘I want to enjoy it.’
Louis smiled against Harry's abs.

Harry helped Louis up and lowered himself onto the bed, pulling Louis with him so that they lay side by side, their faces only inches apart. Their bodies fit together perfectly, as if they were made for each other like pieces of a magic puzzle.
Harry kissed Louis‘ neck, his lips leaving a trail of passion as his hands explored Louis’ hips. Louis sighed as Harry's fingers touched his bum, massaging it gently as if preparing him for something.
He kissed Louis‘ jaw, then moved to his neck, leaving a trail of kisses and bites that quickened Louis’ breath.

‘You taste so good, Lou, ‘ Harry whispered as his breath came hot against Louis’ ear. He marked Louis' neck with gentle bites against his sensitive skin.
Louis moaned as a wave of pleasure overcame him. He had missed this kind of passionate affection that only Harry could give him. His hands gripped Harry's hair, pulling him closer as if he never wanted to let him go.
Harry began to caress and squeeze Louis' nipples with his fingers, moulding them into small, hard buds. Louis moaned softly as the sensations shot through his body.

‘Please, Haz,’ he breathed, his voice sounding almost like a prayer. ‘I need you.’
Harry smiled mischievously. ‘I know what you need, Boo,’ and pushed himself between Lou's legs. Lou's breath hitched as he realised Harry's intention. He had missed Harry's mouth in that sensitive spot, the way he could drive him crazy with his tongue. Harry kissed Lou's inner thigh slowly, then moved higher, his breath hot on his skin.

Louis tensed his muscles as he felt the touches on his thighs getting closer and closer to his centre.

‘Relax, Lou,’ Harry breathed as he touched his hips. His fingers traced small circles on the sensitive skin.
‘I'm going to make you come like I used to.’ Louis could feel Harry's grin against his skin. Everything was burning hot and wild inside him. He closed his eyes and allowed the sensations to pulse through his body.

Harry's mouth was now so close to his mark that Louis could feel the other man's breath on his skin. With a slow, skilful movement, Harry spread Louis‘ thighs apart and placed a tender kiss on the tip of Louis’ erection.
Louis let out a loud moan, his body trembling with pleasure.
Harry took Louis' stiff manhood into his mouth, sucking gently while his tongue played around the sensitive tip. Meanwhile, he gently let his finger circle Louis' entrance. Teasing him again and again.

His hands clawed at the sheets as he tried to resist the overwhelming sensation.
‘Fuck, shit, Haz,’ he gasped, his hips lifting involuntarily, seeking more of Harry's mouth.
‘You want more, don't you, Lou?’ Harry pulled back, smiling at him, his green eyes sparkling with challenge.

Louis nodded, unable to form words as his body cried out for release. So, Harry took Louis‘ hard shaft into his mouth again, deeper this time, until he was almost at Louis’ base. He sucked and licked as his hands gripped Louis‘ hips, moving him in a rhythm that would take Louis’ breath away. His fingers continued to circle around the entrance, carefully penetrating him, not moving them. Only Louis could feel him. Louis' moans filled the room as he neared his climax, his body tense and ready to release.

‘Come for me, Lou,’ Harry murmured, his voice raspy from Louis' cock.
‘Let me taste you,’ and now he moved his finger in sync with his tongue.

Louis' body eased, and he poured himself into Harry's mouth, a moan of relief escaping him. Harry swallowed every drop, his tongue collecting every last drop until Louis lay exhausted and satisfied on the bed. Harry kissed his way back to Louis' lips, sharing a moment of intimate connection, their breaths still uneven.

‘Fook, that was so good,’ Louis moaned exhausted.
‘That was just the beginning, Lou,’ Harry smiled promisingly, his eyes gleaming in the darkness.

He stroked Louis‘ back gently, his fingers tracing the outline of his tattoos before leaning over him and pressing his lips to Louis’ skin. A kiss here, a bite there, a trail of passion that excited Louis' body once more.
Louis moaned as Harry's fingers explored him further. His body responded to every touch as if he were a musical composition that only Harry could play. The way he stretched him, kissed him all over, and guided him back to the cliff.

