After the End: Book 3

18. Figure it out

Louis POV

I awoke on the day that Harry claimed he'd be getting it together to the sound of guitar strumming. I thought I was still dreaming at first. The choppy, yet pleasant notes drifted lazily into my ears, obscured by the muffling of my bedroom door. It wasn't happy strumming. Whatever the tune was, had a bit of somber life to it. It would cut off frequently and then resume again back at the beginning.

I opened my eyes and pushed up, blinking my way back into consciousness. The clock on the nightstand told me it was mid morning. I'd slept in later than usual and I was still tired. Waking up tired was getting old. Nevertheless, my feet hit the carpet and I waded my way out of the room in search of the noise. I passed Phoebe in the hallway returning to her room with a towel wrapped around herself and wet bleached blonde hair dangling over her shoulders. She'd apparently started her day by retouching her roots. I almost told her that she was starting to look like Lottie, but I didn't want to get hit. She nodded to me before disappearing into her room.

Oliver's bedroom door was ajar and I found he wasn't in his crib. That wasn't unusual. I eyed the bed again and reminded myself to bring up the sleeping situation to Naomi on our next call. I wondered if I needed to ask her permission. Holding a grudge had become too tiresome with everything going on, but that didn't mean I was viewing her as an equal parent at the moment either.

Finally, I found the source of the music. I was only half surprised to see Harry sitting cross legged on the sofa with the decorated guitar that he'd acquired in Jamaica the previous year in his lap. He had changed into his own plain long sleeved shirt for once but the sweatpants on his legs we're definitely mine. He wasn't wearing socks and for the first time, I saw that he'd acquired a tattoo on his left foot that hadn't been there before his disappearance. It was a tiny little sun that might have been a stick and poke. He was biting his lip in concentration with a creased forehead, his eyes fixed on his own hands. His fingers fumbled on the chords, and he would stop abruptly and then curse under his breath before trying again every few seconds. It occurred to me that he likely hadn't played since everything happened, just as he hadn't sung.

On the floor, Oliver sat stacking blocks quietly, still wearing his pajamas. He kept looking up at the man on the sofa with interest, but Harry was barely noticing him. Oliver had been a common audience for Harry's musical endeavors in the past, but the sight didn't give me the nostalgia I'd imagined when I'd thought of Harry's return.

As I watched the two of them coexisting quietly, several questions ran through my head. The guitar had been down in Harry's flat. Had he been down there? And had he roused the toddler? Last I'd noticed, he would still barely look at him, with the exception of calming him with the kazoo that had disappeared shortly after.

My questions were answered by a ding, followed by the parting of the elevator. Daisy stepped forward carrying a white laundry basket full of discarded papers, a lap top, and a few smaller pieces of equipment from the downstairs music room. She smiled cheerily as Harry cut off playing.

"Was it all where I thought it was?" He asked her. "I'm sure they moved some of my shit while I was gone."

Daisy nodded, setting the basket down on the floor beside him on the sofa. She settled next to him. "Mostly. I was able to find everything on your list."

"What's happening?" I inquired, crossing the distance to crouch next to Oliver. He smiled at me and offered me one of his blocks.

Harry seemed to notice me for the first time. "Oh, Daisy was getting things for me," he said carefully. He avoided mentioning that he'd enlisted a teenager to go down instead of himself for emotionally charged reasons. I didn't necessarily blame him after finding him on the floor sobbing less than 48 hours prior. "I needed some stuff to... to figure things out, like I said."