next to you ❀ l.s.

thirty four - the gift that keeps on giving

"In retrospect, it wasn't that bad."

Harry had just gotten off the phone with his mother, cordially wishing her a Merry Christmas Eve and pretending to agree when she told him how much she wished he could be home. Louis sat with him at the kitchen table the whole time, holding his hand tightly and subtly monitoring him as the conversation unfolded. Luckily, things had gone pretty well.

"I mean, I didn't get hit or anything. Sure, I got yelled at sometimes, but doesn't everyone?"

"Harry," Louis reprimanded immediately, his eyes narrowing before he could stop them. "Don't you dare make light of your experiences. Your trauma is yours and no one else's, so don't think about them. There's nothing to compare."

"I just think a lot about how other people probably had it way worse, and even they probably aren't as fucked up as me," he stated bluntly. "It makes me feel weak if I think too hard about it."

Louis took a moment to process. Harry had never sat him down and told him the whole story; instead, tiny snippets of information slipped out of him at the most inopportune, random times, almost as though he had held onto his secrets for so long that they were starting to overflow.

He scooted his chair closer to Harry's so that he could wrap an arm around his boyfriend, still studying him closely. "H, you're not . . . just talk to me. Please. Just let it all out. You know you can't keep everything bottled up inside."

Harry's green eyes raised to meet Louis's worried blue ones. He spoke bluntly, as though Louis wouldn't have a second thought about the heartbreaking words that fell from his lips: "If I start crying about it, I don't think I'll ever stop."

"Harry!" Louis's sister ran into the room, waving a drawing in the air for him to inspect. "Look what I made for you!"

Harry's face lit up, and he stood from his seat, squeezing Louis's shoulder as he walked around the table. He crouched down to eye level with her, wrapping her up in his arms as he praised her artwork. She leaned back into his touch, pointing to the different scribbles as she explained what each of them represented, and Harry just nodded along encouragingly, asking a few questions in between his quiet noises of admiration.

Louis wasn't sure he could ever look at the picturesque interaction the same way -- he realized all at once that Harry was so, so wonderful with kids because he wanted to give them something that he had never had himself.

/

"I also got a little present for myself," Harry confessed later that night. "For your birthday."

Louis raised his eyebrows, freezing where he had been digging in his suitcase. "Did you?"

Harry nodded, propping himself up on his elbows on Louis's childhood bed. He was fidgeting like he was nervous, and he eventually added, "I put it in the front pocket of your bag."

Louis's brow knitted curiously, and he slipped his hand into the front pocket. He wrapped his fingers around the smooth object, fishing it out with an underlying feeling of what it was.

"Jesus Christ, Harry!" he exclaimed in an exaggerated whisper, turning the object over in his hand. "You stuffed a vibrator in the front of my bag -- when we're visiting my family?!"

Harry's heart skipped a beat. "A-Are you angry?"

Louis had crossed the room in a flash, shoving Harry fully onto his back and crawling on top of him, connecting their lips in a bruising kiss. Harry inhaled sharply, bringing his hands up to rest on Louis's biceps, squeezing gently as the older boy dominated his mouth. Finally, Louis pulled back for air, his hands travelling downward to rub over Harry's clothed nipples, making the younger boy stiffen in surprise.