Harry looks up from his spot in the center of the living room floor. There’s an explosion of stuff around him, his open suitcases strewn around the room. Half his wardrobe’s draped on the couch and the floor around it, his school books piled up next to the coffee table and a box full of his shoes taking up residence on the arm chair. He’s not actually sure why he’s got so many shoes.
In any case, he looks up at Louis, who’s standing in the entrance to the kitchen holding one of Harry’s oven mitts. Louis’s flatmate has just moved out, so Harry’s taking his old room which obviously means Louis has to help him unpack. But Louis is frowning, sort of like he’s confused and a little like he’s hurt, maybe. Harry’s not so sure what about an oven mitt has got him so upset.
“What?”
“You lied to me,” Louis says, holding up his other hand. His hand that has an old postcard in it, one that used to be on Harry’s fridge at his old place and that Harry was definitely sure he’d put in his bedroom stuff and not his kitchen stuff. Fuck.
“It’s – I – It’s not what you think,” Harry says, heart in his throat.
Louis’ jaw ticks. “What is it, then?”
“It’s – I just –” Harry closes his eyes, his face flaming. He has no explanation, is the thing. He knows he’s caught. He lied. He did. He lied and Louis’ figured it out and now he’s fucked.
“I’m sorry,” Harry whispers, his eyes screwed up tight. Louis doesn’t say anything for so long that Harry looks at him again, his face falling at how sad Louis looks. Harry looks at him and he looks back, silence stretching between them for an unbearably tense moment.
“I asked you if you remembered and you said no,” Louis says eventually. His voice wavers. He sounds like he might cry. “I asked you if you – You lied to me.”
“I know, I know, okay? I’m sorry.” Harry can feel the tears welling up in his eyes. God, it’s so stupid to cry, but he just – he’s so happy to finally be living with Louis, to be friends with him again, but he should’ve known it couldn’t last. “I didn’t – I just wanted –”
“What? To make fun of me?” Louis’ voice has gone hard and mean. Angry. He has every right to be angry, but Harry wouldn’t ever –
Harry shakes his head. “No, never. It wasn’t that. I – I just thought you wouldn’t remember,” Harry says, though he feels like he’s pleading. “I thought you’d forgotten and then you hadn’t and it – it surprised me.”
And embarrassed me, Harry doesn’t say. Meeting Louis again after befriending him at summer camp almost ten years prior had been amazing. A miracle, it felt like. Harry hadn’t gone a week without reliving the good memories. The swims and the crafts and Louis smushing s’mores in Harry’s curls and then helping him wash it out and, most importantly, their last night by the bonfire. How Louis looked glowing in the firelight, how warm Harry felt, how his lips tingled when he’d leaned forward and pressed them to Louis’.
Louis had smiled at him and held his hand and given him his address the next morning and a promise to keep in touch. Harry had gotten the postcard a few weeks later and sent a letter back, but nothing ever came of it. He’d thought maybe Louis had decided he was over that kind of thing, that Harry didn’t actually mean anything to him, so when they ran into each other in the middle of their first year of uni, well. Well.
“So you lied,” Louis says, voice still hard. It’s a bit like running into a brick wall, hearing it and knowing he’s the one who made Louis sound like that.
“What was I supposed to do?” Harry asks, throwing his hands up. “I lied, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, but you – you kissed me and sent me a post card and then never replied. I thought you –” Hated me. He lets out a breath that sounds a bit too much like a sob for his liking. “I thought you didn’t want to talk about it.”
Louis is quiet for a long time before he says, “You kissed me.”
Harry blinks. “What?”
“You kissed me.” Louis stands up straighter. “You leaned in first.”
“Well you kissed back,” Harry sputters, standing up. It’s pretty unfair for Louis to act like this is all his fault, he thinks. The lying bit is his fault, definitely, but it was mutual. It was definitely mutual.
Louis tilts his head at him. “I did.” He looks less angry now, more sort of…challenging. “I did kiss you back.”
“Yeah,” Harry says, because it’s obvious. “Because you liked me too. And then you never wrote back.”
Louis frowns at that, looking down at the post card. He flips it over, lips quirking up at his own handwriting, words that Harry’s long since memorized.
Hazza, thanks for a brilliant summer! miss you a lot, hope to hear from you!! xx Louis
Harry steps around the couch, approaching Louis cautiously, putting a hand on his wrist.
“I really am sorry,” he says quietly.
Louis nods and looks up at him. “I never got your letter. I’m sorry too. If I’d known –” He breaks off, shaking his head. Harry tightens his grip on Louis’ wrist.
“What? If you’d known what?”
Louis looks him straight in the eye. “If I’d known you’d remembered, I would’ve done this sooner,” he says, and leans forward to kiss Harry on the mouth.
“Guess we’ll have to make up for lost time then, yeah?” Harry says, laughing as Louis kisses him again.