‘Please, Haz,’ Louis whispered, his voice a trembling breath of desire. ‘I really need you.’

Harry massaged Louis' entrance once more, then slowly penetrated him, savouring every moment of their union. Louis groaned loudly as Harry's length filled him, his body responding to the intimacy they had shared once.
They moved to the rhythm of the past and the present, their bodies merging into a single dance of passion. Harry's hands gripped Louis' hips, guiding him in an ancient ritual as their lips met and parted as if they were singing a song of desire.
Sweat glistened on their bodies; the heat between them was intense, as if they had lit a fire that would not go out. Louis' moans filled the room, a chorus of ecstasy that made the walls vibrate.

‘Oh, Haz,’ Louis gasped as he came closer and closer to his next orgasm. ‘I ... I can't take any more ...’

Harry continued to thrust into Louis, his movements becoming faster and more intense until Louis' body writhed, and a cry of fulfilment escaped his mouth. Harry followed him shortly afterward, his cum flowing between their fused bodies, a witness to their renewed passion.

They lay exhausted and content in the afterglow of their reunion, their breaths slow and deep. Harry's arm was around Louis' waist as if he never wanted to let go. ‘I've missed you, Lou, ‘ Harry whispered, his face buried in Louis’ hair.
Louis smiled, his eyes closed, savouring the feel of Harry's body next to him. ‘I missed you too, Haz. I've missed you so much.’ Harry's lips found Louis with a desire that wiped out everything else. The world around them disappeared, and there was only the warmth of their bodies, the unsaid words that lay in every breath.

‘You're beautiful,’ Harry murmured, his voice croaky.

Louis closed his eyes and let himself fall into the words that lay over him like a soft blanket.

‘Stop saying that,’ he whispered, although a part of him wanted to hear exactly that.
‘Never,’ Harry replied, and there was an honesty in his eyes that made Louis' heart skip a beat.

Later, Louis lay on his back, Harry's head on his chest, staring up at the ceiling. His fingers ran through Harry's soft curls as he tried to organise his thoughts.

‘That felt ... real,’ Harry said quietly.
Louis' hand paused, and he looked down at Harry. ‘It is.’
Harry lifted his head, his green eyes searching Louis' face. ‘And what does that mean?’
Louis swallowed. ‘I don't know.’
‘I know,’ Harry said. His voice was firm but gentle. ‘It means that we're still here, that we still have this.’

Louis wanted to say something, but the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he pulled Harry to him again, buried his face in the soft curls, and closed his eyes.

For this moment, everything was fine. For this moment.

Chapter Text

The hotel room was in complete silence, except for the constant hum of the air conditioning. The heavy curtains kept out the neon light of the city, though the darkness was not complete. The digital clock on the bedside table cast a bluish glow over the bed where Louis slept peacefully. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm; his face was relaxed. Almost peaceful.
Harry lay on his side, head resting on his arm, watching Louis as he slept. It had been far too long since Louis had looked like this - without worry lines on his forehead, without that underlying pain in his eyes. For a moment, he hardly dared to breathe, as if he was afraid of breaking the silence with a movement and destroying this rare sight. He memorized this image.

The night had been intense, a hurricane of passion, nostalgia, and emotions that lay unspoken between them. Harry couldn't sleep. Again. His mind raced, caught in a whirlwind of memories and emotions he couldn't control.

Gently, careful not to wake Louis, Harry reached out for his mobile phone on the night stand. The light from the display burnt in his tired eyes as he unlocked it. The clock showed a quarter to three. He sighed softly, and without giving it much thought, he opened the A03 app. He had got into the habit of reading every new release from ‘StylinsonsHeartbeat’ immediately. And sure enough - a notification flashed up: ‘New chapter of “Behind the Heartbeat.”’

A small smile played on Harry's lips. He tapped on the notification, and the new chapter opened.

