Time Isn't on My Side

As always, Louis's stuck with a problem in which he cannot get out of. A frown stretches over his face, slowly and irritated as it ripples over his skin and disappears just like that. He realizes that there's nothing really for him to be irritated about, this is all his fault and if he had only seen all of this disaster coming, he would have prevented it years ago.

But here he is now, moping and fingernails digging into the letter that is in his hands. It's the worst thing he's heard since Harry decided he was moving out and never coming back. At that time he had cried his eyes out, but now, he didn't even have the will to do even that. Harry was getting married, and he was invited to the wedding.

He never thought he'd see the day. This isn't because of the fact that Harry always struggled to settle down, but because he was surprised that Harry had invited him. In the past, he would have been a candidate for the other boy's best man, but the thought of seeing Harry again after that long is terrifying him.

The last time he saw Harry, well, it didn't go very well. It was in this very apartment in which he is in now, Harry was dragging bags down the stairs, his curly hair falling over his eyes as Louis ran after him, voice hoarse and panicking, "No, Harry, please don't!" Harry had stopped at the staircase right at the bottom and his eyes glared into Louis's like daggers and Louis felt the burn from them creeping up his skin (and sometimes he felt it even now) and pouring down into his throat until he had felt like he couldn't breathe, like he was being deprived of all oxygen.

It had been Harry's turn to reply, but it was not what Louis was hoping, the next thing he had said breaks Louis in two. "You had your chance, Louis, you said your relationship with her wasn't real. But you lied. You always lie to me, and I'm fed up. I'm leaving here and I'm never coming back."

With these words, he had turned his back on Louis, and at first Louis didn't know what to do. He had been stunned with what Harry had just said but that panic that was writhing inside of him had only gotten worse, and he was freaking out, his mind being sent into a frenzy. He was running down the stairs again as fast as his feet can carry him and just when he thought he might be able to catch up with Harry and stop him from leaving, he tripped and blacked out.

The next time he woke up, his house was deadly quiet and Harry was nowhere in sight. He's gone, gone from Louis, gone forever. Louis's never cried so much since that day, he thinks that all the tears that he has were gone by the time he finally stood up and understood that this was it - goodbye Harry.

Not soon after, their band split up and Louis was stuck with Eleanor. And that's another thing, that was supposed to be a cover up but it suddenly in a space of a few weeks became real and then Harry caught him kissing her. ("Go back to fucking her, go back to her, Louis!") It didn't mean anything, not to him anyway, but Harry didn't see it that way and he never gave Louis a chance to explain.

Louis remembers the state he was in after all of that, and by God, it wasn't pretty. He drank so much that he became an alcoholic and twice he nearly ended up intoxicating him so much that he ended up in hospital.

Eleanor was there for him though, either way she was always helping him, and although he hated her because of what happened to start off with, he couldn't really hate her completely. She became a best friend and he was sure that was only what would be between them.

However, he had never really 'split up' with her, and when she confessed to him saying she really did love him, he didn't know what to do. So, he said yes, he felt the same (he didn't, all he wanted was Harry back, but he couldn't have him, he couldn't have him ever) and now he was in a situation in which he couldn't get out of.

She's upstairs right now, probably sleeping in their bed. Their bed doesn't sound quite right, because it isn't really their bed. It was his and Harry's and he knows that it will always be his and Harry's and that's how it was going to be. The idea of that should make him feel sick and realize that he does need help, and badly. This kind of state he's in is not healthy.

He can hear footsteps behind him, silent and graceful (not like Harry's which was like having an elephant in your apartment and Louis would always laugh at him, tell him how noisy he is when he's walking downstairs for a midnight snack, and he wouldn't even care that he woke him up, because they'd be downstairs together, acting like conspiracists) and her arms wrap around his waist pulling him towards her, closer and closer, and he feels nothing. He doesn't feel anything at all.

"What's that?" she asks, eyes trailing on the paper which has almost become a scrunched up ball in his hand.

He looks back down at it, stomach tied in impossible knots as he tries to breathe, which should be an easy thing to do, but every breath he takes feels like his throat is burning, and the hatred for himself builds up until he can't take it anymore and he can't bear to look at Eleanor at all.

He doesn't have to say what it is, because she takes it out of his hand, unfolding it and reading it, her eyes scanning over each letter.

"This is great!" she smiles widely, while Louis only wants to go shoot himself, "You haven't seen Harry for a while, have you?"

Louis may or might not have told her that he still keeps in touch with Harry (because she knew how he had been his best friend first, and she didn't believe a friendship like that could be erased) which is a lie, yes, but he never felt bad about this fact. However, he doesn't want to see Harry at all, the guy's getting married (to someone who's not him) and he'd rather not go and pretend that what happened between the two of them never happened.

Maybe, right now, they'd be sitting by the fire, feet tangled up together, bodies pressed so there is hardly any room between them. It wouldn't be cramped though, it would be just perfect, and Louis would rest his head on Harry's shoulder while Harry would sing softly to him, his angelic voice sending him to sleep.

