Ever since the snow //L.S//

Chapter three

The sky is dark and low, the moon and even the stars are hiding behind a gray wall of clouds. The only sound piercing through the atmosphere is coming from the trees, shivering under the arctic wind, their roots sunken deep into the cold snow.

It must be somewhere around three, Harry guesses, he never wears a watch anymore and there's no clock in the living room. It's more of an estimation, but usually he isn't far off.
Knowing the exact time has become less important since Harry moved away from the city and he likes it this way.

For a while Harry tosses and turns, hoping to fall asleep again, but after half an hour or so, he gives up. He rubs his sleepy eyes and yawns, mouth wide open, as he slowly comes to life.

A cup of hot tea to settle his disquiet body would be lovely right now, he thinks to himself, but he isn't keen on the idea of leaving the warm bed. He turns one last time and ends up facing the couch. The couch on which Louis is sleeping, the stranger who came to his cabin in time of need, haunted by a blizzard, and his own past.

Max gets up from the end of the bed, a little stiff, stretching his paws, yawning, his canine teeth showing, before he walks into the kitchen to drink some water out of his bowl. Harry's heart expands, as he feels the love for his four legged ever loyal friend grow. Max's nails clicking on the kitchen floor, a sound so familiar to Harry, that it has become more of a sentiment even; the feeling of home.

The cabin is still surrounded by the chill of the snow stealing the last hints of its warmth; it's no longer warmer inside than out. The fire is only smoldering and Harry knows he should get up and put another piece of wood on, but he can't bring himself to leave the bed. His sleepy body has no intention to awake anytime soon and Harry is inclined to give into its fatigue, cocooning in his warm duvet. To pull it over his head and bury all his worries and fears underneath the sheets. But sleeping on his problems, will not make them disappear, he'll just wake up to them in the morning.

Okay, he negotiates with himself, I will blaze up the fire and make myself a cup of tea. Just one more minute, and then I'll -

'NO, PLEASE, NOOO!' Out of nowhere Louis' voice pierces through the dark, Harry sits up instantly and stares at the couch. He frowns, why is Louis screaming so desperately?

'Louis... Hey!' Harry gently whispers in his direction from his mattress, as he doesn't want to scare him awake.
'Louis, are you okay?'

A soft sobbing is coming from underneath the duvet now and Harry tries to get a better look of Louis, but he is still buried in his sea of blankets, so there's no way Harry can make out his face. He can't tell if Louis is still sleeping or already awake.

'Louis, wake up!'

But there is still no answer and Harry starts to worry; maybe Louis needs his help in some sort of way. So he gets up from under his duvet, the cold scourging his sleepy body, as he walks up to the couch and kneels down next to Louis.

'Louis, you're dreaming, wake up, it's me, Harry, I am right here.'

Louis lowers the duvet, his face all wet, cheeks reddened, panting heavily, in tears.

'I... We need to go! We 've got to get away from here!' Louis clearly isn't fully awake yet, looking right through Harry with his eyes open wide. He is trapped in what seems to be a nightmare, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. And it doesn't seem to be a very comforting state, so Harry decides to properly wake him up.

'Louis, come on. Wake up!' Harry tries, in a louder voice, pinching Louis' shoulder through the duvet. Louis closes his eyes briefly and looks back at Harry, now focusing. Finally, becoming lucid; understanding how he is snowed in on the mountaintop, in Harry's cabin, on the couch, in front of a dying fire, with Cliff at his feet and Harry right in front of him.