petal [book 1] ❊ l.s.

twenty - almost friends

On Thursday, Louis came home early from work with a smile on his face. His ribs were healing quickly, barely giving him any pain anymore. He dropped his bag on the counter, calling out for Harry a few times. He frowned when he got no response.

"Harry? Hazza?"

Padding down the hallway out of the living room, he poked his head into both of the bedrooms, then pushed the bathroom door open. Harry was nowhere to be found.

Louis couldn't help the panic that climbed from his stomach up into his chest, pulling at his heart with a debilitating weight. The apartment itself hadn't changed since he left that morning (Harry never remembered to make his bed, and he always managed to kick his pillows onto the ground in the middle of the night), but it felt completely different. Hollow.

Something was missing: Harry.

Just as Louis was pulling out his phone to call Harry, the front door opened. He rushed back into the living room. He finally let himself breathe when Harry walked into the kitchen, a few bags of groceries in hand.

"Jesus," he murmured, crossing the room in just a few steps as Harry set the bags on the counter. "Where were you?"

Harry's brow creased with confusion. "I was at work."

"Oh. I didn't realize you had a shift today." He didn't even hesitate when he stepped around the counter and gathered Harry up in a hug, puffy winter coat and all. Harry seemed to melt under his touch, and Louis realized that he would never take that feeling for granted again: the special sense of safety that he felt when he had Harry with him. "Was the store okay?"

"Same as always." He cuddled into Louis's chest, running his hands over the older boy's back. He had the longest day. He missed Louis every second that they were apart, so he just let Louis hold him for a minute.

He was still getting used to the idea that Louis was starting to miss him, too.

When Louis pulled back from the hug, he frowned, cupping Harry's face with both hands. "You look tired." He thumbed over the dark circles under his eyes. "Have you not been sleeping well?"

"It's been fine," Harry brushed him off with a tired smile. "Good. Warm."

After that first night that Louis came home from the hospital Harry had gone back to sleeping in his own bed. Anything was better than the streets, and anything was better than being away from Louis.

But his head never quieted anymore. The voices were getting stronger, louder, and even larger in numbers. He knew that they were pointing him toward something, a million different paths to the same outcome, but it took every ounce of energy for him to try to understand them. After a long day like today, all he could do was try to block them out.

"I need to sit down," Harry said, rubbing his eyes. "I've been on my feet all day, and I think they might fall off if I stand up for another second."

"You also need to quit your job," Louis called after him as he padded into the living room.

Harry snorted from the other room. "Absolutely not."

They had already had this conversation a few times. Louis didn't particularly like the thought of Harry working long, inconsistent, low-paying hours at a small grocery store, and he wasn't afraid to tell Harry so. He tried not to mention this fact to Harry, but Louis was already paying for most of both of their living expenses, and he didn't mind at all. He had plenty of money, and he didn't mind sharing it -- especially with someone as kind, unselfish, and hard-working as Harry.

"You clearly don't enjoy it, aside from the discounted groceries. You should find a different one that you actually like. Don't you ever wish that you could work at your booth all the time? Meet new people, talk to them about their traumatic pasts and their life plans?"