He blinks, that image cramped behind his eyelid, always there and reminding him of what he could have but can never have anymore. He doesn't know quite what to say to Eleanor, in fact, he wishes he could be honest with her, tell her he doesn't want to go because he's still in love with Harry and he doesn't think he'll ever love anyone else apart from him. But he stays quiet and he knows that this is the one thing that Harry hated, the lies that snuck out of Louis's mouth made him feel ashamed.

"RSVP him," he finally speaks up, nudging her off of him as he trudges over to the lounge, collapsing on the couch. It doesn't sink around him like it usually does, and maybe the house itself is rebelling. It's saying this isn't right, none of this is and all it really wants is Harry there too.

He closes his eyes, struggling with his mind to keep the memories away, but he always succumbs to it, always will do in the end.

-

It's October, the month in which Harry's marriage to a girl named Autumn is to be held. It's quite ironic, but he doesn't laugh at that fact at all. Now that Louis knows the girl's name, he knows whose name to curse at night (but he doesn't actually do that, instead he wishes she never existed and that he could be her). The wedding's a day or so away, and Louis's spent the last few weeks hiding in his apartment, not wanting to leave the house for anything. Eleanor didn't appreciate this, but nothing she could do could stop him from leaving, so she gave up on him in the end.

Except Louis doesn't think that the person behind the door on that October night would be Zayn, and when he sees him, he nearly shuts the door in the guy's face.

Zayn's hand reaches the door just in time to stop it, and the contact looks like it could hurt and probably badly, but Zayn acts like it's nothing and pushes his way through, a stern look spreading across his face.

"What exactly have you been doing, Louis?" he asks him, staring at him first in accusation.

Louis's attire is staggering, mostly because he's wearing clothes that make him look like his grandpa and he hasn't bothered to shave at all so the stubble is getting out of hand. His eyes are blood-shot from the lack of sleep and everything about him screams out that he still needs help. Louis doesn't know how to answer, he's still coping with the fact that Zayn's there, standing in front of him like this is old times. But it isn't old times, it definitely isn't and Zayn shouldn't be in his apartment.

When One Direction split, his contact with the rest of the boy's diminished, and he never thought he'd see any of them again unless by sheer accident. But look what was happening now, he'd been invited to Harry's wedding and Zayn was standing in the middle of his hall-way. This has to be a dream, he's sure of it.

Louis shrugs as a way to answer Zayn's question, the Bradford boy hasn't changed much, only got a little taller and he's got way more tattoos than before. It's been seven years now, and Zayn is exactly how he remembered. Somehow, he's glad he's here, even though he's confused as to why.

Zayn shakes his head, yanking Louis's arm and hauling him out of his apartment. "I'm taking you out somewhere, Harry wanted to make sure you were actually coming to this thing tomorrow so he told me to make sure you weren't," he pauses, staring Louis up and down once again, "Like this."

It's strange to hear that Harry still cares about him, in fact, Louis thought this wasn't possible at all. When they parted ways, he expected Harry to hate him forever. Unless, this was a way of making Louis suffer, because who knows, maybe Harry was aware that Louis hadn't moved on and the best way to break him would be for him to see that any promises of a future with Harry will never be in his reach. He's sure that's what it is, because what other reason could there possibly be.

"Right now?" he moans, sounding like a kid as he stalls, making Zayn tug on his arm again.

The other boy nods, "Yes, right now."

And Louis can't say another word because he's being dragged out again and instead of thrashing to try and stop Zayn, he stays put, curious as to where Zayn is taking him.

Within a few minutes, they appear at an arcade, and a glimmer appears in Louis's eyes and he suddenly smiles - and this time, it isn't forced, it is as natural as it can possibly be. The lights from the arcade shine back at him, a sea of fluorescent greens and pinks and yellows pulling him in.

It makes his skin itch, like it isn't really his and the want to let go of everything and forget is overcoming him. He can see Zayn from the corner of his eye, he looks proud like he knew that this would be the best way for Louis to loosen up and see the world like he had done, and even though it was distorted, the world was now full of life and an abundance of extraordinary colours.

He looks at Zayn like a child would, for permission, and Zayn nods back at him once and Louis's running again, feeling young and free when in reality he's actually a 27 year old man with a broken heart. This doesn't get him down, although it puts a strain on his heart, a permanent one that cannot be removed. Zayn joins in with him after he coaxes him to play with him and now they're playing guitar hero, rocking out like they did when they were on stage (except from the guitars).

When they've finished the game, and Zayn wins, Louis's shouting at him profusely, swearing and laughing and choking on his own giggles. He's forgotten the pain, the sorrow and he has an overwhelming urge to hug the life out of Zayn as a way to say thank you, I've missed you. But he holds himself back, because he doesn't really know whether he has the right to do so.

After he's stepped out of a simulator with Zayn trailing behind him, his eyes have caught onto something else. It's glistening and gold, telling him to come closer to me, come closer. And Louis feels hypnotised by it, he briefly thinks about asking Zayn whether he'd like to come with him but he decides against it as he's already walking, already getting closer to it.

It's a booth, normal enough looking to the ordinary eye. But there's something about it, something different that makes Louis more intrigued. He slides the gold tinted curtains open, crawling inside and sitting down on the silver stool, facing the little screen in front of him.

