half of what we had.
Fandom: One Direction.
Pairing: Harry/Louis, Liam/Zayn (it's mostly in the background though.)
Summary: Future!fic in which One Direction have split up but are brought together for a re-union tour. Basically, lots of angsting and looking back at the love Harry and Louis had but could never really have.
Wordcount: ~8K
A/N: I'm not super happy with this and it hasn't been edited very well (though, Liss, Shivani and Lauren are amazing and I love them and justyesyesyes.) Anyway, for James because he gave the most wonderful prompt and I hope that I could do it some justice! Also for Reema because everything is and that's gross.
Disclaimer: I don't own One Direction. I also don't own Siken or Bukowski's words, okay I wish I did though.
Life moved on, with or without Harry, and sometimes he thinks that it moves too quickly, too far. It steals memories. It shaves the important details away until he’s left with this ache, this feeling that once things were different, things were better. If only he could remember them in detail. If only he could lay back and be there again, with that hand around his waist and the familiar smell of that certain brand soap lingering close to him. If only he could be young and foolish, in love. In love with life and everything, but mostly in love with him. And there are days when the details flash back and flood him at the most inconvenient times and Harry still feels him and the smudge of his fingertips against his skin. It’s always too brief, it always washes away too soon and Louis is gone again.
~
It’s been three years since One Direction ended. Life’s good, sort of. He stopped doing interviews a while after the break-up. He did what was expected of him for as long as he could but there were only so many early morning talk shows he could handle. There were only so many times he could glance over to realise that none of the other lads were beside him.
Harry gets up in the morning and ignores the photographers who still wait outside the door of his house. He goes to the shops, he gets milk and bread, tries to avoid getting his photo taken too many times and returns to an empty apartment. There are nights when he goes out and drinks, walks into clubs with some pretty girl on his arm and pretends that he’s still eighteen. The tabloids are still interested in who he’s dating and where he is and sometimes it feels like nothing ever changed until he remembers that everything has.
No matter how much he pretends, no matter how many tabloids pick up stories about him, that ache in his chest, that empty pit in the bottom of his stomach, never go away. All the laughs, the memories, the screams from sold-out arenas, that brotherly bond that they had - it’s all faded somewhere in the distance. It’s become disconnected and Harry can’t help but feeling that maybe they’ve just become five lads who used to know each other.
~
The breakup wasn’t planned but it wasn’t totally unexpected, at least not to them. Their last album had almost flopped, the fans were growing up and suddenly, they weren’t so interested in boy bands. The hype had died down and the tension started to rise. They’d spent years together, they’d shared all these huge, unimaginable moments together, they’d been to every corner of the earth together. They were family.
The thing about being family is that sometimes families are like a burning piece of rope. There’s always a fire sparking, slowly making its way up until everything fizzles and burns out, and there’s nothing left.
The night it all blew up Harry was drunk and honestly, he doesn’t remember much of it. They’d been in the studio all day, since the crack of dawn, the song that they were working on wasn’t what they’d hoped. Zayn and Niall were arguing about something trivial to do with the lyrics. Louis was exhausted and Harry remembers looking at him and the cold looks that Louis threw back. Liam was trying his best to stop Zayn and Niall because that’s what he did. He was the mediator. The person that they all went to if anything went arseways. This night was different though. There was a point where even Liam knew, his shoulders slumped and he gave up. They all just gave up.
When the argument finally stopped, they all just sat defeated in silence. Nothing had really happened but then again, sometimes things don’t have to happen. Sometimes things just break and fall apart.
Zayn broke the silence. He stood up and the next thing there was a glass smashing against the studio wall. The noise stung the air, he stood still for a moment and watched the shards drop onto the carpet before slamming out the door. He just remembers staring down at the broken glass and drunkenly thinking that he knew it was the end and that the shards of broken glass were some kind of deep representation for the pieces of the band that had fallen apart. Trust Zayn to leave with some deep message.
Harry can’t remember if anyone chased after Zayn, or if anyone even asked why he did it. There was no point, it would all be put down to “creative differences” later on. That’s all people needed to know. They didn’t have a story to tell. They just dissolved.
