Love is like this; not a heartbeat, but a moan

5

The next morning brings a change: Louis is finally more lucid.

He wakes up with bright eyes focusing on Harry's—which are already on him.

Harry feels a lazy grin light up his face. "Feeling better?" He can't help but ask, seeing Louis' sleepy smile and his beautiful face which finally represents his real self.

"Much," Louis mumbles, and the mortification of the past few days probably hasn't caught up with him yet because he isn't shying away from Harry or anything. "Tired though. And hungry."

Harry sits up and stretches with a yawn, and then for the first time since they got to the vacation house he feels embarrassment at his nakedness. "I'll make you breakfast," he offers as he searches the ground for clothes he can wear. He finds his joggers across the room and calculates the speed at which he can dash over there and pull them on.

"Mm, sounds good," Louis murmurs into the pillowcase, turning onto his stomach and pressing himself into the mattress, cocooned beneath the duvet.

Harry takes this opportunity to depart from the nest of blankets, crossing the room and pulling his joggers on over his legs. Then he spares one last glance at the small omega curled up on bed, and marches on to the kitchen to cook breakfast.

Breakfast consists of as much food as Harry can prepare by the time Louis emerges from the bedroom, sleep-ridden and wearing rumpled pajamas. There are eggs, toast, sausage, fruit, coffee, and pancakes.

When Harry is slicing the last of the watermelon, Louis comes up behind him and wraps his arms around Harry's waist, startling a high-pitched squeak out of him.
"Sorry," Louis mumbles sheepishly, pressing his face into Harry's shoulder blades.

Okay, maybe he's not as clearheaded as Harry originally thought. Still, he lets himself enjoy the feeling of Louis' warm arms around his tummy.

They detach to move the food over to the kitchen table, but when Harry sits down on the seat facing the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the sea, he's again surprised when Louis clambers onto his lap and sits facing him.

"What are you-" He laughs breathlessly, "-doing?"

"Wanna cuddle," Louis answers, snuggling close.

"Lou, you have to eat," he groans, not meaning to let the old nickname slip out. Louis doesn't seem to notice.

"Only if I can sit with you," Louis bargains, already turning around and picking up a piece of toast. They eat together in silence, listening to the sound of the wind and the waves outside from the open windows.

"Um, so, I don't really remember much," Louis begins hesitantly, picking at the edges of a pancake. "Like, I remember yesterday but not the day before really..."

"Oh. Um, yeah..." Harry isn't sure how to say it out loud. He attempts, and then ducks out. "We, um... yeah..."

Louis goes stiff in Harry's arms. "Did I do something I should know about?"

"No!" Harry rushes to assure him, no longer eating his breakfast. "Everything was fine, just a little, um, tiring. I think we, like, set a record for number of rounds, though..."
"Oh god," Louis groans, staring down at the kitchen floor, looking mortified. "How... many times?"

Harry does the math in his head, pondering the question. "Uh, like, twice an hour, for... twelve hours..."

Louis slaps his hand over his mouth, so when he says "oh my god," his voice is muffled by his palms. "I am so sorry."

"No, seriously, don't be." Harry laughs a little manically, feeling dizzy. Louis is still sitting on his lap and he has no idea what to do. He wants to put his hands around Louis' waist but for some reason that feels like pushing it so he just leans backwards and presses his back again the chair. "It was fun, for me at least."

"Right." Louis chews on a green grape. "It was fun for me, I guess. Better than usual at least."

Harry tries not to think about Louis spending his heats alone. The thought is quite painful to imagine and something he'd really rather not think about. Especially with the knowledge of Louis' opinion on scenters and everything... how much he hates who he is as an omega...

"Good, I'm glad."

They fall back into easy conversation after that—easy conversation they haven't had for eight years. Harry finds himself feeling calm, finally at peace after nearly a decade of his childhood friend acting so cold to him. This easiness, this effortlessness in sharing company is something he has craved with Louis for years, and now he finally has it again.

The circumstances are strange and not exactly what he wanted or imagined, but this is better than nothing. In fact, Harry really doesn't care how they get back to their friendship, as long as they get back to it.

It's bizarre, now that they know each other in such an intimate way. Louis has shared something with Louis that he has never shared with anyone else ever before. That's special. That's important.

All day Louis clings to Harry, refusing to leave his side despite how exhausted he is. They curl up together on the couch and watch poorly-made Lifetime movies all day, dozing off together.

They have sex once more, and it's charged with something different than the many previous times. To Harry, at least, it feels a lot more intimate, knowing Louis is more clearheaded and aware. He finds himself slightly embarrassed again as they moan into each other's skin. It gets worse when they finish and they're stuck together, entangled on the couch, come sticking to their skin and t-shirts they hadn't bothered to remove.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"No problem."