“Do you remember what you told me when you woke up?” Louis asks, a little desperately. “You said you’re my best mate, Lou. Like you hadn’t been snogging me senseless hours before.”
Harry swallows thickly, his green eyes shining with hurt and confusion. “Lou—”
“You broke my heart, Harry Styles,” The words are gushing out of Louis now, and he’s unable to stop them, to keep them inside. “You broke it that morning and you completely shattered it the other day, after I saw you with Dua and I just—” he takes a deep breath, willing himself not to cry. “I’m so tired. I’ve been in love with you for five fucking years and I’m tired.”
Harry’s mouth drops open almost comically. “You—what?”
It’s only then Louis realizes what he’s just said, and he clamps his mouth shut, shakes his head. “Fuck you,” he says, finds that he actually, truly means it. Fuck Harry Styles. Fuck his curly hair and his green eyes and his fucking dimples. “Just…fuck you.”
He turns to leave, go back to the club and maybe find Thomas again, but in an instant, there’s a hand on his arm. “Lou, wait,” Harry says. “I just—”
“You just what?” Louis whirls around forcefully, pulling his arm away from Harry. “You just what, Harry? Please, tell me, because I’m so fucking tired of you stringing me along like some sort of toy.”
“Louis—”
“I’m exhausted,” and he’s vaguely aware that he sounds like he’s begging, but at this point he just. Doesn’t care anymore. “I genuinely can’t do this anymore. You need to decide what exactly you want with me because I—”
And in a sudden burst of movement, Harry’s right in front of him, his green eyes wild, a little desperate. Louis makes to take a step back, but then Harry’s hands come up to cradle his face and he’s leaning down, pressing his lips against Louis’.
Louis closes his eyes, lets himself get lost in it. Harry’s hands are gentle, a complete antithesis of the way he’s kissing Louis, wild and reckless. He kisses like it’s the very last thing he’ll ever do, like he’s drowning and Louis is a breath of fresh air, like—
Like he’s begging Louis to stay.
And Louis knows, at that very moment, that this doesn’t mean anything to Harry.
He lets Harry kiss him for a few more moments before pulling away, his eyes still closed. Harry presses his forehead against Louis’, and Louis listens to the intervals of his breath, the rise and fall of his chest.
In the silence, he thinks of every moment he’d spent with Harry, every moment he’d spent loving Harry. Thinks of every moment Harry made Louis’ heart flutter, of every moment he’d made it ache. Of every moment he’d fallen apart and put himself back together, loving this wonderful, special boy. His best mate. The biggest piece of his heart.
In the silence, he thinks I’m so, so in love with you, but it’s time for me to move on.
Louis laughs quietly, humourlessly, his heart shattering in his chest. “You’re an asshole, Harry Styles.”
He doesn’t look at the way Harry’s face falls, doesn’t pay attention to the way Harry seems to completely shut down. He just keeps his eyes to the ground and leaves, walks away without looking back.
Harry doesn’t follow him.