He packed up his things, whipped out his phone and tweeted something about having a great night in the studio. Harry’s still not sure if he did because he was drunk or if he genuinely didn’t know what else he could do in that moment. It was like one last lie to himself, that things would be okay by the next morning. That he when he looked back on this night, that tweet would be there, it would be solid, he could erase the rest and pretend that things were okay. That night was the first in a long line of nights and days spent pretending.
It was just him and Louis left. Louis who was always his best friend. Louis who was the one who always knew how to make him happy. Louis who was always the one who Harry wanted to make happy. Louis who was everything. Louis who had pulled away, who Harry had lost long before he ever dared to admit it to himself.
“We’ve got an early start tomorrow. You’d better take care of your head,” Louis patted Harry on the back, “I’ll call you in the morning, yeah?”
And that was it. He was gone. He never did call. He never sent any texts. Harry had waited, of course. It was months before he finally accepted that Louis wasn’t going to call. He’d be lying if he said there weren’t days when his heart jumped each time his phone beeped, thinking maybe, maybe this time it’ll be him. It never was and never is.
Harry wonders if he’d spent the last year being in the band calling it family when he should have just called things lonely, or if he’d called things love when they should have been called drifting.
~
Liam calls sometimes and fills him in on everyone and what they’re doing. Of course, Liam is the only one who talks to everyone. He spends hours on the phone telling Harry about his kids, about the divorce he’s going through, it’s messy and then he mentions the other boys, his voice lightens. He tells Harry about the records that Zayn is producing, the songs that Niall is writing and he gracefully skips over the details of Louis’ life. It’s better that way, it’s safer. Harry knows that Liam just doesn’t want to upset him. It’s not like he’s completely ignorant to what’s happening. He reads the reviews of the musicals that Louis is in, he picks up magazines with his interviews, always manages to remember to record if he’s ever on TV. Harry might be missing out on Louis but there’s nothing that could stop him from missing out on his life, even if it just from the sidelines. He could never live without Louis, not really. Everyone else has moved on, grown up, got their own lives and Harry is just stuck.
~
The first time he’d snuck into one of the shows was also their first Christmas apart. It was some big West End production of Grease and Harry wasn’t going to miss it for the world. Louis had finally made it, he was doing something that he loved, he was playing a part that he’d played before but that he was made to play. Harry sat in the furthest seat from the stage, he’d just wanted to hear his voice and yet, even from there he could still feel Louis’ smile burn him.
Christmas was the hardest time. It was Louis’ birthday and they’d never spent a Christmas apart since X-Factor had started. This was the closest Harry had been to him since the night at the studio. This was his Christmas present to himself. There was nothing else that he’d wanted, there was nothing else that anyone could give him that could make him any happier than he was when he was in that room, as close to Louis as he could get.
The second time was just after his own birthday, another present to himself. It was closing night. Louis was beaming, perfect - Harry couldn’t help but thinking about how Louis had always belonged on the stage and maybe he’d never belonged beside him like he once believed. Louis was always made for better things, better things than Harry. This time Harry dared to get a little closer. He’d thought, maybe if he could get close that things would feel better or he’d have some kind of closure. He stood across the street from the stage door and watched as people crowded to greet Louis. He watched as Louis came out, signing autographs, smiling, giving hugs and taking photographs. He watched as Louis shot glances across the street, always looking straight through him and never at him. Harry’s not sure if Louis even noticed him, even recognised him. He’s still not sure what would have been worse, Louis knowing he was there and ignoring him or Louis failing to feel him at all.
There were things Harry could never tell him. Things that still haunt him. There are days when he can feel his pockets weigh down with the weight of all the apologies that he’s kept for Louis. He carries these things everywhere. Like how he’ll never find anyone else like him. Like how he searches for Louis in the eyes of everyone that he meets, how his hands stumble carelessly over hearts that he could never love. Louis is the ghost that he leaves with every hand he shakes, he is the only thing that Harry can’t shake. He’s the only thing that Harry can’t lie to himself about, there’s nothing to pretend.
