I Hate ( loving) You

15

Louis had decided to go out for a walk, as he really needed fresh air. Strolling through the streets, he had been glancing absentmindedly around, looking for anything to distract him from the matter at hand when he saw the restaurant.

He stopped in front of the small Italian restaurant, allowing himself a small smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Before he knew it, Louis had begun to retrace the path they took on their first and only date. It wasn't like he had anything better to do, he told himself.

He continued down the street, remembering the way he and Harry had fallen into their effortless banter. How easy had things been back then, in comparison to how they were now. It was as if Louis could still feel the ghost of Harry's presence standing next to him, a fading memory of a dimpled smile and sparkling eyes.

Louis blinked quickly, and then the ghost of Harry was gone and he was left alone.

He approached the park slowly, remembering the fireworks that had lit up the velvety night sky and the sparks that had flown. But now he knew that he'd only been imagining them. A gust of wind hit him square in the face, a cold and bitter reminder that Harry did not love Louis. Harry never had. And it was about time he came to terms with this fact.

He wrapped his arms around himself and was just about to turn to leave when a low, husky voice called out behind him.

"Louis?"

Louis froze in his tracks as a chill that definitely wasn't related to the wind passed through his body. His throat went dry and his feet were stuck to the ground beneath him.No—it wasn't Harry. It couldn't be Harry. Louis was definitely hallucinating.

"Louis!" the voice called again. He could hear the footsteps behind him, speeding up now.

He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists.

Don't turn around.

And he wouldn't have turned—of course he wouldn't have turned, if not for the hand that tapped gently on his shoulder.

He whirled around, flinching involuntarily. Harry withdrew his hand quickly. "Sorry," he muttered, carefully avoiding Louis' gaze. Up close, Louis could see how pale Harry's face was, the way his curls had lost their usual perkiness, the dark circles under his eyes. But maybe he was imagining it. Maybe a selfish part of him just wanted Harry to look as emotionally drained as Louis felt.

For a moment he almost reached out to touch Harry like he would have done before this all happened, but then he took a step back. He didn't know what he expected to see or to feel when he saw Harry again, but it wasn't this. Anger, maybe. Sadness, perhaps. Not this—this small, tired leap of his heart, a futile reminder of what he had, no, still felt for Harry.

He forced himself to shut down that urge, looking straight at Harry with a steely expression in his eyes. "What do you want?" he said monotonously.

Harry looked up but didn't meet his eyes, instead staring at a spot just beyond his face. Almost as if he was too scared to look Louis in the eye. Louis suppressed a smirk at this small triumph, but then reminded himself that he no longer cared.

"I—" Harry stammered. "I just wanted to say—I'm sorry."

Louis crossed his arms. "That's all?"

Harry looked down, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Look, I understand that you don't want to talk to me, but I—"

Louis cut him off. "If that's all you're going to say, then just save your breath and go."

Harry looked straight at him then, desperation evident in his wide eyes. "But—"