***Louis Tomlinson***
Thursday, July 19th, 2012 – North London, England

Harry and I completely ignored each other for the next few days. Even when we went out to dinner with the guys Monday night, we just focused on the other three – and I was glad at least those relationships had been mended. Harry’s comment about me not caring had really hurt – partly because he knew how much it bothered me when he accused me of that. I spent most of my time that week in my room, as I had predicted I would, and he left me alone. I barely ate – partly because I didn’t want to risk running into him in the kitchen, partly because I didn’t know how to cook, and partly because I was too depressed to eat much. But by Thursday evening, the hunger beat the depression, so I went into the kitchen to make a sandwich. Harry was standing at the stove, cooking.

“Oh, sorry,” I muttered when he saw me walk in. I turned to go back upstairs, but he spoke.

“Lou,” he said, stopping me. I turned back around and faced him – he only called me “Lou” when he wasn’t angry with me.

“Yeah?” I asked.

“I just wanted to let you know I’m going apartment hunting this weekend, so I’ll be out of your hair soon.” That was when I realized I didn’t want Harry to move out. I just wanted things to go back to the way they were before we’d been dating – when we were friends, best friends, and roommates.

“Harry, you don’t have to do that,” I said.

“I just think it’ll be easier all around,” he shrugged. I wanted to scream at him not to move out. I wanted to tell him that I still wanted him in my life. If I let him move out, there was a good chance we wouldn’t see each other outside of band related things, and we’d never have any chance of getting our friendship back. I had to blink back tears at that last thought.

“Well, good luck, then,” was all I could say, and then I cursed myself in my head. Why couldn’t I tell him what I really wanted to say?!

“Are you hungry?” Harry changed the subject. “I’m making extra.”

“Um,” I muttered, unable to think anymore.

“I know you haven’t eaten a lot, sit down,” he ordered. I blinked, but sat at the bar.

“So, are you – are you not mad at me?” I questioned.

“I just think that eventually you and I are going to have to learn to be in the same room,” he shrugged as he brought me a plate of chicken and rice. “You know, for the band.” Yeah, for the band, I thought, sadly.