Song(s):

                                          "Someone you Loved" - Lewis Capaldi

„Are you sure you want to do this?"

Zayn gazed up at Louis, his dark eyes joyful and determined. „Of course we're sure." He took Liam's hand and together, they nodded at the tattoo artist seated across from them. The man set to work, placing a needle on the bed of Zayn's arm.

Louis watched as the needle travelled over his friend's skin, leaving a trail of dark ink. Niall let out a small groan and turned around. „I don't like needles," he muttered an explanation to Harry whose eyebrows had flicked up. „Don't like them at all."

Harry nodded understandingly, then flicked through one of the books lying on a table nearby. Louis joined him and pointed at a drawing of a hedgehog. „Didn't you say I reminded you of a hedgehog? Maybe I should get that one on my forehead. Or my bum."

Harry laughed, then pointed out a huge scaly dragon with red eyes. „Then I'll take that one, right across my chest."

Louis jerked his chin at a vine of roses. „Or maybe that one. Make it tangle around your-"

Harry elbowed him in the side with a snort. „You're disgusting."

Louis' eyes quickly fell on a dagger, circled in a rose. It reminded him of himself, that tattoo - him, the dagger; Harry the rose.

„Look at that," Harry said, still laughing. Louis looked at his fingertip, finding a small crescent there, a sun beside it. He saw Harry smile. „I'd like that. It's us."

Louis stared at the dimple in Harry's cheek, the curly stand of brown hair brushing it. „Yes," Louis breathed, something sharp pricking his heart.

„Come look, guys," Liam yelled from the other side of the room, pointing at his and Zayn's forearms. „It's done!"

Harry gave Louis another quick smile, then hurried to look at the tattoos. Louis lingered for another second, though, eyes caught on the moon and sun under the plastic sheen of the paper, then quickly closed the book and joined the others.

After making sure no more needles were in close proximity to any skin, Niall turned around and peered over Louis' shoulder at Liam and Zayn's outstretched arms. Louis almost had to laugh at the small cartoons on their skin.

It was absolutely Liam and Zayn. It was absolutely Zayn and Liam. It was absolutely perfect.

They had spent their day being normal tourists in London, shopping, sight-seeing, and eating over-prized food in small cafes. Zayn had spent their entire time in the London Eye sketching wildly into his notebook, looking up from time to time to give Liam a little grin. And the product of Zayn's creativity in the clouds over the city was now on display before Louis for the first time, still shining faintly in the light.

Niall laughed one of his joyous laughs. „I should have known what it was."

They really should have. It was superheroes, of course. Batman and Deadpool. Liam's favorite and Zayn's favorite. A tiny sketch of them kissing. It was so tacky and so genius, Louis couldn't help but grin. „It's amazing, lads."

But Zayn and Liam probably didn't even listen, as they had gone from smiling at each other to kissing each other, thereby unknowingly (or knowingly) recreating the scene inked into their arms.

-

The tattoo parlor now felt a thousand kilometers away and was only a faint memory in the back of Louis' mind. He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans and looked at the people seated across from him in the fancy hotel restaurant.

As if she was sensing his distress, Harry's mother smiled at him encouragingly. „Quite horrible here, isn't it?" She waved a hand at the people in suits around them, sitting at fine white tables, drinking wine and eating shrimp appetizers. A lot of them only eating the appetizers. Anne draped a napkin over her lap. „But I guess it'll have to do."

Under the table, Harry reached for his hand and squeezed it. His step-father Robin took up his glass of wine and took a sip. „So, Harry has told us quite a lot about you, Louis."

„Only bad things, I hope," Louis joked, managing a smile he hoped would reach his eyes.

„The worst," Gemma nodded and took a bite from her fork, then winked at Louis.

„Well, they're all true."

In retrospect, Louis was quite happy he'd never had to meet any of his boyfriends's families before. A dreadful affair. Not that Harry's family were dreadful; they were lovely people -of course they were- but the whole concept of sitting down with your significant other's originator and having to try and impress them for a period of time until they were sufficiently content and could say 'Yes, I guess I will allow my offspring to spend the rest of their existence with this other human-being' - that was dreadful.

Without his consent, his mind conjured up an image of his mum meeting Harry. She would have adored him. Loved him like her own son. Louis forced down a bite of his Vegan Charcuterie - whatever that was; he had simply ordered what Harry and his sister had chosen - trying to mask the quiver in his lips at the thought.

Get it together, Tomlinson.

If his mother were here, everything would be different. Everything. Maybe he wouldn't feel guilty for the slender, soft hand in his own. For the smile Harry threw his way. Maybe he wouldn't even know Harry...

„I can't wait to see the play again tomorrow," Anne said. „I really enjoyed it the fist time I saw it, I'm just sorry we couldn't make it yesterday. Work, you know how it is..."

Louis nodded as if he did know how it was, even though he had next to no experience at not making it to a child's theatre play due to too much work. Anne took a sip from her glass. „Will your family come tomorrow, too? I'd love to meet them."