Sometimes love is like holding up a peace sign while pocketing a pistol. Harry knows that Louis and him could have started a revolution if they had been allowed to love the way they needed to. Instead they could only ever use their hearts like they were tourists. Always visiting on their days off, never being able to lay down any roots. There were no picket fences, there were no perfect future plans. They knew this. It burned into them with every stolen, secret kiss. They could just be. So, they collected pieces of themselves that they stored behind camera lenses. Things that were only theirs. Souvenirs of what real love looks like.
The novelty wore off eventually. They were just souvenirs after all. The places that were reserved for Louis became wide open spaces in Harry’s chest. He’d built a ballroom in the spaces of his ribcage and filled it with a dead choir that tried and tried to sing back the tune of their whispers.
If Harry could count all of the love that they’d wasted, all of the love that could never really be theirs. If he could collect it all, sometimes he wonders if he could build a path that would lead Louis back home, back to him. Instead he just swallows back the words that he can’t say and the bitter aftertaste of their wasted love chokes him.
~
Harry’s pretty sure that the papers heard about it before he did but he’d ignored it, put down to chit-chat and nothing more than more stupid rumours. He’d had enough of those to do him for life. It started off like any other normal Saturday morning did. He crawled out of bed, made some toast, drank some tea and watched some shitty talk show on TV. He’d just mustered up enough energy to pull his body to the bathroom for a shower when the buzz of phone stopped him.
“Harry Styles! Reunion tour, sure you’ve heard about it by now. Up for it?” It took a moment for Harry to register that the voice at the other end of the phone was Simon.
Before Harry could even stutter out a reply, Simon was already blabbering on about it. They’d mostly be singing their old stuff and maybe record a few new songs. Niall, Zayn and Liam were already on board. Simon was just waiting for Harry’s answer and -
“What about Louis?” Harry cut in.
“He asked the same thing about you,” Simon sighed, “Come on, Harry. You love it, this is what you’re meant to do.”
“Don’t know if it’s really,” Harry isn’t sure what he was trying to say, it was like it was just talking to make noise.
“He said he won’t do it without you.” Simon finished.
And that was it. He was in.
part two.
Pairing: Harry/Louis, Liam/Zayn (it's mostly in the background though.)
Summary: Future!fic in which One Direction have split up but are brought together for a re-union tour. Basically, lots of angsting and looking back at the love Harry and Louis had but could never really have.
Wordcount: ~8K
A/N: I'm not super happy with this and it hasn't been edited very well (though, Liss, Shivani and Lauren are amazing and I love them and justyesyesyes.) Anyway, for James because he gave the most wonderful prompt and I hope that I could do it some justice! Also for Reema because everything is and that's gross.
Disclaimer: I don't own One Direction. I also don't own Siken or Bukowski's words, okay I wish I did though.
Life moved on, with or without Harry, and sometimes he thinks that it moves too quickly, too far. It steals memories. It shaves the important details away until he’s left with this ache, this feeling that once things were different, things were better. If only he could remember them in detail. If only he could lay back and be there again, with that hand around his waist and the familiar smell of that certain brand soap lingering close to him. If only he could be young and foolish, in love. In love with life and everything, but mostly in love with him. And there are days when the details flash back and flood him at the most inconvenient times and Harry still feels him and the smudge of his fingertips against his skin. It’s always too brief, it always washes away too soon and Louis is gone again.
~
It’s been three years since One Direction ended. Life’s good, sort of. He stopped doing interviews a while after the break-up. He did what was expected of him for as long as he could but there were only so many early morning talk shows he could handle. There were only so many times he could glance over to realise that none of the other lads were beside him.
Harry gets up in the morning and ignores the photographers who still wait outside the door of his house. He goes to the shops, he gets milk and bread, tries to avoid getting his photo taken too many times and returns to an empty apartment. There are nights when he goes out and drinks, walks into clubs with some pretty girl on his arm and pretends that he’s still eighteen. The tabloids are still interested in who he’s dating and where he is and sometimes it feels like nothing ever changed until he remembers that everything has.
