next to you ❀ l.s.

sixty - just how fast the night changes

The lights in Harry's apartment were dim, and despite the windy March thunderstorm rattling the windows, it reminded Louis of Christmas. The entire living room was washed in a sort of yellow and orange glow, happy and soft around the edges. Every time he blinked back the sleepiness in his eyes, Louis could almost imagine they were still in his mum's living room, curled up on her couch admiring the neighbors' Christmas lights while Harry rambled on and on about blue nail polish and taking his last name.

And Harry was humming, quietly, under his breath. The smile on his face had stayed for hours as they packed up the last of his belongings, stacking more and more boxes on top of the looming pile of cardboard now blocking the front door. If they weren't moving into their new apartment in under twenty four hours, Louis would probably assume they were barricading themselves in, preparing for an incoming wave of zombies.

But for once, everything was good. No zombies, no ex-boyfriends, and no --

"Lou," Harry's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. When Louis glanced up, his boyfriend's worried eyes were studying him intently, warm and heavy on his face. "You alright? You look like you're writing a philosophy paper in your head."

Louis snorted, shaking his head. "You're ridiculous. But yeah, I'm alright. Just thinking."

"About?"

"You haven't had an episode in a while," he pointed out tentatively. He was never sure whether to praise Harry for the progress he was making (which had skyrocketed since he started therapy) or to sweep the topic under the rug.

Harry seemed unphased. "It's been more than a month," he replied, his tone hesitantly proud.

"I know." Louis could feel the corners of his mouth tugged up into a smile, even as he tried to fight them back down. "I know."

"I'm really happy about it," Harry confessed, not meeting Louis's gaze. He kept his eyes trained on the cardboard box he was closing up. "I mean, it feels . . . weird, I guess. But I'm happy."

"You feel weird? What feels weird about it?"

With a tilt of his head that resembled a nod, Harry carried one of the very last boxes over to join the others, his back to Louis as he spoke. "It's hard to untangle myself from my --" he swallowed hard, nearly choking on the word "-- disorder. Sometimes I get scared that I won't have any idea who I am without it."

An ear-splitting screech filled the room as Louis taped up a huge box packed with blankets. "It's still a part of you, though. Maybe that sounds bad, but it is," he reasoned. He tapped the sides of the box a few times, making sure his mediocre tape job would actually stay. "Like, you can't just forget everything you've gone through, but you can't let it control the rest of your life, either."

"Yeah. It's just scary sometimes. It's scary feeling like I'm losing such a big part of myself, even if it's something I want to get rid of. I guess it's just been a defining piece of me for so long --"

Louis interjected immediately, "It doesn't define you."

"I know," Harry cut him off. "That's why I always remind myself that you'll love me anyway."

Louis's heart fluttered, butterflies floating up from his stomach to his chest.

"That's right," he agreed. He stood from the ground, picking up the last box and placing it beside the rest. "I love you, in every way, shape, and form."

"I love you, too," Harry echoed. "I love you for taking care of me when I need it, and I love you for loving me even when I don't need it."

And somehow, Louis realized, that felt even more special than being needed all the time.