Ever since the snow //L.S//

Chapter eight

Harry is faced with a messy cabin, an unemployed typewriter staring back at him with hungry eyes from his work desk, and a real sense of drowning. The calm and quiet of solitude used to be his best friend, the sound of silence was his favourite, but that was all before Louis barged in with his loud banter, his sadness, those unbelievable blue eyes and tender yet cheeky love. He turned Harry's world upside down and left it drenched in a deep sense of loneliness.

Randomly Harry picks up pieces of clothing laying around, dropping them in the laundry basket. He drags his mattress back in to the bedroom, onto the bed and with an aching in his heart he strips their love nest of bedding; washing those sheets will mean clearing the bed of Louis' scent.

Louis...

Thinking feels like wading through quicksand: every move sucks Harry in deeper. Just try to stay busy, he tells himself, don't stop, don't think, just keep going.

With a heavy heart Harry closes the door of the washing machine, his index finger fiddling the button, but he can't put himself to press it down. Who would have thought doing the laundry would ever be such a heartaching job. He opens the machine and takes out one of the pillowcases they slept on, burying his face into it, drawing in deeply.

Louis...

He takes the piece of cotton with him in to the bedroom, curls up in his bed and pulls the duvet over his head. Alone, no Louis to mold his body around, no warm soft skin to press his up against, no soft nape of neck to plant kisses in; just plane cold fabric. The pain of missing his other half, has slipped underneath the duvet with him, and is now torturing his body, mind and soul. If only the bed would just swallow him whole...

A few hours later Harry awakes, entangled by a loud noise; massive hailstones clatter to the ground like marbles spilled from a box, the drum on the roof is uncanny, yet the cabin keeps Harry safe and dry. He rubs his eyes, his cheeks still a bit wet from teartrails, coming back to his senses, realising how Louis has left, missing him without measure.

Harry just wants to fall back into endless dreamless sleep, but Max is nosing the bedroom door. And it won't be long before his nails will start scratching the paint off, so Harry better gets up. 'Yes Max, I'm up, in a minute,' he grumbles.

They wait out the fierce but short hailstorm and after they walk the access road, for the first time in weeks it's just the two of them. Harry stares at Max's wiggly bum.
Is his dog missing Cliff just the same as his master misses Louis? Harry doubts it, Max already has his mind set on finding the next best stick in the woods. How simple and easy a dog's life can be.
They take a left onto the winding road leading down to the village; and with cold hands and a bleeding heart, Harry walks, and walks, and walks. 

Why didn't he tell Louis how he felt? Louis was right there, why the hesitation? Why did he not beg him to stay? Why let him go so easily? 

Deep down Harry knows the answer to every single one of those questions, but he is avoiding them all the same. He doesn't want to be reminded of his fear of Louis not feeling the same way, or - maybe worse - Louis feeling the same way, but leaving him anyway. He uses his ignorance as a shield for his fears, but he also is keeping a chance at love out, all the same.

When Harry and his canine return to the cabin, it's filled with longing and painful silence, the emptiness slaps Harry in the face, like the arctic frost of the blizzard did. On autopilot he feeds Max his kibble, makes a cup of tea and a slice of toast. It'll have to do for dinner tonight; he isn't hungry anyways. 

He tries to concentrate on the last of the four novels he bought before the blizzard, bundled up in a blanket on his favourite chair. Love is a mix tape seemed interesting, but now he is too tired and distracted to focus.
His eyes drift over the loving room, he simply sit, dragging a hand through his curls, distractetly, staring at nothing in particular. His thoughts wander off to Louis over and over again.