No matter how much he pretends, no matter how many tabloids pick up stories about him, that ache in his chest, that empty pit in the bottom of his stomach, never go away. All the laughs, the memories, the screams from sold-out arenas, that brotherly bond that they had - it’s all faded somewhere in the distance. It’s become disconnected and Harry can’t help but feeling that maybe they’ve just become five lads who used to know each other.
~
The breakup wasn’t planned but it wasn’t totally unexpected, at least not to them. Their last album had almost flopped, the fans were growing up and suddenly, they weren’t so interested in boy bands. The hype had died down and the tension started to rise. They’d spent years together, they’d shared all these huge, unimaginable moments together, they’d been to every corner of the earth together. They were family.
The thing about being family is that sometimes families are like a burning piece of rope. There’s always a fire sparking, slowly making its way up until everything fizzles and burns out, and there’s nothing left.
The night it all blew up Harry was drunk and honestly, he doesn’t remember much of it. They’d been in the studio all day, since the crack of dawn, the song that they were working on wasn’t what they’d hoped. Zayn and Niall were arguing about something trivial to do with the lyrics. Louis was exhausted and Harry remembers looking at him and the cold looks that Louis threw back. Liam was trying his best to stop Zayn and Niall because that’s what he did. He was the mediator. The person that they all went to if anything went arseways. This night was different though. There was a point where even Liam knew, his shoulders slumped and he gave up. They all just gave up.
When the argument finally stopped, they all just sat defeated in silence. Nothing had really happened but then again, sometimes things don’t have to happen. Sometimes things just break and fall apart.
Zayn broke the silence. He stood up and the next thing there was a glass smashing against the studio wall. The noise stung the air, he stood still for a moment and watched the shards drop onto the carpet before slamming out the door. He just remembers staring down at the broken glass and drunkenly thinking that he knew it was the end and that the shards of broken glass were some kind of deep representation for the pieces of the band that had fallen apart. Trust Zayn to leave with some deep message.
Harry can’t remember if anyone chased after Zayn, or if anyone even asked why he did it. There was no point, it would all be put down to “creative differences” later on. That’s all people needed to know. They didn’t have a story to tell. They just dissolved.
He packed up his things, whipped out his phone and tweeted something about having a great night in the studio. Harry’s still not sure if he did because he was drunk or if he genuinely didn’t know what else he could do in that moment. It was like one last lie to himself, that things would be okay by the next morning. That he when he looked back on this night, that tweet would be there, it would be solid, he could erase the rest and pretend that things were okay. That night was the first in a long line of nights and days spent pretending.
It was just him and Louis left. Louis who was always his best friend. Louis who was the one who always knew how to make him happy. Louis who was always the one who Harry wanted to make happy. Louis who was everything. Louis who had pulled away, who Harry had lost long before he ever dared to admit it to himself.
“We’ve got an early start tomorrow. You’d better take care of your head,” Louis patted Harry on the back, “I’ll call you in the morning, yeah?”
And that was it. He was gone. He never did call. He never sent any texts. Harry had waited, of course. It was months before he finally accepted that Louis wasn’t going to call. He’d be lying if he said there weren’t days when his heart jumped each time his phone beeped, thinking maybe, maybe this time it’ll be him. It never was and never is.
Harry wonders if he’d spent the last year being in the band calling it family when he should have just called things lonely, or if he’d called things love when they should have been called drifting.
~
Liam calls sometimes and fills him in on everyone and what they’re doing. Of course, Liam is the only one who talks to everyone. He spends hours on the phone telling Harry about his kids, about the divorce he’s going through, it’s messy and then he mentions the other boys, his voice lightens. He tells Harry about the records that Zayn is producing, the songs that Niall is writing and he gracefully skips over the details of Louis’ life. It’s better that way, it’s safer. Harry knows that Liam just doesn’t want to upset him. It’s not like he’s completely ignorant to what’s happening. He reads the reviews of the musicals that Louis is in, he picks up magazines with his interviews, always manages to remember to record if he’s ever on TV. Harry might be missing out on Louis but there’s nothing that could stop him from missing out on his life, even if it just from the sidelines. He could never live without Louis, not really. Everyone else has moved on, grown up, got their own lives and Harry is just stuck.