Reflexively, Louis glanced at Harry who took a sharp breath. He hadn't told them? Harry caught Louis look, his eyes saying I'm so sorry. Louis squeezed his hand, saying No problem. He looked at Anne again, giving her a small smile. „No, I don't think they'll come. My mum died a few years back, and my family and I haven't really been in touch since then."

Anne went pale, setting down her cutlery. „Oh, Louis, I'm so sorry. I didn't know..."

„No problem, really," Louis assured her, and took another encouraging bite from his vegan whatever-it-was. Harry stared down at his lap, clearly still feeling guilty or embarrassed. Louis gave his hand another squeeze and rubbed a thumb over the back.

There were another few moments of gloomy silence. „This ... thing tastes rather nice, actually," Louis said, pointing down at his plate. „Not as bad as I had expected. To be honest, I've lived off pizza and cereal for the last years of my life, so I guess I'm not an expert, but I don't actually mind this food."

Louis did not like the food.

„Yes, it's the only good thing in this place, quite frankly," Gemma jumped in, waving a fork around the room. „At least one thing my idiot of a father got right: the chefs."

„You should come visit us in Holmes Chapel sometime, darling," Anne said to him. „That'd be lovely."

„Maybe even take Harry with you," Robin joked.

Louis allowed himself to breathe again. After another few minutes, he excused himself to the toilet.

He made his way through the labyrinth of tables. This was all wrong. It was lovely. Way too lovely. Someone else should sit at that fancy table, eating that expensive food, chatting to that kind family. Someone who deserved it more than he did. Someone good.

Inside the bathroom, he looked at his reflection in the clean mirror above the tap. Brown fringe, light freckles, blue eyes. Not the person who should stand here. Intruder.

The door behind him opened, and he quickly held his hands under the tap so as to not be seen strangely staring at himself in the mirror. He looked up to see who had entered - and blinked.

„Yes, I know this is the man's toilet," Gemma said and leaned her back against the edge of the sink, her hands resting on the edge.

A man came from one of the stalls and threw her a dirty look which she ignored. Gemma waited until he had left the room with another disdainful glance in her direction before she spoke. „Look, I like you, Louis. You seem like a nice guy. But this is my job as Harry's older sister, so I'll just get it over with, alright? Just in case." She looked Louis in the eyes. „So: If you break my baby brother's heart, I will kill you. I've seen him hurt enough times to last a lifetime and I know you went through your fair amount of shit as well, but in this case, I don't care."

Louis swallowed. Gemma's dark blond hair shimmered under the fluorescent toilet lights. Just another shiny part of a shiny world Louis didn't belong in. Intruder.

„Or if you're not serious with him, then get it over with and tell him now. Because I can't watch him fall even deeper and more madly in love with you than he already appears to be, just to have you dump him when it's already too late. I know how badly that shit hurts, and I can't ever watch my brother go through something like that. I protect him, that's what I do. So please, Louis, either you truly love him and somehow deal with everything you've clearly still got going on; or you break up with him and spare all of us the heartbreak. Because the longer you stay, the harder it will be to say good-bye."

Her green eyes - the same color as Harry's - were firm, yet kind. „I truly am sorry, Louis. But you've got sisters, haven't you?"

Louis managed a nod. Gemma smiled - a tight smile that brought out dimples in her cheeks for just a second. „Then you know."

Then she left, leaving Louis empty and agitated at the sink.

The door closed behind her and Louis burrowed his face in his hands, then ran his fingers through his hair. When he looked up, it was sticking up in different directions. He quickly smoothed it down, then left the bathroom.

He remained standing before the door, though, watching as Gemma returned to their table at the far end of the room, saying something to her brother to make him laugh. Watched that happy, glowing family and his empty seat at their table. He stood at the edge of this for a moment: on the fringe of their happy family chatter. He didn't belong in that seat; at that table; with that family. DIdn't belong. Didn't belong. Didn't belong.

Gemma's words echoed in his head and he felt a deep sadness seize him. This wasn't him. This life he had somehow conquered with means still unbeknownst to him - this life that didn't belong to him. He had been like that once, carefree and comfortable in his own skin, knowing exactly where he belonged. But now he was the aching boy who got drunk and talked too much and danced on tables and made stupid decisions. He had a bad temper and a sharp tongue, and he always blurted out things he instantly regretted.

It was what he deserved. That was him. End of story.

Before he could be seen, Louis quickly maneuvered his way outside to a stone terrace leading to a small gravelly garden. He asked a waiter for a cigarette and watched the glimmering red end of it in the dark as he smoked.

He didn't know how long he spent there, leaning against the stone railing, watching the people eating at the tables beneath him, yet not actually seeing them at the same time.

„We were wondering where you might be," a voice behind him said and he turned around to see Anne stand there, smiling at him.

„Yeah, sorry," he said, quickly stubbing out his cigarette on the stone.

„Oh, it's alright," Anne said, waving a hand at the cigarette end and stepping up beside him. „No need to stop because of me." But Louis only folded his hands on the railing and looked at her. „Can I ask you something?" she said, her smile fading a little.

