***Louis Tomlinson***
Wednesday, July 25th, 2012 – North London, England

Ever since Harry’s break down on Friday night, we’d been getting along much better. He changed his mind about moving out, and I was glad I had told him I didn’t want him to – it seemed like that was exactly what he’d needed to hear. We still weren’t back to how things were before we’d begun dating and I was pretty sure we never would be, but we could at least have a normal conversation again, although never about anything big or important outside of the band. I missed sleeping with him, though; there was nothing worse than those lonely nights; nothing worse than the feeling of missing someone so terribly, so hopelessly, knowing he was so out of reach even though he was just down the hall. I slept with his Pink Floyd shirt in my arms every night, imagining it was really him.

There was still some slight tension between us, but it was manageable. The only problem I had now was trying not to fall on my knees and beg Harry for his forgiveness and to take me back – he was moving on, and I needed to let him, no matter how bad it hurt. And oh how it hurt – even if we were just watching TV in the same room, all I wanted to do was to just wrap my arms around him or kiss him or play with his curly hair. But I couldn’t, and the only person I had to blame for that was myself.

I was finally starting to move on from the car accident. Every time I started to think about Chuck’s words, I replaced them with Wrynn’s words in my head and was slowly beginning to believe her: she forgave me and she wanted me to move on. Now I needed to fully forgive myself so I actually could move on. I knew that would be a lot easier if I still had Harry, but it was a process and that part of my life was beginning to look up.

Things with the other guys in the band were completely normal, as if we’d never had a massive blowout fight. It had been the first time where all five of us where mad at each other, and I certainly hoped it would be the last. They seemed happy that Harry and I were getting along, but I could tell they knew how bad we were both hurting. I made an effort to spend time with each one of them individually, having taken to heart what Niall and Zayn had said about it always being Harry and I versus them. They were helping me feel better, if only just for the time I was with them, but I knew they were worried. I just wished I was better at pretending I was okay – I had never had to pretend before; I had never not been okay. But that felt like a form of lying to me, and if I didn’t have Harry to call me out on it anymore, then I needed to know I still had some support around me. There was still a giant Harry shaped hole in my heart, and I knew that would never go away. He was my first love, my first broken heart, and that would stick with me forever. Part of that was because I refused to let him go. I knew he didn’t want me anymore, but I would always want him, and if that meant I would die alone then so be it.

Wednesday morning, I walked into the kitchen to find Harry cooking breakfast without a shirt on. This was normal for him, when we were together, and even before that. But now that we were broken up, I couldn’t handle having to look at his perfect body and know I’d never be able to touch it the way I wanted to again. In fact, we had kept the touching to a minimum since we woke up together after his break down, and it was killing me. I had to actually consciously remind myself not to touch him. I hated it, and he certainly wasn’t making the already strong temptation any easier to resist now that he was shirtless.

“Did you run out of shirts?” I asked Harry as I walked in the kitchen. He turned to look at me, thinking I was joking. He just smirked.

“Actually, I am missing one,” he said. “My Pink Floyd shirt, have you seen it?”

“Um,” I said, too flustered to make a joke. Did he know that I’d been cuddling with it every night? “Yeah, I – I saw it in my room.” Why couldn’t I lie? Why couldn’t I tell him I hadn’t seen it? Harry’s smirk became a smile.

“Saw it, or made sweet love to it?” he teased as he pulled out his phone and showed me a picture he had taken of me sleeping with the shirt in my arms.

“Harry!” I cried, and made to grab the phone, but he darted to the other side of the bar, and it blocked me from him. I made to go to my right, but he did, too, and took off running around it. I chased him into the living room, and I could hear the wonderful sound of his laughter that I had missed so much.

“I already sent a copy to all the guys!” he called behind him as I caught up.

“I don’t believe you!” we were now running around the couch.

“Next it’s going on Twitter!”

“Yeah, that’ll make Management happy!” I was trying to be angry, I really was, but he was so cute, and he was so proud of himself, and he was laughing. My Harry was laughing again. While that was great and all, no way in hell was he going to win this one. I grinned, then jumped up onto the couch and used it as a springboard to launch onto his back, where I tackled him to the ground, ignoring the fact that I was touching his shirtless body. He stretched his arm with the phone away from me, and I reached for it, then he squirmed under me and rolled onto his back so I was straddling him, as he giggled like a school girl, finding this very funny. I dove for the phone, but lost my balance, and landed with my chest pressed against Harry’s. We looked at each other, and my heart ached as soon as I looked into his perfect eyes. We both forgot about the phone as our smiles faded and we went in for the kiss at the same time. It was straight out of a movie, and it was perfect. We wasted no time ripping each other’s clothes off, and then had sex right there on the living room floor. Wonderful, perfect, passionate, amazing sex.