StylinsonsHeartbeat

Harry had long known who was behind this name. He had known it for a few days.
At first, it had been a suspicion - the way it was written, the way each sentence carried an unspoken longing, the way the words hit just the right places inside him, as if they were meant for him. Then there were the little hints - phrases Louis had used earlier, an almost unnoticed mention of an old memory. And finally, as Harry dug deeper, as he began to compare the comments. Analysing writing patterns, as he logged on and lost himself more and more in this story, he knew for sure.

StylinsonsHeartbeat was Louis. His Louis. Lou.

And that meant that all those words - the unwritten confessions, the bittersweet nostalgia, the unspoken truths - were for him.
The new chapter unfolded before his eyes, line by line, word by word, and like every time, it was as if it would swallow him up.

‘He watched him as he always watched everything: attentively, with that mysterious warmth in his eyes that said everything at once and revealed nothing. And Louis knew that he was lost. He had always been lost.’

Harry's chest tightened as he read the paragraph. The words had a pained beauty that struck him deeply every time.

‘Why can't you just be honest?’ asked Harry, his voice shaking. ‘I can't,’ Louis whispered. ‘I don't know how.’

His heart skipped a beat. It was too familiar. Too close. Every word reverberated inside him as if Louis had stolen them straight from his memory.
With an almost unconscious urge, Harry typed a comment:
‘You write as if you know these feelings yourself. It's almost scary how real it feels.’

Suddenly, a sleepy voice broke the silence.
‘What are you doing?’

Harry's heart skipped a beat. He spun around; the question came so suddenly that he almost dropped his smartphone. He looked up and saw Louis standing up slowly. His hair was tousled, his face still marked by sleep. But his eyes - they were wide open, alert, and fixed on Harry's screen.
Harry reacted instinctively. He hastily closed the A03 app as if he could undo what had just happened. What Louis had seen, though.

‘Hang on,’ he muttered and sat up. His voice was more alert now. ‘What was that?’
‘Nothing.’ The lie came too quickly, too rushed, and it didn't even sound remotely convincing. Harry lied - even though he hated lying - and put the mobile phone aside.

Absolute silence.

Still, Louis wasn't so easily dissuaded. He reached for the phone and looked at the screen. There was absolute silence for a moment while Louis read the comment Harry had just written. His hands began to tremble as he slowly looked up. His brow furrowed.

‘You...’ His voice broke. ‘You're We'llBeAFineLine?’
Harry's heart slipped into the stomach pit. His expression changed from embarrassment to alarm. ‘Louis, I can explain.’ He made a frantic movement to reach for his mobile phone, though Louis backed away, his hands clutching the device even tighter.
The look on his face was a mixture of disbelief, anger, and—even worse—vulnerability.

‘You've... you've read all this?’

Harry's throat was dry. ‘Yes, but - Louis, it's beautiful. You wrote it so honestly, and I knew—
‘You didn't know anything!’ Louis' voice broke in the middle just now, though the anger made it sound stronger than perhaps it should. In one swift movement, he threw the blanket aside and jumped up. ‘That was... that was my world, Harry. My escape valve. The only place I could be honest without anyone knowing!’

Harry sat up, his heart hammering in his chest. ‘Lou, listen to me,’ he pleaded, standing up as well, his hands raised as if to calm the storm. ‘I didn't know at first. But the more I read, the more I understood. I wasn't trying to spy on you; I was just—

‘What?’ Louis' eyes shone with suppressed tears. ‘You wanted to what? To see if I'm still as broken as I was back then? ‘If I'm still the idiot who risked everything for you?’
Harry's jaw ground. ‘That's not fair,’ he said, his voice sharper now. ‘You gave up just as much for us as I did! And I never wanted to hurt you. I wanted to understand you, Lou. That's all.’

Still, Louis wasn't listening to him any more. His thoughts were racing; the feelings of the last few hours and days were hitting him relentlessly. He felt naked, exposed - as if Harry had not only read his story, but had looked into his soul.

His throat was burning. ‘I ... I can't do this.’
His voice was barely more than a whisper, but it carried the finality that made Harry's stomach clench.
‘Lou, please.’ Harry realized Louis was slipping away from him again. His heart burnt under his gaze.
Ahead of Harry reaching him, though, Louis grabbed his things and stormed out of the room.

