butterfingers (l.s mpreg)

twelve, week 15

The following morning Harry awoke alone, passing by Louis' room to see the twisted indent where Louis previously laid, one arm sprawled out for the pregnant boy that was missing from the bed this morning.

"Lou!" He had called despite knowing he was gone, off to work or maybe the bar like the night before.

His glowing cheeks were crusty and raw from the tears that dropped until five this morning.

He knew he shouldn't be sleeping so little, he knows his tummy shouldn't hurt whenever he thinks of losing Louis or even sleeps in a bed without him.

And he really knows that he should not be lying to himself about every single one of those things, lying and telling himself that it's because he's hungry, or maybe has a little cold.

He mentally notes to stay in bed as his doctor told him, but with Marky sitting at his side begging for his attention and Louis' absence, Harry is pacing in his favorite sweatshirt of Louis' (the only thing that helped him to sleep.) His eyes are still puffy and his hair is greasy and floppy, more than usual.

"H." The door was open, just as Harry sat down on the couch with Louis' burgundy throw blanket, the one he says his grandmother used to keep on her rocking chair.

The voice was breathy, and came from a very different version of Louis that stood uncomfortably still in the archway.

His hair was not styled like usual, and rested flat, slightly covering the area of his forehead.

He was not dressed in his chinos, and his dress shirt was not equipped with a bow tie, but unbuttoned in the slightest.

His typically tan face was pale and clammy, dry like Harry's and small red blotches on the side of either of his eyes from when he was crying.

Harry sat uncomfortably on the sofa, Mark at his side, panting from the heat in the apartment (Harry happens to get quite chilly when Louis isn't with him.)

"You should be in bed." Was all he said, resting his briefcase on the granite counter and stripping himself of his button up, leaving him in a t shirt.

Harry nodded, getting up to leave with Mark and the throw blanket in tow.

"Wait-" Louis breathed.

"I'm sorry, H. I'm so sorry for everything," His breathing was choppy, and Harry's throat felt small again.

"I know." Harry choked.

It had never been so quiet between the two, usually there was music or tv and conversation. Now, it was only the hum of the air conditioning and Harry's sniffles.

"I'm sorry too, you know? I shouldn't have done that, I'm just-" Harry wanted to tell him, he felt the words sneaking up his throat, and he came so close to spilling his heart all over the hard wood floor.

"Please don't worry, H. Fuck, I'm the worst- I-" Harry and Louis both had tears spilling everywhere, eyes wide and glossy.

So, once his heart began to ache (again) Louis stepped forward, his heavy black shoes clicking. He wrapped his arms around the pregnant boy in front of him. He shook in his arms, weak and frail and sickly.

They stayed for a minute, breathing on each other's necks.

"I think that you should go and stay with Cass. For a while." Louis knew he couldn't be apart from him, and that the mere thought of him being in this condition without Louis makes him sick. Yet, he also knew he could not look at him now, knowing that his mind is on someone else.

"What?" Harry stepped back.

"I think-" Louis started again.

"No, I heard you. But Lou? Why? You wanted me to stay. You wanted-" Harry's breathing was a mess, heavy and thick and hoarse.

"Please go lay down, Harry. I can't have you in the hospital. Please." Louis turned around, wiping the tears that sank into his rigid jaw.

"Take me to Cass'. Please." Harry lost all emotion from his pale face, his green eyes red and bloodshot.

It was not only Louis that ached, it had never only been him.

So stupid, he thought, he knew he didn't want to leave. He had never even considered leaving.

Louis did not protest, didn't say a word, simply called Cass on Harry's phone, apologizing for "meeting her like this" but for some reason he didn't think he'd ever meet her anyway. He was just Louis, the boy who knocked up another one and that never really meant anything.

Which was funny, in a fucked up way, funny because Cass didn't need to meet Lou. Harry had mused about him for weeks, his eyes and his job and his pup and his kisses.

Within half an hour they were in the car, Harry silently snoozing beside Louis. He hadn't slept much, barely at all.

"I'll bring your things," Louis said.

"Thank you for staying with me." Harry said.

"Please take care of him." He breathed.

"Please call." He replied.

How foolish it was, saying all these things, all this little nothing's that they hoped would translate to what they've been trying to say.

Foolish, they thought, to say so many things besides what they want to.

And Louis left, leaving Harry to rest on the couch.

Mark barked and whimpered for hours, wondering very cluelessly as to where his Harry went. He slept in Harry's spot, sniffing the pillow and circling the room hoping that maybe Harry was hiding like he does when they played.

And Louis didn't move, he didn't search, didn't whimper. He watched tv, ordering Chinese takeout and remembering not to order any white rice because he knows Harry doesn't like it.

So stupid, he thought, acting as though Harry was gone even though it had only been hours.

And so when he went to work the following morning he didn't write of Harry, about Harry's weekly trips to the grocery store or when they would go to the maternity store down the street just to get excited.

He wrote of the weather, which he had requested of his boss for the week.

His boss was confused, to say the least but granted Louis' request (for now.)

Days seemed to pass painfully slow, when Harry was not singing and he wasn't resting his head atop Louis' lap or researching and updating Louis on their teeny tiny munchkin.

Whom was doing quite well, really, or so Harry had called and told him.

The only interaction they'd had was over the phone, which Harry absolutely loathed.

It was temporary, Harry told himself, one day they'd both get over it and Harry could go home, home to Louis and home to Mark.

His tummy hurt far too much to stay forever, Cass didn't cook for him and Caleb was always his only company.

He urged Louis to visit, which Louis never did.

He urged Louis to call, which he sometimes did.

His next ultrasound was soon, and he would be back to work in no time with all all new set of first graders and a growing baby bump.

He hoped to find out the gender and bring it home to Louis.

He was worried, he'd been worried for days now, because quite frankly the words "Louis" and "home" were starting to become far too alike.