Have I forgotten how to love; remind me once again

Chapter Seventeen

A/N I only have nine shifts left in my current job and I'm over the moon! That does not shine through in this chapter though, lol. Enjoy...

Louis wakes up in the worst place he could imagine, Harry's bed. Well, technically their bed, but then again, not really. Not anymore. It takes less than three blinks for silent tears to slide down his cheeks and Louis already regret waking up. Horrible, horrible idea.

It's overwhelming, being there, in the bed that he has shared with Harry forever, and Louis feels the memories washing over him with an all-consuming pace and power - now simply being in the room seems nothing compared to this, even though the sheer presence in the room has drawn out memories too whenever he has been changing Harry's bandages in here. This is different though, harder.

The assault of memories doesn't stop, only intensifies the more Louis' brain wakes up. Their first night in this house - they had joked about christening the bed, but instead ended up talking all through the night about their future. Dogs. A cat. Bigger house. Kids someday.

When the morning light crept into the room from the window - where they had yet to hang curtains and where Harry was already planning out an army of plants - they actually christened the bed. Twice. Almost three times, but then Anne visiting had interrupted, and they quickly ran downstairs while giggling stupidly to greet her, overtired and incredulously happy.

All the times, Harry left him alone in the morning to go for a run only to come back freshly showered and with a warm cup of tea for them to share. For a long time, Louis had told Harry that his favorite tea was English Breakfast with three sugars when, in reality, he prefers Yorkshire tea, but he knows Harry likes the other best. When Harry had found out, he had mercilessly switched between tickling and swatting at Louis in bed and from then on, he, without fail, brought a cup of Yorkshire tea upstairs after his run for them to share instead.

Sometimes though, Louis would drag himself out of bed when he could feel Harry gently kissing his forehead and leaving for a jog, trot downstairs and make a cup of Harry favorite tea, add three sugars and wait in bed for Harry to come back, force him into bed despite his protests of being sweaty and make him enjoy the cup of tea that most of the time had gone slightly cold because Louis never really was one for timing Harry's return correctly.

Or whenever they had guests overnight and had to be quiet because they simply couldn't keep their hands off each other. They were never good at that which only serves to remind Louis of all the times they didn't have to be quiet.

Then there's the days when they'd come back after a longer tour, spending days in bed with each other and enjoying being home. And alone. Mostly home though, the two of them living in their own little bubble at times like that.

God, and that time they had stumbled home after an award show - Louis was honestly too drunk to remember which one, but they had won something and was handed not only a nice little plaque but also two bottles of expensive gin as a prize. They had taken turns drinking of the bottle in the limo home, then continued up the stairs until the bottle was replaced with body shots that turned into more licking than drinking.

An idea pops into Louis head with that - albeit a horrible one, but he doesn't care. Memory lane is a painful fucking road to walk, and he is so done with feeling anything. Quickly, Louis rolls to the edge of the bed and rummages around underneath. It takes less than a minute for his fingers to close around the bottle neck and triumphantly he pulls out the still half-full bottle of gin, discarded there when attention had shifted completely from drinking to each other.

All hesitation is gone, and as soon as Louis has rolled to his back, the bottle is open, and his lips are gracing the mouth almost lovingly. Two quick swigs later and Louis is pulling a face, remembering this to taste better, but that was probably just because he was drunk on love. And drunk.