‘Louis, wait—’
It was too late, though. Before Harry could stop him, Louis tore open the door and disappeared.

The cold of the hotel corridor hit Louis like a slap in the face, though he kept running. His footsteps echoed on the carpeted floor, and his vision blurred with tears. He didn't know where he was going, only that he had to get away. Away from Harry. Away from this truth that he couldn't bear.

He paused in the stairwell and leaned against the wall. His chest rose and fell frantically, and he pressed his hands against his face.
Why did it feel like he was falling apart? Why was it so hard to face Harry, even now, after they had been so close?

He knew the answer, even if he didn't want to say it: Because Harry was still everything to him. And because the truth that Harry had read all his words plunged him into another world.
Louis took a deep breath and wiped the tears from his face. But the wound that this moment had opened would not heal so easily.

In the hotel room, Harry stood motionless, hands on his hips, staring at the closed door.
He had messed up.
His eyes fell on the phone lying on the bed and the open comment Louis had read. He picked up the device, his thoughts jumbled. For a moment, he tossed around the idea of running after Louis, of stopping him. But something held him back.

‘Why are you always so stubborn?’ He whispered into the silence of the room.

But the answer was clear: because Louis had a fragile heart in a cage of steel, and Harry had just lost the key.

Chapter Text

Louis was running, his feet pounding on the hard pavement. His breathing was rapid; his heart hammered against his ribs, but he barely noticed it. The world around him was a blur of dim light and cool night air coming in through the open hotel corridor doors. He didn't know where he was going, only that he had to get away—away from Harry, away from this exposing and painful truth that had dug into his chest like a sharp-edged knife.

Stumbling through the lobby, he ignored the confused looks of the night porter and stepped out into the silence of the sleeping city. A blast of cool wind hit his face, mingling with the heat burning under his skin. He took a deep breath, but it brought no relief. The air felt heavy, as if it were stuck in his throat.

The buzzing of his smartphone sounded like an endless stream of reproaches, memories, and unanswered questions. Harry stared at the screen, where Louis' name flashed up in bright letters, a silent scream in the darkness. He unsuccessfully tried to reach him; every message was just an echo of his loneliness, and every voicemail message was another stab that made his heart ache.

‘Lou, please...’ Harry whispered for the hundredth time before he lowered the phone in frustration. The walls of the hotel room seemed to hem him in, every corner and edge reminding him of the moments they had shared here. Overwhelmed, he fell onto the bed and buried his head in his hands. His heartfelt heavy, like a weight that was crushing him.

He was overwhelmed. The night before had felt like a dream, a brief moment of hope that they might find what they had lost. Right now, everything was shattered. Louis had left him behind—not just physically, but emotionally too. He could understand him somehow. In a way.

Louis sat in a small café on the outskirts of the city, the hood of his jumper pulled low over his face. It was the only place he could think of right now where he could hide from the prying eyes of the world and be alone. The mug in his hands was hot, but the warmth didn't reach him; his insides were frozen. Harry's face, Harry's voice, and Harry's touch—all of it spun incessantly in his head.
He hadn't planned to escape. The moment he'd read Harry's comment, though, it was as if someone had laid his innermost thoughts bare. The thought that Harry knew he was ‘StylinsonsHeartbeat’ was like a slap in the face. It wasn't just a revelation—it was like a wound, a dagger thrust that struck his heart again and again.
And yet he couldn't stop thinking about him. Harry's smile fell like a ray of light into his darkness, the way he looked at him like he was the only person who ever mattered.
‘Bloody hell,’ Louis muttered quietly, rubbing his eyes.

He pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket and opened A03 —his only place of retreat, even now. His latest chapter of ‘Behind the Heartbeat’ had been published tonight—another piece of his soul shared with strangers. He scrolled through the comments, unsure if he was really looking for answers or just wanting to torture himself further. Then his eyes lingered on one particular comment:
‘I wish I'd got a happy ending like this in real life.’

Louis froze. His heartbeat quickened, and for a moment he didn't know whether to put the mobile phone down or read it again.
‘Haz,’ he whispered, his name a breath on his lips.