~
The first time he’d snuck into one of the shows was also their first Christmas apart. It was some big West End production of Grease and Harry wasn’t going to miss it for the world. Louis had finally made it, he was doing something that he loved, he was playing a part that he’d played before but that he was made to play. Harry sat in the furthest seat from the stage, he’d just wanted to hear his voice and yet, even from there he could still feel Louis’ smile burn him.
Christmas was the hardest time. It was Louis’ birthday and they’d never spent a Christmas apart since X-Factor had started. This was the closest Harry had been to him since the night at the studio. This was his Christmas present to himself. There was nothing else that he’d wanted, there was nothing else that anyone could give him that could make him any happier than he was when he was in that room, as close to Louis as he could get.
The second time was just after his own birthday, another present to himself. It was closing night. Louis was beaming, perfect - Harry couldn’t help but thinking about how Louis had always belonged on the stage and maybe he’d never belonged beside him like he once believed. Louis was always made for better things, better things than Harry. This time Harry dared to get a little closer. He’d thought, maybe if he could get close that things would feel better or he’d have some kind of closure. He stood across the street from the stage door and watched as people crowded to greet Louis. He watched as Louis came out, signing autographs, smiling, giving hugs and taking photographs. He watched as Louis shot glances across the street, always looking straight through him and never at him. Harry’s not sure if Louis even noticed him, even recognised him. He’s still not sure what would have been worse, Louis knowing he was there and ignoring him or Louis failing to feel him at all.
There were things Harry could never tell him. Things that still haunt him. There are days when he can feel his pockets weigh down with the weight of all the apologies that he’s kept for Louis. He carries these things everywhere. Like how he’ll never find anyone else like him. Like how he searches for Louis in the eyes of everyone that he meets, how his hands stumble carelessly over hearts that he could never love. Louis is the ghost that he leaves with every hand he shakes, he is the only thing that Harry can’t shake. He’s the only thing that Harry can’t lie to himself about, there’s nothing to pretend.
Sometimes love is like holding up a peace sign while pocketing a pistol. Harry knows that Louis and him could have started a revolution if they had been allowed to love the way they needed to. Instead they could only ever use their hearts like they were tourists. Always visiting on their days off, never being able to lay down any roots. There were no picket fences, there were no perfect future plans. They knew this. It burned into them with every stolen, secret kiss. They could just be. So, they collected pieces of themselves that they stored behind camera lenses. Things that were only theirs. Souvenirs of what real love looks like.
The novelty wore off eventually. They were just souvenirs after all. The places that were reserved for Louis became wide open spaces in Harry’s chest. He’d built a ballroom in the spaces of his ribcage and filled it with a dead choir that tried and tried to sing back the tune of their whispers.
If Harry could count all of the love that they’d wasted, all of the love that could never really be theirs. If he could collect it all, sometimes he wonders if he could build a path that would lead Louis back home, back to him. Instead he just swallows back the words that he can’t say and the bitter aftertaste of their wasted love chokes him.
~
Harry’s pretty sure that the papers heard about it before he did but he’d ignored it, put down to chit-chat and nothing more than more stupid rumours. He’d had enough of those to do him for life. It started off like any other normal Saturday morning did. He crawled out of bed, made some toast, drank some tea and watched some shitty talk show on TV. He’d just mustered up enough energy to pull his body to the bathroom for a shower when the buzz of phone stopped him.
“Harry Styles! Reunion tour, sure you’ve heard about it by now. Up for it?” It took a moment for Harry to register that the voice at the other end of the phone was Simon.
Before Harry could even stutter out a reply, Simon was already blabbering on about it. They’d mostly be singing their old stuff and maybe record a few new songs. Niall, Zayn and Liam were already on board. Simon was just waiting for Harry’s answer and -
“What about Louis?” Harry cut in.
“He asked the same thing about you,” Simon sighed, “Come on, Harry. You love it, this is what you’re meant to do.”
“Don’t know if it’s really,” Harry isn’t sure what he was trying to say, it was like it was just talking to make noise.
“He said he won’t do it without you.” Simon finished.
And that was it. He was in.
part two.