Love in a photograph

V11

Christmas is lovely cooped up in Louis's small apartment, so lovely Harry hardly remembers to miss home. It's not nearly as cold here as it is out in Nebraska; Gemma wrote to say it was forty- five degrees below zero last week, and Harry can hardly stand to think of it. He remembers Christmases as a child, wrapped up in all of his bed covers and still shivering by the stove, trying to look happy about the oranges in his stocking.

He and Louis are sprawled on the floor in the living room, Louis's comforter over both of their laps and a fire crackling in the fireplace. Harry made tea for both of them a bit ago, and he's been listening to Louis tell stories about his first few years away from home ever since. They closed the store earlier today for the holidays; tomorrow is Louis's birthday, and then Christmas after that. Everyone in town is well stocked and ready to get through until the new year, fires burning in every home from here to Plymouth.

He could fall asleep like this, probably, and he might if Louis keeps talking in that soothing voice of his. Harry is so comfortable, sharing warmth with Louis and the fire, leant back against one of the armchairs. He puts his head down against the cushion and watches Louis speak, mesmerized by the way the fire casts shadows over his face, sparkles in his eyelashes like tinsel, dances in his eyes like the ocean, cold and blue and deep, so dangerously deep.

Louis catches him drifting off but doesn't stop talking, talks him well into his dreams and then gets up to take his half finished tea back to the kitchen so he doesn't spill it all over the floor.

Harry wakes up a few hours later, Louis's comforter pulled up to his shoulders and Louis curled up like a cat beside him, snoozing peacefully. Harry's plenty warm, but he can't help but slide a little closer, pillow his head against Louis's shoulder, and drift back to sleep. When they wake up, Louis will be twenty-four, and Harry will still be as in awe of him now as he was when he was ten.

Winter melts into spring with no hurry, the chill in the air sticking around until mid April. Harry's second semester goes even more smoothly than the first and, again with Louis's help, he passes everything with flying colours.

They've discussed what will happen now that school is out until September, and Harry's decided he wants to go home for the months between now and then. He never expected it, but he sort of misses Nebraska, or at least the small part of it he's always called home.

He comes home from his last final exam with a bubbling ball of dread in the centre of his chest, finding Louis sitting cross legged on his stool behind the checkout counter in a way that can't be comfortable, but looks effortless nonetheless. He's like a pixie, Harry thinks, weightless and breezy in a way Harry's never witnessed in another human.

"You're done!" Louis calls out, as Harry approaches the counter. "Your first year is through, three more to go! And you've- you don't look happy, why don't you look happy?" he frowns suddenly, noticing Harry's downcast eyes. "Oh no, did you do poorly?"

"I did well," Harry says, sliding his transcript over the counter for Louis to have a look at his perfect marks.

"Then why the long face?" Louis asks, glancing over the scores and then folding the paper, handing it back. "What's wrong?"

"I'll just miss you while I'm gone, I suppose," Harry shrugs, stuffing his transcripts into his bag. "Four months is a long time, what if you forget all about me?"

"I didn't forget you in the five years after I left Nebraska," Louis says. "Hell, I don't think I could ever forget you if you left and never came back. Don't do that, though, please," he says quickly.

"I won't do that," Harry chuckles, rounding the counter and then hoisting himself up to sit atop it. "Can I suggest something? You can tell me I'm crazy, but please just hear me out," he says.