The words hit him like a punch in the gut. It was a mixture of guilt, pain, and something else—something that felt like a desperate desire to turn back time and make everything right.
The message was short, almost too simple for the weight of emotion Louis was trying to convey:
‘We need to talk. Same place as back then. Eight o'clock.’

Harry stared at the text as his thumb trembled over the screen. The ‘same place’ was like an echo from another time, a time when they had met in secret, away from prying eyes and the pressures of the public eye. The café in the small side street had always been their refuge—back when they still believed they could control everything. He didn't answer but reached for his jacket. There were things that words could not express.

As Louis sat by the window, his eyes fixed on the busy street, the rising sun bathed the city in a warm, golden light. But inside, it all felt gray. Almost black. He had imagined this encounter so often in his head and had practiced words and gestures that had never been spoken. Sometimes he had even said things that he had never said out loud.
Sometimes Harry had forgiven him. Sometimes he didn't.

The doorbell rang, and Louis knew without even looking it was Harry.
‘You're here,’ mumbled Louis, who was completely exhausted. He had been sitting in the café half the night while Harry sank into the chair opposite him.
‘Of course I'm here,’ Harry replied, his gaze calm but penetrating. ‘You said we had to talk.

A brief silence spread, and Louis could feel them both balancing on a knife's edge. It was as if they were waiting to see who would drop the façade first. A few minutes passed, and they remained silent.
Who should make the first move now? Harry? Knowing that Louis had written the story? Or Louis? Because he had simply run off?
They had a staring contest. They both lost themselves in each other's eyes. First it was stubbornness, then vulnerability, and finally their gazes softened. Love bubbled under the surface—a love that had never gone away, just sometimes deeply hidden.

Harry sighed; he was the one who caved in again. Because he was simply the smarter one? He didn't want to lose Louis again. Right before Harry could say anything, though, Louis began.
‘I... wanted to explain to you why I freaked out and ran away,’ Louis finally began, his voice low and heavy.
Harry was suddenly seething; he had just been reasonably calm.
‘Oh, please,’ Harry said slightly sarcastically and leaned back, crossing his arms in front of his chest. ‘Know what? But you've done this before, haven't you? You always ran away, Louis. ‘Whenever things got difficult.’

‘That's not bloody fair!’ Louis' voice was suddenly louder than intended. ‘You knew I was “StylinsonsHeartbeat,” that I shared my deepest feelings with you. It feels like you've been reading my diary!’
Harry stared at him, understanding gleaming in his eyes, though the frustration was palpable.
‘Lou... I understand that you're hurt. But what was I supposed to do? Should I have called you and asked, ‘Hey Louis, did you write this wonderful story? And is that what this is about, about us?’
He laughed out bitterly, but it didn't sound mocking—only tired. ‘I read it, and it touched me. It gave me hope that maybe all is not lost.’
His gaze dropped to the floor; his shoulders slumped slightly. ‘And then you just left. You left me alone with all of this.’
Harry's voice almost broke, but he forced himself to continue speaking calmly. ‘I didn't mean to hurt you, Louis, and if that's what I did, then... then I'm sorry.’
He took a deep breath and dared to look at Louis. ‘But I can't apologize for what your story meant to me, for reminding me of what we had, for reminding me of why I never wanted to give up on you.’

Louis looked at him with that look that he could only do with his blue eyes. That look that went right through his marrow. He searched for the truth in Harry's eyes and found it. Only the truth. Not a spark of a little lie. Nothing. Nada. Niente.

‘And if I could say something else?’ Harry whispered cautiously.
‘Can we continue the conversation somewhere else? We're being watched, and I nodded cautiously in the direction of some of the guests. Harry just had the sixth sense for it.

Louis nodded and threw a few pound notes on the table. Together they left the café and headed for a secluded park, a place where they used to hide when everything got too much.

They walked side by side in silence, the tension between them palpable. Louis kept starting to say something but then shut his mouth until they reached their tree. It was huge; the trunk slightly hollowed out so that they could sit comfortably in it. Memories came rushing back. The way they had kissed here, confessing their love.