„Sure," Louis replied, trying to sound more casual than he was feeling. „How did your mum die?"

Oh. That caught Louis off-guard. Maybe he should have guessed. People always wanted to know how his mother had died. Maybe because it made them feel safer, lucky because such a thing couldn't happen to them, or maybe out of sheer curiosity. When he answered their question, they never seemed content with it. Because cancer was something that no one was safe from; that no one had the power to outrun without luck on their side.

But with Anne, it somehow didn't seem that way, as if she really was only asking because she cared...

„Leukemia," Louis replied and watched as Anne nodded in understanding.

She didn't have to say she was sorry, because Louis knew. Instead, she asked, „What was her name?"

„Johanna. Jo," Louis said with a quiet smile.

„That's a nice name," Anne said, returning his quiet smile.

„She was a nice mum."

Anne hummed a small laugh. „And she did a great job raising a very nice boy."

Louis felt like he might start crying. Of joy. Of fear. Of everything. The utter terror of the sheer existence of such kindness and understanding.

„I didn't know your mum, and I don't know you very well either yet, Louis, but I'm sure she's very very proud of you."

Yet.

That simple word painfully squeezed Louis' insides together. He was glad that it was already dark and hoped the light coming from inside wasn't enough for her to see the silver lining his eyes. It probably was.

„Can I hug you?" was all she asked as she slightly opened her arms. Louis felt something within him crumble. Frozen, he let her put her warm arms around him. He felt his chin quiver and slowly hugged her back. It felt warm, and safe, her perfume filling Louis' stuffed nose.

„Thank you," he mumbled into her shoulder, not even caring anymore if she could hear the tears in it or not.

„She's proud of you," Anne said again.

Louis didn't know how she knew the exact things and exact words he needed to hear right at that moment - had needed to hear and feel for three years - but he didn't care. All he cared about was finally - just for one small moment, however short it may be - feeling fully safe again. Of course being with Harry felt safe, laughing and existing with Niall, Liam, and Zayn, but that was different. This was handing over the burden that was his brain for just one second, letting it vanish in someone's else's arms.

When Anne let go of him again, he saw her wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. „Sorry," she said again, her voice full.

Louis wanted to tell her that she didn't need to apologize for anything, that he only wanted to thank her over and over again for all this kindness, for her words, her embrace, her beautiful life-draft of a son, her complete acceptance of him - but he didn't say anything.

He held quiet, feeling all the same old feelings creep back into his veins, but this time one feeling in particular: guilt. He felt so guilty for all this kindness she showed him and for everything she would get in return. „No, I'm sorry," he said. „Could you - Could you tell Harry and the others that I've already gone up to our room? I'm really tired and I should get some sleep before tomorrow."

The lie didn't even feel heavy in his stomach. What was one more thing piled atop all those other ones?

„Oh yes, of course, darling," Anne said. „Get some rest. I'll tell Harry."

He smiled at her again and turned to leave, but she called behind him, „Louis?"

He turned around. „Yes?"

She smiled at him, dimples and all, and said, „It was lovely meeting you. Thank you for making my son so happy."

Louis craved for another embrace, but settled on a tight-lipped smile. „Thank you for letting me try."

He turned around again, the guilt weighing him down so much it was difficult to walk. For the feeling he had carried around with him ever since that first rainy night with Harry was no longer merely anxiety; it was a heavy dread of the inevitable. One final thing to do for Harry's happiness. His true happiness. And Louis' defeat.

He tried not to think of Gemma's kind eyes, Anne's warm embrace, and Robin's loud laugh because all that would only make it harder.

The inevitable.

-

When Harry came back to their room later that night, Louis was already lying in bed, pretending to be asleep. Pretending because he couldn't look Harry in the eye. Because looking him in the eye would mean getting weak and not going through with it.

But every time Harry's foot brushed his under the covers and he felt his warmth seeping through Louis' clothes and skin right into his blood; every time he felt himself getting weak - he recalled the sight of Harry with his family, golden under the lights, laughing, being happy, the vacant spot beside him that only Louis knew was vacant because everyone else passing would only see one perfect family Louis Tomlinson didn't belong in; didn't deserve.

He remembered what Harry had said to him in that dark apartment, rain pattering on the windows. 'You're the strongest person I know, Lou. And I'm sorry that you ever had to believe you weren't.'

Well, now I'm going to be strong for you, Harry. I'll be strong so you can be happy.

-

The lightbulb in the dressing room was broken, flickering on and off every second or so.

With a sigh, Louis looked at the dangling light on the ceiling, then switched it out completely, leaving the room in darkness, the light coming from the crack under the door the only illumination.

Outside, he heard chatter and calls from the other actors; James talking to Ernie about some last-minute lighting things and Mrs. Proctor looking for her eyepatch. The excitement in the air tonight was also mingled with a kind of sadness; their last performance of the play. For many of them their last performance period.

In the gloom, he looked down at the costume laid out before him; the green shirt, black trousers. The suspenders. He ran a finger over them, remembering Harry's laugh when he'd seen Louis in them for the first time. The way he had held them up triumphantly in the thrift store, once upon a time.

