Misadventure

53

Louis' POV

"If you ever do relapse, promise you'll tell me?"

I didn't answer right away.

It wasn't something I'd given much thought to. I was doing so good right now. I couldn't imagine ever relapsing. My life was finally starting to blossom into something beautiful, something I didn't feel the need to escape from.

"Hypothetically, yes," I decided.

"Why hypothetically?"

"Because I'm actually happy sober." It felt odd to even say this out loud. Not odd in a bad way. Odd like a miracle.

Harry smiled, his face glowing. "I'm happy that you're happy. Just... I hope you know me well enough by now to know, I would never judge you for needing help. As long as you're honest with me, you know?"

I wasn't worried about Harry judging me. I was worried about Harry getting hurt. Drug addiction was such a touchy subject for him, for reasons I could understand, as well as reasons I probably never would.

****

Heavy, dark storm clouds rolled in over the mountains as the sun set. It poured all through the night, the sound of raindrops beating against the mesh roof like a rhythmic lullaby.

Thunder crackled outside the tent. Harry startled, emitting a tiny gasp, like he was embarrassed and trying to hold the sound in. I could feel him flinch beside me on the air mattress.

"Lou, I can't sleep," he whispered.

I gently rolled him over so we were facing each other. It was too dark to really see each other. I could just barely decipher the shadows of his tense features, the furrow of his brows. It was enough to tell that something was wrong.

"Sweetheart. Talk to me." I scooted forward, my arms finding him under the blankets and pulling him closer. I carefully repositioned, so I was flat on my back with Harry's head on my chest.

He curled up on his side, nuzzling his face against my collarbone. "I'm not a fan of thunder storms."

"You're safe," I murmured. My hand found its way into his hair, stroking his tangle of curls in a manner that I hoped was soothing. I planted my other hand protectively on his waist.

"It's not like that. I know I'm safe when I'm awake, but..." he trailed off. The air was quiet for a moment, aside from the trickling of rain. Then another crackle of thunder. He winced.

"But what?"

He sighed, hiding his face in the crook of my neck. "It's too loud. It gives me bad dreams."

My memory flashed back to junior year, the night I stayed at Harry's apartment. I still could recall every frightened reaction to every loud sound. His jumpy demeanor. His mother hollering and crashing around drunk, and the way he put on a brave face to help her.

"Let's stay awake then," I decided.

"You're tired. You don't have to stay awake just because I'm being pathetic."

My heart physically ached to hear him say this. "Haz, you're not pathetic," I told him. I stroked his hair some more. "It's okay to be scared. You're only human."

He scoffed sadly, and became tearful, soaking into my shirt. "I can't think of a single other human who's afraid of something this stupid."

"Phoebe. She hates thunder."

"She's a child," he argued. "I'm not a child. I'm just acting like one."

It was painful to listen to him say this. Harry didn't normally strike me as someone who was this hard on himself. Was this the sort of thing he felt? That he was pathetic?