They sat down opposite each other without even touching. Louis struggled with Harry's words, struggled with the words that were on the tip of his tongue. He knew he had to sort out what was between them now.
‘I was scared, okay?’ He finally mumbled.
‘Of what? Of me?’ Harry's tone was incredulous.
‘No, of myself!’ Louis' voice broke, and for a moment, everything around them seemed to fall silent. ‘From what I feel. Before what you mean to me, before the story itself. I always wanted a happy end, and then came the realisation that I'm not quite complete without you.’ His heart was pounding hard.

Harry stared at him, and Louis could see the words slowly seeping in.
‘You always wanted a happy end, and still you keep hurting me? Because you're too much of a coward to let it happen?’
‘I'm not a coward!‘ Louis’ voice shook with all his emotions. His fists clenched.
‘’Oh, but you are. You're hiding behind your story, behind all these metaphors and symbols, because you're too afraid to tell the truth!’

Louis' eyes sparkled with anger. ‘And what about you? You're not a bit better! You play the understanding, patient Harry, but the truth is that you're just as much to blame for everything! Not only that, but you never asked me how I felt; you never really looked!’
‘Because you never let me!’ Harry's voice was rising now, and Louis felt the tears stinging his eyes.
Harry gulped and tried to swallow his burgeoning anger.

‘Why are you still fighting at all?’ Louis finally asked, his voice softer but no less intense. ‘Why are you here? Why can't you just forget about me?’
Harry laughed bitterly. ‘Because I love you, Lou. Isn't that obvious? Despite everything, despite the hell we've put each other through, I can't forget you. I don't want to. But I can't fight for you if you're not willing to fight for yourself too.’

Louis closed his eyes, the words burning like a red-hot fire in his soul. It was a fight he no longer wanted to fight. Maybe Harry was right—maybe it was time to take off the mask and face the truth.
When he opened his eyes, Harry's glance was so intense that Louis felt like he could drown in it.

‘Sun...’
‘No, don't Sun me,’ Harry interrupted him with a tone to himself that made Louis tremble slightly. ‘You wanted to talk, Louis. Then talk. Tell me why you keep pushing me back. Tell me why you can't believe we could make it.’

Louis closed his eyes, and a storm of words, memories, and feelings raged in his head. He wanted to say something back to Harry, wanted to defend himself, but everything he felt finally burst out of him:

‘I love you, you moron!’
Harry looked at him, his green eyes wide, as if he hadn't expected Louis to ever say that.
And then Harry was on him. He reached for Louis and pulled him to him, and their lips met in a kiss that said everything that words could not.
It was stormy, honest, desperate—and full of longing. It was as if all the years, all the hurts, and all the misunderstandings evaporated at that moment.

Louis clung to Harry as if he was the only support in a sea of chaos. And maybe he was.
When they finally pulled away from each other, Louis gasped softly, leaning his forehead against Harry's.

‘I'm such an idiot,’ he muttered, and Harry smiled weakly.
‘Yes,’ he said softly. ‘But you're my idiot.’

Chapter Text

The burgeoning morning was silent, as though the world had held its breath for a moment. The first rays of the midday sun crept through the heavy curtains of the hotel room and bathed everything in a warm, golden light. Between them, though, it wasn't the rising sun that provided light—it was the burden that finally fell from their shoulders.

After the kiss, the tension that had hung between them like an invisible bond was gone. It was as if they had opened a door that had remained closed for far too long. Years of hiding, of hesitation, of unspoken longing had brought them here, to the floor of this hotel room where they now sat. Their backs leaned against the bed, between them a half-empty bottle of wine that they had stolen from the minibar somewhere. The taste of the red wine was still on their lips, bittersweet, just like the unspoken words hanging in the air. It was as if they could finally breathe again, but the air was heavy with all the words that still needed to be said.

‘So...’ Harry turned the bottle in his hands, his gaze fixed on the dark glass as if it would give him the answers he was looking for. That way, he didn't have to look at Louis. ‘What now?’
Louis laughed softly, but it wasn't a carefree laugh. It sounded nervous, unsure. ‘That's a good question.’
‘I'm serious.’ Harry's voice was soft, but there was a little uncertainty in it that Louis couldn't ignore. ‘We can't just carry on as we are, Lou. We'll fall apart at some point. I ... I'll shatter.’