This would be his last time wearing the costume. Being Peter.

He sat down and lit a cigarette, still keeping his eyes fixed on the outfit but making no move to put it on. There was a knock on the door, but the person behind it didn't wait for a response before he opened the door, letting light fall into the room.

Ben was standing in the frame. „Jesus, why is it so dark in here?"

„Lightbulb's broken," Louis mumbled, tapping ash into the cigarette tray.

Ben tried the switch and the bulb lit, this time without incessant flickering. „Doesn't seem to be."

„A lot of things don't seem to be."

Without waiting for an invitation, Ben sat down in a chair opposite Louis. „But you've always been better at things than me. Handling things." Louis glanced at the ceiling. „Why should this lightbulb be any different?"

Ben's eyebrows rose. „Yes, well... forget about that stupid lightbulb. But you did just mention something important: I'm good at handling things. And you're good at acting. That's why we were such a great team: you acted, and I handled things. Louis, what happened to us - what happened to you - was unfortunate, especially because it was in our prime, but nothing can't be undone. From what I've seen, you're still as good as ever. And I am, too. Come back, Louis. Come back to your life before all that. You and I, ruling the streets of London together. We can pick up where we left off, pretend it never happened."

Louis looked up. „I can't go back, Ben. And I also can't pretend it never happened, because it did. I can't go back to my life before that, because it's gone. She was my life, Ben, my mother was my life, my family was my life. My world. And you're nothing without your world."

Ben sighed. „Alright fine, then don't go back to that life. Just go back to the part of it where we worked together as the most successful director-actor combination of the century. Go back to that, Louis, and make that your world. It was, back then. I know it was. You loved it, I saw it in your face every single night. That pure ecstasy of being a performer. You wither without your precious spotlight, Louis. What do you want to do after tonight, huh? Perform a bad play once every year for your little small town community? That's not enough for people like us, Louis. It isn't. And I can't buy your little acting troop two nights in a London theatre forever. I don't have any interest in it without the chance of you coming back. You're my best, Louis. No one gets me and my plays like you do."

He sighed again heavily. „Can't you at least try to forget? Other people do it, you know?"

„But I can't," Louis snapped, feeling his eyes water. „I can't forget and I can't forgive, because I failed them, Ben. You know it. You watched it happen. Watched me play my stupid role every single night while my mother withered away in the hospital. Watched as I left my sisters alone in their grief and fear for some more of that precious stage light, as you called it. Because I thought I would wither without it." There was venom in his voice now, pure poison to match the blood flowing through his body. „Turns out, the only thing I withered without was my family."

He leaned back in his seat, feeling his hands shake slightly, and took an unsteady drag from the forgotten cigarette still between his fingers. „So no, I can't go back to being your golden stage boy. Not with the knowledge of what it cost me the last time."

Ben slumped, just slightly. Ran a hand over his face. „You're a nutjob, Louis. Have you always been this complicated?" He held up a hand. „Don't answer that." He reached into a bag at his feet and produced a heavy script, the familiarity of it making Louis cringe. „Look, this is my newest project. I'm really proud of it and I would love to have you involved. There's a part in here that would be perfect for you." More quietly, he added, almost to himself, „Not that there ever was a part that wasn't."

He gave the script a small, loving pat. „Just... give it a read. Think about it." He leaned closer to Louis, his eyes almost soft. „And I'm sorry, Louis, I am. About what happened to you, to your family. You were my friend, you know? It wasn't great losing you as an actor, but what was bad was losing you as a friend. There are actors like sand on a beach, but there's only one Louis Tomlinson and people deserve to see him again. And you deserve to see them again."

Louis almost didn't hear the words. For the last few days, he had been sinking deeper and deeper into those thought spirals, this muddy ground of a brain, and now, finally, he was threatening to drown in it.

„People can make new worlds. That's what's so special about them."

Finally, Louis looked up, his vision clearing a bit. „I already have one. But I won't let it be taken from me again." This time, I won't let myself fail it. I'll be strong.

He got up, looked down at his old friend. „You should offer that part to someone else. There are a lot of great actors here tonight who would deserve the chance more than I ever did. Ask one of them." He went to the door, hand already poised on the knob, then he turned around again, looking at a resigned Ben Winston slumped in his chair. Louis had never seen him so... sagging. Ben was always elegant. Handling.

„Harry Styles. He's talented." He pointed at the pile of papers still lying on the table. „Give him a shot." His knees felt weak. As if they might give out under him any moment. „Please. Let him try."

Ben didn't say anything, so Louis turned the knob and left the room, seeing the light bulb flicker again out of the corner of his eye.

-

Harry left his dressing room, the golden blouse of his costume caressing his skin. He would miss it, wearing this outfit every day. Maybe he'd just take it home with him and then still wear it every day, for memory's sake. And for the sake of the amazing blouse.

Niall walked down the narrow hallway toward him, grinning as usual. „You ready for our final performance?"

Harry shook his head. „Not in the slightest."

Niall turned, eyes roaming over the people passing by them. „Have you seen Louis?"

