Chapter Text
It’s been two years since Louis last saw Harry. Two years without his soft touches, warm lips, or the scent that used to cling to Louis’s clothes long after he was gone.
The last time they stood face to face, the world was quiet — too quiet. They didn’t yell. There were no slammed doors or shattered promises. Just tired hearts and the weight of management’s expectations pressing down on them like a storm.
They kissed one last time — soft, slow, like muscle memory — and said goodbye with voices that didn’t quite match their breaking eyes.
Louis never stopped loving Harry — not really.
He still thinks about him every day, because how do you forget a love that left fingerprints on your soul?
But love, he’s learned, isn’t always enough.
And deep down, he knows that if they found their way back to each other, the cracks would still be there. The same silence. The same hurt.
The first few months after the breakup were brutal. Louis felt like he was unraveling — nauseous more often than not, crying himself to sleep if he was lucky, or just lying awake, staring at the space where Harry used to be. Eventually, he stopped trying to sleep and started drinking instead. Danced and partied until 4 a.m., chasing the silence out of his head, pretending the ache wasn’t still stitched into his chest.
His friends tried to set him up with other guys, even though they knew no one would ever replace Harry. Just the thought of touching someone else repulsed Louis — his hands were made to trace Harry’s skin, to follow the lines of his tattoos, to give him pleasure. So no, he’s not going to date anytime soon. Nope. Nope.
One day, he woke up and decided to stop feeling sorry for himself. So he started working on LT3 — and what better place to begin than Costa Rica?
He headed into the rainy jungle to clear his head, focus on writing, and let himself be wrapped up in the scent of earthy rain.
But being there only made him ache for Harry more. He saw him in the cotton clouds stretched across the sky, felt him in the golden hush of the breeze, heard him in the rhythm of the waves crashing softly on the shore. Harry was everywhere. In everything. And still, somehow, not his. Fuck. How do you forget a ghost that lives in the air you breathe?
Since he started to work on a new album, he knew this was coming. Of course. It’s always the same — new music, new interviews, new lies. Management doesn’t even pretend to hide it anymore. Slap on the straight act, throw in a model, and smile for the cameras. Just enough to keep the public quiet. Just enough to avoid raising suspicions.
“Keep your head down, play the part, protect the brand.” He could recite the lines in his sleep. And sometimes, he does. He hates it. God, he hates it. Not just the pretending. Not just the hiding. But the person he’s forced to pretend with. Someone he doesn’t care about. Someone who doesn’t know him. Someone who isn’t Harry.
And then the worst part — seeing the headlines. The photos. The comments. People believing it. Eating it up. Acting like he’s finally “moved on.” He wants to scream. Or throw his phone. Or fly to wherever Harry is and tell him the truth. That he still dreams about him. That he still smells him in the rain. That none of this means anything. But he doesn’t. He swallows it down. Plays his part. Posts the picture. Smiles through his teeth. Because that’s what they pay him to do.
So he’s been back and forth, playing the straight act — going with her to festivals, restaurants, and pap walks. Thank God Photoshop exists, because sometimes he honestly can’t take it. At least she wasn’t at Soccer Aid — they spared him that much.
So after all the pressure from Soccer Aid, and before working on his own festivals in Athens and Zurich, he decided it was time to blow off some steam and enjoy himself — with his friends, his family, and a weekend at Glastonbury. The only problem? She had to go with him. Ugh, so frustrating. But he was determined to let the real fans see the truth — to show just how miserable he felt around her, so they could tell from a distance that none of it was real.
The first day of Glastonbury went smoothly — chatting with fans, taking pictures, and drinking with friends. On the second day, he had to sit through her talk and pose for pap pics. Thank God he’d had a few drinks beforehand. He definitely hopes he ruined the photos — looking absolutely miserable and barely touching her. He even wore his bee shirt to make a statement. Then, he opened Twitter to see if his fans were catching on to what was really happening — and of course they were. They never disappoint him.
On the third day, he was actually having fun — forgetting all about the stunt, just laughing with his friends and family — when suddenly he saw a pair of tiny red shorts and long, smooth legs. His heart started pounding so fast he was sure everyone around him could hear it. His legs went weak. His mind began racing a mile a minute. He’s here. His baby is here. Oh my God. The world stopped spinning.
His friends were laughing at someone’s joke when Oli looked at him with concern and asked, “Are you okay, Louis?” And Louis lost the ability to speak — because the man of his dreams was here, looking hotter than ever. Fuck. Why did he have to wear the sluttiest shorts? He knew Louis was going to be here. And he knew Louis had a weak spot for his long legs. They used to spend hours wrapped around each other, kissing until their lips hurt.
Now, Louis didn’t know what to do — if he could move, or talk, or even breathe. Was he supposed to say hi? Or just ignore the fact that the love of his life was standing a few feet away, looking like sin in red shorts?
Louis didn’t even answer Oli’s question. He suddenly snapped back to reality, and before he knew it, his feet were moving — searching, longing to find him again. But he wasn’t there anymore. So Louis stood there, spinning in circles, breath caught in his throat. Until someone’s palm touched his left shoulder, and a familiar voice said: “Lou.”