Louis lifted his gaze, his heart pounding heavily in his chest. He finally looked at Harry. He knew Harry was right. Not only that, but he had known it for a long time. There was no more anger in Harry's eyes, no more accusation—just an honest, aching need for clarity. For honesty. For his love.
‘I know, Haz,’ Louis finally murmured, leaning his head against the mattress behind him. ‘You're right. We need to talk. Really talk. And no more half measures.’
Harry nodded slowly, as if clinging to this moment as the first step towards a future that wasn't all secrets. ‘Then let's get started.’

The words came slowly, hesitantly, as if they were first feeling their way cautiously like the first drops of a summer rain. As soon as they began to open up, though, the flow became unstoppable.

Louis spoke of his anxiety—the constant fear that they would never be truly free, that the world would tear them apart as soon as they realised how deep their connection really was. ‘I was so scared that I'd destroy us, Haz, that I'd ruin you.’
Harry listened to him without interrupting until Louis' voice broke. Then he gently placed a hand on his arm. He was his anchor in this stormy time. ‘You never ruined me, Lou. Do you know what really destroyed me? That you thought you had to get through this alone. That you didn't let me help you.’
He spoke of his own burden—the feeling of constantly running into an invisible wall that Louis had built around himself. ‘I knew you loved me, Lou. I always knew that. But I didn't know if it was enough.’

The hours passed; morning turned to day, though they barely noticed. Time passed as they lived through all the years apart and together, the anger and the love, the doubt, and the certainty. Every word was a stone they removed from the wall between them.

‘I fell in love with you before I even knew what that meant,’ Louis confessed at one point, his voice a mere whisper.
Harry smiled faintly, but sincerely. ‘And I never stopped loving you. Not even when you pushed me away.’

It was the most honest conversation they had ever had.
The sun slowly disappeared below the horizon, and the warm light of dusk bathed the room in a golden glow. Harry lay stretched out on the bed, his arms folded behind his head. Louis stood at the window and watched the awakening city. It was alive, pulsating, just like their hearts, which were beating to the same beat for the first time in years.

‘What now?’ Louis asked quietly, more to himself than to Harry.
‘Now we write our own chapter,’ Harry said suddenly.
Louis turned to him and raised an eyebrow sceptically. ‘What do you mean?’
Harry stood up and tapped the edge of the bed, signalling for Louis to sit with him. ‘Listen,’ he began as Louis took a seat next to him. ‘That story you wrote on A03—it affected so many people, including me. But it's not enough.’
‘Not enough?’ Louis frowned.
‘No,’ said Harry, and took Louis' hand in his. ‘Because it's only half the truth. The real story—our story—deserves to be told. Without pseudonyms. Without hide-and-seek.’

Louis' thoughts swirled. He shook his head slowly, his fingers tightening around Harry's. ‘Sun, I don't know if I can do this.’
‘I know you can,’ Harry replied softly. ‘We'll do it together. We've been trying to protect ourselves for so long that we've forgotten what it's like to just be us. Let's change it.’
Louis looked at their entwined hands, his thoughts whirling like a storm. ‘What if the world doesn't accept it? What if they tear us apart?’
‘Then we'll still have each other,’ Harry said quietly, and there was a conviction in his voice that touched Louis deeply.

Later that day, Louis opened A03 and began to write a new chapter.

This will be my last chapter under this name.
Sometimes life writes even the most beautiful happy endings. And although I was afraid to believe it for a long time, I now have someone by my side to show me that it is possible.

This story was an attempt to understand my own feelings, to find myself. But I found something much more important: the courage to be honest.
Maybe this story ends here. But my personal story is just beginning.
Louis read through the words again before clicking ‘Publish.’ Then he put the mobile phone aside and turned to Harry, who was sitting on the couch and looking at him with a warm smile.