Harry frowned. „Not in the last couple minutes, why?"

He watched as Niall shook the worry off his face and the smile return. „No reason, I just haven't seen him in a while. I'm sure it's nothing."

Harry was about to say something else, brushing the slight worry off, when James approached them. „Has anyone seen Louis? I wanted to talk to him about something."

Liam appeared over his shoulder, Zayn behind his. „What about Louis?"

„Nothing," Harry assured them. „I'm sure he's alright." But despite his words, a slight dread started building in his chest.

„We're meant to be on in twenty minutes," Greg who had overhead the conversation said from down the hallway.

„He'll turn up by then," Harry said, masking the uncertainty in his voice. He hadn't spoken to Louis a lot since the night before when Louis had suddenly vanished at dinner. When he'd returned to their hotel room, Louis had already been asleep. Harry had pushed aside the worry then and he pushed it aside now. „He's alright," he said again.

„But this isn't really about whether he's alright and more about whether we'll be alright when he doesn't show up on time," Eleanor, leaning against the doorframe next to Harry's, said sharply, annoyance in her voice. „We sort of need him for this whole Peter Pan play, 'cause, y'know, he's Peter Pan."

„Aren't we all overreacting a bit?" Liam tried to appease the people in the hallway. „He still has some time left till the show starts. I'm sure he just popped out for a smoke. Trust me, we'll all laugh about this in a few minutes."

But Harry heard the uncertainty sneaking itself into Liam's words, in the way Liam's hands dropped to his sides and he looked at Zayn as if trying to find affirmation there. But Zayn looked as helpless and at a loss as the rest of them.

„I don't want to be the person to say this," Eleanor muttered, looking around the group. „But this all seems a bit too damn familiar." She looked at the ground, as if she was ashamed of her words. „I mean, it wouldn't be the first time he let down an entire crew before a play."

Harry's jaw tensed. „What are you trying to say, Eleanor?" he growled.

Eleanor looked up. „Just that I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't show up. Or if he showed up drunk and in no state to perform. I mean, come on, we should have seen it coming."

Clare crossed her arms. „She's right. We shouldn't have relied on him so much."

Sarah whirled at her. „He wrote the entire play for us. He was the only one who could ever play Peter, so show a bit of respect."

Harry was dizzy. „He'll come," he assured quietly. „He'll come."

Niall threw him a concerned look. „Has Louis said anything to you today? Anything odd?"

Harry shook his head. „We didn't speak much today. We were busy, and I - I... He'll come."

„Nick also isn't here," Adam said. „I don't see anyone making assumptions about him."

James had gone completely white, nervous sweat on his forehead. „We'll just get a back up. It's fine. We'll get a back up."

„There is no back-up!" Clare yelled out. „We don't have a back-up."

In that moment, Nick stumbled around the corner, his hair in a disarray and the trousers of his costume half un-done. „I'm sorry I'm so late, guys. Really sorry. Did I miss anything?"

Everyone whirled around to him and Nick shrunk slightly. „Jeez, I'm sorry I'm so late, but we're not on yet, at least." Since the night of Nick's sort-of-semi-love-confession, Harry hadn't spoken to him a lot, from time to time finding his eyes on him and Louis. He had felt guilty for it, but Nick didn't seem to want to talk to him. Frankly, Harry could understand him. Jealously was a deadly, cold thing and rejection was no better. But so was losing a friend.

„Louis' not here," Eleanor filled him in, flicking her shiny brown hair over a shoulder. „And we don't think he's gonna show up."

„He'll come," Harry breathed again, the only thing he could do to keep himself from going mad.

„He's also not answering his phone," Liam said, staring down at his bright screen.

Nick glanced around at all the angry, disappointed and worried faces „Then standing around here and debating certainly won't do anything, will it? Why aren't we looking for him?"

Harry was so grateful for Nick's ease and implicitness - for him not making a big deal out of all this - he wanted to cry. Nick glanced his way and smiled encouragingly at him.

„Because that's not our job," said Clare. „Louis' a grown man who finally needs to learn a bit of responsibility."

„Okay fine, then don't look for him," Nick waved her off. „I will. Harry, you coming with me?"

Harry nodded gratefully, following after Nick around the corner while the others set off in different directions. Nick turned around to him. „Do you have any idea where he might be?" Harry shook his head. „Alright, no problem." Noting Harry's worried face, he reached out and put a steadying hand on his arm. „Hey, we'll find him, okay?"

Harry nodded again. Nick hesitated. „And listen... I'm sorry. About being such a dickhead after... you know, you and him. I shouldn't have let it affect our friendship. I was just..."

„It's alright," Harry interrupted him. „I'm sorry. I do love you, Nick, just not... just as..."

Nick nodded. „I get it. He's the one."

Harry found himself nodding again. „Yes, I think may be. He's an absolute mess, but so am I, and out messes just kind of... fit, you know? Like really complicated puzzle pieces."

Nick smiled again. „Then let's find this mess of a one now and drag him on that stage."

They searched the building for a few minutes. „Why were you so late anyway?" Harry asked.

