when blue met green - larry one shots (PERMANENT HIATUS)

home.

where Harry goes enrolls in the army and has to leave Louis :(

sad fluff warning

(1844 words)
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It was the afternoon after Louis had come home after another exhausting day at the law firm. He kicked his shoes off and hung his bag up on a hook near the door, quickly traipsing down the hall and to his bedroom. Unbuttoned his shirt, tossed it in the hamper, slacks following suit, dug through his drawers to find a lightweight shirt to tug on. Once he had done his usual checklist, he headed back down the hall and to the kitchen, planning on making the only meal he could do properly, besides frozen foods and ramen.

Spaghetti.

As he fished through the cupboards for the ingredients, he reminisced about the first time he was taught to make spaghetti.

He was 4 years younger than he was now, a hopeful and bright eyed 24 year old, close to finishing law school. Louis had stood in a different kitchen than the one he was in now, a kitchen in a small one bedroom complex. And he had another boy by his side, scavenging for the ingredients Louis was looking for now.

"Angel hair," he mumbled to himself, as Harry had murmured all those years ago. "Pot." He pulled the large metal pot from a lower cabinet, underneath the counter. He set it near the sink, so he could later pour water into it. "Sauce." He took the marinara from the fridge, held it in his hand for a second, before slowly setting it back down on the cold shelf. He never liked sauce. That was always Harry's thing, and he'd get teased relentlessly for it, even if he was older.

Louis chewed the inside of his cheek as he made a mental note to grab the parmesan cheese once he had finished, and then turned to fill the pot. He brought the water up about halfway before placing it on the stove, turning it on and watching as the flames licked away at the base of the metal. He opened a cabinet next to the stove and pulled out a lid that he examined to be the matching one to the pot, being proved correct as he lidded the vessel.

You don't want to listen about him cooking, though. Louis didn't much like cooking, either, and he left the kitchen as he felt overwhelmed by the memories given to him of Harry.

Harry.

The same Harry that had walked out that door of this house, their house, and Louis turned to face that door. It stood, seemingly to stare menacingly at him, but he shook his head to himself. Doors can't be menacing. They're open, full of new beginnings, but there're always depressing goodbyes and endings in each beginning.

Louis remembered when Harry had stepped out that door. He remembered that seconds before, Harry had kissed his lips, but his long hair didn't cascade down and feather Louis's cheeks. Harry had shaved his hair off for the army, he had to. It was a rule. Louis had run his hand over Harry's scalp, heart sinking as he didn't find long strands of curls that curtained down to his shoulders. Instead, he felt nothing. Bare.

Harry had mumbled against his lips that it was better. He didn't want Louis saying goodbye to him at the airport, said it would only hurt them more. Harry whispered and told him he was going to be back. He had promised him, and then followed that swear with a kiss.

He then walked out that door, that door that now watched Louis's shorter figure tauntingly, and Louis wobbled off and down the hall to his bedroom.

His eyes graced over the bed, and swore as another memory flooded and suffocated his mind.

Louis remembered the night Harry told him about his dream of joining the army.

The way Harry was curled in his arms, Louis carding his fingers through Harry's long hair. They'd been together about 5 years at that point, and Harry had recently dropped out of school. Said he didn't want to be a therapist for his entire life, and Louis said so be it. He wanted his Harry to be happy, and when Harry mumbled in his arms that he wanted to be happy by joining the army, Louis about choked.