“I never see you in town. Sometimes, I think I might have made you up,” Liam mused aimlessly, fingers stuck like glue under Louis’ chin. “How are you even real?”
For whatever reason, that was the question that made Louis freeze up. He averted his gaze, staring at the floor or the wall or anything but Liam, lips a thin line in his worn face. Liam was struck by just how old he seemed, then, like he had so many stories to tell and he was trying to hold in every single one of them. Like he was hiding something.
Liam tried not to think how many times he’d seen this look, like when Louis answered something he shouldn’t have known. When he told Liam that his parents would want him to be happy, one lazy Sunday, and it had sounded entirely sincere. It had sounded like he knew Liam’s parents, once, and he knew exactly what they thought of this lonely graveyard groundskeeper with the grey face and the large brown eyes. It had sounded like he knew, and he shouldn’t have.
Those thoughts weren’t going to do anyone any good. Asking Louis what was wrong was like asking why he was only ever in the cemetery, or asking why, if he had so many sisters and a mother and helped out around the house, he was never actually home. It ended with him shutting Liam out completely and making his way out the door, polite but never friendly, stony and cold to anything that might have been said to reconcile them.
Instead of asking anymore questions or waiting for an answer, Liam kissed him. That always kept him around for a little while, at least.
--
There was another funeral going on, and even if he shouldn’t have been, Liam was outside watching. Since Louis started out taking up most of his time, Liam hadn’t kept up with the collecting of the flowers; there were bouquets rotting all over the place, leaving little petals with brown edges to flutter to and fro in the breeze. He had to come out and collect them today, when Louis wasn’t around, or it would never get done. He had to keep doing his job, or risk getting kicked off the property and having to start all over again, abandoning his parents once and for all.
So he did, and he avoided making eye contact with anyone in the procession. He kept out of their way, moving around the perimeter and keeping quiet, standing still when he knew it was appropriate and moving when he wouldn’t be noticed. He collected as many of the wilted flowers as he could and held them up in his arms, surrounded by the cloying smell of decay and pollen. The bin was overflowing with the dead and weary buds by the time he was even close to being finished, and then he had to wait until the funeral was over to collect the rest.
It was during that time, actually, that he saw Louis standing there, hidden among the rest in a solemn black button-up. His eyes seemed to meet Liam’s from across the cemetery, looking slightly alarmed and a little bit – well, Liam didn’t know what that particular emotion was, not really. Frustration? Annoyance? Whatever it was, it didn’t look good, but Liam couldn’t particularly blame him, considering he was at a funeral. Liam looked away first and walked to his house, away from the rubbish bin and the procession and Louis, enigma that he was. He walked inside and stayed there, until someone came knocking.
He answered the door with a practiced look of complete innocence, as if that would keep Louis from telling him that he’d been snooping around where he hadn’t been invited. “Hey, Lou-”
“Liam!” said a voice that was very distinctly not Louis. Liam was enveloped in a tangle of long, gangly limbs and rewarded with a mouthful of curly hair for all of his trouble. Harry held on tight, stronger than he was before Liam left for Uni so many years ago. It had been about as many years since the two of them spoke, though, and a lot might have changed since then; Liam tried not to let himself feel guilty for that.
He pulled away just enough to free his face from the monster that was Harry’s hair. “Hey, Haz,” he muttered, petting at him absently. A glimpse over his shoulder revealed that Louis was still there, standing over the open grave. There was someone there with him; Liam couldn’t identify her.
“Where have you been?” Harry demanded, petulant. With his face smashed in Liam’s neck and his legs around Liam’s waist, he might have been a child. It wasn’t so far off to make that comparison, Liam thought, not really.
It was a little unfamiliar, having to hold up so much weight. Harry was bigger than Louis. “Shouldn’t you be at a wake, or something?” he asked.
“Shouldn’t you have told everyone you were back, so that you could go too?” Harry retorted, and. Okay. So Liam knew the one that was being buried today. He wished he didn’t, regardless of who it was.
That thought was a little disturbing. Liam had to take his eyes off of Louis and focus on the octopus wrapped around him. “I just – there hasn’t been a good time to come visit, Harry, I’m sorry.”
Harry slithered off and fixed Liam with a glare – he was tall now, god – before stepping around him and entering the house. A quick look at the grave gave away that Louis was gone already, and so was the girl he’d been with. “Bullshit. You never even told me you came back, after the funeral. I would have visited, or something.”
“No you wouldn’t have. You’re off to university. This is probably the first time you’ve even been home since the summer holidays, anyway, and that’s assuming you didn’t go studying abroad or something.” Liam didn’t need someone else telling him how horrible he’d been to his friends; he already knew all about that.
The grin that Harry gave him was sheepish and shy, so very like the Harry that Liam had known all through childhood that he forgave him for pestering, for barging in and stealing the only good chair at the kitchen table, and for reminding him that there was a life outside of Louis and tending gravestones. “Rome, actually. It was lovely.” Well, he almost forgave him, anyway.
Gravestones and Louis could be relied upon, to some extent; Harry could only be relied on to be unreliable, and to charm his way out of any trouble that it got him into. He was being a particular nuisance now, though, even with the dimples and – Liam noticed dark circles under Harry’s eyes, actually, now that he was looking closely.
“I think you need some sleep, Harry,” he said, trying to avoid the sensitive talk about who or why. “I’ve got some work to do outside, but if you’d like to kip in my room, you’re welcome to.”
Harry opened his mouth and Liam could actually hear the protest there, waiting, but it was interrupted by a yawn. He arched an eyebrow and motioned to the stairs, hoping that Harry would listen to him and get some sleep. On the way up the stairs, though, something occurred to Liam.
“Hey, Haz?” Green eyes stared at him, hazy with sleep but concerned nonetheless. Liam pressed on, hoping that he wasn’t going to come off sounding weird or mental for it. “Do you know anyone named Tomlinson? Louis Tomlinson?”
Slow blinks. A weary shake of the head. A small smile. “Why, Liam Payne. Have I been replaced?”
Liam tried very hard not to think about the fact that Harry didn’t recognize the name at all. There were always strangers at funerals; that was nothing unusual. “Never,” he replied, watching Harry nod and continue plodding up the stairs to the bed. “Never.”
The last one might have been for himself. Then again, it might not have been. Liam went out to fill in the grave and mark it with the little plaque left for just that purpose:
Gemma Styles
1990-2013
the perfect sister and daughter
she will be missed
Liam thought to himself that Harry would have known every single person at that funeral. There would have been no strangers. He sighed and tried to forget about it, making his way back to his house for a much-needed cuppa.