Exile On Mainstream

Back to Good.

This is based on the song Back 2 Good by Matchbox 20.

The base of the music drop makes Harry's heartbeat feel it was coming out of his ears. The bodies on all sides of him, caging him in as he tries to get to the bar. He's due another whiskey neat. He'd never been a big drinker. Not before. Now, it seems to be the only thing that allows his mind any rest from the memories. The memories of when things were good, when happiness was his perpetual state.

Pushing his way through the crowd, he finally makes it to the bar. He shoves his body onto a vacant stool, sitting his now empty glass on the bar top and lifting a finger to signal the bartender's attention his way. He doesn't know why he came here. Or maybe that's a lie. He does have a general idea of why he did, but he's not sure what motivated him to actually drag his ass off his couch and put on something other than sweatpants.

The bartender slides another glass of Jack Daniels towards him, and he pulls a five out of his wallet, shoving it back in return. Turning his body on the stool, he leans his back against the counter looking back at the bodies of people dancing and having a much better time than he's having. He brings the glass to his lips, trying not to wince at the taste. Louis would have laughed at him, would have teased him for the way his nose scrunched up and his tongue poked out in disgust at the aftertaste of the whiskey.

But Louis isn't here and he's once again thinking about things he came here to forget. As his eyes take in the people once again, Harry wonders how many of them have plastered on the mask of happiness. He wonders how many of them are feeling the way he is. How many of these people are dancing with others, acting like they're excited about meeting someone new when they're really hoping to find a warm body to lie next to and pretend they're someone else, the same person they came to the bar to try to forget in the first place.

The more Harry watches the more he swears he can see past the fakeness they're all eluding. Everyone here is wondering what it's like to be with someone else. Even if it's not true, it makes Harry feel a little less alone. Loneliness has had Harry in her death grip for months now, squeezing him until he feels he can't breathe and he's ready to give up fighting. Showing up here tonight is one of his feeble efforts to fight her off, find some human contact. Hopefully, he can find someone slightly shorter than him, with blue eyes that makes him question his sanity.

Then he hears it.

"Oi! Liam, lad, pour it up for me and me boy! We're celebrating!"

Don't turn. Don't turn. Don't turn. The mantra plays on in Harry's head. He still hears that voice in his head every day. His head turns and there's Louis. Fucking Louis showing up to this bar on this night, the very night Harry is trying to take his own life back under his control.

Despite himself, Harry turns his head again. Louis is leaning over the bar with his hip cocked. A hand is resting on that same hip. Attached to that hand is a tattooed arm attached to a skinny boy with jet black hair and a face with sharp angles that he's sure other boys envy. He's pretty and it hurts, but Harry's eyes don't stay on the man long. They move back to Louis, always back to Louis.

Louis now has a drink in each hand as he turns to face the pretty man whose hand still claiming Louis' hip. He passes the drink to the man and to Harry's dismay, he pecks the dark haired man's lips, pulling back with a little smirk as he runs his hand not holding his drink through his messy fringe, brushing it back from his forehead.

Tossing the remainder of the whiskey back in his mouth, Harry then smacks the glass on the bar top, the loud clink of it resonating around him. Louis' head whips towards the direction the noise came from and his eyes land right on Harry's.

They're just staring at each other. The expression on Louis' face is unreadable. He's just standing there, like he's frozen despite the activities of the bar continuing on around him. There's so much Harry could say. It's all there on the tip of his tongue. All the things he should have said when Louis was still his are right on the other side of his teeth. If he'd just open his mouth, maybe some of his words would reach Louis' ears. Maybe Louis would make that man take his grimy hand off of the hip Harry used to sink his teeth into, leaving marks that wouldn't fade for days and Harry would sink his fingertips into when Louis was fucking him.