„I..." Nick smiled. A smile that set his eyes aglow. „I met someone. He's in the audience tonight and we just got chatting and I couldn't really bring myself to leave."

Despite all the pressing issues, Harry grinned. „That's great. I'm really happy for you."

„Thanks. I'm a bit nervous about acting in front of him tonight, though."

„Don't be," Harry said. „I'm pretty sure he'll love it."

„I am pretty sexy with my eyepatch, aren't I?" Nick grinned.

„Another reason to find Louis as quickly as possible. We can't let this show fall through and him never seeing you in your sexy eyepatch," Harry joked, even though the feeling in his stomach wasn't in the mood for quips. He needed to find Louis. Think, Harry, where could he be?

Nick tried calling his phone again.

Where, where, where. Back at the hotel? Outside?

Harry froze.

It feels safe.

„I know where he is," he said.

Nick looked up, suddenly solemn. „I think you should go there alone. Sort this out and then come back to we can show those people out there what we're made of. I'll talk to the others, see if we can delay the play for a few minutes."

Harry nodded, then turned around and marched along a few corridors. He felt queasy. Somehow, he never wanted to find Louis for fear of what it might be that was waiting for him. Everything in him screamed to turn back and curl up in some dark corner and pretend this wasn't happening and everything was fine. Because one thing had made itself abundantly clear: something wasn't fine.

Maybe some small part of him had known it all along but the rest of him had chosen to stay oblivious. It was so much easier, after all.

He reached the door and pushed it open. Glanced up the few stairs and climbed them, up to the top. The roof. Where everything feels so insignificant. All your problems so small.

But the roof wasn't very high and when Harry reached the top and looked over the houses, his problems and fears still loomed behind him as big and frightful as ever. Because there he was. Elbows resting on the iron railing, a cigarette between his fingers, smoke pouring out from between his lips. Shrouding him in that impenetrable wall Harry had thought to have climbed a long time ago. That was the thing with walls: There was never just one. And this boy, drowning in the smoke, was surrounded by more walls that one person could ever climb. But Harry would try. He would try every single day, if only everything would be fine. If only they could leave this rooftop unscathed and be the closest thing to okay they might get.

Harry exhaled. „What are you doing up here, Louis? We've been looking everywhere for you. The play is about to start."

Louis didn't look at him, only watched over the city. „Sorry about that."

Harry took another step toward him. „It's okay, I've asked the others to delay the start a bit. But we should go back down now..." The words died on his tongue as Louis finally fully looked at him and Harry beheld the sadness in his eyes. The deeply etched grief.

Harry felt like a dandelion puff; delicate and fragile; so easy to scatter with a single breath. And he was scared Louis might be about to loose that breath.

But when Louis didn't speak, Harry opened his mouth, feeling disappointment welling up inside him. „What are you doing, Louis? Those people in there rely on you; they trust you."

Finally, Louis fully turned around, grinding the cigarette out on the floor. His voice rose. „Well, that's what I do, Harry! I break people's trust and I disappoint them. That's me. Tada." He did ironic jazz hands in the air at the word, then dropped them to his sides again. „They should have known better. You should have known better."

„Stop it!" Harry shouted. He was unused to shouting. A lifetime with his father had taught him to keep everything in. But now it tumbled out like the contents of an overstuffed closet. „Stop acting like this! Acting like you don't care; like you aren't part of anything. You're part of this."

Louis' eyes softened for a moment and he took a step toward Harry. Hope flared in his chest, but it quickly faded at Louis' words. „Harry, please listen to me. This play - these people - was amazing. It meant a lot to me." He paused, then took a deep breath and started again. There were tears in his eyes. „Loving you has been the greatest honour of my sad little life, Harry Styles. And I'm sorry for it. Truly, I am. You would have deserved so much better. But before this gets to a point of no return, I have to do this."

Harry's throat closed up. He tried to shut out the words, the sound. Didn't want to hear the rest. Couldn't hear the rest.

„I am severely fucked up, Harry."

The words coming to his mind died on his tongue. So am I. I'm as bad as you. Your mess and mine, they fit. Like really complicated puzzle pieces.

„And I'm starting to think not even time can fix me. I'm not fixable. And you deserve better than to spend the rest of your life trying."

-

The words burned and thrashed in Louis' throat and mouth. He was breaking inside.

„Everything I do I somehow manage to fuck up. Whatever I hold in my hands always breaks. I fuck everything up, everything I touch breaks. And I don't want to break you, Harry. I can't do that to you. I guess I've already done it once but there is no way I'm gonna do it again. I don't want to fuck this up. You're too good for that. I love you too much for that. So I'm letting you go."

Whatever Louis had expected, this was so much worse. The anger in Harry's eyes. The disappointment.

His voice was shaking when he replied - shaking yet defiant and clear. „Fuck you, Louis Tomlinson. Fuck you. Don't you dare come into my life, make me love you and then leave again. Don't you dare." Harry wiped his eyes quickly with the heel of his hand. He tucked away his hands under his armpits and turned away from Louis. Not able to look at him.

