Here In The Afterglow

Chapter 2.6

The thing is.

The thing is, that Louis spends so much time around Harry now that when they're not together, he feels like there's a presence missing that should be beside him. When Harry comes over in the afternoons and they lie in bed together for hours, reading or simply doing nothing at all, just being, it's so intensely intimate in the strangest of ways. And when he leaves, reluctantly, pressing heavy kisses onto Louis' mouth, Louis lies awake for a long time with his hand resting where Harry had been, until the spot goes cold and he falls asleep.

They're close, close enough to read each other's eyes and know, to know where to touch and what to say. Close enough that Harry can tell when Louis' had a bad day, knows when to just hold him in his arms and let him doze off without a word. Close enough that when their eyes meet across the hall, and Liam and Stan are beside him, Harry knows when to walk away.

The thing about being so close, so intimate, knowing each other so deeply, is that Harry is so much easier to read.

And sometimes, he falls into these sporadic moods. They roll in quietly, like a brooding storm throughout the day, and by the afternoon, his eyes are distant and his shoulders are hunched in, and he plays with Louis' hair idly and stares up at the ceiling with heavy breaths.

When he gets in these moods, all Louis can see is the dark bedroom, trashed and full of smoke. He sees Harry curled up and unresponsive, eyes bleak and the air static with destruction. He sees the clench of Harry's jaw and the strain of his muscles under Louis' hands when he'd held him back. He can't help feeling something unsettling inside him, can't help but feel the way the air shifts. There's something else, something more.

Harry is cheeky, goofy; he's flirty and charming and smiles full and big. He sings loud and unashamed, watches the mouth of whoever is talking intently and speaks low and jumbled. His eyes shine and he's responsive to the smallest of touches, to the quietest of sounds. He's friendly to almost everyone, can charm the pants of anyone he wants.

To the whole of Post Falls, he's the mystery boy, the boy with the out-there fashion choices and the Mick Jagger Hair, the boy who dropped out of nowhere but seems to fit right in, drifting along with the rest of them.

And yet, he remains the most private person Louis has ever known.

So when his eyes cloud over, when Louis looks up from finishing a chapter and Harry is staring resolutely out the window, when he lays awake all night, shifting and breathing heavily and unknowingly keeping Louis up too, Louis doesn't know why.

He doesn't know why is happens, when it's going to happen, or how to fix it. It seems something that Harry has to pull himself out of slowly, like he's retracted himself into his own subconscious and has to claw his way out again. On those days, Louis presses kisses to his jaw, plays with his hair and tries to get him to relax. On those days, he tries to keep things normal, tries not to let it show that he knows something is up, because more often than not, Harry asks for him to leave it alone.

It's one of those days.

Harry is on Louis' bed, his legs in the air with his feet propped up against the windowsill, his head almost hanging entirely over the edge of the mattress. Louis is on the ground, sitting with his back to the bed, his head right beside Harry's.

Harry has The Catcher in the Rye held above him, his hair falling away from his face, his glasses pressed close to his nose and his cheekbones sharp. Louis balances The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn on his knees and watches him read quietly.

He's been subdued all day, showing up to school with soft bags under his eyes, claiming a fitful sleep. By lunch, he'd attempted to convince Louis that he was absolutely fine, but his smile didn't quite reach his eyes, and when Louis and Zayn talked, he sat silently in the corner and picked at a loose thread on his pants.