And then a bit

EPILOGUE

And after all this time,
You're still the one I love
Looks like we made it
Look how far we've come my Baby
We're still together still going strong
(Shania Twain – "Still the One")

EPILOGUE:

Harry wakes up an hour before their alarm is set to go off, and he can instantly tell that something is wrong. Or, well, not wrong per se, more like not how he prefers it. The space in the bed next to him is empty, his arms, which had been wrapped around Louis, holding him close when they went to sleep the night before, are now cradling nothing but air. It's rare that they wake up to an empty bed nowadays, though it has been happening more frequently since Oliver started teething. He supposes that's probably where he can find his husband.

Louis' side of the bed is still warm at any rate, so he can't have been up long. Harry resigns himself to getting up, knows that he's not going to fall back asleep now that he's woken up, particularly not when he doesn't have Louis' warm body to cuddle closer to and drift off with again, doesn't have the steady beat of his heart to be felt under his palm like Harry's very own personal lullaby.

It's perhaps a little bit ridiculous, and a lot pathetic, but in the last coming on fifteen years that he's been in an actual relationship with Louis, neither of them have gotten much better at sleeping alone. Luckily, it's rarely a necessity.

He stretches his body while still lying down, trying to rid himself of the last bits of drowsiness. His back pops a bit, one of the many reminders that he's closer to forty than thirty. He sits up and swings his legs over the edge of the bed, yawning a bit before getting on his feet, wincing slightly when his bare toes make contact with the cool floorboards, and finds a pair of clean boxers to slip on.

He makes his way down the hallway towards Oliver's room, peeking into the other three rooms on his way there, only to find that they're all still sleeping.

It's an early Sunday morning, they have no plans except for a Skype call with Liam at nine, which was the whole reason for setting an alarm during the weekend in the first place. It's an early Sunday morning, his kids are sleeping safe, healthy, and happy in their beds, his husband is cradling their youngest in his arms, singing softly to get him to stop fussing, and Harry quite literally can't imagine a life better than the one he's living, than the one he's been living the last decade and a half.

He stands in the doorway of the baby's room, watching Louis who is swaying gently, his back turned to Harry, while singing one of the many love songs he has written for and about Harry over the years. He's an absolute vision to behold, even from behind, age having only made him so, so much better in Harry's humble opinion, like a particularly fine bottle of wine. He's also only wearing boxers, the two of them having discovered together, barely weeks after having brought Oliver home from the hospital, that  the most effective way of getting him to settle down, stop fussing, even go to sleep, was skin to skin contact.

He allows himself to admire Louis a few moments more, before moving into the room, letting his presence be known by wrapping an arm around him from behind, placing a kiss on his naked shoulder. He's soft, and solid, and warm, and Harry revels in the contact between his chest and Louis' back, doesn't think he can ever get enough of it, still hasn't overcome the constant need to touch, touch, touch – always touch, never be far away.

Louis stops singing, humming softly in acknowledgement of Harry's arrival. He tilts his head backwards, resting it on Harry's shoulder, and turns slightly, offering up his lips for Harry to bend down and kiss. He pecks Louis' lips twice in quick succession, and then a last time, lingering longer and sucking Louis' bottom lip in between his.

Louis lets out a content sigh and Harry pulls back, kissing him one last time high on his cheek, just below his eye. He moves his hand from where it's been resting on Louis' stomach to rest on top of Louis' own where it's spread across Oliver's back. Peeking over his shoulder, he can see that he has fallen back asleep, and he takes a small step away from Louis as he places him back in his cot.