This wasn't working. He had to end it decisively. Make Harry hate him. That was the only way to keep him from coming back into Louis' jaggy, broken world and head towards the bright future waiting for him. The only way to keep him safe.

Because he, Louis, was dirty and scruffy and smoking while Harry - precious wild little Harry - was soft and sweet and innocent and glitter and everything Louis wasn't. And he was everything Louis really wished he could have. Maybe in another version of reality. Maybe there, they'd met as teenagers and immediately fell in love and got married and everything was perfect. But not in this one. Wrong version of reality. In this one, Harry was Harry and Louis was Louis and they didn't belong together. And knowing that hurt more than anything.

He drew on every bit of his acting skills. „It was never real to begin with."

Harry turned around again, face pale, red spots appearing on his cheeks.

„It was a bet, you know? I made a bet with Liam and Niall that I could become friends with you. More than that. I bet them I would make you fall in love with me. Before we went to the thrift store. It was why I came with you in the first place. You know I hate losing." The lie was bitter on his tongue.

Harry took a step back as if Louis had hit him. His voice was a scratch. "You're lying. That's not true.You wouldn't... You would never... You're a good person."

"Wouldn't I? I'm hateful, Harry. I left my family alone while my mother was dying in a hospital bed, I slept with you and then broke your heart and then I made a bet that I could do it all again. Now tell me again that I'm a good person. Just say it."

Please don't say it. Please do. Please do. Please say it. Please don't. Please please please.

No words came from Harry's mouth. None at all.

"There you go. You can't."

The hurt showed on Harry's face like a bruise. Louis wanted to snatch back every word. But he kept going. Destroying - it was what he was best at.

„You don't want to be with someone like me."

Harry's voice quivered. „Don't tell me what I want."

Louis held his ground, no matter how painful. „Then tell me what you want," he breathed. Hoping. Fearing. Losing.

He looked at Harry, defiant, but slightly pleading, too. „Tell me." His voice was nearly a whisper now, weighed down by it all.

A single tear rolled down Harry's face and dripped from his chin. „I hate you," he squeezed out between shaking breaths. „I hate you."

There it was. Those three words.

Louis stopped breathing.

Harry turned around and ran for the door. He opened it, then turned around again for a moment and looked back at Louis, one last shocked look, and Louis saw that his face was wet and pale. And then, only then, when Louis forced himself to make eye contact did he realize just how much he had broken.

Louis thought he could physically feel his heart breaking, hear the sound of it shattering to pieces, sense the tiny fibers jagging at his inner organs, the pieces splattering and spreading across his entire body, leaving a yapping empty space where the organ should be.

Nothing remaining but the broken, dirty shards of his Harry-Styles-loving heart.

He felt melodramatic enough for thoughts like these. Because it was over.

He waited for another few minutes until he went after Harry down the stairs and back to the hedonistic throng tailing through the corridors behind the stage. People quickly realized he was there. He felt their relieved, angry and disappointed eyes on him. Hands directed him to his dressing room.

Hands - his own, maybe - undressed him and put on his Peter costume.

Feet - his own, maybe - carried him to the stage entrance where Niall stood, waiting for him.

The look on his face was one of the worst things Louis had ever seen. „What have you done, Louis?"

„Fixed a mistake," a voice - his own, maybe - replied.

„You've always had a strange sense of reality." His eyes found Louis' and bound them to his. „But there are people out there right now, and I'm neither going to let you ruin their experience of this play, nor will I let you destroy all these hard-working people's best night of their lives, alright? So you will go out there right now and pretend nothing has happened. You will leave all this behind you and be fucking Peter Pan right now, or I swear to God I will kick your ass out of our apartment. You owe this to us. The show must go on and all that shit."

„I promise," Louis said.

Niall nodded grimly. „Good."

His eyes were so fierce that not even the blond wig of flowing locks sitting slightly askew on his head made him seem any less determined.

Louis didn't know how he did it. He did not know how he made it through the play without crying or fleeing or screaming. He did not know how Harry did, either. But this time, he was not drunk and he did not stumble off the stage, even though the pain in his chest was the same as then. He did not hear the applause at the end, did not feel the warm lights on his skin. And when Peter died, falling from view off the pirate's ship, he stayed on the ground for a moment longer, looking up at the ceiling, listening to a heartbeat that did not exist any longer.

Full method acting.

'Does he die?... Peter. Does he die at the end?'

'I don't know... I really have absolutely no idea.'

'I like to think he lives.'

'Then he does.'

Louis wanted to claw out of his skin. Peter did not live at the end. He was the boy without a shadow, forever young and then dead. Lost for good.

The show was over. Louis tumbled off stage. He wanted to leave. Needed to. His friends dispersed, happy about the play, sad about it ending. Somewhere behind him, he heard a champagne bottle popping. Cheering. Laughing.

Louis turned around to Niall. „Can we go home?" He felt like a helpless little child. He probably was acting like one, too.

Liam appeared behind Niall, pointing at something over his shoulder. „Someone's come to see you, Louis." He took a step aside, discreetly vanishing into the champagne drinking little crowd behind them.

