Here In The Afterglow

Chapter 3.3

When he's left by himself again, any kind of warmth slowly seeps out of him and leaves him numb again. Alone in the half-dark, he falls back into that empty place, stares up at the ceiling and feels almost nothing, just the steady pressure of his brain against his skull, heavy and thick.

Eventually he falls into a restless sleep, fatigue and medicine dragging him under. He doesn't dream, doesn't recall much but inky darkness and fingers ghosting over his ribs teasingly like fire, still burning even though the touch is phantom.

The light in Louis' room is soft when his crusty eye opens, his other still swollen and sore. Only the blush of lamplight illuminates everything, leaving murky shadows splaying themselves on the walls and over his sheets. There's a bowl of now cold soup on his bedside table that he doesn't even remember his mom bringing up. She's managed to get work off for a few nights to watch over him.

Louis realizes then, once he's blinked his way out of his sleep, that he can hear a commotion of voices floating up from downstairs. There's a rattling sound, a hushed concern, his mom, then a deep rumble. The sound is a murky wave that fizzles when it reaches his ears, unintelligible and quiet.

Despite this, as soon as he hears the footsteps on the staircase, Louis knows exactly who it is.

He pretends to be asleep when Harry comes in. He doesn't really know why. Maybe it's the remnants of sleep actually dragging him back under, or he's just had enough emotion to handle for one day. His eyes feel as heavy as his chest. In the darkness of his head, the glow from the lamp dusts the edges.

There's the soft creak of his door being opened slowly. It should be weird that Louis knows it's Harry just by his presence, just by the way he breathes. The door clicks shut, Harry's feet pad across the carpet, there's a dull thump, a bag being dropped. An odd wooden sound, something pinging, Harry's guitar, maybe. A flutter of pages, another soft sigh, a few gentle, muffled sniffles. It goes quiet as Harry starts to read.

Louis doesn't know how long he lies there, but accidentally, he does fall asleep. He spends so long counting to sixty in his head that eventually he drifts off before he can stop himself. When he wakes again, he's cautious as he opens his eyes, shifts his head incrementally to the side. Harry's eyes are drooped, book lax in his hands as he reads. He looks almost asleep, not even looking over the pages. He isn't even wearing his glasses, discarded beside him.

"H," Louis croaks, almost inaudible. Harry's head lifts and he looks to him slowly. He looks entirely exhausted, under eyes hollowed and dark, hair a mess on his head, curled in on himself.

Harry crawls towards him, patterns of shadow shifting on his face as he moves. All his features are blurred, turning him round and soft on the edges, turning his lashes a gentle brown and his lips plush. Louis sags at the sight of him, swallowing.

Harry rests his head on the bed beside Louis, knelt in front of him. He takes his hand, kisses over it delicately, just breathes in his warmth. Louis tries to breathe but it hurts to look at him, hurts to see how gentle he is, how worried his eyes are when they shine. After a moment, Louis pulls his hand from Harry's and slides it into his hair, scratching at his scalp. Harry slumps forward, cheek mushed against the mattress as he presses his face into Louis' hip, eyes slipping closed.

It calms them both. Louis rests his head back on his pillows and just feels Harry's hair beneath his fingers, watches his chest rise and fall evenly as they settle into their delicate bubble, as warmth wraps them up and nestles close.

"Sorry," Louis whispers.

Harry shakes his head. When he speaks, his lips move against the soft sheets in a gentle murmur. "Don't. I know why you needed time."

"I love you," Louis says. Harry opens his eyes and tilts his head up. Louis shifts his hand and pushes Harry's hair off his forehead.

"I love you," Harry says.

"Liam came," Louis says, unsure of why that slips out. Harry blinks in surprise, slow and hazy.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, he apologized," Louis says. "Told me not to go back. Said you didn't go today."

Harry's face clouds over, troubled. "I would have come here earlier, but I-. I didn't want anyone to see me. I thought that Jimmy and that might be out."

"We're safe here," Louis says. He takes in a slow breath. "Mom knows. About me, us."

Harry sits up, watching him cautiously. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Louis says gently. "Haz, she-. She's okay with it. She's okay."

"Oh, Lou," Harry sighs out, kisses his wrist and pushes into his skin. "That's amazing."

"I'm so glad," Louis says tightly. "It would've-. Would've just been something else that-"

"Yeah," Harry cuts him off gently with a sad smile. He encases Louis' hand with both of his own, warmth and soft.

"If things..." Louis bites his lip, trying to find the most delicate way around this. "If things get too much at home, please just come here. Mom will let you stay."

Harry flicks his eyes down and swallows, shoulders curling in a little as he sits back on his haunches. Louis rubs his thumb over his cheek, pushes his fingers into his hair.

"Okay," Harry says eventually, eyes wet. Louis feels it right in the centre of his chest when their eyes meet, a dark blue weight that's slowly working its way into his blood.

Harry rests his head back on the bed and brushes his thumb gently against Louis' hip through the sheets. Louis lets his eyes slip closed, hot pain searing at the base of his skull. He scratches at Harry's scalp lightly, takes comfort in the familiar weight of his jaw, and falls asleep.