The Perfect Match.

Chapter 36

Harry stands in the nursery, looking around the room slowly, seeing how it's progressed. He's already seeing paintings on the walls that are living in his mind at this very second. He has several planned for Olivia's room.

Glenne has already left for home after helping Harry and Louis set up everything she had brought. The room looks different to Harry... he can see life coming to it. And soon.

Harry turns off the light and walks to the art room. He kneels down, going through his paintings against the wall. His face becomes serious when he pulls out the painting of himself; half flesh and half skeleton.

"So, I just talked to mum," Louis is saying from behind Harry as he walks in the room. He stops when he sees Harry holding the painting in his hands still kneeled on the floor. Harry doesn't look back at Louis. He keeps his eyes on the piece of art in his hands.

This piece was done by him the day he received the news that he had leukemia. He drowned his emotions into the painting, as well as the many other paintings that resembled this one.

It represented how he felt at the time; was he going to live? Or would he die?

Harry remembers it so vividly as if it were yesterday... locking himself in his home in Laurel Canyon, in the back den where he painted. He remembers standing there in that den trying to process what he had been told at the doctor's office.

He remembers screaming; he remembers breaking down against the glass doors crying.

"You alright?" Louis whispers, standing directly behind Harry now.

"Uh, yeah," Harry snaps from his thoughts, "I was just... just looking through these trying to find a piece Elizabeth might like."

Louis takes a seat on the floor by Harry, studying his face closely, "you know, you've never really told me about those. They were the first pieces at that art show that really wowed me."

A small smirk crosses Harry's lips before he pushes his hair back, his eyes still on the piece.

"I think they speak for themselves," Harry gets out, not breaking his eyes away from the canvas.

"They do," Louis nods and says softly before he chuckles, "I remember asking you if you took a lot of selfies to do pieces like this."

Harry finally laughs a little and looks at him, "yeah, didn't you call me conceited?"

"I did," Louis whispers, his fingers rubbing Harry's neck gently, "but you answered with the truth..."

Harry keeps his eyes locked with Louis'.

"You said you were honest," Louis recalls, "and you were right. You painted how you felt."

Harry bites his lip and looks back at the painting. "It's funny... I told everyone I was fine... that I was handling it fine..."

Louis listens to him; he watches Harry close his eyes and sigh.

"My mum and Gem always knew different," he whispers out, "I came off to everyone else as this artist that had everything going for him... while inside, I couldn't help but wonder if I'd die, Louis... if I'd die before I even turned 30 and never get the chance to have a family... to see my kids grow up..."

Harry looks back at Louis and Louis sees how serious he is. Louis can feel his stomach sink from the look and the words; where would Harry be if Louis hadn't helped him? It's a question Louis has asked himself at least a million times now.

"I... I can't imagine how that must've felt, Harry," Louis says as he swallows the lump in his throat.

Harry smiles a little and wipes his eyes quickly, "sorry..."