Work Text:
Harry is an artist.
Regardless of what 14 year old boys on Aerosmith YouTube lyric videos say to the contrary, Harry is an artist. And he still finds poetry in Nick.
Perhaps that’s always been the problem. Perhaps he romanticized the entire ordeal. Maybe it was never as good as he remembered. Maybe Nick never touched his skin like he had never touched another. Perhaps he hadn’t listened to Harry for hours on end as Harry sung them to sleep.
But now his voice is nothing more than a croon, and he can not afford to find the eloquence in Nick’s articulation charming. He can not write prose or compose sonnets in his head about the crinkles around the older man’s eyes. Nick is gone from him.
But. He can’t just stop. He can’t just turn it off. He can’t just turn off the art swirling behind his eyelids. He can’t.
He’s always had an old soul, his mum’s always told him that. That was always the excuse for their nearly 10 year age gap. Sure, Harry’s young. But he’s got an old soul. And instead of the reverse, Nick always made him feel his age. Made him feel 19.
And he’s got a feeling about his bones that no amount of casual sex can shake. He feels decrepit and unwanted; like he’s got a lot to offer a man but nothing at the same time. The exhausting tug and pull is wearing him thin and burning his eyes: he’s never been fit for solitude. The loneliness always drowns him.
His friends tell him he’ll find someone else. His mum tells him he’ll find someone who loves him. But he knows that he’ll never find another person that he loves as much as he loved Nick. Loves Nick. He’d wrapped his heart in a box, tied a ribbon around it and gifted it to the man. It was a trust he held so dear, so explicit that he didn’t mind shining a light on the darkest corners of his body and his mind just to show Nick that he loved him so. He doesn’t blame him for how it ended, doesn’t blame anyone. But he’ll still knows that his love for Nick could not be replicated, never repeated and once buried would never be seen again. Because he loves so widely, loves so completely that his love for each person is never the same. He loves everyone uniquely, and his love for Nick had been the most unique of all.
゜・。。・゜☆゜・。。・゜☆ ゜・。。・゜☆ ゜・。。・゜☆ ゜・。。゜
He flew away, across an ocean to leave his sadness behind. It’s like the sun shone so bright in California that it wouldn’t allow for any dark thoughts within its borders. He knew that was untrue, he could see the rotting corpse of what had been one nation under God, and he can see it’s only a matter of time before it all goes under. But he might as well enjoy it, while the drinks were still cool and the sun still hot.
Everyone thought he was going to California in pursuit of a girl, but that was truly the last thing on his mind. He was unhappy, and he’d learnt when he was younger that you couldn’t fix yourself with sex. Sex is great. Sex is fine. Just not when it was about making yourself feel better while using someone else. No, he wasn’t in California for any girl nor boy. He was here for himself.
He got iced drinks from Starbucks and drove nice cars. He listened to nice music that made him tap his foot and he sits outside on the front porch and reads books that make him feel good. He reads Eat Pray Love, and it’s loads better than the movie and he doesn’t care when his mate tells him he looks like a girl. That’s what he wants to do. He eats a lot of fine foods, fruit picked fresh and beef farmed local. He drinks a lot of wine with meals, even though it mostly reminds him of Nick. He embraces the reminder. He lets the sting of rejection become familiar, until it doesn’t even hurt anymore. He doesn’t check his phone, doesn’t check his twitter and doesn’t check his email. He just lets his energy synchronize with that of California.
He calls Nick before his flight back to London leaves. Nick sounds surprised to hear from him, but willing to speak. Harry smiles into the mouthpiece, and he’s sure that his feelings for Nick are still there, but they feel infinitely more manageable.
Nick apologizes, tells Harry that he’s sorry that he had pushed him away. Sorry that he couldn’t handle the scrutiny. Sorry that he hasn’t fought harder for what they were. Harry forgives him, of course he does because he’d come to forgive him in ways he couldn’t describe in words. No one could handle it; he knows that. (When he tried to talk to his bandmates about it, they didn’t understand. They couldn’t possibly understand. They were in relationships, and sure, it was hard. But they couldn’t comprehend how Harry couldn’t make it work. How Harry, who wanted genuine love more than any of them, couldn’t hold onto it when it was presented to him.
The lads didn’t get it; didn’t get that their relationships are fundamentally different than his with Nick is (was?). Nick is a boy, and the people they are all dating are girls. Because of that, everything is that much more difficult. Harry could come out if he chooses, but he is reluctant to because it will change everything. And there’s a tiny piece inside of him that no matter how much he tells himself that he isn’t ashamed to be not straight, just really doesn’t want to be “the gay one”. He doesn’t want all the attention to be on him. He doesn’t want to be an LGBTQ poster child, and steal away from their music. He doesn’t want things to be worse for Louis, or for Niall or any other member of his band, because by confirming that he likes men will translate in the eyes of the media that he likes all men, and in the eyes of the fans that their shipping and their bromances are one step closer to being real.
Besides that, people are cruel. He doesn’t want to give them any more reason to mock him. He’s not ready to come out.)
He takes Nick’s words as what they truly are; a genuine apology at falling apart under the pressure. Harry accepts, because he gets it. He does, because he was falling apart as well. But it was like a hurricane had ripped through them. The outside was decimated, but the foundations of what they were, and what they still are to each other remained intact.
Harry says good bye, wishes he could kiss him through the phone, and hangs up. Before he presses end, he swears he hears Nick wind himself up to say something and he regrets not hearing those last words that followed “I really do—”.
Being in love isn’t neat. Being in love hurts because being in love is trying to move on, and struggling to the conclusion that you can’t.
And saying good bye is only temporary; until they can find each other again.