Over the Centuries

Epilogue

Harry did not go to the funeral.

He could not.

He could not watch the faces of all the people who knew Louis better and could share stories and memories about him that Harry had just never heard. Let alone been present to.

On the day of the funeral, Harry sat on his bathroom floor as he did every morning, and weighed all the pros and cons. He had grown rather tired of this internal battle and the arguments were sagging, as well as sounding less and less credible - even in his head.

Before him lay three objects, each of which he had obtained through both difficult and careful means.

A gun, a bottle of pills and a noose.

He would divide his time equally over them to observe and think of them. He would weigh the pros and the cons of each specific way to go.

By the end of that day Harry had yet to come to a decision. You could call him lucky, being that indecisive as it kept him alive long enough for him to water a seed of courage. A week later of repeating this pattern he gathered up his scattered self and reluctantly headed to the cemetery with a pretty flower he had nicked from his neighbour. He knew this one was a flower Louis would've liked. It was pretty, in the same way Louis had been. But that's why Harry liked it, and Louis wasn't there to confirm any preferences. Harry didn't know the name of this flower, though. Which in a way was quite symbolic as Harry couldn't ever place Louis in a category where all the others would be just like him; Louis was too unique for a label, simply put.

He thought this flower was unique too and deserved that same honour of labellessness.

Standing before Louis' grave Harry watched as the wind beckoned the petals of his flower to dance with it. He managed a small smile when the petals declined and stayed persistently put. 'S something Louis would do.

The memory of Louis' face became more prominent in Harry's thoughts, as did the pain in his chest. He'd successfully accomplished feeling numb to mostly everything but, well, visiting Louis' tombstone wasn't included in the term 'everything'. A tsunami of helplessness washed over him and Harry again asked himself what he was still doing alive. He continued asking himself this as he crouched and gently placed the beautiful flower on the dirt covering Louis' body.

He plunked himself down and crossed his legs to be the most comfortable possible. Harry listened to the wind in the trees while his eyes followed the shape of Louis' name in the stone. It ached in him; the figurative knife in his chest twisted painfully because it didn't say 'Louis'. Engraved in the piece of rock before him was the name William Alexander Roe. The only reason Harry knew this was the right grave was because he had caught a glimpse Louis' license once. And this really made him wonder which of what Louis had ever told Harry about himself, had actually been true. He wondered a lot about Louis, what could've been between the two of them.

He cried a lot for Louis, saw him in his dreams, touching, kissing - only to wake up to the aching emptiness and the asinine dullness which encased his whole life opaquely. Often to distract him of thoughts about the life he could've had with Louis, he spent most of his time picturing his own death. His own ending. How someone would find him in the way he had staged, how they would call an ambulance, how sad his family would become when they heard the news, how they would stand around his grave, clothed in a shade equivalent to the pitch of their grieving souls, how they would make speeches and cry and Harry -

Harry would be free.

Harry didn't believe in a life after death, but sitting there beside the earth that had swallowed Louis' corpse, Harry couldn't help but close his eyes and imagine. Imagine a lifetime after this one, in which he could spend every waking hour with Louis, and with Zayn, Perrie and sweet baby Clara.

In his withered little heart, it was the only thing he desired, the only thing he would ever ask for. He would trade the world and all its people and creatures for another day in Louis' arms, heck even if it was just a minute. If that made him selfish then sure, guilty as charged. There was honestly nothing he would not do.

He gripped the hem of his beanie tightly and pulled down over his face when he felt the tears breaking through his lids and burning his cheeks. This was an ugly cry, he could feel it, and against his wishes, it was loud too. He sank his head to the ground, slamming his clutched fists against the dirt. And he cried, he cried so forcefully. Whatever patching up he had attempted on his heart was torn apart and the sobs rocked his body violently. His voice was unrecognisable as it ripped through the air with heartbreaking anguish.

"Wh-why!" he could not seem to stop asking himself this, why? There has been so much mystery weaved throughout everything Louis ever said about the reason behind his kidnapping Harry and now he's dead-

"Nonono- why- aughhn - Louis why? How c-could such a th-thing happen? Lou- Louis, my Louie..."

Harry felt the drops of fire fall from his face to the earth. "I loveyousom-much aaah, I-I seriously don-don't know what I am gonna do with mys- self."

He continued to cry into the dirt and mutter incomprehensible things, trying to convey to the cold body of his dead love how much he really loved him. Harry was falling apart.

There were others. Other people who visited the graves of lost loved ones. They saw him, and they understood. Some were so moved they couldn't stop a tear from falling from their own eyes.

Harry didn't notice them, nor the passage of time. He lost track of how many tears he had shed, how many pieces of his heart had loosened and been flushed away with those tears.

The sun was setting when Harry finally looked up to the sky, the fountains having dried out some hours ago. His face felt swelled and was most likely very red. He decided then that he would never come here again, never visit again. It was important that he moved on; if he visited Louis' grave it would be harder to convince himself that it never happened. That it all was something meant to be forgotten; erased.

He stood, with energy that he did not posses, and started walking slowly away through the rows of headstones.

Even though his retreating back failed to see it, the last of the sun's rays touched the dirt covering his Louis, and the dirt was moving. It really was an odd amount being disturbed as it was clearly larger than the size of regular earth worm.

Just as the sun set, two fingertips were visibly fighting their way out.