Here In The Afterglow

Chapter 3.4

Over the next two weeks Harry stays for days at a time, only leaving in sporadic bursts for a night or two. He isn't obliged to go to school like Louis, so he never goes near the place. Instead, he spends his time beside Louis, gentle and caring and everything Louis needs him to be.

They just rest in bed together, barely touching because of Louis' sensitive bones. Harry lies on his stomach and leans on his elbows while he reads softly to him, traces patterns on his palms and tells stories of his own. Tiny moments from his past that make him giggle, old faces and late nights.

He leaves his guitar tucked between the bookcase and the bed. Sometimes he plays for Louis quietly, leant against the window sill with his long legs outstretched so that the sun hits him from behind and makes him glow, gilds everything in shiny light. It's a comforting sound, the strings mixed with Harry's breaths, the warmth of his body. Louis runs his eyes over his face like a mantra, back and forth over every tiny detail.

On one of the hot nights, when the sun is reluctant to settle and the sky is muddled with bursts of orange ribbon and honey blush, Harry plays softer than usual, top lip bitten into his mouth as he strums with a loose wrist, hair a wild mess from the slow onset of humidity. The window is cracked open, the flowery smell of spring changing to the thick salt of the approaching summer.

"That's lovely," Louis murmurs. His back is aching, still, and he hates lying down all the time. He hasn't ridden up to the pine in so long. "What is it?"

Harry's fingers freeze immediately, a tiny scraping sound echoing through the room as his fingers slip over the strings in their halt.

"Um," he looks almost sheepish as he flicks his eyes over. The amber light rests on his cheeks delicately, turning them shiny and soft all at once. His eyes look almost translucent, like stained glass. "Just-. Just something I wrote."

"Yeah?" Louis says, tiny smile quirking up.

"Yeah," Harry says. "About you."

"Oh," Louis flushes. Warmth bubbles in his stomach, numbs his lungs. "Will you play it for me?"

Harry's entire face turns pink, but the sun makes it look like a peach glow, fuzzy and hazy and plump. He brushes a stray curl behind his ear with shaky fingers. Louis' shoulders sag a little as a soft smile curls over his lips, fondness encasing him.

"Okay," Harry finally whispers. "I, um. It's not very good. Sort of just rubbish poetry, really."

"Sh," Louis hushes him gently and gives him a reassuring smile. "I'm sure it's great, H."

Harry nods and takes in a deep breath, settling his fingers over the frets nervously. Louis almost coos, feels a soft warm ebbing through his hands as he watches his boy. Harry rarely gets so nervous, is usually so brash when he sings and dances. It's always for fun, though. In the late-noon light his face is serious, concentrated.

The chords are strummed gently, a simple, soft melody that makes Louis' chest tighten. It feels so delicate, sounds the way the moon looks, the way the stars hum.

"There's glass in the park," Harry starts softly, voice a gentle rasp, so different to the way he normally sings. Louis feels his skin go taut with goosebumps, feels every nerve in his body focus on Harry.

The song flows in the most soporific of ways, Harry's voice almost a whisper as he sings. It feels so personal, feels so dear to Harry that Louis' eyes start to water. He's got his eyes closed, shoulders slowly relaxing as he lets the music ebb out of him.

"And I'll wait for you," Harry sings, then, a whisper soft as snow, "as if I'm waiting for a storm to stop."

Louis smiles through his tears, thinks back to the rain and the mud and their faulty flashlights, that first long awaited press of lips, the hesitance that turned desperate, the strength of feeling over something so new.