‘So?’ asked Harry.
‘I did it,’ said Louis and sat down next to him.
Harry smiled, wrapping an arm around him and hugging him close. ‘That was just the beginning, Lou.’

Louis leaned against him and closed his eyes. For the first time in years, he felt light. Free.

Chapter Text

The sun flooded the studio with a soft, golden light that fell through the half-opened blinds, casting long shadows on the floor. Dust particles danced in the light as Louis bent over a piece of sheet music with a concentrated gaze. The ends of his fingers were lightly smeared with the ink of a biro, a sign of his tireless work on perfecting every single word. Next to him was a half-full cup of coffee, the black porcelain warmed by the still-steaming liquid. The bitter scent mingled with the aroma of freshly printed paper and the hint of old wood that lingered on the walls of the studio.

In the background, Harry sat on the worn leather couch that had become a second home to him in recent months. His guitar rested casually on his knees, his fingers gliding almost playfully over the strings as he fine-tuned a melody. Every now and then he frowned, hummed softly, and discarded the idea, only to try something new the next moment.

‘How does it sound?’ Harry finally asked, plucking at the strings and quietly singing an improvised line. His voice was rough, full of emotion, carried by the intimacy of the moment.

Louis lifted his head, his lips curled into a thoughtful but benevolent smile. His eyes rested on Harry, filled with the familiarity they had shared for so long.

‘Better,’ he replied after a moment's thought. ‘But maybe the bridge should be a bit slower? Let's give it a try.’

This was their new routine—not only partners in love but also in music. After years of silence, they had finally found their voices, together and for each other. The latest music was honest and free. It was not characterised by the fear of having to hide but by the courage to finally be visible. It felt like a new beginning, a story that they told together without fearing the judgment of others.
Their lives had changed radically over the last few months. The moment Louis had published his last chapter as StylinsonsHeartbeat had been the turning point. The fans had speculated, analysed, and doubted. No one had spoken the truth directly, though. It was only when Louis and Harry took the courageous step of publicly confessing to each other that the silence was broken.
The reactions were overwhelming—mostly positive, some full of prejudice. But that didn't matter. They had decided their truth was more important than anything else. More important than fame, more important than fear.

This evening, Louis sat alone in their living room while Harry stayed in the studio to continue working on a song idea. The darkness was soft, with only the flickering light of a table lamp bathing the room in warm shadows. Louis picked up his mobile phone and opened A03. Although he no longer wrote under the name StylinsonsHeartbeat, he still visited the site. It was a part of him, an echo of his thoughts, a place where he felt understood. A place where he had found the courage to change his life.

He scrolled to his last chapter and skimmed through the comments. Thousands of people had expressed their congratulations and gratitude, but one comment stood out—a new one, posted just a few minutes ago.

‘Thank you for never giving up on our story. Thank you for giving us a happy end.’ - We'llBeAFineLine

Louis' heart tightened, but this time not with pain but with a deep, cosy warmth. He knew Harry had written that comment. A small gesture, sure, but it meant more than words could express.
He did not write a reply. Instead, he got up, put on his coat, and made his way to the studio.

When he got there, he found Harry in a familiar pose: bent over his guitar, his brow furrowed, the pick between his lips as he worked on a tricky melody. Louis leaned against the door frame and watched him for a while before he finally said:

‘Thank you for never giving up on our story. Thank you for giving us a happy end.’

Harry looked up, surprised, though then a soft smile spread across his face. He put the guitar aside, stood up and walked over to Louis, pulling him into a tight hug.
‘I never stopped believing in us,’ he whispered.
‘I know,’ Louis murmured and hugged him even tighter.

A few months later, they were standing hand in hand in the middle of a cheering crowd. It was a festival, one of the biggest, where they were performing together as a surprise act. As they took to the stage, a murmur went through the crowd before the fans erupted in enthusiasm.
They had decided that this would be their moment—the moment when they showed everything about who they were and stopped hiding.

The camera captured the image: Louis' hand in Harry's, a silent symbol of all they had been through.

This time there was no fear, no doubt. Only love.

‘Sometimes life itself writes the most beautiful happy ends.