Louis froze. The world stopped spinning. Someone had taken the ground from under his feet.

Niall looked over his shoulder to where Louis' eyes were caught. He glanced back at Louis, so many emotions written across his face it was impossible to entangle them all. „It was Harry's idea." Louis knew Niall was angry with him, but in that moment, Niall ignored all that and only gave Louis an encouraging smile. „It's all right."

Dazed, Louis stepped forward.

Stepped toward his family. The family he hadn't seen in almost three years. The family he'd abandoned out of guilt and shame, certain they didn't want anything to do with him. Yet here they stood. Waiting. Smiling. Proud...

He took another step and there they were, so much more grown-up than he remembered them. That was what grief did to you, he supposed. Grief and time.

Louis had missed them so much. Every single day, he had regretted what he'd done to them. How he'd left them alone when they had needed him the most. Because he'd been so fucking scared.

Lottie, the oldest, slowly opened her mouth. All their eyes were roving over him as if they couldn't quite believe this was happening. She grinned, hesitantly, but fully. „You were great. The play was great. It was sad, though." She paused, then slowly reached out and took his hand. „Mum was right, Lou. You do belong up there."

Her hand was warm in his.

The same warmth as when she'd been a baby, reaching out her tiny little fists to her big brother.

The same warmth as when they'd sat outside on Christmas morning, waiting for Santa's sled and watching the colorful swirls painted on they sky instead.

The same warmth as when she'd slipped her fingers through his beside his mother's hospital bed.

He'd let go of her hand, then. Let go and left the room.

His voice was raw. Speaking seemed impossible. „Thank you."

But she was wrong. I've never belonged up there. I've always belonged right here, with all of you.

But standing up there had just been so much easier.

I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry

„I'm sorry."

Phoebe took his other hand. „Don't be."

Her twin sister, Daisy, looped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest. „We've missed you, Louis."

The last time she'd hugged him, her head had only reached as far as his belly button. Now her soft hair the same color as his grazed his chin. A tear slid from his eyes and onto her head. Could it be this easy? Could anything unmake all his failures from the past? Maybe this could. Maybe it really was this simple.

Something moved inside him. A shift. A change. A mend, maybe.

His eyes slid to the end of the room, watching through a curtain of water as Harry lingered at the door, watching. Louis' heart cracked anew. He wanted to cry out, wanted to race to Harry and lock him in his arms, wanted to see him with his family, wanted to thank him a thousand times and then a thousand more.

But Harry left and Louis stayed. Held his ground.

Instead, he only tightened his arms around his way-too-tall sisters, trying to catch all the missed moments in this one.

Zayn had once told him that love was simple. Everything in between was complicated. The human heart was indecipherable, but love at its core was the simplest thing in the world. And this was.

Holding his sisters - his family - close; it was easy. Holding Harry close was the easiest thing in the world; letting go the most difficult.

„Promise you'll visit us, Louis," Lottie whispered near his ear. „Promise it."

Louis closed his eyes. „I promise."

After that, they didn't speak, didn't have to because there was nothing to be said that all of them did not already know.

-

The hotel room was empty.

No colorful Hawaiian shirts and silk blouses neatly folded on every surface. No yellowing poetry books, no elegant boots. No Harry.

Louis sank to the floor in a daze, feeling his chest cave in as the reality of just what he had done settled in his bones. Of what Harry had done for him.

He was infinitely tired and worn out. One would think doing the right thing - the heroic thing - would feel better. He hadn't expected the first time of him doing the good thing to feel this horrible, this barren and hopeless and hateful. Why did anyone do the right thing when it hurt this much? Harry had always done the right thing, and he had always been the one getting hurt for it.

Louis did not feel heroic. He felt everything and nothing at once.

The pain in his chest expanded and he rolled himself to a small ball on the polished wooden floor, hugging his knees to his chest. Who would have thought this was what a hero looked like after his big battle? Like a small, helpless, self-pitying child.

There were no tears left for him to cry. Tears of happiness, tears of helplessness, tears of spite, tears of grief, tears of relief, tears of joy - he had shed them all today.

He was at the end of a rollercoaster, spent and wind-tousled.

The door opened. Niall leaned against the frame, arms crossed. „Where did Lottie and the others go?"

„They had to get back home. School."

„Will you visit them sometime?"

„I promised."

„Can I come with you when you do? I missed them too, you know."

The thought had never occurred to Louis, but it made sense. Niall had loved those girls almost as much as if they were his own siblings. He had been heartbroken about Jo's passing like they had all been, but somehow Louis had never realized it.

He rolled onto his back and looked up at Niall. „I'm sorry I wasn't there for you."

Niall shrugged. „You needed me more than I needed you."

„I'm sorry."

„It's all right."

„I'm sorry."

„Stop apologizing."

„I'm sorry."

„You're annoying."

„I'm sorry."

„Louis-"

"... He's gone."

Niall rested the side of his head against the door. „I'm sorry."

„I want to go home," Louis said.

Niall stretched out his hand. „Then let's go home."