Night Changes // l.s.

▰ 14 - epilogue ▰

[IM GONNA MISS YOU ALL SO MUCH. I HOPE YOU CONTINUE TO READ MY OTHER LARRY STORIES BC MORE ARE COMING OUT SOON AND I LOVE YOU ALL ALOT

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From about age four to eleven, Louis would categorically not sleep the week before Christmas, just in case Santa should happen to pop in early.

In his last year of high school, he's pretty sure he didn't sleep one night through, too busy trying to cram a lifetime's worth of shitty basement parties into one year.

When he was nineteen, he didn't sleep because for the first time in his life he had a nice looking boy in his bed and he wasn't about to pass that up to get a few hours shut eye.

And now, at twenty-three, he's not slept all night because Harry's coming home.

Which he supposes is understandable, in a way. Harry's miles better than the twat he dated when he was nineteen. Harry coming home is like the best, brightest, biggest party he's ever been invited to.

And really, it feels a little bit like Christmas.

It's a very strange day. For a start, his flat is cleared out for the first time in three months. There's no one needing to be here to feed him news, discuss every minute detail or every awful medical procedure for him to sign off on, calm him down if he loses his mind momentarily or has a little cry. It brings with it an overwhelming sense of freedom and a much welcome feeling of finality.

Louis makes a cup of tea, and realises, with a little jolt, that this time tomorrow he'll be making two.

Two might just be his favourite number in the world. Two, or one thousand and ninety six.

Harry is due to land in a little over ten hours; at 5pm. Louis expects it's going to be the longest day of his life.

By the time it rolls around, those two hands on the clock seeming bigger and slower than they've ever been, and Louis feels like he's possibly packed every activity in the world into the last few hours of his life. He's called his mother, his friends, Harry's mum (even though she'll be there), found Harry's phone in his bedside drawer and fished his SIM card out of the bowl of miscellaneous shit they have on the kitchen counter, because Harry likes it working for when he gets home. He's tidied the flat up because it's quite literally not been cleaned in two months, makes sure he puts fresh sheets on the bed and restocks the fridge and why is he doing this because it's not like Harry's going to notice, anyway, but he needs to keep himself occupied, busy, because otherwise he thinks he'll explode with sheer fucking joy.

He finds the card crumpled underneath his pillow, the photo album on Harry's side of the bed, underneath the duvet. Flicks through it once more and thinks, maybe today we'll have something to add to it.

His mother tells him to calm down, to lower his expectations, not to be disappointed if Harry's a little different.

His friends tell him to calm down, to lower his expectations, not to be disappointed if Harry's a little different.

Sophia tells him to go get him and never let him leave again. But he might be a bit different, Lou, quieter. Just give him time.

When he gets to the air base an hour and a half early, it's much the same message. He gets sat down with a Major, Harry's family, Nick and the psychologist assigned to Harry's case.

"We honestly don't know what he's going to be like," the psychologist says, very calm and even. His name is Greg, Louis thinks Harry'll love him. "Often soldiers in good spirits in hospital can become very disconnected when they come home. Don't slip back into civilian life like you're used to with him, experience mood withdrawals, that sort of thing."