Words flash on the screen, and the whole thing reminds him of a photo booth. What do you want the most?

A sudden light shines in his eyes, bright and blinding and he has to cover his sight with the back of his hand. It scans over him once, taking in every aspect of Louis Tomlinson. When the light has faded, there's an image on the screen but it's not his reflection. There are dozens of pictures of his former lover, Harry Styles flashing by in front of his stunned blue orbs and he's scared for a second because he doesn't understand what's happening.

Some of the images are from when he last saw him as the 18 year old boy, but then others are definitely more recent because Harry did change in those seven years, Harry changed a lot.

The images disappear and the ringing in Louis's ears starts to subside and there's another question glaring back at him in bold font on the screen.

If you could go back in time and fix everything, would you?

Beneath his fingertips is a control and now he has a choice to pick: yes or no. He has no idea what the hell he's doing, wants to get out and run because this has to be a trick, what else could it possibly be? But he knows what he would do, sees it in the back of his mind because there's only one choice he'd make. And of course, it's yes.

He clicks the yes button and suddenly that blinding golden light his filling his eyes again, the ringing getting louder until he has to cover his ears too and his eyes are scrunched up shut. The next thing he knows, there is a sound of a bell, and the booth has gone miraculously quiet. He opens one eye first and then another, the black screen staring back at him.

He blinks, a small laugh escaping his tongue as he stands up slowly, steadies himself and tries to convince himself that this has to be a joke. He's out of the booth, and on the floor is something he recognises. He crouches down and picks it up, nearly dropping it when he realizes what it is.

It's a picture of him and Harry, back when he was 21 and the younger boy was 18. They're both laughing together, Harry's eyes crinkling at the sides while he stares back at Louis.

The first thing Louis does is rip the picture to shreds.

-

After that, Louis had dragged Zayn out of that place as quick as lightening while Zayn questioned him on his sudden change in behaviour. He didn't answer him, because all he wanted now was to go home, back to where everything was okay (but really not okay in the slightest) and there he'd feel safer. He couldn't understand what had just happened, couldn't fathom it out and he's freaking out inside of his head because he doesn't know how to deal.

And that's all he ever wants in life, for things to be normal enough that he can understand them. But right now, his mind doesn't make any sense to him, so it's practically useless. Zayn tries to keep him out longer, but Louis won't have any of it and he doesn't care that Zayn's giving him that look that's etched into his face now - he's concerned for him.

He says goodbye to the Bradford boy when he's finally reached his apartment door, and he slams it shut behind him, hoping that he hasn't just created another wall between one of his closest friends.

He sighs, a hand running through his unkempt hair as he trudges up the stairs, trying to keep his heart as calm as it can be. He reaches the top, hand on the banister when he hears something from behind him. He spins around on his heel, eyes frantically searching about the house. But there's nothing there - except the door's open.

His hands are shaking now, nails scraping the wood away from the banister. "If anyone's here," his voice doesn't sound like his, "Then I'll let you know that I have my phone on me, and I'll call the police."

He can feel his phone burning in his pocket, but before he has time to reach it, he feels a breath of air on his skin and his eyes widen in fright because there is someone behind him. His own breath catches in his throat, and before he can turn around to say something, to protect himself from the other person, a hand's resting on his back (it's so familiar too, it feels so familiar).

And the next thing that happens he's falling and falling and falling and falling down those flights of stairs almost in slow motion. He hits the floor with a deafening crack and before he blacks out all he can see is a blinding colour of stunning gold spilling over the room, touching every object before it fizzles out and fades.
-

"He's dead, he's fucking dead."

"This is what happens when you play around!"

"I wasn't playing about. It was Lou's fault, he was being an ass."

"But that doesn't mean you have to push him down the fucking stairs, Harry. Are you crazy or something?"

"Niall, he's not dead."

"It was an accident, and yes. Yes, I am."

The voices sound like a cacophony of screams inside his head, and all Louis wants is for them to shut up for a second because they're making his splitting headache ten times worse. He's not taking in exactly what they're saying but once they become clearer, his heart nearly jumps out of his skin.

"Why can't you and Louis be normal, Harry?" one of the voices asks, and Louis's eyes are wide open because he can't quite believe what he just heard.

One of those voices was most certainly Liam's. Who else could it have been? But he had said Harry, that name he hadn't heard in a long time.

"He's waking up!" another voice shouts over the others, and as Louis turns his head, his whole body aching badly he sees all of them in front of him. All four of them, together. He wonders whether he was now at Harry's wedding, and maybe he had fainted because of it all.

But when he finally gets a glimpse of Harry and his curly locks and his dimples and his big round green eyes, he knows that's not the case. Harry's young, really young. It's not that Harry looks young but more of the fact that he is actually young. This Harry is the eighteen year old Harry, he's sure of it.

He doesn't know how to react at the sight of the curly haired boy, but he doesn't need to do anything, because Harry is suddenly hugging him, his grip crushing him to a state in which he can't even breathe.

And then he knows for sure that this can't be right at all.