Love in a photograph

XX1

Spring of 1922 treats Boston to the warmest May Harry can remember, but he might be just a little bit biased. He's just finished the last exam of his college career, and as long as all goes as well as he thinks it did, he'll graduate early next month.

He can hardly believe he's actually done it, he's actually about to graduate college with a law degree. He's already been recruited by a few different law firms around the city, even some in Rhode Island, and one in Philadelphia. He'll have his pick of them once his degree is finalized, but he already knows he wants to stay in Boston, mostly because of the boy that's waiting for him at home.

The air is sweet with the smell of the flowers growing in the window boxes of every shop on Winter Street, and the street vendors are out in the hundreds. Harry nearly stops to buy a sausage just to spread his cheer, but in the end he's too excited to get home to Louis to stop for even a moment.

Washington Street is as busy as ever, but Harry doesn't mind weaving through the foot traffic today. He feels like nothing can touch him, he's on such a high, dancing through a mess of children and teens and women with shopping bags with not a care in the world, crossing the intersection to Summer Street and spotting the drugstore a few doors down. He grins to himself, can't help it, all but twirls the rest of the way down the street and finally bursts into-

The door is locked. Harry jams his shoulder against it quite hard, expecting it to fling open dramatically, but it only rattles a bit and remains firmly shut. His grin drops into a frown and he peers through the glass, finding the lights off, the sign on the inside of the door switched to Sorry, we're closed.

Harry huffs and marches around the side of the building, trying the door that leads right up to the apartment. He finds that door unlocked and resumes his cheery disposition, floating up the stairs and into the kitchen with a flourish.

"Guess who's finished his- oh," he gasps, taking in the sight before him. Louis looks a mess, a little bit sweaty with his hair all matted and crazy, a filthy apron tied around his waist. He looks shocked, and a little bit guilty, like he wasn't expecting Harry home so soon.

"Congratulations!" he shouts anyway, pushing his hair out of his face with the oven mitt on his left hand. "You're home early. I swear I meant for this all to be finished and cleaned up first."

"What on Earth are you doing?" Harry asks, but he can't help but laugh. Leave it to Louis to try and surprise him with a celebratory supper, only to create a hundred more chores in the process.

"I made a roast!" Louis says proudly, gesturing toward the oven. "Gemma sent me your Ma's recipe, your favourite. And I made potatoes, mashed with some lumps, just how you like, and there's peas and some apple sauce," he says. "I was trying to make a pie, as well, but... you can see how well that's going," he sighs, shrugging at the floury, sticky mess all over the counter.

Harry's overwhelmed with emotion, with adoration for this boy, messy and frustrating and absolutely beautiful as he is. "I don't need pie, you're sweet enough," he chuckles, shrugging one shoulder and grinning so hard at Louis it almost hurts.

"Well, luckily," Louis smirks, turning around and grabbing a tin from the counter, "Mrs. Mancini brought some cookies over this morning when she came to buy eggs. So, we can have these instead of my disaster pie," he says.

"Bless Mrs. Mancini," Harry says, shuffling over and taking the tin from Louis's hands. He places it back down on the counter and grabs Louis by the hips, pulling him in to kiss him long and slow.

Louis melts into it, arms draping over Harry's shoulders, the dirty oven mitt leaving mess all over Harry's back. Louis lets it go on until the timer for the oven goes off, and Harry jumps so hard he nearly bites a hole through Louis's lip.