We almost Had it

**

Meeting Harry was a little awkward at first.

Louis hadn't known what to expect when he got in the car, his hands gripping the steering wheel too tightly as he followed the directions on his phone. He had driven through LA more times than he could count, but this drive felt different. It felt like his whole life had been leading up to this moment, like every road he had ever taken had somehow brought him back to him.

When he finally pulled up outside Harry's house, he just sat there for a minute, staring at the front door, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it might break through his ribs.

What the fuck am I doing?

But before he could talk himself out of it, the door opened.

And there he was.

Harry.

Louis stopped breathing.

He looked different—older, sharper in some ways, softer in others. His curls were shorter, his face a little more defined, but his eyes—his fucking eyes—were the same.

Still that deep, familiar green. Still looking at Louis like he was something worth holding onto.

Like he was his.

And just like that, Louis felt every single year between then and now crash into him all at once.

He had spent so much time convincing himself he had let go of this, that he had moved on, that he didn't need this anymore.

But standing here now, looking at Harry, it felt like no time had passed at all.

It felt like coming home.

Harry was quiet for a moment, his expression unreadable, like he wasn't sure what to say. His gaze flickered over Louis' face, lingering a little too long beneath his eyes—where the evidence of his tears still clung to his skin.

Louis cleared his throat, forcing a smirk, even though it felt shaky at the edges. "You look like shit, Haz."

Harry let out a breathy laugh, something small and unsure, but real. "Yeah, well, you look like you've been crying, so I guess we're even."

Louis swallowed hard. He had been crying. He wasn't going to deny it.

But neither of them acknowledged it.

They just stood there for a long moment, looking at each other, the weight of everything unsaid hanging heavy in the air.

Then, finally, Harry stepped aside, opening the door wider.

"Come in, Lou."

And Louis did.

Louis stepped inside, the door clicking shut softly behind him. The house smelled faintly of vanilla and something citrusy, like a candle that had burned down to its last inch. It was quiet, too quiet, like Harry had been waiting for this moment alone in the silence.

Louis didn't know what he had expected—maybe something grand, something extravagant, something fitting for the superstar that Harry had become. But it wasn't. It was warm. Lived-in. There were books stacked on the coffee table, a pair of boots kicked off near the door, a half-empty glass of water on the counter.

It was Harry.

Somehow, that made Louis' chest ache even more.

Harry cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. "Do you, um... want some tea?"

Louis let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. "That's the most British thing you've ever said, Haz."

Harry huffed a quiet chuckle, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, well. Some things don't change."