all our younger years (l.s.)

2: 5 weeks until the end

There was a bird perched outside Harry's window when he woke up.

It was definitely bright enough to be before noon, but still early enough so that there weren't any regular sounds of afternoon play; no children shrieking, no dogs barking. Silence. A pit gnawing at the bottom of his stomach.

There was about half a minute of relaxation until his brain suddenly kicked in and he remembered what had happened the night before.

It was Monday. Monday would normally mean school. Monday, in the summer, was supposed to hold a sense of freedom but it didn't. Monday, now, meant one day closer to Louis leaving.

Was he being dramatic? He hoped not. He knew Louis wasn't going to be gone forever. He wouldn't be gone for years and years, he'd said it himself. But he knew that he wouldn't be seeing Louis every day like he used to. Wouldn't get to spend every afternoon with him. Wouldn't get to spend every meal with him. Wouldn't get to do absolutely everything together. This was the end of an era, but it couldn't be the end of their friendship. Harry was one hundred percent certain of that.

So Harry picked up his phone, tapped the first contact in his recents, and upon hearing the familiar girlish chatter on the other end, immediately said, "I'll do it."

"Huh?" Louis said, before yelling a distant shut up into the background and returning the phone to his ear. "Say that again, love."

"I'll..." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'll participate in your stupid plan thing."

"Louis' Epic Amazing Summer of Awesomeness?" he exclaimed cheerfully.

Harry sighed a little too exaggeratedly. "Yeah. Okay. I'll do the Epic Awesome Summer...thing, just could you come over? Or could I come over there?"

"The girls are cooking breakfast this morning so that might change your judgment a little bit."

"Right. Okay. Come over here?"

"Yep, gimme ten."

The line went dead, and Harry buried his face in his hands.

It was a lot. A lot to process. Perhaps the most painful part of the whole thing was that Louis was so okay with it, at least to him. He was ready to move away. He thought he would be fine without Harry. That broke his heart, probably more than he had first realized and definitely more than he would ever admit, because he would never be fine without Louis.

He stayed in bed for five more minutes before finally dragging himself beyond the covers, across the cold floor and into the bathroom. He looked proper miserable. His hair was stuck to one side of his head and sticking straight up. There were drool marks lining his left cheek, sleep making his eyelashes cling together. He was, frankly, a right mess. And it was sweltering hot inside and out, just to make everything that much worse.

He collided with his mother in the hallway. She looked more composed than he did but she also had that kind look in her eyes; the one of sympathy, the one that meant she already knew. Of course she did. Their mums probably spoke with each other equally as much as Louis and Harry spoke with each other. Harry just wanted to burst into tears, but he didn't, he wouldn't. Louis wasn't fucking crying. Louis never cried.

"You know," Harry stated, miserably, unhappily, and utterly uselessly.

"Of course I know," she replied, confirming his earlier suspicions.

"I don't want him to go." He felt like a whining child.

"I know," she said, all knowing and motherly.

That, to be honest, was really all he wanted and needed her to say.

~

"What do you mean a swimsuit?"