I trace my fingertips along the bedsheets, relishing the feeling of the silky material on my skin. The fabric is cool to the touch. I haven't had the heart to sleep on the other side.

That was Harry's spot. I'm not ready to admit he's gone. Not properly, anyway.

I keep having dreams about him. Some are lovely, but some have me waking up with tear-streaked eyes and a clogged throat. Those are the bad ones.

I'm currently lying in bed with a podcast playing in my ears. I don't know what it's about, though. I haven't been listening.

~7 days later ~

Dear Harry,

I think it's finally time to admit you're not coming back. For ages now I've known it, thought it in the back of my mind, but it's stupid to just keep silently begging for your return. That's like staring at something in the shopping centre as a young child, hoping that if you stare at it long enough your mother or father will give in and let you take whatever it was you were looking at. Most of the time, they don't. It's pointless.

I stopped by the flower shop today. I bought you carnations. I know I can't physically give them to you, but they're on my windowsill in a little glass vase. I remember you mentioning how they were your favourite. You loved the colour of them almost as much as the smell. Oh, how I miss those types of conversations.

Yesterday, I walked to the footie pitch where I first met you. It's silly how all this started over a football game. You were in the side lines, I was playing. I'd scored the winning goal and my teammates had toppled over me in some victorious ball. That was probably one of the best days of my life. Wait, scratch that. It was the best day of my life. After the match was over, I'd trekked to the parking lot to put the rest of my kit in the trunk. You'd appeared out of nowhere; this angel on a dark, rainy day. Of course, then I was still figuring myself out. You'd handed me a note. It was drenched in rain but I'll remember the coy little smile on your lips until the end of time. You scurried off pretty fast after that. I didn't even have time to ask you your name. When I opened the note, my heart went into overdrive. The ink was a little smudged with rainwater, but I could still make out what was written.

"You were amazing out there today. I was thinking, if you don't mind, we could get to know each other better? If no, then that's fine, but if yes, here's my number."

This was before we all pursued careers in music. Back then, life was so damn simple. There wasn't really anyone to tell us what we could and couldn't do, aside from maybe our parents. We were free, Harry. We were able to shoot for the stars without people pulling us back down to earth. I'm still, to this day, trying to figure out where it all got so fucked up. I mean, for a little while, you were happy. I loved your smile more than anything, yet that was the first thing to be ripped from me, followed closely by you. Why couldn't they just let us love, darling? We weren't doing anything wrong.

All I wanted was to hold you. You were so quiet and isolate near the end, my love. If I'd only gotten the chance to love you one more time, then maybe it would have stopped you from giving up. We'll never know, will we?

For now, it's time to accept that you're not coming back. As much as it hurts, it's the truth. See you on the other side, my love.

Always, Louis.